Never Broken

by Torgaddon

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, Princess Celestia, Dark, Anthro, Main 6, Princess Luna, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Spike, Cutie Mark Crusaders, Adventure, Tragedy
Length: 133491

A shattered and broken soul, Spike has spent the better part of the last two thousand years in never ending battle in the dead world of Ginun. Now, he must return to Equestria to protect what is most precious to him, but also face his shame again.

Two thousand and fifty three years.
Spike has been battling the eldritch horrors of timeless Ginungagap for over two millennia, yet even to this day, his shame remains gnawing at his very heart and mind. Until the day comes when he is told of the danger that threatens what is most precious to him.

To save what he loves, Spike shall face his shame once more, his will, determination and sanity stretched to their limits, as he will step into the Abyss of his own, personal hell.

As always Spike moves forward, ever forward, towards battle, death and hopefully redemption.

In life, shame.
In death, absolution.

Published 2015-05-06 19:40:03 UTC
Last updated 2018-04-12 15:59:48 UTC

Favoured of the Gods

Ganbataar Ghiula Khan could not fathom what was happening.

Here he stood, strongest of The Ten Masters of Ginun, favored son of the Abyssal Gods, Great Khan of the infinite Rotten Steppes, Master of the steppe marauders, undisputed Lord of the largest dominions one could attain in Ginungagap, and HE WAS FAILING.

It was inconceivable, it was unfathomable, the sheer ridiculousness of it all would have made him laugh in any other circumstance, but still here he was, at the very edge of his dominion, at the base of the Crimson Pike Mountains, his very sanity precariously on edge.
It was all wrong, down to the very sounds of the battlefield. He could not accept that this blasted battlefield would sound in any way different than any other he had heard in his immortal life. He should have been surrounded by the screams of his enemies as his pike-dead would impale his opponents, the begging of the dying as his steppe raiders bore down on them, the eldritch murmurs of the Abyssal Gods, dark promises of power and eternal life, as his cultists' wicked daggers carved the maimed in honor of the Abyss.

Instead, here he was, his once one hundred thousand strong army reduced to a paltry ten thousand at most, the battlefield ringing only with the breaking flesh and bones of his pike-dead as they smashed uselessly against the gromril steel tower shields of his enemies, his fearless steppe raiders and their nightmare steeds in heaps of broken flesh as his enemies spears and curving blades sliced through them, his thousand and one coven of cultists, nothing more than puddles of blood and gristle, epitaphs of the Abyssal Gods displeasure with their failure.

He had promised the Oracles Malae that he would destroy this opponent in the name of the Abyss, and offer their screaming souls to it’s hungry Gods, yet now, here he stood, risking the same fate, as he fought the Legion of the Damned.

Ganbataar Khan looked again, trying for the thousandth time to find a way to break the Legion, but again he found himself staring only at a perfectly disciplined, impossible to break bulwark.

The Legion of the Damned. Every denizen of Ginun had learned to fear the name only recently. What was a paltry ten millennia ago merely a savage barbaric pack of suicidal maniacs, dangerous yet manageable, had become in the past six hundred years one of the most disciplined and dangerous battalion of suicidal maniacs that had ever crushed the charred lands of Ginungagap under their iron shod boots.

One look was enough for him to approximate the number of opponents. About four hundred gigantic warriors, each of them head and shoulders taller than an ogre, closed in on his position with the methodical and unstoppable force of a collapsing mountain. They were arrayed perfectly and every foot forward was made in lockstep offering no openings. The first row, two hundred warriors clad in black iron plate regalia, wielding thick tower shields the height of their entire body in one hand and spears or their wicked curved glaives in the other. Second row, one hundred light weight shock troops, protected only by black iron greaves, sabatons and scale-mail kilts over cured leather pants but otherwise bare chested and bare headed. Each one wielded a great curved sword, great ax or dual wielded two weapons with perfect stance and discipline. Whenever Ganbataar’s armies faltered against the shield wall and fell under their glaives and spears, the shields would go up and the shock troops would attack and reign havoc amongst the demoralized armies. The last row was comprised of one hundred drake-flame arquebusiers, flint-lock gunners and dragon-breath cannon teams.

Behind them stood the granite edges of the cauldron-like area that he had fallen in. An enormous mining quarry at the base of the mountains known as the Arms of the Giant and he had fallen into this trap like a damned greenhorn. There were only two openings into the quarry. One went back to the steppes and the other into the very heart of the mountains, and now both were blocked. Even worse, the bubble of shimmering mist around the gigantic quarry completely trapped them. His harpies had died trying to escape the quarry the moment they had touched the mist, their flaming carcasses falling on top of Ganbataar’s armies like the rain of some sadistic god. Not even his steppe raiders could leave the quarry as, even though their nightmare steeds could easily climb the walls, the moment they touched the mist, thunder would roar and lighting would kill.

No, Ganbataar was trapped, and the constricted space had made his enormous armies a hindrance rather than an advantage, dead-pike infantry unable to flank the enemy and his steppe raiders unable to even charge. He had no mobility while the small battalion of the Legion had the perfect position. His only options were to shatter the Legion and retreat into the mines under the mountains or reach the opening towards his domain, the steppes.

Ganbataar cursed again. Not one. Not one of his enemies had fallen. His enemy worked as a well oiled machine, each warrior supporting and working in tandem with the next, in a display of discipline of such magnitude that he could not even begin to imagine the amount of training they must have done to achieve such synergy.

Four hundred warriors had gone against over one hundred thousand at dusk, and now four hundred warriors stood against little over ten thousand at dawn. No, he corrected himself, not four hundred, four hundred and one. His monstrous head turned towards the steppe opening of the quarry to regard the lone warrior of the Legion that stood atop a mountain of corpses, the bloody remnants of over one third of his army. Ganbataar’s third eye started twitching and both his mouths started snarling as he regarded the gigantic warrior in the distance and the shimmering bracelet around the warrior’s right hand.

Whomever this creature was, Ganbataar could not decide whether he was a genius tactician or simply insane. Just as the Legion blocked the opening to the mine, the lone warrior blocked the opening to the steppes. The warrior had purposefully made itself a target by blocking the escape route and by wearing the bracelet. To the magic seeing eyes of the demons of Ginun the bracelet was connected to the mist that hovered above the quarry and blocked escape and it was obviously the key to dispelling it. With two thirds of his army having engaged the Legion at the opposite opening, Ganbataar had wasted over thirty thousand warriors to kill the lone warrior and now they were all dead and broken, a frustrating monument to his failure.

Useless cowards, he thought as he signaled the last of his warriors to attack the Legion.

“I will deal with that defying insect myself" he snarled, then called “Malakai”.

His first lieutenant, Malakai Dal-Khan, prostrated his hulking form before the Khan. Despite his demonic body being the size of a mammoth, the demon knew better than to defy the warlord.

“Yes my lord”.

“Call my royal guard, you lead the rest of the army and put an end to the Legion”.

Malakai stiffened. He had seen what had happened to the bulk of the army and now he was expected to take the Legion with a paltry ten thousand?

“…But … my lor…” he began.

Before he could even finish the sentence, Malakai’s tusked head fell from his shoulders, parted by Ganbataar’s glaive, the Screaming Horn.
“Malakas” Ganbataar roared “you and the rest of the army destroy the Legion”.

Malakas Jul-Khan, was quick to kneel and agree with the Khan , not wanting to share in his brother’s fate. A later death at the hands of the Legion was preferable to an instant one at the hands of his warlord.

The ten royal guard , the elite of his army, his strongest warriors, each of them greater daemons, approached Ganbataar.
“Your will , my Khan “

“Ride before me ” Ganbataar’s frustrated mouths screeched in unison “and maim that fool who seeks to defy my will, but leave his head for myself”.

“As you command” all ten royal guard said in unison.

They went ahead as Ganbataar stepped towards his Nightmare steed, Howler .

He would succeed, the Khan thought, he was stronger than all his ten royal guards put together, he was immortal, he was a Lord, he was “ THE FAVORED OF THE GODS “ Ganbataar roared.

Ganbataar put heels to flanks on his nightmare steed as his ten Royal Guards reached the corpse mountain.

They would not fail, they were greater daemons just like him. The warrior may have managed to kill more than a third of his army but they had been only the mindless flesh golem automata of the dead-pike or the lesser daemons that were the steppe riders.

These however, were his ten elite, daemons blessed by the Abyssal gods to become one with their nightmare steeds transforming into centaur horrors. Eons of battle had made their flesh as stone and their bones as strong as iron. Each of them was covered head to clawed foot in thick black steel plate armor, their six legs and lower half horse-like bodies giving each individual’s charge enough strength to drop a fully grown Northern Mammoth.
They had even fought alongside Ganbataar when he had challenged and killed the Primordial Dragon, Mountain Eater whose great fang now made the very blade of his massive glaive.

They would not fail.

As the Royal Guard charged towards the corpse mountain, the warrior sheathed his blade and jumped from the top and into the leading Guard.

“Hmph, a rookie mistake ” snorted Ganbataar from his two mouths. Any sensible warrior would have retreated and tried to circle around towards the Legion at the other side of the quarry. Then again, any sensible warrior would not have stood alone against over thirty thousand enemies.

Odd, for a second he thought he saw his leading Royal Guard’s halberd stop as the warrior smashed the mid-swing halberd into the ground with his left hand.
Again, he thought he saw his Guard fall as the warrior broke it’s spine with the palm of his right hand.

But that was impossible, surely the Abyssal Gods must have been playing tricks on his mind, surely this was merely a test of his determination.

And yet, it happened again, as another Royal Guard charged into the warrior at full speed. The warrior merely took one step forward and the impact sounded like a cannonball hitting a granite mountain. Ganbataar stared in awe as his Royal Guard fell to the ground, his chest, lower body and forelegs caved in and broken by the impact and the Guard’s own momentum. A charge that could down a mammoth had barely halted the warrior's advance.

This…this had to be a joke.

Three Guards attacked in unison and yet it was still the warrior who made the first move. A step forward propelled his shoulder into one Guards chest, caving it in, then beheaded it as he unsheathed his blade. A quick swap of the blade from his right hand into his left and a downward stroke sliced the knees of a second guard who fell screaming face first into the stone ground. Before he even fell completely the warrior took another step towards the last of the three Guards and in the process crushed the fallen Guards skull under his boot.

The last Guard brought his halberd in a massive two handed strike from the left, putting all of it’s half a ton weight behind the strike. Still, the warrior caught it with the base of his blade, near the ornate guard. The halberd and the elite’s arms shuddered as if it had hit an anvil, while the warrior’s arm did not even twitch. A simple twist of the wrist and the tip of the great curved blade was leveled with the Guard’s face, then one thrust and the back of the Guard’s helmet exploded as the sword ran through it's skull.

In the space of three heartbeats, the warrior had killed three of the elite, without changing his stance more than one step. No crouching, no spinning and no useless flashy movements, just a few simple steps and indomitable strength, precision and discipline. The Khan had been wrong, this was no rookie, this warrior was a veteran of the highest caliber.

“All at once. Kill him NOW” the Khan roared as he goaded his steed to greater speed. He was only one hundred steps away and he needed to get there if he wanted to still have some warriors and claim victory without too many unnecessary risks.

As if catalyzed into action, the remaining five guards surged toward the warrior, halberds leveled and battle oaths on their lips.

Eighty steps
Two more Royal Guards disappeared in a gout of hot-white and pale green flame.

Fifty steps
Another fell clutching his throat as it spurt arterial blood.

Thirty steps
A fourth screamed in terror when his arms fell from his body as he started a massive overhead chop.

Ten steps
The last Royal Guard fell apart, as the monstrous sword cleaved through defending halberd, armor, stone muscles and iron bones, bisecting the daemon from crest to crotch in a perfectly angled and executed two handed slash.

Ganbataar Ghiula Khan stood in awe a mere ten feet from the lone warrior. The warrior who had killed a third of his army by himself. The warrior who had torn through the elite as if they had been nothing. He finally got a good look at him.

The warrior stood before him, a gigantic creature clad in the far eastern Nippon style black steel armor of the Legion of the Damned. Just as the warriors of Legion stood head and shoulders above ogres, this warrior was head and shoulders taller than the other Legionnaires and half again as wide at the shoulder. A single green dot stared at him from the depths of his helmet as the light reflected off the warrior’s pupil. Five sheathed curved swords hung at his back and left side while the sixth and largest one was clutched in his gauntlet.

“Most impressive, little insect” the Khan said defiantly, although he did fell his palms sweating on the haft of his glaive.
The warrior said nothing.

“You have killed a few thousand runts and flesh golem automata, Hells, you even managed to carve my elite ten guards ” he continued, his nightmare steed cracking open the beheaded skull of one under it’s hoof.
Still no response , the warrior simply started walking towards the Khan.

“But I am stronger than all ten put together ” The Khan smirked from both his mouths.
The warrior, as silent as the grave, kept walking.

“Know my name and tremble fool, I AM GANBATAAR GHIULA KHAN, LORD OF THE ROTTEN STEPPES, MOST FAVORED OF THE GO…”

No transition. Ganbataar had been alive for untold millenia but he had never seen a warrior attack with absolutely no transition. There had always been a telltale sign that one was about to attack, a small flexing of the chest or arms, a subtle lowering of the center of gravity, his third eye had always picked up on in, but not this time.

From step to dash to cut, the warrior had covered the last few steps that separated them in the time it took to blink and, in a show of insane strength and speed, had sliced through the nightmare steed’s stone hard neck with only one hand on his blade. It was only instincts honed over hundreds of battles that allowed the Khan to parry the blade with the unbreakable bone haft of his blade, and yet he was still thrown of the saddle and landed in a heap seven feet away.

Instincts took over once more and, using the momentum, the Khan rolled, back on his feet in a combat crouch and lifted his glaive with both hands just as the blade fell again. The warrior had not wasted a single fraction of a second and had kept himself right next to the Khan even as Ganbataar had flown through the air and rolled. He stood close, too close for the Khan to be able to properly use his Glaive.

In the space of a few seconds, the warrior threw a maelstrom of blows against the Khan, any blow that hit the Khan’s guard paralyzing his arms with the force behind it and any that bypassed his guard carving a large crest in what was supposed to be an unbreakable armor.
Ganbataar opened both his mouths and let loose a gout of black corrosive smoke, another of the many gifts that Abyss Gods had granted him, but instead of backing away as he had expected, the warrior simply advanced through the smoke. Even as his armor sizzled and corroded, the warrior’s hand shot trough the gloom and grabbed the Khan by the throat as his blade smashed his glaive into the ground and from his grip.

Impossible, for all his size, this creature still barely made it to the top of the Khan’s prodigious belly, and yet, the warrior had grabbed him by the throat and held his one ton bulk above the ground as a grown man would hold a child.
In desperation, Ganbataar let loose a flurry of punches that would have downed a dozen golems, yet not one made the warrior release him. It was as if the was striking an iron statue with his bare fists. The grip on his throat strengthened every second until the Khan’s neckguard cracked and windpipe was crushed.

The Khan let loose a gargled yell and his prodigious belly opened to reveal a massive toothed maw. With a mental incantation he let loose a ball of Abyss Flame, the very stuff of nothingness, the anathema of existence. The black fireball hit the warrior point blank and the armor shattered and broke, but still the grip did not falter.

Even as Ganbataar glared in awe at the broken armor and the wall of impossibly muscled flesh beneath it, he loosed a strangle scream of frustration.

How could he have lost, he was favored of the gods, he had been gifted a hundred dark boons. The psychic yell of the dread spirits in the corrosive smoke should have provoked so much pain in the warrior even trough the armor that he should not have even been able to move. The black flame ball had been a point blank hit and had broken the armor. Even as he watched the warrior, he saw the ruin of his chest, abdomen and neck, nothing but raw muscle, burned purple scales and shards of armor that had pierced the warrior’s flesh at the point of impact.

And still the warrior had not moved, his hand still crushing Ganbataar’s neck with the strength of a mechanical vice.

“Who…in the…nine….Hells…are …you” Ganbataar managed to gargle through his broken throat.
He got no answer, even as the warrior’s blade separated his head from his body, he got no answer, as he fell through the Abyss to the waiting arms of the cackling Abyssal Gods to pay the eternal price for failure.

The warrior watched as the Khan’s carcass putrefied and rotted at an accelerated rate. In a few minutes he would be but dust. He turned towards the great glaive of the former Khan and disconnected the fang of Mountain Eater from the haft.

The seventh of the ten great artifacts of Dragonkind had been recovered.
Spike wanted to smile, but all he could see in the blade’s reflection were six pairs of eyes, some tear-filled, most filled with fear and a few with hatred.

As always, Spike could only see his shame.

Author's Note

I've been a lover of books, specially Grimdark Fantasy all my life.
Also as a graphic designer myself i can appreciate good animation when i see it.
So, here's my first try.
MLP is damn good animation with good story and great characters, so why not apply a little grimdark to it?

This is my first try at writing,
Any and all constructive criticism is welcome.

P.S. Yes, the armor that the warrior is wearing is the one in the Cover Image (you can find the original image on Deviantart, i only edited it a little bit).

Knowledge

Knowledge

I run as if chased by the very hounds of Hell through the brush and thicket of the Everfree Forest, once perfectly coiffed hair turned to an unruly mess by the wind and grasping branches, my baby blue dress now a tattered mess of scratched and mud stained fabric.

“It can’t be him, it can’t be him, it can’t be him” I tell myself as a mantra, even as my hoof snags on a root and she hell to my hands and knees. Without missing a beat I get back upright and start running again as if the cuts and scrapes on my palms and knees did not matter. Although , at that point, they were inconsequential, it simply could not be him.
Not my little Spikey. He was not violent. He did not get himself into such troubles. So why, why had a horrified looking Rainbow Dash come to my Boutique to tell me that Twilight needed myself and the other girls help to subdue Spike. Spike was a sweetheart, he didn’t need to be “subdued”, he had even offered to keep the children of the school safe so that the children could take a field trip to the Everfree forest. He had done it before with no problems, Spike was almost as tall as Applejack after he had his ten month growth spurt, not even the wildlife of the Everfree forest would come within fifty feet of his scent.

“No , no, this must be a misunderstanding” I whisper to myself through ragged gasps of air. “Surely it is”, Spike must have needed “support” of course, not to be “subdued”, Rainbow Dash must have simply made a mistake in the spur of the moment. Of course that’s what she meant, our little Spike was the kindest, sweetest, most gentle…
I stop and watch in horror at the scene playing out before my eyes, at the beastly looking scaled creature the size of an adult mare trashing before my eyes. What little of it’s purple scales I can see are charred by burn marks. The rest of the creatures body is covered by what can only be the light reflecting scarlet of blood. The creature is surrounded by three shapes trying to wrestle it to the ground and a shimmering ball of magic surrounds it’s head.

I can only stare as I see the creature pry Applejack off his leg with only one hand and smash her into Twilight. As the alicorn and the earth pony fall into a heap the shimmering light around Twilight’s horn fades and the ball around the creature’s head breaks.
“No, this is wrong” I whisper as I stare, refusing to accept that the empty-eyed, rictus grinning monstrosity in front of me is the Spike I know, yet there he is howling like a dying manticore, pupils constricted to the size of pinpricks in empty eyes, shark like teeth protruded and covered in blood and gristle and every muscle on his body taut like whipcord.

Before I manage another word Applejack recovers herself and, with both hands on the soggy blood spattered ground launches her hooves into Spike’s chin even as Rainbow Dash smashes herself on the back of Spike’s legs and hamstrings him. The shock of Applejacks buck clamps his jaw shut and he falls on his back only to recover instantly and grab Applejack and Rainbow Dash’s heads and ram them into the ground. Without skipping a beat he charges me mouth agape and murder in his eyes.

“Spike, Fall”, I hear a desperate yell from behind him and he smashes into the ground as if struck by the fist of an invisible giant. I see Twilight straining, her horn spouting sparks.

“For the love of Celestia Spike, don’t make me do this”, she screams again, even as Spike slowly but surely begins to push himself back up, pushing himself against the invisible force.

“Please stop” Twilight’s voice cracks, her eyes brimming with tears, as her horn flares stronger and Spike, still screaming, smashes into the ground again.

“Rarity”, Rainbow Dash yells, getting up but still reeling and unstable on her legs, “get Cheerilee and the foals, we’ve got our hands full here”.

I force myself to look beyond Spike’s struggling bulk and behind Twilight I see Cheerilee in the gloom holding what looks like a burlap sack and the bug eyed frightened foals behind her.

I race to them my horn flaring with a light spell to guide them away from this nightmare but then I see it and stop in abject horror. Cheerilee and the Cutie Mark Crusaders around her all covered in cuts and bruises, all with desperate looks in their eyes as they look at me.

As the light of my horn hits them and my mid begins to process what I’m seeing, I realize what the burlap sack really was. My heart stops as I stare at Scotaloo holding a bloodstained scrap of clothing to the limp form of Sweetie Belle cradled in Cheerilee’s arms.

I begin screaming as I see her torn throat and the gushing blood.

Rarity wakes up screaming, her evening gown drenched in cold sweat.
The nightmare again, as vivid as the day it had happened one year ago. Nightmare or no se instinctively claws at her bed sheets and jumps towards the door. She opens in but instead of the waiting night she sees the tiny form of her little sister, her covers held tightly to her chest.

“Rarity, are you okay”, Sweetie Belle asks and Rarity, her eyes filled with tears, grabs her in a bear hug.

“Oh sweetie, I was just about to come and ask you the same thing”

“You had the nightmare again, didn’t you” Sweetie mumbles, her faces mushed to Rarity’s chest.

“I…yes darling, and I apologize for waking you up again”

“I could sleep in your bed tonight if it will make you feel better” Sweetie says smirking.
Rarity can’t help but feel a smile cross her own face “If you would be so kind”.

As they get cozy under the covers , after a quick change from the sweat drenched gown of course, Rarity watches the sleeping Sweetie Belle. Her eyes fall to the scar on her sister’s neck and her smile fades.
She knew the scar well, it started from under her sister’s jaw and ended halfway across her left shoulder. Ten large puncture wounds and scar tissue where the skin and flesh had been torn. Sweetie Belle’s pearly white coat of fur had only recently started growing in that are again but it was still noticeable. Princess Celestia herself had healed and saved her sister’s life, but the scar was beyond even her abilities to completely erase, and it remained, a constant reminder to “his” betrayal.

“Oh Spike” Rarity whispered as she pulled Sweetie closer to her.

“We loved you so much”.

“How could you?”

In another part of Ponyville, in the cold empty rooms of a crystal castle, a depressing air dominated the entire atmosphere.
Twilight stood in the Round Table Room, hunched over one of the many books scattered over the massive table. She looked like she felt, bags under her eyes, hair a mess and her entire body skinny and showing signs of malnourishment.

She stared at the same two pages of the book she had been reading for the past hour. Her eyes were on the illustration of a draconic bipedal creature and she stared at it as if her eyes alone could will it to life and give her more answers.
Twilight shook her head, realizing that she had been staring into space for the better part of the past hour and concentrated on the book itself. She had read this book cover to cover time and again but she wanted to read the first excerpt again, if only to give the illusion that she was doing something to solve and unsolvable riddle.

“A Manifest on Dragonkin and the Peculiarities of the Legion of the Damned” by Starswirl the Bearded.

Chapter Nine: Draka

As we have made it abundantly clear by now, there is no such thing as a single conglomerate one may simply refer to as “dragons”. They are simply a sub-species of the draconic race, which, as we have well established implies any sub-species from the tiny drakes, wyverns and dragons to the notoriously enormous and ancient wyrms. Now, dear reader, we come to the most peculiar of all draconic sub-species, the Draka , not to be confused with their larger cousins the Dragons.

This particular species is first and foremost known for it’s physical aspect. They are bipedal creatures almost resembling lizardmen, however on much larger scale. They are among the few draconic subspecies that have no wings, not even vestigial ones like the land dwelling Balaur, considered to be amongst the most dangerous and secretive of the “dragon clans” as members of the draconic race like to put it. What I know of this “clan” is due to my many adventures, or misadventures according to Celestia, with my long time friend and companion Varishma Tal-Draka, a strong young female Draka, and quite easy on the eyes, if I do say so myself.
Individuals of this species are supremely capable when it comes to martial prowess and physical capabilities. They are also well known as the greatest blacksmiths and artisans in the world. This “clan”, as we shall respectfully coin draconic species from this point onwards, originates from the Far East, from the ancient lands of Nippon. It is actually a well known historical fact that it was this clan that first created the Warrior Culture that even to this day is the main life-style adopted even by the ponies of Nippon.

As far as size goes a full grown individual usually stands anywhere between twelve to thirteen feet tall (three point six meters) although some individuals have been known to reach upwards of fifteen feet (four point five meters tall).
They are also known to have a very muscular build, however this may be attributed to the intense physical conditioning and training that they undergo since old enough to walk rather than to any anatomical perquisite.

A common misconception made by ponies is that the Draka are a brutish species, due to their height, large shoulders and muscular body type, and that their only redeeming fact is that they walk upright like ponies do. However, this could not be further from the truth. For any who have spent any length of time in the company of a Draka, such as I have done, will find that their warrior culture is focused not only on the developing of physical strength but also intellectual pursuits. Varishma Tal-Draka herself has actually informed me on numerous occasions that one of the most important tenants of Draka culture is that “A fools mind cannot coexist within a warlords body”. Like all Draka she had a tendency to speak rarely and in few words as, according to another tenant of Draka culture “Words are wind, actions are stone”.
Warriors of the Draka are known not only to exceptional fighters both on their own and in teams but also very capable tacticians, armorers, writers and performers of epic war songs and a select number of them are the only creatures in the world that can channel the powers of the winds of magic through the Draken Runes, unlike Dragons and Wyrms who, like ponies, can channel magic through their own bodies.

While other races may mistakenly see them as brutish due to their war-like nature, the Draka are very well respected within draconic society, not just due to their creation of dragonscript, the only draconic form of written language, and their invention of arquebuses and dragon-flame canons, but also due to their martial prowess. It is a well known fact that a full-grown Draka can battle a full grown dragon to a standstill, even though a Dragon is about four times the size and ten times the weight of a Draka.
Among draconic society they are also known as Oath-Keepers, a Draka that pledges their service to one he or she consider a “master” is known to willingly and gladly die the most horrible and painful death in service of said “master”. “The word of a Draka is as strong as steel and as enduring as the mountains” as the draconic saying goes, and a truer saying has never been spoken.

Insofar as lifespan goes, allow me to put it simply. Unknown. Draka for all appearances cannot physically die of old age. However this is unverified as Varishma herself has told me that in all of Draka history there has never been one Draka that has died in any other way than in battle. They actually appear to be immune even to disease and most poisons, usually entering a catatonic coma-like state for a period of time only to awaken cured, something no other draconic “clan” is able to do. For all intents and purposes it seems that the only way to kill a Draka permanently is in battle.
In fact the oldest Draka, Veshanesh Vala, was over one hundred seventy thousand years old and was still as fit as a Daraka in his prime. He had died in battle during the great Abyss incursion from Ginungagap over one thousand years ago known as “The Corruption of Sombra”.

However, this brings me to the final part, the greatest downfall of the Draka, their pride and the mental affliction they suffer known as the “Thirst”. The draconic race is well known for it’s overbearing sense of pride, commonly known as the “dragon code”, but even among them, the Draka are known to be obsessive when it concerns their pride and code of honor.

The “clan” itself has the fewest individuals when compared to any other draconic “clan” as it is, numbering at most five thousand individuals in the entire world.
This is partially due to their very low birth-rate, a female Draka being able to give birth to only two children during her entire lifespan, very low when compared to other draconic "clans". This however, is not the problem. The real problem is the mental affliction, the “Thirst”, that all Draka suffer at a fundamentally genetic level. An infant Draka will start showing signs of the “Thirst” from the day it is able to walk and it will only increase with age.
To any outside viewer, the affliction can be summed up quite simply. Any and all Draka actively seek out battle, at an instinctual level they are drawn to battlefields, to hunting the most dangerous monsters, to the most suicidal battles. This is also the main reason why the Draka willingly make up the first line of defense at the Mouth of Madness, the portal that connects our world to that of Ginungagap, the Gaping Maw. Too many good Draka have willingly given their lives in battle against the undead and demonic aberrations that damned Ginun hurls into our world. Even though I know that it is due to their sacrifices that all others races have been able to flourish and not witness such horrors that would make even the devils of Tartarus weep, it wounds my old heart to see so many noble creatures die like this.

The second consequence of this mental instability is an even more horrific one. Draka warrior culture teaches self-control and physical conditioning above all else, as the “Thirst” has an advanced form some draconic scholars have called “Blood Madness”. A Draka that is pushed to the brink of it’s limits both mentally and physically will simply shut down most of it’s brain. The only parts of it’s brain still active will be those related to instinctual fighting. Nerve endings will not register pain anymore, and any limits on muscles will be completely broken. Draka afflicted with the “Blood madness” will transform from noble warriors to howling, blood starved, bersek beasts that can only fight and cannot even differentiate between friend and foe. What’s more a Draka that spends too much time in this state can not be reversed as the parts of the brain that shut down become effectively brain-dead after ten minutes of lack of blood and oxygen.
Needless to say, such individuals have be regretfully put down so that they may at least die with dignity before they harm anyone else. It is a sad state but, I am heartbroken to say, it is not the only one.

The second reason the Draka race numbers so few individuals is, as I have stated earlier, their pride. Draka are fiercely proud and honorable to the extent of it being a psychosis. A Draka who has done anything to shame their name react in what I can only describe as a ridiculous manner. They take the pledge of The Legion of the Damned. A legionnaire Draka can erase their shame only by dying in a blaze of glory against the daemons of Ginun, the enemies of life itself.
The Legion of Damned itself is actually comprised only of Draka, as they are the only creatures that can adapt to and exist indefinitely within Ginungagap, a dead plane of existence so dangerous and devoid of warmth that even an elder dragon would die within a year.
The Legion of the Damned, in lack of a greater purpose other than dying in battle, is tasked with the recovery of ancient draconic artifacts and the slaughter of as many daemon and undead as possible.

This concludes my addendum on the noble, honor-bound and fiercely independent warriors of the Draka. In closing all I can say is that, if you ever have the fortune to be named “friend” by a Draka, what you have gained by your side is a comrade that would fight for you until the end of Time and would gladly follow you into the jaws of Death itself.I have been one of the few fortunate enough to know such a companion in the form of Varishma Tal-Draka, and a truer companion I have never met.

Twilight Sparkle closed the book. She had read this chapter a thousand times and knew she would read it a thousand more. She put her face into her hands and started crying again, something she had been doing nightly for the past year.
What kind of a joke of a big sister had she been, if only she had not ignored Spike, if only she had not ignored what he was, maybe she could have helped him, maybe he would not have fallen to what she now knew as the “Blood Madness”, maybe her number one assistant, her little Draka would still be here with her.

But now he was gone forever.

A behemoth of purple scales and scar tissue stood in the middle of his tent holding a crumpled up, singed letter in his clawed hand. It had been over two thousand years since Celestia had sent a letter through the interdimensional magic that connected her magic to Spike’s flame, but here it was nonetheless.

Why had Celestia sent it to him?

For the fifth time he read that had been meant for Twilight.

“My most faithful student, I am sorry for having failed you
I did not trust in your strength enough and now I and my sister are to pay the price for my foolishness
Please, Twilight, take everyone from Ponyville and Canterlot and seek refuge in the Crystal Empire.
Tell Cadence that the Abyss rots within Equestria
She will explain everything
Please hurry, you are all in danger ”.

The last sentence reverberated through Spike’s mind like a lance point. “You are all in danger”.

Spike, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, Veshanesh of the Draka, spoke a single word, his voice like the sound of two boulders crushing against each other.

“Shagga”

Author's Note

Hey lads and lasses, got this second chapter out faster than I expected.

First of all I want to thank everyone that has favourited and followed this story. Sincerely, thank you so much.
Second, I apologize for this exposition heavy chapter but i considered it best to flesh out the lore right now so everyone knows what we're dealing with.

As always, constructive criticism and input is much appreciated.
If I screw up you guys be sure to let me know.:moustache:

Much more action in Chapter 3, gonna have it out by next week, maybe even sooner, I love writing.
Appreciate all of you, feel free to comment.

Decision

Shagga Vesha'alad stepped through the charred earth of the quarry completely ignoring the incandescent heat of the gigantic pyre just to the left of the camp.

She had been summoned by the Darraor. It was only common courtesy that she would not keep Spike waiting, and she also prided herself on her punctuality. A rapier-thin female Draka, Shagga stood eleven and a half feet tall, somewhat petite for a Draka, yet anyone who enjoyed a working jaw would not dare bring up her size. After all, she was second in command to the Darraor Spike and in Draka society, only those who deserved got positions.
There was none of the useless, pathetic politics and bureaucracy of the other races. It was a simple "If you deserve the position, you get it".

Even as she walked she stole a glance to the castle-sized pyre. Shagga could not help but smirk. Oh, how the massive armies of the once proud Ganbataar Khan now burned, their corpses good for kindling at least. Yet, as always, even with such a gigantic pyre, light somehow seemed to barely come off it. The fire was there but there was almost none of the light it should have provided.

It was one of the many oddities of Ginungagap, light always seemed to fade away almost instantly in this hellish world. Then again, at this point she should not be surprised. Ginungagap, the Gaping Maw, was the very edge of creation, a plane of existence created only as a backlash to the constant warring of the elemental forces of existence and non-existence. What lay beyond Ginungagap was the Endless Night, the Abyss which preceded creation itself. In a world such as this, a world with no sun, moon or stars, a world where the Abyss itself become sentient in the form of the Gods of the Abyss, perverse parodies of life, the fact that light died off quicker was the least disconcerting problem.
It was nothing when compared to the fact that the entire plane of Ginun was nothing more than a tapestry of death. Entire forests of rotten trees would line the horizon and starved half rotten beasts and other more horrific dead things shambling for the amusement of the Abyssal Gods, their only purpose being to mimic and end life.
It was nothing when compared to the fact that time itself was in constant ebb and flow within the world of Ginun, where a thousand years could mean a moment in the real world, or a day could mark the passing of a hundred generations back home. One could walk through the portal at the Mouth of Madness and take a passing glance within Ginun only to return to the real world and find that entire civilizations had flourished and ended in the time he had been gone. Time was subject to the whims of Creation and the Abyss in the world of Ginun, nothing more than a prize in the constant tug of war between the two elemental forces.
It was nothing when compared to the daemons that stalked Ginun, corporeal manifestations of the will of the Abyssal Gods, anathema to life itself, made with the sole purpose of bringing oblivion and sheperding the dead things of Ginun against all that was living. Nothing more than pieces in a sadistic game of chess the Abyssal Gods played with Creation.

Shagga shook her head. She had slowed her stride and was becoming contemplative again. It was a fault of her character. In Ginun one must act not waste time on questions of existential pursuits. That was the job of scholars and warriors in the real world, she was one of the Damned. She was here only to fight and die.
Shagga brushed one of the many strands of "hair" out of her eyes. Damn it, she would have to crop it again soon. It was one of the first the first things a Draka of the Legion learned. Because there was no sun in Ginun a Draka's crest of spikes would fall off and instead of it, numerous thin, long spikes would cover their scalps. It made the Draka able to catch the much lower light spectrums and heat their own blood. Draka or no, they were still reptiles and the bodies of Draka were the most adaptable. Now every Draka of the Legion had a full head of "hair", but to Shagga it still looked weird. She had preferred her crest not this long wavy reddish mane.

As she closed on the edge of the camp she entered the training grounds. Quickly dug pits that served as makeshift arenas for one-on-one duels peppered the area to the left and rows of warriors trained and practiced techniques they had mastered long ago to her right. Setting up the tents had been a formality and nothing more, it was not in the nature of a Draka to waste time resting while training could be done.

She had reached the edge and the sentries posted immediately turned to her.

"Strength and wisdom Vesha'alad, all is silent here" a brawny, stocky warrior she knew as Goromandy gave the report.

"At ease brother" Shagga said "And I have told you to call me by my name, we are all brothers and sisters in the Legion."

"Apologies Shagga, but we are all proud that one of our own has been found deserving of the title Vesha'alad, now there are two with titles in the Legion" the warrior said as he smiled through his helm.

"Living vicariously through myself and the Darraor, Goromandy?" Shagga said smirking.

"As always sister" chuckled the warrior

This felt right, the camaraderie, the good-natured jests, the feeling of belonging. It was not shame that bound the Legion together, as it had been before Spike had become Darraor. It had taken Spike over a thousand years but he had created a Legion bound by trust, loyalty, camaraderie and the knowledge that when a Draka of the Legion died there would be his brothers and sisters to mourn and remember him. It had become a family, more than just the shame, more than just finding death.

Shagga, still grinning, looked to her forearm. In clear Dragonscript the tattoo read "Vesha'alad", the Mountain Taker. She had been honored with this title over a century ago, declaring her the greatest artificer of the Draka. She was the best when it came to the creation of arquebuses, dragon-flame cannons and magical Draken Runes and she wore the title with pride. Draconic clans did not give titles easily and only one individual may have a title. Until her death, or one better took the title, she would be the only Vesha'alad.

She reached the tent outside of the camp. As Darraor of Legion, Spike had the same privilege as any leader of the Draka, to be at the forefront of his warriors, the first to be attacked and the first to attack the enemy.
Shagga did not enter it, instead she circled around it. A Draka through and through, Spike shared the same instinct of not wasting time resting when he could train his body or his mind. As she had expected she found the Darraor behind the tent training. Spike had taken one of the one ton dragon-flame cannons and was using the grapple at it's end to swing it in a one handed overhead chop, always stopping it just inches from hitting the ground. It was a simple, basic exercise that Draka would do to meditate and perfect the accuracy and strength of the slashing motion, though most had to use both hands on the cannon.
Shagga was sure Spike had been doing this for most of the day, even though the Legion's healer had told him to let the wounds he had gotten from his battle with Ganbataar Khan heal. Spike said nothing, an unusually taciturn individual, even for a Draka, Spike would speak with her when he was ready to speak his mind.

She looked at Spike, a fifteen foot tall behemoth of a Draka, his body, a mass of purple scales, steel-chord like muscle and scar tissue. Arms the size of elder tree trunks with biceps like boulders were covered in runescript tattoos telling tales of deeds and oaths left unspoken. His wide shoulders and back, deformed by strands of knotted muscle, a testament to millennia of never-ending training and battle. Almost every visible part of Spike's body was covered in a plethora of scars, and she knew the stories each scar told.
There, right under the nape of his neck was the now circle shaped mass of scar tissue where the horn of Vindal Gor, bull-headed champion of the Abyssal Gods, had run Spike through. There covering his chest and upper abdomen were the numberless scars made by the spears, arrows and swords of the ten thousand Cultists of the Bleeding Eye, as they had broken against Spike at the battle of Helbrass Pass. There on his lower abdomen was the long horizontal scar where Spike had sliced through his own stomach so that he could overcome the song of Maldivha Halla, Siren of the Depths. There, from under his chin down to his belly button lay the monstrously wide and long scar where C'thall, Avatar of the Abyss, had almost bisected Spike, even as he had stood defiant, alone against the abomination. Every scar was a grave marking to an enemy that Spike had faced and vanquished. Undead, daemons, champions and the very Avatar of the Abyss, they had all met their ends at the Darraor's hands.
Only his back was clean, free of scars, proof that in over two thousand years, Spike had never once retreated. The only thing thing that covered his back was a large runescript tattoo, from the nape of his neck to his lower back that read "Veshanesh", the Mountain Father.
A title only two other Draka had had since the very birth of the world. A title that was given only to the most unyielding of Draka, the Draka that would face the most insurmountable of odds, but always emerged victorious. "Veshanesh" marked the strongest and Spike had proven worthy of the title time and time again.

Shagga chuckled to herself again. Here he was, this young Draka, one hundred years younger than herself, who had become the strongest and most complete warrior of all, not by some quirk of fate, not by some incredible super-power or some blessing of an unknown god, but by sheer bull headed stubbornness and an outright refusal to ever fall and accept anything other than victory. This once weak, short, pudgy runt that all of the Legion had thought would die in his first fight was now the massive warlord of steel muscle, hard-won experience and unwavering iron will.

Spike stopped swinging the cannon, and put his hand through the mane of wild dark green "hair" that covered his scalp.

"Leering is impolite, you told me that"

Shagga awoke from her day-dream, realizing that she had been staring at Spike for almost a full minute.

"Apologies elder brother" Shagga said, suddenly feeling somewhat awkward and warm around the cheeks. "You are right of course".

Spike turned and Shagga's eye instinctively jumped to the one scar that she knew so well, but did not know the story of. The Darraor's upper lip was gone and his lower jaw was a steel brace with metal fangs. Spike's had had this disfigurement since the day he had joined the Legion but no one knew how he had got it. No one had bothered to ask out of disdain and now no one wanted to pry out of respect.
However, it only lasted a second, as she was drawn to the part she wanted to see, his eyes. Behind the steely, uncompromising gaze of a veteran, there was the small, almost invisible light of kindness and gentleness that he always had whenever he looked at any warrior of the Legion of the Damned. As fearsome as he was in battle, Spike had always treated the Legion like a family. He would care for them, he would bleed for them, he would die for them.
If his strength was why he led them, his kindness was why they wanted him to always lead. It was the reason, they all called him "elder brother". It was why she loved him.

"And yet, you are still doing it" Spike said slightly raising an eyebrow.

"Apologies, again" Shagga stuttered trying to quickly change the subject "Why have you summoned me, lord Darraor?"

"I need your council Shagga" Spike said as he nodded to the large boulder serving as a table to her left. Between the many swords and pieces of armor was a lone letter.
Shagga took and read it. It made almost no sense, she knew Canterlot was the capital of Equestria but who was this Twilight, who was this Cadence? One sentence however, gnawed at her mind. "The Abyss rots within Equestria". It sounded as if the monsters of Ginun had reached Equestria. But that was not possible, they would have had to overcome the draconic forces at the Mouth of Madness. Te most defensible fortress ever created, the Bastion, manned by almost two thousand Draka and over twenty thousand Dragons, Drakes and Wyverns, blocked the way of any force from the Mouth of Madness. It was unbreakable.

"My lord, how recent is this?" Shagga asked

"You know as well as I that it makes no difference. It came this morning but knowing how time is in Ginun, by the time we've read this, a millennia or a second could have passed in the real world. Do you share my suspicions?"

"That the forces of Ginun may have found a way to enter the real world? But that would be impossible."

"We have seen things in Ginun that many would classify as "impossible", sister. At this point, the word has lost it's meaning" said Spike stroking the metal brace that was his chin.

Shagga was getting anxious. She had known Spike for over two millennia and the Darraor had always been taciturn and reserved. This was the most she had ever seen him talk in a single conversation.

"Elder brother, I do not wish to pry but..., does this letter hold some special significance to you?"

"..."

"My lord Spike?"

"My home may be in danger" said Spike.

Information like a cannonball hit Shagga. Equestria was Spike's home? The entire Legion knew he had not been raised by the Draka.
Spike had had all the instincts and mentality of a Draka but no knowledge of dragonscript, Draken runes or Draka fighting style when he had first joined them. The Legion itself had taught Spike what it meant to be Draka, but no one had bothered to ask where he had come from. Personal matters that were left unshared were unshared for a reason.

Shagga drew a deep breath.
"Whatever you must do my lord, we will be by your side"

Spike looked to Shagga for a few seconds.
"I will not ask of the Legion to follo..."

"I am afraid you have no say in this matter lord Darraor, you may punish our insubordination after we have solved the issue" a gruff voice from their left said.
Goromandy and two other sentries stood to the far left.

"We did not mean to overhear, but we came to announce that a fairly large pack of Rot-Wolves are heading towards the camp. Our Spymaster thinks it may be the advance force of a larger army"

Spike looked to Shagga and the three sentires.
"Do all of you feel this way?"

Goromandy grinned"There is not not a single warrior in the Legion that would not follow you to the depths of the Abyss itself Darraor. And whether we die in Ginun or not, as long as we fight and die against the forces of the Abyss, our shame will be forgiven."

"Plus, there's no chance we are going to let you go alone to hog all the glory again" a sentry added with a bark of laughter.

A second-long look of gratitude took over Spike's eyes
"Thank you, all of you".
It immediately faded away to be replaced be the stern, unforgiving steel gaze of a veteran warlord
"Drink and eat while you can, for tonight we crush through the fools that dare attack us and we do not stop marching until we reach the Mouth of Madness"

"Strength and Wisdom, Blood and Doom" bellowed the three sentries and Shagga in unison, grinning like lunatics at the prospect of battle.

Yes, thought Shagga, this all felt right. It felt like family.

Author's note:
Here is a quick look at how Spike's face would look for reference. Note that the original image is not mine i just edited the original to look like what i needed

This how Shagga looks

Author's Note

Curse your human decency and support of my attempts at storytelling:twilightsheepish:
Because of you people I want to write more and more.

All jokes aside, thank you so much for your support, I've never met a kinder and more supportive community and the fact that you've so willingly accepted this grimdark loving metalhead in your community truly humbles me.

I somehow managed to finish the animation project I had and cram a couple of hours of writing.

As always, constructive criticism is encouraged, feel free to follow and leave a comment if you can.
Truly appreciate all of you.

See ya next chapter (some brutality is about to go down soon).

To Conquer

I run and I keep running, I've lost them, I know I have, but still I keep running. Branches break against my scales and the pouring rain has all but washed my body of the blood, but I still run. I have to. If I stop they may find me. I can't face them. I won't.

What did I do? WHAT IN TARTARUS DID I DO? I collapse grasping at my chest. My heart feels like it's going to burst and I can barely breathe. I know I've been running for a whole two days without stopping. The moment I stop it happens again. Like a knife through my skull I feel it. It's the taste. No matter what i can't get the taste out of my mouth. I scream and ram my jaws into the muddy ground trying to somehow stop the taste. It doesn't work. WHY CAN I STILL FEEL IT.

WHAT DID I DO?

NO.
I CAN'T REMEMBER, I WON'T, I REFUSE.

So why am i running if I can't remember, why am I so afraid to face Twilight and the others? No. No. No. No.
I have to remember, I need to. I know why I'm running, I'm just not allowing my mind to remind me of it. I roll myself on my back. The fat drops of rain help me focus, but my heart still won't stop drumming. It should have calmed down by now.
I close my eyes.
I remember the forest, the field trip. It is crystal clear up to that point but then it starts becoming foggy. I know what happened after, I just won't let myself think of it. Why? What did I do? Why is this taste still in my mouth?

That's it. The taste. I have to focus on the taste. Focus, focus Spike DAMN YOU, FOCUS.

The taste. The taste. It tastes like blood. It tastes like...pony...blood.

With a drum of insect wings it all comes back. The attack. The stabs, the hits. The oddly shaped things with wings like insects. Then the anger. The desire to hurt, to kill, to butcher.
Then...her. Sweetie Belle in front of me. She is...crying. Yelling something at me. Then she is...beneath my claws, with her throat torn open.

Her throat...torn open. The taste of blood in my mouth. I remember...when I bit Sweetie...Belle's...throat off.

I scream. I scream but this time i don't stop.
Get the taste out.
I scream until the flesh between my jaws rips open.
Get the taste out.
I begin clawing and punching at my jaws.
Get the taste out.
I rip through the meat of my mouth and shatter the bone of my lower jaw.
GET THE TASTE OUT.
WHY? WHY CAN'T I GET THE TASTE OF SWEETIE BELLE'S BLOOD OUT OF MY MOUTH?

Spike startles awake in his tent.
He looks around. No forest. No rain. Just the tent and the eternal mocking wind of Ginungagap.
He catches his reflection in the polished blade of the sword on his lap. A purple scaled face with no flesh along it's mouth and a slab of fanged steel for a lower jaw glares a death's head grin at him.
Within the reflection, his shame glares back at him.
Spike shakes his head and closes his eyes. Now is not the time to dream.
He begins breathing deeply and with regularity. Self-discipline, the main tenant of Draka war-code. A warrior could be strong or fast but without the discipline to stand tall with unwavering determination, against all obstacles, a warrior was nothing.
Spike had permitted himself to fall out of discipline once, and he had been paying the price for that failure for the last two thousand years.
Never again. Never lack discipline. Never fall out of control.

Celestia stood strong and proud within the protective bubble. Her eyes still shone with the elegance and power that a Goddess of the Sun and Princess of Equestria should always have. Dressed in the regal white of of her silken gown, her arms crossed before her chest, Celestia stood proud. But she was tired.
Her sight wandered again to her surroundings. A grand expanse of stone is all that greets her. The endless Underways of the Diamond Dogs had been the best way to hide the monstrous armies of Ginun and now whatever Diamond Dogs had been here, had become nothing more than meat for the daemons and undead that awaited within the massive interconnecting caves beneath the mountains.

Her eyes fell on the morbidly obese abomination sitting upon an improvised throne of slaves and Diamond Dog carcasses before her. Folds of rotting, putrid flesh collapsed in on each other, fat green flies hovering over him like a halo. Nerg'Cathal the Decayed stood atop his gruesome throne, slaves and carcasses groaning under his almost two ton mass.

Noticing Celestia regarding him, Nerg'Cathal opens his mouth to a smile of yellow rotting teeth. Even as he speaks to her, his cataract filled eyes keep leering at the shapely curves of Celestia's hips and breast.

"Oh, if only looks could kill, my dear" he says with a rumbling, phlegm filled voice. "But sooner or later, this protective enchantment that you have erected around you and your precious sister will fall, and both of you will have the great fortune of becoming part of my harem of wives"

Celestia winced and felt Luna shiver to her right. As much as she wanted to prove the monster wrong, there was truth in his words.
They had come overconfident and now both herself and Luna were paying the price for her foolishness. They had both fallen into this elaborate trap and the only thing that separated them from this creature was the protective enchantments she had woven around herself and Luna. Now they were both trapped within their own protective circle, unable to leave, for if they were to release the protective charms even for a moment, their entire magical power would be sucked out but the daemonic cultists circling the encampment.
It had been only half a day but the protective shell was slowly but surely weakening. In a few days it would crack open and they would have to face whatever came next.

Nerg'Cathal's laughter shook his obese frame and sent swarms of flies buzzing nervously around him.

"Immortality has it's perks Celestia, and I can wait as long as it takes"

Celestia smirked "Are you sure your leader would appreciate you wasting time like this?"

Nerg'Cathal's smile fell.
"And what makes you think I am being led by someone little pony?"

It was Luna's turn to retort
"Oh please, as if someone as incompetent as you could create such an exceptional trap for us"

In a blink of an eye, with a speed out of place with his massive body, Nerg'Cathal charged the enchanted shell. The magic of the two Goddesses held, however they were both forced to their knees by the strain of holding the enchantment under the storm of blows from all six arms of the greater daemon.

"DO NOT THINK TO INSULT ME LITTLE CUB." Nerg'Cathal roared "I WAS ALREADY ANCIENT WHEN YOU WERE BUT A GLINT IN YOUR FATHER'S EYES. WITH THE POWER I HAVE NOW I COULD OVERPOWER GANBATAAR GHIULA KHANN HIMSELF.
I HAVE NO SUPERIOR.
I AM NERG'CATHAL".

After a few seconds of venting, regaining a modicum of composure, the greater daemon stopped himself and returned to is jovial, smiling self.

"Oh, there you go my dear, trying to goad me into attacking you. But do not worry, in time you will learn to love me, as all my wives have"
"Unfortunately though, i must cut our small argument short. I have business to attend to"

Still chuckling, Nerg'Cathal left, the two alicorn princesses still reeling from the mental strain of holding the enchantments, but otherwise unharmed.

Luna sighed.
"Are you sure it was wise to goad him so, dear sister?"

"I'm sorry Luna, but i had to test my theory. Something has changed"

"What do you mean?" Luna asked lifting herself back up and offering her hand to Celestia.

Celestia smiled sadly, taking her sister's hand
"Since Spike had left on his self imposed exile over one year ago, I have kept in touch with my contacts at DrakenHall, the dragon capital. Specifically I have called upon favors from an ancient friend, Elder dragon Bal'Valar the Stormfang, Archdrake of DrakenHall and one of the strongest magic users in existence, second only to the Dragon Empress herself."

Luna lifted an eyebrow.

"What?" Celestia asked.

"You sound old when you talk like that."

Celestia snickered. Even in a situation like this, Luna would still try to make her feel at ease.
"Ignoring my age, and I would thank you very much if you would do so, I have gained a lot of information from him regarding Ginungagap and it's daemonic denizens."

"Why the sudden interest in Ginun?"

"I know that it is where Spike has gone after...the incident one year ago. Even though it breaks my heart to know that he is most likely dead, I wanted to know more about where he had gone." Celestia stopped for a few second her smile fading and her eyes saddening.

"I was a fool to believe that we could simply nurture his Draka nature out of him Luna. I hoped that living with Twilight would give him a life free of the violence intrinsic to the life of a Draka. But instead all we did was repress his nature until instincts took over. Now he..."
Her lips started quivering
"Poor little child"

Luna put her hand on Celestia's shoulder, allowing her a few moments to regain composure.
"I know sister, but remember what he did. As rulers of Equestria we have to take the hard decisions, you told me so yourself. He was a threat to our subjects. It was hard to resist finding him I know, however, as bad as this may sound, it is better this way. At least in his own warped sense of Draka pride he redeemed himself."

For a second Celestia's eyes flashed with anger, but it quickly subsided. Luna had the fault of saying the hard truth too directly but she knew it came from a place of kindness. Luna may not have known Spike as well as herself or Twilight and her friends, but she still felt the loss of a valued companion.

"You are right Luna" Celestia said straightening herself out and wiping away at her eyes.
"As I was saying, my studies regarding that accursed place have shown me that Ginun is ruled primarily by ten warlords calling themselves the Ten Masters. They are all incredibly strong, chosen champions of the Abyssal Gods. The one who is holding us prisoners is the fifth strongest Master, or at least, he was the fifth strongest"

"What do you mean?"

"Archdrake Bal'Valar has told me numerous times that the easiest and most effective way to fight against the Masters of Ginun is to use spells tapping into the wind of Creation, Kashala. The holy nature of this magic is anathema to these entities made by the Abyss.
This is why i was so foolishly confident Luna. I am one of the only seven creatures that can tap into Kashala and use holy magic.
However, you saw for yourself. He attacked the circle with almost no injuries to himself. Normally, even touching this sort of holy magic should have incinerated him but it barely singed his flesh. Somehow they have gotten stronger."

"Well, at the very least we have warned Twilight and she will be able to evacuate Ponyville and Canterlot. Our people will be safe, sister."

"I hope you are right Luna. When I sent the message I felt the daemons' magic grow stronger, trying to stop me. I hope it reached my student. If not, then i have truly failed".

Luna opened her mouth to say something but immediately closed it.
There was nothing more to say. The entire world was in great danger. Now, with the draconic forces at the Mouth of Madness completely decimated, an enormous host of daemons and undead had invaded from Ginun and they would cover the world in death, country by country.
Even should the other countries ally against the daemonic army, Luna doubted it would make a difference.
The draconic forces at the Mouth of Madness had always been the greatest and strongest warriors and even they had fallen. What chance did anyone else stand? Luna knew what would happen. Griffons, Dragons, Minotaurs, every country would strengthen their own defenses only to fall one after another. And Equestria would be first.

Frustration and anger gave way to a cold rage and Luna directed it at the charcoal black figure chained to a block of solid granite to the far left of the protective circle.

"Are you happy, Chrysalis? Was it all you hoped for when you chose to help the daemons of Ginun? Now where do you stand? Broken and shattered, your changeling children, nothing more than brain-dead automata to serve the daemons as cannon fodder.
You have caused the fall of all, including your own, "Queen" of the Changelings".

There came no answer. As always, Chrysalis sat next to the stone, hands crossed around her knees, insect-like wings broken and eyes empty.
As always, all she did now was lament the loss of her own children.

Nerg'Cathal approached the great tent that was used as a command center for this invasion. His sixteen foot tall, almost two ton mass sat upon a black iron palenquin held by twenty quivering, lash marked Diamond Dog slaves. He could have walked, he knew that. For all his weight he was incredibly fast and dexterous but he enjoyed feeling the slaves suffer.
He looked around, brimming with barely restrained joy. An enormous cave, almost three miles in diameter was filled with nothing but legion upon legion of lesser daemons, and this was just the start. Half a million undead shuffled through the other caves and over a million changelings buzzed in other more caves, magically lobotomized to do the bidding of the Abyss.

Nerg'Cathal licked his putrescent lips and laughed at the sheer brilliance of the betrayal they had done to poor little Chrysalis. Oh, how she had cried when they had stolen the minds of all her children, how sweet her despair had tasted. A shame about the wings though. Nerg'Cathal would have loved to add her as one of his wives but he never did like changeling wings.

He reached the great tent and stepped off the palenquin. The time to attack was fast approaching and the slaughter would be glorious. Before reaching for the tent flap, he stopped, his smile fading.
"SLAVE" he yelled to one of the Diamond Dog slaves, a pitiful creature covered head to toe in lash marks, burns and bruises.
"AM I SUPPOSED TO OPEN MY OWN WAY? HAVE I NOT EARNED SOME RESPECT FROM YOU VERMIN?"

The poor creature yelped, stammering on his own words.
"N..No...master...I...I...I..."

Nerg'Cathal laughed at the terror of the slave and reached with all six massive hands and lifting the terrified Diamond Dog off his feet.
"Oh, do not fear little one, we all make mistakes"

The slave raised gratitude filled eyes to the greater daemon, only to scream as Nerg'Cathal threw up a sickly green torrent of bile and acid on the Diamond Dog. His screams cut short as the fluids reduced him to a puddle of red and green gristle sliding through Nerg'Cathals many arms.
"A mistake that you will never repeat" he said savoring the horror etched on the faces of the other slaves.

As if nothing had happened, the daemon turned and stepped into the stygian darkness of the tent.

"You are late" a deep, guttural voice spoke

"As always, if i may add" another, musical and feminine continued

"Ah, but my dear companions, is it not customary for the best to arrive late?" bellowed Nerg'Cathal jovially opening all six arms as if greeting old friends.

"Bah, weaklings always claim they are the best" the guttural voice said again.

"Weakling you say?" Nerg'Cathal's eyes narrowed dangerously to regard the owner of the voice. A monstruously large, almost twenty five foot tall corrupted and mutated troll, Jalaman Hun hunched, his tusked and horned head reaching the roof of the tent.
Jalaman Hun turned his body towards Nerg'Cathal, his impossibly muscled torso covered in twitching eyes and continuously whispering mouths.
"Yes, weakling, you forget I was third strongest of the Ten Masters, while you were only fifth. Even after the power we have all been gifted, you are still beneath me."

Nerg'Cathal's hand inched towards one of the three rusted great axes hidden behind the blubber of his massive back, but before things could go any further, the musical feminine voice interjected.

"Have we nothing more productive to do than attempt to measure the length and girth of our metaphorical privates?"

Instantly a wide smile split the mouth of Nerg'Cathal again.
"But of course you are right Wilhelmina, there are plans to be made"

Wilhelmina Aszh'Vala huffed, her long slender lower snake body quivering in disgust as she regarded the obese form of Nerg'Cathal. Formerly sixth strongest of the Ten Masters, the daemonic siren was barely six feet tall, slender with delicate, superb features and cut a shapely figure. Her humanoid body stood elegantly atop a small throne fashioned by the coils of her enormously long snake lower body.
She looked as delicate as porcelain, however Nerg'Cathal knew better than to attempt anything more than leer at her. The White Widow of the Dead Sea, she had been named, her song had harnessed the undying loyalty of thousands of lust maddened male daemons.
Wilhelmina was one of the most dangerously inteligent and capricious greater daemons of Ginun.

"Bah, the Hun of the Abyssal Trolls doesn't need to prove anything to a decayed weakling" Jalaman Hun said crossing his arms, the many moutha on his torso echoing his statement in whispered tones.

Before Nerg'Cathal could say anything, a thin, raspy voice interjected.

"Are you all quite finished?"

Kilmaaiil the Half Born limped out of the shadows, his tiny emaciated form drawing the attention of the other Masters.
A creature barely four feet tall, hump backed and deformed, covered by mud and dirt crusted rags, Kilmaiil had been nothing, a half born, weaker than an undead foot soldier, and embarrassment to any self respecting daemon, but now, here he stood, as Prophet of the Abyss.

By all rights this creature should have died eons ago but, by cruel irony, he had been chosen by the Abyssal Gods to be the bearer of their commands and their living conduit to the world of creation.

"Through the power of the Abyssal Gods i have granted you all strength so that each of you would rival and even surpass the great Ganbataar Ghiula Khan, Favoured of the Gods. As long as i speak for the Abyss, you will not waste these gifts bickering like rot-wolves over a slab of meat." Kilmaaiil said with finality.

Nerg'Cathal's hand strangled the haft of the rusted ax at his back, shards of corroded metal snapping between his fingers. He noticed Jalaman Hun and Wilhelmina visibly tense and knew he was not the only one. They all despised the little insect almost as much as they despised each other, but the thing had given them power, the thing had helped them reach the world beyond Ginungagap.

As much as he despised Kilmaaiil for daring to order him, Nerg'Cathal could not deny the half born's brilliance. It was he who had created the trap to capture the two alicorn princesses just as it was he who had gained the trust and alliance of Chrysalis only to subsequently betray her and take her forces as their own.

For a moment Nerg'Cathal allowed himself to remember that beautiful battle. The forces of Ginun attacking from the Mouth of Madness, even as almost two million changelings had flanked the great Bastion fortress from behind. It had been a slaughter on both sides, untold thousands of daemons and millions of undead and changelings having died at the hands of over twenty two thousand of the strongest Dragons, Draka, Wyverns and Drakes, but in the end, the draconic forces had been killed to the very last one.
Now this world was theirs to kill, it's strongest warriors and greatest heroes already dead, it's creatures shivering in their castles and in the false safety of their countries.
It would be a bloodbath and it would be glorious.
The Abyssal Gods would feast.

The door to Twilight's crystal castle opened to make way for a tall orange furred earth pony dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and a pink one with fluffy hair dressed in an ostentatious mish-mash of brightly colored clothes. In their hands they had the hooves of Princess Twilight Sparkle, dragging her through the short grass.

"Girls, I told you, I'm okay" Twilight tried protesting again "I just have a lot of uhh... Princess stuff to do and that's why I can't come to the picnic."

"Oh, no ya don't sugarcube. There's no way we're leavin' ya to bury your head in them books again. You haven't been out of that darned castle in almost two weeks now and we'll make ya get some fresh air whether ya like it or not." Applejack said.

"Yeah silly" Pinkie Pie added "You know what they say, all work and no play makes Twilight a dull alicorn Princess"

"Nobody ever says that. Ok. Ok. Put me down I'll walk"

"I promise I won't teleport" Twilight added seeing Applejack's raised eyebrow.

"Since when is it the job of friends to pull me through grass" Twilight says as she lifted herself up and began cleaning her pants and shirt.

"Duh, article five point seven of the Friendship Contract" Pinkie said in her usual bubbly self causing Twilight to stop for a second.

"What in the hay are ya talkin' about Pink..." Applejack begins only to stop dumbfounded as she stares at a large, official looking document in Pinkie's hands.

"Ummm... Twi?"

"I...I've honestly stopped trying to figure Pinkie out a long time ago" said Twilight, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

Applejack smiled too and put both hands on Twilight's shoulders.
"Listen sugarcube, now ah know ya miss Spike an awful lot, and believe me, we all do. But you've barely left the castle for the past year and it's not healthy. You've always been the most level headed one of us, we don't wanna worry about ya"

Twilight pulled both Apllejack and Pinkie in a hug.
"Thank you, girls. You're the best"

"We're your friends, it's our job to be the best" Pinkie said rifling through the odd document "See, it says so here".

Fluttershy, Rarity, Appleboom and Sweetie Belle stood on the large cloth that lay on the grass and looked to the sky. Another rainbow line appeared where Rainbow Dash flew, holding a spread armed laughing Scootaloo by the midsection.

"Umm...souldn't Rainbow be a bit more careful, I mean umm... she has a passenger in her hands" Fluttershy said meekly.

"Relax darling, Rainbow Dash is not going to endanger Scotaloo, you know how much she cares about her." Rarity said, handing Sweetie Belle a dandelion sandwich.

"Yeah, I'm just being a worry wart, I mean she did adopt Scotaloo. She is a surprisingly good parent, umm... maybe a bit too impulsive, but good nonetheless"

"Exactly, more tea?" Rarity said handing Fluttershy a cup of Earl Grey.

"Oh, thank..." Fluttershy started, but was interrupted by a strong gust of dust filled wind created by the two flying pegasi.

"Oh honestly, I've just made this suit, and there she goes covering it in dust, right in the middle of us complimenting her"

"Ah don't understand why ya had to dress all snazzy like that for a picnic" Applebloom asked quizzically.

"Oh, little filly, you'll learn that it never hurts to look both fabulous and professional no matter where you are. Plus this was made to be an informal attire"

"R...Really?" Applebloom raised an eyebrow at Rarity's two piece white suit complete white a small teal necktie. If this was informal, she didn't want to see Rarity's version of formal. She preferred her own, a pair of three quarter jeans and a tank top. Much more practical and comfy.

"Honestly, what do they teach you at school? Presentation is everything. Maybe i should have a word with Twilight. Seeing a well dressed princess would give more children the right idea"

"Yeah Rarity, except Twilight likes to wear casual too" Sweetie Belle added, still looking at Rainbow Dash carrying Scotaloo and waiting for her turn to be flown.

"Umm... is Twilight going to come this time?" asked Fluttershy.

"If there's anypony who can get her out of that cold old castle it's mah sister"

"Indeed darling, Applejack will convince her to join us, you know how persuasive she is"

"Rarity?" Sweetie Belle called still looking at the sky.

"Yes Sweetie?"

"Did the weather ponies schedule rain for today?"

"Of course not dear, Rainbow Dash is captain of the weather ponies and she promised us it would be a bright and sunny day"

"Oddly bright, it's like the sun has barely moved from this morning" added Fluttershy, starting to take off the fluffy turtleneck she wore.
It had gotten too hot for a sweater.

"Hmm... maybe Princess Celestia is giving us longer day?"

"Rarity?" Sweetie Belle called again
"If there won't be rain than what's with those clouds"

"Clouds?" Rarity asked and looked to the horizon. It was edged with a panorama of ebon dark foreboding clouds that looked as though they were spreading towards Ponyville.
"Oh gracious, that looks like a storm, maybe we should talk to Rainbow"

"Umm...do you girls hear that?" Fluttershy asked cupping a hand to one of her ears.

"What? Ah don't hear anythin'"

"It sounds like...buzzing" the yellow furred mare insisted.

"You're right" Rarity said, still staring at the clouds. It almost looked like a massive portion of the clouds had broken apart from the black horizon and was speeding towards them.

"It almost sounds...like...insect wings."

Author's note extra:
Got some more pictures for you, these are not mine they are from a great DeviantArt artist named ss2sonic. Show this great guy some love
These pictures are the reason i used the Anthro tag for the story as i wanted the ponies to be anthropomorphized but still be recognizable as the ponies we love.
These pics show exactly what i had in mind.

Author's Note

Hello again lads and lasses.

I know it's been almost a week since my last update but I've been getting a lost of projects lately and, well, gotta pay that rent:derpytongue2:

Anyway, next chapter coming soon, the prelude to raw brutality is about to go down.
As always, drop a comment if you can, thumbs up or follow if you enjoy, any and all input and criticism is appreciated.

See ya next chapter.

To Butcher

I see him. I see him and I feel his horror.

Poor child.

Poor Spike.

My heart fills with warmth as I see him accepted and loved by the ponies of Ponyville
My soul fills with pride as I see him grow and mature into a strong and gentle-hearted Draka
My mind fills with laughter as I see the happy children swarm the gentle giant that will accompany them into the Everfree Forest
My eyes fill with joy as I see his kindness with the children and the smile on Cheerilee’s face.

My heart fills with horror as I see spears and swords pierce him as Spike sets himself between the children and the changelings that attack them.
My souls fills with dread as I see Spike lose himself in the insanity of battle, as he tears and rips through the changelings.
My mind fills with screams as I see him ripping through Sweetie Belle’s throat, lost in madness.
My eyes fill with tears as I see him run for days on end, as I see him rip through his own face in despair, as I hear his cries and feel his sorrow.

Poor child.

Poor Spike.

Celestia startled awake trying her best to draw breath. Every gasp felt like a knife in her lungs, as if she had been submerged under water and had just managed to break through.

Why the memory?
The only time she had had that vision had been the days following Spike’s self imposed exile and his fleeing from Equestria. Why did she have the vision again at such a time and place?

Before trying to deduce a reason, Celestia’s heart skipped a beat. Wait, she only had visions when she was asleep, that’s how it had always been. She must have fainted due to the strain of holding the protective enchantments.
Celestia snapped upwards hoping to find Luna still holding the enchantments. Instead, she found herself stopped short of drawing to her full height by a series of shackles and interlocking chains, tied to her neck, hands and feet.

“Too little too late, my dear” a rumbling, phlegmy voice said filled with malicious amusement.

Celestia looked to the, all too familiar, obese form of Nerg’Cathal.
Forced to stoop slightly due to the shackles, Celestia put as much defiance in her gaze and voice as she could. She would not offer the putrescent abomination the satisfaction of seeing her frightened.

“Where is Luna?”

“Such sibling love” Nerg’Cathal chuckled.
“Calm yourself beloved, she is behind you”

Celestia looked behind her and exhaled in relief. Luna was on the stone floor, unconscious and restrained by shackles identical to the ones she had found herself in. But she was unharmed, that was all that mattered.

“I have to admit she was impressive, your little sister. She actually managed to hold the protective barrier for an entire two hours by herself after you had fainted, but in the end, it was nothing more than an exercise in futility”. Nerg’Cathal said lifting his massive bulk from his grisly throne.

“At the very least we can now speak without that meddlesome barrier in the way”.

Celestia snapped her eyes back to Nerg’Cathal and began a mental incantation to draw the magical wind of creation, Kashala, within her body. If the fat bastard thought he would put his rotten hands on her or her sister, he was sorely mistake…

The Princess of the Sun screamed as she was shocked to her knees by a surge of dark energy. Her neck, hands and feet felt as though they were circled by bands of molten metal and her entire body convulsed from the shock.

“My, My, such passion and determination” Nerg’Cathal said walking towards Celestia and Luna.

“Yes, Yes, you will do nicely indeed, you truly are deserving of becoming one of my wives. Yet I would greatly advise against attempting to use magic again my dear. The shackles you and your sister are wearing are Void Stone and will corrupt any magic you try to draw within yourself and tear you apart with your own power”.
“That is something I doubt either of us would want to happen”.

Celestia stood up and resigned herself to glare at the monster with as much vitriol as she could muster.

“I would sooner die than let you touch me or my sister”.

Nerg’Cathal’s grin fell and his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Be careful what you wish for Princess, that will happen by itself when I tire of you”.
Immediately his grin reappeared.
“Bah but let us not fight again my dear, you see, I have decided to offer you and your sister a gift before I make you mine”.

“Nothing you have interests me, monster” Celestia said defiantly.

“Oh but I believe this will, my beloved, for you see, what I offer you is the gift of attendance. To see your precious Ponyville and Canterlot burn”.

As Celestia’s eyes widened with horror, Nerg’Cathal’s smile grew to a fanged manic grin.

“Oh yes Celestia, I will force you and your sister to watch as I slaughter your subjects and drown your home in blood. Then, I shall make you mine”.

The corrupted ogre screamed as his two ton bulk collapsed in on itself and his prodigious belly burst in a welter of blood and intestines.The massive curved blade that had bisected him had barely ended it’s upward trajectory only to reverse it’s edge and fall in a savage downward chop, splitting the iron tower shield of another. The shield ogre died, his head and chest split, before the bisected one had hit the floor.

Fewer than a dozen corrupted and mutated ogres of Ginun stood in shock, staring at the blood soaked, corpse littered expanse that had once been the one thousand strong Steel Skull Ogre Battalion. In the middle of the carnage stood a single purple scaled and green maned behemoth that had carved almost a thousand veteran Abyss Ogres into grime and bloody pulp.

One of the last remaining ogres let loose a bellow of frustration, lifted his crude granite headed cudgel for a massive two handed overhead blow, and charged ignoring the warnings of his companions. His defiant bellow turned to a terrified squeal as the warrior let loose a vicious punch that tore the six hundred pound granite head of the cudgel off it’s iron haft. Before the ogre could do anything more, the edge of the curved blade sliced through it’s throat like a hot knife through butter.

Before the dead ogre had even hit the ground, the warrior simply returned his blade into it’s sheath and remained in a relaxed stance as if daring the last few ogres to attack him.

Burtus Steel-Skull, warchief of the Steel Skull Battalion, felt his one good eye begin to twitch. How could one single warrior kill almost a thousand veteran ogres. It was ludicrous. The warrior was unscathed, hell, he wasn’t even breathing hard.

Burtus’s eyes rose to regard the line of almost four hundred warriors of the Legion of the Damned that stood one mile behind the lone warrior. Damn it all, his master, Jalaman Hun, would have his skull for a chamber pot for this.

“You must be the leader of the Legion of the Damned” bellowed Burtus trying to sound as threatening as possible, a nigh impossible task as his voice was racked by fear and shudders.

”Yes, all of Ginun has heard of you, Spoke or Spark or something right? I’m not sure, all Draka names sound the same to me” he yelled, bursting in a bout of laughter.
None of the other ogres joined in.

Ignoring the others he yelled again
“Why don’t you attack me little Draka, or are you afraid to test the might of Burtus Steel-Skull?”

Spike gave no answer he simply stood silent.

“Bahaha, look at you little Draka, all of Ginun whispers your name in fear but all you do is stand there” continued to goad Burtus hoping that his stalling for time would give him a plan to escape. “Do you know of me? I am Burtus Steel-Skull, warchief to the Steel Skull Battalion, killer of the Dead Duke of Vilkat Hall, slayer of the Ten Wolf Lords of the Decayed Woods, I spit on you and yours you cowardly little shi…”

“ENOUGH”

Burtus Steel-Skull lost control, he lost control of everything from his composure to his bowels. For a second everything had changed. For a second what he had seen before him had not been a single warrior with a sheathed sword, but a force of nature as ancient and unavoidable as death itself. Burtus had seen in Spike’s eyes and heard in that one word the weight of two millennia of unending battle and the sheer weight of Spike’s determination. There had been no magic in the word, just a sheer command that spoke on an instinctual level. Burtus knew that to disobey was to invite oblivion.

The clank of metal and stink of feces from all around him told Burtus that the rest of his warriors were as petrified as himself. He did not dare move a muscle.

“Do not be conceited, runt” came Spike’s deep voice “I am merely trying my best to extend this farce of a battle you offer me”.

“Y…Yo…You…d-dare” tried Burtus, unable to articulate due to his trembling mouth. The rest of what he had wanted to say was muted by the deep boom of a warhorn.

Spike turned his head towards his warriors and the sounding horn

“The time for myself to indulge has passed” he said and, with a fatalistic turn of the head, regarded Burtus and his terrified ogres.

“Burn”.

A massive gout of white and pale green flame reduced six ogres to ashes. Before the flame had barely begun dispersing, two more ogres died, their skulls shattering in Spike’s gauntleted hands.

“A…Attack” Burtus yelled.

Three ogres started lifting their weapons only for two to be sliced in separate halves by a single stroke from Spike’s blade, before they even had time to scream. The third had his head cracked to bony splinters by a savage headbutt.

Burtus bellowed and charged Spike, his enormous bardische great ax sketching deadly windmills in the air and lifting dust with their force. Spike caught the edge of the ax in his outstretched fingers in a frightening display of precision and strength. The ogre's attempts to pull it were futile, the ax caught as if in a vice, then it ended. A single punch caved in Burtus’s chest plate and solar plexus turning his heart and lungs into mush.

Spike turned and started walking towards his warriors as the ogre’s massive body fell to the ground. There was no more time to waste. He had indulged himself with battle, but now the horn had sounded signaling Shagga’s success.
As he reached his warrior’s he was greeted by cheers. The Legion stood in a perfect disciplined line but their faces beamed with pride.

“Was that a good appetizer Darraor?” said one.

“Aye, elder brother, are you ready for the main course?” laughed another.

A sense of gratitude filled Spike. The Legion had allowed Spike to have this fight all to himself without interfering and he appreciated it. A Draka sought battle instinctively and the stronger a Draka became the more battle became a “need” rather than a “want”. Spike was strong, as strong as his entire Legion put together and they all knew that.
For Spike, battle had become the only way to truly feel alive and his beloved Legion cared for him enough that they were willing to sometimes postpone a chance for glorious death if only to see Spike content.

There was no room for overt displays of sentimentalisms in the Legion, so Spike merely put is massive hand on the shoulder of one of his Legionnaires.

“Aye brothers and sisters, thank you for allowing me to satiate myself”.

“Ahaha” Goromandy laughed “You should thank the fools who actually thought they could attack the Legion, elder brother, on my pride I swear ogres seem to get stupider every time we face them”.

Raucous laughter echoed behind Spike as he walked towards the massive portal looming before him, where Shagga awaited. The great portal, the connecting point between Ginun and the Mouth of Madness, an anomaly of existence, where the wild and unstable winds of magic, the aethyr tore and stretched time itself.
Two grand pillars carved with leering daemonic faces that seemed to move when the eye did not look directly on them, provided boundaries to what looked like a coruscating vortex of every color imaginable.

Shagga, looking completely exhausted, rose from her cross legged position and presented Spike with a square slab of granite upon which she had inscribed and chanted an entirely new Draken Rune. Pinned to the rune with an iron bolt was the letter from Princess Celestia, the catalyst that completed the Draken Rune.
“My apologies, Darraor, I did not wish to make you wait so long but this new Rune was incredibly complica…”

Her words were cut off as Spike shook his head.

“No apologies, Shagga, you have done exceptional as always”

Shagga felt her face warm at the sudden and rare praise and fought to regain her calm.

“Th-thank you Darraor”.

They both started walking towards the swirling vortex as Spike began unbuckling the leather straps of his gauntlets and chest armor.

“This rune will allow you to better focus the winds of magic within the portal towards the link that binds you to the pony Princess. Once that happens, the portal will, for a brief time at the very least, stop dilating time and will provide a window of opportunity where it will be connected to a time area near to that when the Princess had sent you the letter”.

Spike regarded Shagga

“You have outdone yourself Shagga, you truly are deserving of the title of Vesha’alad”

Two praises in one day? Shagga was sure her face was as red as her hair

“Y-You honor me, Darraor, but the problem still remains, the window of opportunity will be too small for any of us to clear the length of the portal”

Spike finished taking of his gauntlets and breastplate and showed Shagga the palms of his hands. Her eyes widened as she recognized the runes Spike had painted on his palms. “Shela” and “Rudra” were inscribed and she recognized them instantly. These runes allowed one to physically grab hold of the winds of magic and bend them to his will. These were runes that rune crafters used to empower the runes they created but Spike obviously had a different idea, an insane idea.

“You don’t mean to actually force the winds of magic open once the link is created, do you?”

“Yes”.

“Elder brother, that is insanity, the winds of magic will tear your body to ribbons”.

Spike put one hand on her red maned head while he took the rune inscribed slab of granite with the other.

“Ready the Legion, Shagga, I will hold the portal open as they pass through”.

With that, he started towards the portal again.

Shagga began the walk back towards the assembled warriors, her mind racing. She was worried. No one had ever been able to tame the wild magic of the portal and she worried that Spike would be obliterated by those same powers.
Then again, she thought, begging to relax, this was not just someone, this was Spike. The man who had defeated the Avatar of the Abyss by himself, the man who had killed Ganbataar Ghiula and his ten elite, the man who had done the impossible time and time again.
Her worry soon turned to purpose and calm. No, Spike would succeed, as he always had. Once Spike said something, it was as sure as stone that it would happen.

Spike stood before the vortex and chanted the Litany of Release. With every syllable the powers within the rune inscribed granite and the letter pinned to it were unsealed and soon they burned with a strong ivory aura of power. Spike threw it into the vortex and smashed his palms together, filling the runes on his palms with energy.

The moment the granite slab hit the vortex, it was disintegrated by the wild magic, leaving only a swirling mist of power that was absorbed into the multi colored portal. With a twinge of nostalgia, Spike felt the familiarity.
The feel, the scent, the sound. It all felt like “home”. The link had been made.

Spike drew both arms back and rammed his hands into the vortex, even as the first wave of pain hit him.

Bal'Valar the Stormfang, Archdrake of DrakenHall, sighed as he set another funeral pyre aflame with a snap of his claws. He was an ancient dragon and he had seen many a horrific sights but his heart broke at the sight of so many of his race dead.

He looked towards the charred and cracked remains of the Bastion fortress and Mouth of Madness that stood a mile beyond it.

Over twenty thousand of the strongest Dragons, Drakes and Draka had guarded this fortress, always ready to repel the forces of Ginun, and now they were all gone. His eyes rose to see dragons and wyverns flying above and stomping the ground, searching through debris, changeling, daemon and undead carcasses, for more dead draconians to bring to the funeral pyres. Hey had died protecting the world. It was the least he could do to offer them a proper funeral.

Under the orders of his consort, the venerable Dragon Matriarch, he had come with an army of ten thousand draconians to assess the damage and try to organize a proper defense in case of further invasions from the Mouth of Madness. He knew he was woefully unprepared, even with his own exceptional magical prowess added to the defense, but they had to do it. Armies of Ginun had already invaded, they could not allow more to come.

The unmistakable sound of steps behind him awoke Bel’Valar from his introspection. The scent told him enough. He turned slowly and lowered his gigantic dragon body into a bow.

“As always, you are too kind to this old soul, young Bel” a voice spoke directly in his mind.

Bel’Valar rose back on all four limbs.

“Mother Renrin, I have not been “young Bel” in over ten thousand years” he said, his long snout splitting into a smile.

“Bah, I have been your wet nurse since you were born young Bel, and to me, you will always be that playful little geko, setting his own tail aflame”.

Bel’Valar laughed, the sound booming from his massive frame and regarded the Kirin that had taken care of him when he had been just a fledgeling.

Like all Kirin she was as big as a wyvern, her draconic scaled body closer to that of a horse rather than a dragon. Kirin had always been more spiritual than physical in form, and all draconians knew to heed their wisdom. And wisest of all was standing before him, Renrin, Honored Mother of the Kirin, as ancient as the world and progenitor of the entire Kirin clan.

“Young Bel, I have foreseen another coming” she said, looking towards the portal.

Bel’Valar’s mood went from nostalgic to wary in an instant.

“Another?”

“Yes, young pup, another premonition”.

Bel’Valar snapped his head toward the vortex of the Mouth of Madness. He had learned long ago to trust the premonitions of his wet nurse.

“I will ready the troops”.

“Bah, You have always been too hasty young one”.

“But…”.

A flick of her long tail snapped lightly across his snout, a habit she had carried since she had raised him.

“I merely saw that another comes from Ginun, but I do not remember telling you it was enemy”.

“Only daemons come from Ginun, honored Mother”

“This one is the Bane of daemons, young Bel. He comes seeking absolution, yet I fear he will only find pain”.

“What do yo…”

His words stopped as a large fissure appeared in the vortex, followed by a sound like a collapsing titan.

Bel’Valar’s eyes widened as he saw the fissure grow and expand and a succession of rank and file massive warriors march from within the portal.
Seeing what was happening, every draconian in the vicinity headed towards the portal.

“Stop, all of you, I command it” his already booming voice, magnified further by magic echoed across the field.

The mighty elder dragon landed on all four limbs before the army amassing from within Ginun. With a snap the fissure closed, and without it’s blinding light he was able to truly see them.
Shoulder to shoulder, each of them standing at least twelve feet tall, donning Nippon style heavy plate, he recognized the battle regalia and scaled faces of the Legion of the Damned.

“Wha-What is the Legion doing here? Why have you left Ginun?”

No one answered.

Bel’Valar felt himself become enraged, unused to being denied a response.

“I am Bel’Valar the Stormfang, Archdrake of DrakenHall and I DEMAND answers”.

“Be silent”.

The words had not been yelled, merely spoken, but had carried with them a sense of command that permitted no questioning. Bel’Valar looked towards the speaker. A massive purple scaled warrior that towered head and shoulders over the rest of the Legion walked towards the elder dragon. He looked as if he had just been through a grindhouse, his bare arms, chest and neck covered in blood, cuts and gashes, yet he walked as if nothing was wrong. Although Bel’Valar was far larger and the warrior only came up to the dragon’s lower neck, he suddenly felt somewhat small compared to the presence of this Draka.

“Who are you?”

“Spike, Veshanesh of the Draka, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned”

Immediately Bel’Valar fell into a short bow. He understood now why this warrior commanded such a presence and instinctive fear.
A Veshanesh was never to be disrespected and if this was the Spike he knew of, his successes in Ginun had earned him the respect of all Draconic Clans.

“Then, I apologize for my outburst Darraor Spike, but no one was expecting that the Legion would ever return from Ginun. How long have you been in there and why have you returned?”

“I have been Darraor for over two millennia” Spike said, signaling one of his warrior’s to bring him a large chest. Spike took the massive chest and opened it, revealing seven seemingly random items.

“These are seven of the ten draconic artifacts. They are in your care now”.

Bel’Valar almost screamed in surprise. No one had ever managed to return even one artifact, yet this young Draka had returned seven.

“You are a bringer of good tidings Darraor. Not only have you returned seven artifacts but fortune has made you come to our world when you are most needed”.

Spike looked around and lifted his hands. His palms looked as if they had been grated by saws, no more scales remaining, only red bleeding flesh.

“No fortune was involved Archdrake, I have been warned of a threat within my homeland and I have forced my way through the portal to return to this time”.

Bel’Valar’s jaw fell agape. His knowledge of magic had allowed him to understand what the Darraor had meant by “force his way”. This mad Draka had actually bent the wild and untamed magic of the portal to his will. It was a notion so ridiculous it could not be false.

“More importantly , what has happened here” Spike added looking at the myriad of corpses and the funeral pyres.

The elder dragon sighed. “I am sorry to say that the garrison at the Bastion has been utterly decimated by the invading force of Ginun. We have information that they had been the targets of a two pronged attack from both Ginun and a vast host of Queen Chrysalis’s changelings”.
“What you see before you is merely a provisory defense force in case of more attacks, but I fear we will be unable to hold in such a case”.

Spike’s head snapped to regard Bel’Valar.

“Have you intercepted the invading army?”

“N-No” stuttered Bel’Valarm taken aback by the warriors brusque question “It’s as if after the attack, they all vanished”.

Shagga interjected, speaking to Spike

“Elder brother, they must have gone to Equestria, that is what the letter had meant by the Abyss rots within Equestria”.

“Then there is no more time to waste”.

Spike’s head turned back to the elder dragon.

“Archdrake, the armies of Ginun are within Equestria as we speak, we are going”.

“Wh-WHAT? You cannot Darraor” screamed Bel’Valar jumping his twenty ton mass in front of Spike.

Spike’s features darkened dangerously.

“Move”

“Y-You must stay… help us secure the fortress, then after that is done … we can convene a meeting of the Draconic clans, decide if Equestria is even worth savin…”.

His last word was cut short as Spike’s bare knuckles smashed into the side of Bel’Valar’s jaw, knocking the twenty ton dragon on his side and sending massive fangs flying.

A simultaneous gasp came from every draconian in the area. The Legion merely watched unfazed, their weapons at the ready.

Bel’Valar coughed and trembling, started lifting himself up, feeling his broken jaw.

“Y-You dare…?”

“Enough young Bel” a voice spoke directly in the minds of all present.
“It was your folly to insult his home and attempt to stop the Legion. No one has that right young geko”.

Renrin trotted towards the two draconians. She stopped mere inches from Spike, lifting her head to look at him.

“B-But my honor” Bel’Valar tried to object

“You would die before unleashing even one of your spells young Bel” she said, again for all to hear. “Forgive him Veshanesh, you are of course, well within your rights to defend your home”.

Spike regarded her for a few seconds and then made a short bow. The Legion gasped. Spike had NEVER bowed to anyone.

“I know of you Mother Renrin. You honor me with your wisdom”.

He turned to the Legion.

“Two hundred of the Legion will remain here to help with the defense. May you die well, brothers and sisters.”

Like clockwork, two hundred of the four hundred Legionnaires began marching towards the Bastion fortress. There were no tearful farewells or hesitation nor were there any protests. Although no one wanted to leave the Darraor’s side, Spike’s orders were absolute and they all trusted the wisdom of his decisions.

“Such chivalry and kindness” Renrin said. “You truly are the Veshanesh”.

“We ready to march” Spike ordered.

“Elder brother” came Shagga’s voice. “Please let our medicae look at you before we leave. Forcing the portal open has wounded you”.

Spike looked at his chest and arms as if just now noticing the wounds. He closed his eyes and lifted his right hand. The Draken Rune on the back of his right hand glowed white hot and it quickly spread to the rest of his hand. Without hesitation, he began cauterizing every cut and gash on his body.

Bel’Valar looked dumbfounded at this insane Draka who was burning his wounds shut without a sound, while Shagga simply shrugged and smiled.

“There is no arguing with you is there, elder brother? I will go and ready the troops”.

As Shagga left, Renrin approached Spike again. This time her voice spoke only in his mind.

“You would leave half your forces here? You would do this for us?”

“I have a duty, both to my home and to the dragon clans”.

“You truly are a kind soul Veshanesh Spike. Allow me to grant you a boon for your kindness. Allow me and two hundred of my clan to take you to your home. We can ride as fast as the wind, and I would repay your kindness as best I can”.

Spike bowed again

“You humble me with your offer Honored Mother. I am in your debt”.

“A debt that has already been paid in full. Allow me this however, would you entertain this old soul with a question?”

“Ask” .

“I am both blessed and cursed to see the fates of those I look upon, young Spike. I have seen yours. If you go to Equestria you shall die. You shall die in a blaze of glory unlike anything the world has ever experienced before”.

“Then my sin will have been erased and I shall attain redemption”.

“But there is more, child. There is always more. All you know and love shall perish, all you hold dear will rot and the pain you will suffer before finding your death is something even I cannot begin to comprehend. Know that your glorious death will be witnessed by no one. You shall die alone in the depths of madness and despair, a death most glorious but infinitely painful”.
“Knowing this, young Spike, will you still go?”

Without a moment’s hesitation Spike simply said.

“Always”.

Rarity looked from the edge of the Carousel Boutique. Everywhere she looked, all she saw were burning buildings and the smoking husks that had once been homes to the ponies of Ponyville. Even worse were the creatures that roared, flied and shambled all around the desolate place that had once been Ponyville.

Because of the darkness caused by the dark cloud that had been hovering over Ponyville since the attack three days ago, Rarity noticed in the flickering firelight daemonic faces, hollow-eyed changelings and rotting corpses that shambled mindlessly. With a silent scream she closed her eyes so that she would not have to look at the faces she had once known. Among the shambling cadavers were a number of ponies, shambling in tandem with other, more horrific decayed things. Their broken and carved hands lolling uselessly at their sides, their sliced legs collapsing in on their own weight, only to lift themselves up again and resume the grisly dance of the dead.

What was the worst of it all was not that.
It was the sadistic pleasure the daemons took in toying with the last surviving ponies. A high pitched scream made her look and see that another house had been raided. The daemons had been playing this macabre game for the last few days. After the carnage of the first attack, fifteen houses , the Carousel Boutique among them, had been left untouched and anypony that had taken refuge in one of those houses had been left alone. The game had begun.

Every few hours, chanting and laughing daemons would raid and burn one of the standing houses and take everypony within it alive. They would then make make the stallions, mares and foals scream. They would make them scream for hours, they would make sure that the ponies in the houses left standing would hear them. They would make sure that they watched the tortures and other more horrific and sickening things.
Then they would finally kill half of them, only to raise them as mindless dead to devour the remaining ones. Then they would move on to the next house.

Now, the last house that had stood before them had been raided. The Carousel Boutique would be next.

Rarity stooped down from the window and looked at the ponies around her.

Rainbow Dash sat scowling in a corner, a shamble of piecemeal bandages of cloth and dress fabric, covering her right wing, which had been pierced by three changeling spears, the rest of her body, a mass of cuts and bruises.

Scotaloo slept trembling in Dash’s embrace, the poor dear having been in a state of complete shock the last three days, having finally passed out of exhaustion a few hours ago.

Fluttershy stood near a small table, a paper and pencil in her hands, obviously trying to keep herself busy and not think about what had happened. The normally shy and quiet pony had been surprisingly level headed during the ordeal. While trembling and obviously scared out of her wits she had been the first to use the dandelion alcohol in Rarity’s cupboards to disinfect the wounds the group had sustained. Now she was busy making notes of how many makeshift bandages they had left, how much food and water and how much medicine. Rarity didn’t have the heart to remind her they would most likely not need any of them in the next few hours.

Applebloom sat on the same chair she had been sitting on since they had taken refuge in the Boutique, sniffing and constantly repeading “Big Sis’”,”Big Mac”,”Granny”, with Sweetie Belle comforting her and trying to snap her out of it.

In Rarity’s bed lay the slowly breathing body of Octavia, knocked into a coma by the cudgel of a daemon, with Vinyl asleep on a chair having refused to leave Octavia’s side for more than a few minutes at a time.

On the sofa stood the last three, Derpy completely silent, her cross-eyed look filled with sadness and her, usually bubbly, self reduced to a morose state.
Lyra and BonBon, grasping hands, refusing to let one another go, the closeness of each other being the only thing that had stopped them from going into complete mental breakdown.

Rarity herself sat on a cushion, her left arm bandaged from shoulder to fingers, where a rotten thing’s rusted sword had sliced across her arm. She should consider herself lucky, Fluttershy’s quick thinking to clean the wound with alcohol having most likely been the only thing that had stopped the rust from infecting the wound.

She opened her mouth, but immediately closed it. There was nothing she could say. No encouraging speech, no way to lift their spirits. The only thing she could do is pray. Pray that it would be quick and painless, at least for the little ones.

Even though she knew it would not knew it would not be so.

The assembled two hundred Legionnaires stood in silence at the edge of the Everfree Forest, awaiting the return of Mika’il, the Legion’s Spymaster.

The two hundred Kirin and Mother Renrin had brought them to their destination with a speed that had defied reason. A non-stop march that would have taken a week at the very least on foot, had been covered by the Kirin steeds in little under half a day. Now that they had arrived, the Kirin had taken their leave.

Now, here they stood, between the trees of this eerily calm forest awaiting information from their Spymaster. It was bad, they all knew it. Since the moment they had entered Equestria the sky had become darker and darker, and now they were at the source.Instead of the Sun shining it's midday rays, a dark, sickly green cloud hovered above Ponyville and Canterlot and blocked all light.

Shagga was concerned. She looked at the Darraor. Spike stood tall looking towards the aura of red and orange coming from Ponyville. He had pulled out both his sword and sheath and held the sheathed blade in his left hand, his clawed thumb constantly scratching the surface of the black lacquered wood and steel sheath.

Shagga had known Spike for over two thousand years and she knew that whenever Spike did that, it was a clear sign that he was getting anxious and furious.

A rustle of leaves from their left made a few warriors half draw their curved swords and level their spears, but they all relaxed when a very slim, very lanky, fourteen foot tall Draka, dressed in black studded leather armor appeared.

Mika’il moved towards Spike without making a single noise or disturbing a single leaf. He held an object bound in burlap to his chest.

“Elder Brother Spike, I have done as you asked”.

Without moving his eyes from the direction of Ponyville, Spike responded in his laconic way.

“Report brother”.

“The main area of Ponyville is in flames and completely overrun, Darraor, at least twenty thousand daemons, undead and changelings and…”

Spike turned his head to Mika’il urging him to speak.

“There is a number of ponies that have been killed and turned into walking dead”

None of the Legion spoke, looking only at Spike whose features had begun darkening more and more dangerously. His face was as stoic as always, but the pulsating veins beginning to appear at his forehead betrayed his growing anger.

Mika’il, against his better judgement, started speaking again.
“I have also checked the residences you have requested me to.
The crystal castle is burned and shattered but there are no bodies within it.
The cottage at the other end of the Forest is similarly burned but the only bodies I have found within are the charred remains of a few woodland critters.
The farm outside Ponyville is burned but there are no bodies within, except farm animals.
The house on the white cloud no longer exists, as such I apologize but I can give no accurate report on it.
The building you have described to me as the Carousel Boutique still stands, and I am certain that there are still ponies within it”.

For a moment Spike stopped scratching the sheath and his features become slightly less threatening.

“How many?”

“I caught the scent of at least eleven ponies, all females”

Spike’s eyes grew sadder. He had hoped for more to be safe there.

“D…Darraor” Mika’il stuttered as he put the burlap covered object on the ground and began uncovering it
“In the place you named Sugarcube Corner I found a few bodies”.

Cradled in the burlap cloth were two carbonized ponies, one female and one male grasping each other as they had in the moment of their death. Between their bodies lay two more tiny carbonized shapes. Mr. and Mrs. Cake had been burned alive trying to protect their children Poundcake and Pumpkincake.

For a moment, all stood still.

The small sound of the black lacquered wooden and steel sheath snapping was like a thunderclap in the silence of Forest.
Not one Legionnaire, not even Shagga, dared move, breathe or even blink.
Shagga was frightened, no, she was terrified down to her very soul. In over two thousand years she had NEVER seen Spike loose his composure. NOT ONCE. Except for this time. And it was as if staring at a gathering storm.

Even the wind had seemed to stop blowing through the leaves, and sheer killing intent radiated from Spike with such intensity it was almost palpable.

Every fiber of her being, every instinct of self preservation screaming for her to stop, Shagga slowly raised her eyes to look at Spike’s face.

What she saw made her want to scream and run in fear. It was not his face, not the bursts of flame expelling from his disfigured, lipless mouth. It was his eyes.
Spike’s green eyes were glacial, as cold as the surety of death. For a moment, she saw it in those eyes. The flesh searing fury of the most primordial beast clashing with the cultured anger of the most learned mind, both coalescing into a vortex of pure hatred, as palpable as a force of nature.

For a moment, in those glacial, hatred filled eyes, she saw the encroaching scythe of death itself.

Spike turned, and a collective exhale of breath came from all two hundred Legionnaires. These warriors who had faced the most horrific daemons without an iota of fear, had now found themselves paralyzed with terror, and were struggling to draw trembling breaths.

Spike’s deep voice came with the finality of a headsman’s ax.

“My orders … kill them all, slaughter them, until the Abyssal Gods themselves plead for mercy”.

“Butcher each and every one of them”.

Author's Note

Phew,

Here we go, my longest chapter yet.
Finished this wile binging on Megadeth and Black Sabbath.
Told you it was about to get real brutal, real fast. :pinkiecrazy:
Grimdark brutality is about to go down in full glory.
Spike's home baby.

P.S. For any wondering how a Kirin looks like, here ya go

A Sea of Blood

Ten years.

I look around for the millionth time.

All that greets me is the grey and dark blue of stone walls.

Ten years. It is all I have seen for the past TEN DAMNED YEARS.

This cell. This damned cell. Nothing more than a pocket dimension created within the raging magics of the Mouth of Madness portal. Time has no meaning here. Ten years or a thousand. It is the same one second, one heartbeat, for everything outside this cell, for everything outside the Mouth of Madness.

I came to the Draka hoping that they could kill me.

I hoped that they would take mercy on one of their own and put me out of my misery.

Any other creature that had tried had failed. It had been the same every time. I would be attacked, wounded, hurt and then I would feel it. Anger unlike any I had felt before. I would pass out only to awake, finding myself in a pool of my attacker’s blood.

If any would be able to kill me, it would be the Draka.

I had hoped they would free me.

Instead they locked me here.

My eyes fall on the old Draka sitting on the other side of the cell.

He is ancient, but knotted muscle still ripples under ancient blue scales. His robe is made of fine silks and silver plates. His eyes are calm, yet always focused.

He says his name is Nobu’Dai, Grand Master of the Draka.

As always, he sits there, telling me of the Draka. Of their…our culture, our ways, our legends. He tells me I am Draka. He tells me that it is my purpose as Draka to always succeed and never falter.

The only time he moves is when I attack, hoping to force him into killing me. Every time I attack he defeats me in seconds, sits down, waits for me to wake and begins to tell me of the Draka once more. Every time, for the past ten years.

Often, too often, I feel frustration and anger overcome me and I have another blackout. He tells me that I fall to something called “Blood Madness”. He tells me that he will snap me out of it every time. And he does.

My blackouts have gotten rarer. What ten years ago happened four or even five times every day, barely happens once a week now.

For the first time in ten years I speak, my voice ragged and slurred because of lack of use, missing lips and my shattered lower jaw. The disfigurement has become scar tissue a long time ago, but it still hurts.

“…Why…?”

His eyes widen for a split second, as if surprised that I finally speak.

“Why what, little one?”

“Why…do I… fall…to Mad…ness?”

He looks at me for a few moments and answers.

“All Draka, even myself, are in peril of falling to the Blood Madness. It is our burden to bear. But you hold this burden more than others. You fell to the madness when you barely a pup and your body came to see this as a natural response to conflict. The Madness is a death sentence, little one. It is death for all around you and even yourself. It is only by a quirk of fate that you survived in your state, long enough to seek us out, and for the past decade it has been only due to me stopping you that your mind has not been consumed by it completely”.

“Then…why help? Why…not…just kill…me?”

“Why not just kill you indeed? Why not just put you out of your misery? Why not just spare the world of the risk of having you lose yourself completely to the Blood Madness?”

He stops for a second, as if to consider it.

“Is it because you may be special? Or maybe I see some hidden potential in you? … NO.”

“You are not special. I see no hidden potential. All I see is a weak, pathetic, self-pitying excuse for a Draka”.

In the blink of an eye he lunges, grabs me by the throat and slams me to the wall.

“YOU ARE WEAK, THERE IS BARELY ANY MUSCLE ON YOUR BODY. YOU ARE A RUNT, SMALLER THAN ANY SELF RESPECTING DRAKA SHOULD BE AT YOUR AGE. YOU ARE PITIFUL, REPEATEDLY ASKING FOR A POINTLESS DEATH, NOT EVEN ATTEMPTING TO GIVE YOUR LIFE MEANING”.

He releases me from his grip, and regains his calm.

“Yet, you are still Draka”.

He looks at me and his eyes seem to soften for a second.

“You have no strength, little one. You are weak, slow and small. There is only one thing I see in you, boy. An indomitable will”.

I am startled. Indomitable will?
How can he say that? I came here hoping to die. No strong-willed creature would do that.

I lift my eyes to tell him but, as if knowing what I am about to say, he stops me.

“You think yourself weak-willed for wanting death but you do not see everything”.

“Your death wish is a result of your sin and Draka pride, yet you did not surrender to despair and still you go forward.
You have fallen to the Blood Madness a thousand times, yet still, you go forward.
Over the past ten years I have seen you fall to the madness lesser and lesser and even begin to almost force yourself out of it with nothing more than grim determination.
You always go forward, Spike”.

I look up. It is the first time he has called me by my name.

“You will never be rid of the madness, Spike. You have fallen to it too young and far too often to ever be able to keep it at bay as other Draka do. It will always be there. At the edge of your mind, fighting you for dominance until the end of your days.

Let me teach you, Spike. Let me teach you how to discipline your rage”.

Lifting me up, he continues.

“Learn what I have to teach you, Spike. If you wish to learn, I will teach you to take the mad fury burning your mind, and transform it into a cold rage.

Fury is wild and self-destructing, Spike. It strengthens you, but kills you in the process.
Fury is flame.

To discipline that fury is to freeze that flame. It is to take that anger and hatred piece by piece, and use it as a tool to push forward, while never allowing it to overcome you”.

I continue to look at him. Why would he teach me?

I open my mangled mouth again.

“W…hy…live…on?”

He bursts in laughter and spreads his massive arms wide as if to encompass the cold stone cell.

“Good, little one, good. You are starting to ask the right questions.
But that, little one, is a question only you can answer. For what reason, do you live?”

His smile widens even more and, with joy and finality he says.

“You will seek battle, Spike. As all Draka before you have, and as all Draka before you shall, your nature as a Draka will make you seek battle.

Through that battle you will gain insight and understanding, for pain and hardship is what leads us to knowledge.

Through that battle you will understand why you live, and why you fight.

But, if you allow yourself to fall to madness, you will die as a mindless beast, hated and forgotten, not as a warrior, whose name shall echo in the minds and hearts of others, for eons to come.

Learn what I have to teach, Spike. Then, should you still consider that you have a sin to atone for, take the pledge to join the Legion of the Damned. Find battle and your doom alongside the Legion.

Fight, for the sake and joy of battle itself.

Fight, for your absolution.

Fight, for knowledge of yourself.

Fight, and die, having understood why you fight, and having finally forgiven yourself.

It has always been your choice, young Draka?

Will you die today, here and now, a broken, empty shell?

Or will you die another day, in glory and honor, as a true Draka?”

The battalion roared as they charged.

Ingulek Heart-Piercer screamed a manic laugh as he felt the press of over five hundred daemon cavalrymen. His massive rat-like head split into a lunatic grin as he regarded the almost one thousand changelings, all hollow eyed and buzzing over him.

Yes, this would be grand, his heavy cavalry battalion would feast on war today.

He bellowed another grunt of laughter, lifting his massive dadao sword and leveled it to the single warrior that was speeding towards them. Even though the warrior was almost half a mile away, Ingulek’s daemonic sight caught a glimpse of purple scales, green hair and black armor. Whomever this warrior was, he must have given up reason due to his fear. No sane creature would willingly run towards a full charge of five hundred daemons and their six legged steeds.

The cavalrymen howled, sensing that blood would soon flow, as they closed in with the warrior.

A hundred feet.

Ingulek took his proper position at the back of the charge, as was his right as leader of the warband.

Fifty feet.

His whiskers twitched as the warriors features started becoming more defined.

Thirty feet.

Ingulek felt his fur stand on end as an aura, as cold as the heart of northern Jotunharr, hit him.

Twenty feet.

He dropped his dadao sword as his eyes met the warrior’s, and saw screaming Death within them.

Ten feet.

He opened his mouth and loosed a panicked scream.

The battalion hit the warrior with the same effect of a wave smashing itself on the side of a cliff.

The first row of heavy plated daemonic cavalrymen disappeared in a geyser of blood.

Igulek’s world exploded in a torrent of horrified screams and howls of pain as the charge’s own inertia pushed panicked cavalrymen into the grindhouse that was the single warrior.

Daemons howled as arms, legs and heads flew, surrounded by capes of blood. Nightmare steeds whinnied in pain as legs and bellies were sliced apart. Heavy hell-forged plate groaned as it gave way to blows so strong that hell-steel was both sliced and shattered in single strokes.

At the back of the battalion, Ingulek managed to stop his steed and set his wide, blood-shot eyes on the scene before him. He saw explosions of blood and body parts peppering the length and width of his assembled battalion and changelings melting as they were engulfed in firestorms of pale green flame.

For a moment, the press of armored bodies gave way to a welter of blood and, in the second it took for it to dissipate, he saw the warrior up close. A behemoth of purple scales, ancient scar tissue and green hair stood, straight-backed, a curved blade in each hand as he walked towards Ingulek, heavy armored daemons falling like leaves around him. He saw the warrior’s black gromril baroque armor awash in crimson. He saw the lipless mouth and steel lower jaw, pale green flames still clinging to dagger sized fangs.

Worst of all, he saw it’s eyes.

Ingulek lost control of his bladder as those eyes hit him and the glacial stare of inevitability fell on him. His nightmare steed reared and fell dead to the side, bloody froth bursting from it’s mouth as the beast’s animal instincts made it’s heart burst apart with fear.

Ingulek cursed as his leg got trapped under the one ton bulk of the dead steed, and began pushing against the body, trying to free himself. In desperation he yelled and screamed, all the while looking at the battle.

With every second that passed, the warrior moved one step closer, his arms and blades a maelstrom of motion, as his swords fell and rose with the methodical rhythm of a butcher’s cleavers and the speed of thunderbolts. Daemons screamed as arms were cut even as they tried to swing their weapons, legs were sliced apart even as they tried to run and armored bodies sliced in halves even as shields and weapons broke before the warrior’s attacks.

Every stroke of his blades, flashing steel that ended daemonic lives, every movement, perfectly timed actions that put him in the perfect position to strike and left no openings.

Everything about this warrior was like a perfect clockwork engine of destruction, no wasted movements, no useless actions. The art of murder was displayed and perfected in his motions, and it was more horrific than any berserk rage or righteous fervor would have ever been.

No noise, save from the cutting edges came from the warrior. No howls, no bellows, no oaths and promises of doom. There was no need. His stoic face, as unmoving and unforgiving as a stone statue’s, said everything they would need to now. They were nothing more than meat to him and they would die like meat. This simple fact, terrifying in it’s simplicity, had turned once fearless, battle-lusting daemons to panicked quails before a hunter’s traps.

A moment of dead stillness hit the area as the remaining fifty daemons managed to run clear of the warrior’s blades in their retreat. They looked at Ingulek and then at the warrior again. In little under a minute, the warrior had butchered over four hundred and fifty cavalrymen and burned to ash and cinder a thousand changelings. Now, as if a slaughter of such magnitude had been nothing, the warrior kept walking towards them, not even breathing hard. With not even so much as a nod, the remnants of the once feared heavy cavalry battalion turned tail and ran, goading their steeds to greater speed, if only to put as much distance between them and the warrior as possible.

Ingulek screamed and cursed at the deserters, his leg still caught under the carcass of his steed when a thump returned his attention to the warrior. He had pierced one of his blades into the ground and had grabbed the larger of the two in a two handed grip. Plate armor groaned and veins stood out, as the muscles of his arms and chest visibly bulged, and he lifted his blade above his head. With a single, massive slice he brought his blade down and an explosion of dust and slicing wind roared towards the fleeing daemons, cutting them to ribbons even as they screamed.

Mouth agape, staring at the pool of blood and ruptured flesh that had been the last of his warriors, Ingulek felt his bowels void themselves as he heard the warrior behind him start walking again. Shivering, he turned his head and opened his mouth to scream in horror. It ended when the warrior’s armored boot crushed his skull.

Without breaking stride, Spike looked behind himself, at the advancing line of his Legion. Deep within the recesses of his mind, beneath the raging fury and instinctive viciousness, a cold calculating intellect that subdued the anger and concentrated it into nothing more than complete focus, a small spark of regret bloomed. They were the only family he had left and he had frightened them, the way he was now. He made a mental note to apologize to them after the battle. However, now was not the time to dwell on it. Now, Spike had only one singular purpose, and his entire being revolved around it. Now, was the time to kill.

Shagga ran alongside the rest of the Legion. They were one mile behind Spike and they tried their best to catch up to him but it was impossible.

This had been the fourth battalion Spike had singlehandedly obliterated and still he was making headway.

Even whilst running, Shagga still felt her hand shiver slightly. It had not stopped since Spike’s outburst when he had seen corpses of the two adult ponies and their dead children.

She had not understood what had happened at that moment but now, seeing the way Spike fought, she understood everything. She understood that for a singular moment, she had witnessed Spike succumbing to the Blood Madness. She understood that, for a single moment, her Darraor had become nothing more than a primeval beast, violence and savagery given form.

However, Spike had done the impossible again, as he always did. He had grappled with his own insanity and bended t to his will. Now, Spike reduced all that stood in his way to nothingness.

Shagga knew that it was not as if Spike had become suddenly stronger or faster. He had simply taken the entirety of the rage boiling in his mind and morphed it into a focus and clarity of mind unlike anything she had ever seen.

This was Spike unencumbered by limits, remorse or even one iota of diversion, be it mental or physical. Spike had simply cut himself from the world and dedicated his entire being to one goal, to reach the Boutique as soon as possible. Anything that stood in his way was nothing more than meat to be cut down.

Shagga shivered again. In the end, none of it mattered. She would be by her Darraor’s side, whether she was afraid of him or not.

Twilight watched the ramparts, trying for what seemed like the hundredth time to count the army amassed outside of Canterlot Castle. The last time she had done this she had given up at thirty thousand daemons and undead. She did not even want to try to estimate the number of changelings buzzing around the castle, the only thing preventing them from attacking being the large shield that she and the Consulate of Unicorns maintained.

Still the numberless changelings chipped at the mighty shield, breaking wings, bone and flesh against it but not stopping. Large stones and corpses thrown by bone constructed trebuchets broke to pieces upon contact with the shield and great spheres of black fire, belched forth by hellfire canon-like constructs, peppered it with incandescent heat. Twilight could feel the unnatural existence of that dark flame even beyond the security of the shield.

Yes, the shield held and offered security for now, but for how much longer. Already half the Consulate had either fainted or gone into comas from the strain of holding the shield and even Twilight herself felt exhausted.

If a week ago anyone would have told her that she would be keeping a shield up, while under constant bombardment, for three days, she would have laughed in their face. However, here she was, doing just that, the knowledge that the few ponies that had escaped the sacking of Canterlot within the Castle, the only thing that drove her on.

Again she tried to make a mental note of what forces they had at their disposal. Less than four hundred royal guards manned the ramparts now, most of them having died under the savage blades of the daemons, the relentless assault of the undead and the suicidal attacks of the changelings.

A little over one thousand civilians now crammed themselves within the protective walls of the castle, the once proud and powerful nobility of Canterlot, reduced to a haggard, wounded and panicked mass.

Everypony was afraid, and Twilight was no exception.

Steps behind her made Twilight quickly turn, a small knife in her hand. The sight of the atrocities outside the walls and ethereal shield had made her jumpy, to say the least.

“Easy sugarcube” Appleack quickly said, one hand raised and a plate of hay and dandelions in the other.

“Applejack, I’m so sorry, it’s just…”

“Don’t ya worry about it Twi, here” she said, pushing the plate in her hands “Ya gotta’ eat, keep yer strength up”.

Twilight smiled, looking gratefully at one of the few ponies that had kept her nerve during this whole ordeal. Applejack had done her best to help whenever she could, although Twilight knew it had been hard for her.

The attack three days ago had been too fast and too unexpected for them to save everybody and, even though they had managed to find Granny Smith and Big Mac, Applebloom and the other girls at the picnic had been nowhere to be seen. The survivors had been pushed to Canterlot Castle and, for all they knew, anyone outside the castle was most likely dead.

For all her apparent strength, Twilight was sure she had heard Applejack crying on a few occasions, even though she had made it a point to not to be seen doing so.

In the courtyard of the Castle, Pinkie did her best to play with the foals and take their mind off of what was happening. Even though the pink pony’s mane was lank and deflated, she still did her best to raise everypony’s spirits.

Twilight knew it was hard for her to do so, especially with the Cakes and their children having been among the missing ponies, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

She started eating, trying to hide the grateful tears that stung her eyes. Even with so much loss, the two mares still helped her and the others. But gratefulness soon turned to sorrow, as the knowledge that only two had been left hit her again, as it had done so many times in the past three days, since the siege had begun.

The plate started trembling uncontrollably as Twilight broke in tears. She wept for Rarity, Fluttershy and Rainbow Dash. She wept for the Cutie Mark Crusaders. She wept for everybody she knew that was not here.

The strong orange furred hand of Applejack lightly grabbed her shoulder.

Twilight turned to see AJ’s wet eyes.

“N…Now…c’mon there…sugarcube” trembled AJ’s voice as she tried to still it “It…It won’t do if…if anypony else sees their princess crying, right?”

Twilight brought her forearm across her eyes and showed AJ a small, quivering smile.

“Yeah, you’re right, I have to…”

AJ saw as Twilight’s eyes widened in horror and her plate fell and shattered to the ground. She stared beyond the ramparts and towards the daemonic army.

As Applejack turned and saw it, she screamed.

A single, obese and bloated monstrosity had separated itself from the rest of the daemonic army and stood in the middle of the no-man’s land between the castle and the daemons.

On a chain tied to one of his six putrescent arms were Celestia and Luna, both shackled and obviously weeping.

The thing opened it’s two mouths and it’s voice carried throughout the great Castle.

“Little Princess, know that I am Nerg’Cathal. Know that your head will be the final gift I offer your former teacher, before I make her and her sister my brides”.

It left the words sink into the hearts and minds of the ponies in the Castle, then it added.

“Know that you shall all die”.

Hellfire cannons roared, catapults let loose cart sized boulders and arrows flew. The bulk of the daemonic army had been assembled on the outskirts of Ponyville in preparation for Spike’s attack.

Boulders shattered against his flesh and armor, arrows broke against purple scales and black gromril plate and Black Flame ignored armor to sear Spike’s soul. But with all this, Spike did not falter even a step. He took it all. The impact, the pain, he took it all without a sound and simply attacked, carving through line after line of dead-pike and daemons, inexorably drawing closer to the daemonic artillery.

Shagga smashed a dog headed daemon’s shield aside with her bardish ax and headbutted it, feeling the bone and cartilage of it’s snout break. Before the daemon could recover, she snapped her ax in a quick stroke to it’s knees and crushed the prone daemon’s skull with her great tower shield.

Sparing the corpse no more time than enough to spit on it, Shagga took back her place in the advancing line of the Legion of the Damned even as another wave of daemons, the few that had escaped Spike’s blades, broke against the Legion’s shield wall, that followed exactly fifteen feet behind the Darraor.

Shagga brained a crab armed abomination and spared a second long glance to Spike. The Darraor tore through daemons and undead like a farmer through a field of wheat, even while great stones, arrows and black flame crashed and exploded around him, without so much as slowing him down. She would have been amazed at this, but Shagga had fought alongside Spike for the better part of the past two millennia. She knew that once Spike began moving forward, nothing alive or dead could stop him.

Shagga returned her attention to the battle at hand and ordered a crescent moon formation. Anything that would escape their doom at the hands of Spike, would soon find it on the waiting spears and blades of his Legion.

She would make sure of it.

Mortdecai Heart-Taker laughed when the female pony screamed again, as her own daughter, now nothing more than an undead filly, tore through her stomach and began devouring her entrails.

Oh, how he had enjoyed this.

Initially, he had despised Nerg’Cathal for taking more than half the army to lay siege to Canterlot and leaving him with the rest of it to secure their position, but Mortdecai had found a good way to pass the time.

He had ordered the army to stand outside of Ponyville and await further orders, while he and his thirty lieutenants and warband leaders, enjoyed themselves by taking survivors out of their hiding holes and tormenting them.

But now, there was only one building left standing. An oddly shaped and colorful one with many odd and frilly dresses adorning it’s display windows. The last family had told him it was called the “Carousel Boutique” before he had finally given them the sweet release of death.

He took a deep breath and licked his lupine lips. The wolf headed daemon smelled eleven females in that building and his six eyes glinted at the prospect of pain he was about to visit upon them.

But he had gotten greedy on the last family. He had killed them too fast. He would savor this last feast. He would force them out of their illusion of safety and he would feed on their screams as he would let his lieutenants have their way with them.

Yes, he would make this as slow and as painful as possible. Maybe he would even allow the rest of the army their leftovers to have some fun.

He would, if only they stopped with the damn noise outside the town. Mortdecai had created an almost sound proof magical bubble around the center of the town so as to not have any interruptions of his pleasure, and it had been quiet and calm for the past few days. But in the past fifteen minutes, a cacophony of muffled sounds had begun from where he knew they were stationed.

They were either under attack, just doing target practice or fighting amongst themselves with no other distractions present. Either way, it did not matter. Even if they were under attack, Mortdecai knew for a fact that no one could overcome an army of almost twenty thousand daemons.

He would not deny himself his pleasures.

Rarity looked from a corner of the window at the approaching daemon. It was hideous, a wolf headed monstrosity, a twelve feet tall horror of pulsating, deformed muscle. Six yellow eyes regarded the boutique and glinted in the firelight, like a predator out for fresh prey.

She squeezed the pair of scissors in her hand and gave a quick nod to Rainbow Dash and Vinyl Scratch that stood on other side of the only entrance to the boutique.

Rainbow held the remains of a mop, it’s tip sharpened to a point, and Vinyl, a small hammer.

The plan had been made.

Rarity, Rainbow and Vinyl would do their best to try to blind the monster, and create enough of a diversion to give the others time to run. It was a desperate plan, but it was something. They couldn’t just wait for death. The least they could do was to try and fight and try to at least save the fillies.

Fluttershy, Derpy, Octavia, still unconscious on Depry’s back, BonBon and Lyra and the Cutie Mark Crusaders stood, hidden in the dark, ready to make run for it.

They had protested long and hard against this plan, knowing that Rarity, Rainbow and Vinyl were going to sacrifice themselves to offer them a small chance to flee, but in the end, it had not been much of a debate. The three mares were resolved to do this and nothing would deter them.

SweetieBelle and Scotaloo sniffled, looking at their sister and adoptive mother respectively and Vinyl had left her tinted glasses on Octavia’s head.

This would be goodbye, one way or another.

They could only hope that some would be able to escape.

“Don’t you cry, kiddo” Rainbow said with her trademark smirk “Big girls don’t cry”.

Scotaloo sniffled again.

“I love you, mom”.

Rainbow turned her head to the door, refusing to let anyone see her tear filled eyes.

“Love you too, baby girl”.

Mortdecai smashed his studded mace into the door, turning it into kindling.

Immediattely, three females jumped at him, aiming for his eyes.

Mortdecai smirked. What a waste of time. He saw nine other females, children and adults begging to run for the door. The three attackers had most likely thought they would be able to blind or distract him long enough for the others to escape. Pathetic.

He smashed the blue Pegasus to the roof of the house with his right hand even as he swung his left handed mace, catching a white, blue haired Unicorn wielding a pair of scissors on the side. The last one, another white Unicorn with hair that was streaked with dark and light blue, wielding a hammer, ducked under the mace and swung her hammer as hard as she could at his left kneecap.

Mortdecai laughed as the hammer bounced off iron flesh and kicked her in the gut. The nine that had tried to run, stopped dead in their tracks as the three attackers groaned and coughed on the ground. Nothing of worth had been accomplished. All eleven of them would be their playthings for the next hours.

“Oh yes, this will do nicely” Mortdecai said in fluent Equinese, eyeing the girls.

He reached down a lifted a struggling Rarity by the hair, even as Sweetie Belle screamed.

“I will start with yo…”

His last words were stopped by a series of yells.

He looked behind him and was met with a sight that paralyzed him.

It was not the fact that his lieutenants were being butchered by the heavily armored Draka of the Legion of the Damned, not the sight of his warriors being pierced by spears and torn to bloody chunks by sword and claw.

What terrified him to his core was the fifteen foot tall behemoth of black armor, purple scales and green hair that ignored it all and walked purposefully towards him, his cold, green eyes promising, not death, but an eternity of pain.

Mortdecai stood paralyzed for a second, only to do what was intrinsic to his nature. He lifted his left hand, still holding Rarity by her hair and tried to use her as a hostage.

“W…Wait” his voice trembled “I’ll kill he…”.

The behemoth’s right arm moved like lightning and sent his blade spinning. It sliced through the daemon’s shoulder in the blink of an eye, cleaving his left arm off, only to stab into the wall on the other side of the Boutique’s living room. It had been a perfect cut.

Mortdecai opened his mouth to scream.

The behemoth covered the last twenty feet separating them, faster than the eye could see and grabbed the daemon’s face before he even had time to make a sound.

With one hand, he lifted the daemon until his feet no longer touched the ground and put his other hand on Mortdecai’s chest.

A lipless mouth opened and the behemoth said a single word, the many runes on the back of his hand began to glow.

“Moria’Shakai”

Mortdecai tried to scream, his voice muffled by the giant Draka’s hand, as his very soul started to burn.

Spike let the already lifeless husk of the daemon fall to the ground. The aethyric flame of Aqshy, encased in the runes on the back of his hand, would consume and burn the daemon’s soul for the rest of eternity.

Spike had promised the daemon eternal pain, and a Draka always kept his oaths.

Rarity coughed and opened her eyes, putting a hand to her bruised side and broken ribs.

She had expected to see the daemon but instead all she saw was a massive purple scaled giant, encased in a pitch black armor, leering baroque draconic faces sculpted all along it’s surface.

A steel lower jaw and dagger sized fangs with no lips to cover them, glinted red in the firelight.

Behind a mane of dark green hair, a pair of ice-cold green eyes looked at her.

Rarity fainted, not noticing the spark of concern blooming in those death filled eyes.

Author's Note

Alright lads and lasses.

Ask for it and it shall be delivered.
You wanted Grimdark Brutality? Ye got it my friends.

Like, favourite, follow and all that good stuff if you want.

Most of all leave a comment/input/criticism, as your opinions are more important to me than a few extra fave points.

Grimdark hugs to all of ya :rainbowkiss:

Next chapter coming a soon as possible (the brutality has only just begun).

P.S.

For the concept of the "Cold Rage" that Spike is using, i used as reference a combination of the the martial arts concepts of Mushin (an expression which means "no mind") and Fudoshin (another expression which means "immovable heart" or "immovable mind"). - Wikipedia can give more info on this.

A small note on Draken Runes. They are kinda like batteries. You create a spell and put it into the runes, but once you use it the runes fade. Basically it allows you to have an arsenal of ready spells without having to chant incantations or wiggle a wand, but if you want to use the spell again, you have to reinscribe the rune.
Advantages and disadvantages.

Home

In the darkness I see it approaching.

I see the wolf headed, six eyed nightmare closing in on us.

I see my friends fall one after another to it’s savage attacks.

I hear my sister, Sweetie Belle, cry as I myself fall to it.

I try to crawl to my sister, try to grab at the wolf headed monster heading towards her tiny, shivering form.

A cold, unlike anything I had ever felt before covers me.

A rumble, like the growl of the most primordial beast shakes my soul.

From the darkness behind me, a monstrosity of purple scales and black armor appears.

It’s lipless mouth opens slightly and behind it’s green mane, it’s eyes, cold green pinpoints of death shine.

It assaults the wolf headed abomination and begins butchering it alive, even as it screams in pain.

It turns it’s head to me and I see doom in it’s eyes.

Rarity awoke screaming, the image of those two all-devouring cold green eyes still deeply imprinted in her mind.

“Easy, easy” a familiar voice said.

Rarity’s head snapped to the left, but her panic quickly subsided when she saw Rainbow Dash and the rest of the eleven girls beside her.By the looks of it, they were in a large tent.

“You’re okay Rarity” Fluttershy said and quickly added “We all are”.

She didn’t even finish the sentence before a white streak of color smashed into Rarity’s chest.

Sweetie Belle cried while grabbing Rarity

“You’re awake, you’re finally awake, I was so worried about you.”

Rarity’s lip quivered and she grabbed Sweetie in a bear hug.

“Of course I am sweetheart. It would take more than that to put this fashionista down”

A small chuckle came from Vinyl.

“Ya sure, says the one who fainted”.

“Well excuse me darling, but you saw the thing that killed that wolf headed creature”.

Immediately every girl in the tent froze.

Rarity continued.

“I mean as terrifying as that wolf thing was, that green haired, armored creature was a hundred times more horrific”.

Lost in her tirade, she did not notice Rainbow repeatedly making the motions for Rarity to be quiet.

“You saw it too didn’t you, that garish black armor, that face covered in scars, that lipless mouth, and I don’t even want to remember those dead eyes. It was like looking at… What is it darling?”

Rainbow Dash was shaking her head while pointing at something behind her.

Rarity turned her head and immediately froze, close to fainting for a second time.

At the other end of the tent she saw, sitting cross-legged ,the draconian behemoth that had saved them. He no longer wore the black baroque armor, only a pair of long breeches, his torso uncovered.

A fifteen foot tall purple scaled giant, his body made of so much steel chord like muscle that it looked almost disfigured. Anywhere her eyes would fall, Rarity could see scars, cauterized gauges and a plethora of cuts. Where his insanely large arms were not covered in scars, they were covered in very intricate runic tattoos that stretched even to his fingers.

She especially noticed the enormous scar that went from beyond the upper part of his massive chest, all the way to his muscled abdomen.

Partially obscured by the shadow of the tent, sat upon impossibly wide shoulders, Rarity could see the outline of his dark-green maned head and two glowing pinpoints of stern green reptilian eyes, regarding her with cold interest.

“B…Bu…But of c…course it…I mean HE did save u…us, so we should at t…the very least t…thank him” Rarity tried to rectify her position, her voice trembling at the growing fear inside her.

The behemoth’s head tilted slightly.

“S…So” Rarity began, getting up from the cot she had been unconscious on, and did a small curtsey “I…I would like to t…thank you for your timely rescue”.

He said nothing, merely stared at her for a few more seconds only to slightly nod his head.

With an incredibly deep voice, like the sound of two boulders crushing against one another he said.

“Your side?”

“My side? What do you…” began Rarity, only to realize with a startle that her side did not hurt. It was still tender but nowhere near as bad as it had been. She was sure the wolf headed daemon’s mace had broken a few ribs, but now it was almost completely healed.

“Oh my, just how long was I unconscious?”

“Nah” started Rainbow Dash “You were out only for about two hours, it was one of his uhh…dragon people… that helped us. See, they even healed my wing” she said, pointing to her, now perfectly healed wing.

“Dar’Valak, our healer” explained the purple scaled giant.

“Then we are truly in your debt… umm…Rainbow darling to whom do we have the honor of addressing?”

Rainbow shook her head, her arms crossed before her chest.

“We asked him, but he said he’s tell us after he made sure you and Octavia would wake up”

“Octavia is awake?”

“Why yes”, said a melodic voice. Octavia stepped from behind Rainbow, her head bandaged. “The nice dragonman who helped me said it had been a severe concussion, but that I should be alright if I keep the bandages and the ointment they gave me, on for a few more days”.

“Draka” came the deep voice.

Rarity turned to the giant.

“I’m sorry?”

“Not dragonmen, we are Draka”

“Alright, alright Mr. Draka, then now that we are all awake, mind telling us who you are and why you helped us?” interjected Rainbow Dash with her characteristic brusqueness, only to stop and shrink before the behemoth stern gaze. “If…If you wouldn’t mind…of course” she added, suddenly sounding more like Fluttershy than herself.

The behemoth only stared for a few seconds, as if deciding whether to speak or not, then finally said.

“Whether I’m welcomed back in Equestria or not, I’m never going to allow anything to threaten your lives”.

He put his fists on the ground and took a deep bow.

“I am Spike, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, Veshanesh of the Draka and former first assistant to Princes Twilight Sparkle”.

Raising himself up, he added.

“At your service and your clan’s”

None of the girls made a peep as the information slowly sunk in.

“S….S….SPIKE?” Rarity, Rainbow, Fluttershy and the CMC all yelled in unison.

What followed was a chaos of actions as Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Applebloom and Scotaloo all jumped and hugged whatever part of Spike’s massive frame they could reach.

All the while Sweetie Belle immediately hid behind Rarity who, herself, simply stood there, mouth open and transfixed. She was confused. A part of her wanted to grab him and not let go like the rest of the girls, while another part wanted to get her sister as far away as possible from the creature who had almost killed her one year ago.

Spike however, said nothing and did nothing, himself confused at the sudden display of affection from the ones he felt he had betrayed so long ago.

Rainbow Dash, still trying to hug the entirety of Spike’s enormous arm, but failing miserably, realized what was happening.

“Rarity what the buck are you doing, it’s Spike”

“B…Bu…But”

“Don’t tell me it’s the way he looks, it doesn’t matter how he looks like, IT’S SPIKE” she yelled, suddenly angry. “You can’t tell me a few scars are making you so…”

Rarity suddenly became indignant

“THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE WAY HE LOOKS, IT’S… it’s just…” she said, gradually lowering her, now wet, eyes.

“Oh you have got to be…IT’S BEEN A YEAR… TWILIGHT TOLD US, REMEMBER? IT WASN’T HIS FAULT, IT WAS THAT MADNESS THINGY, IT WAS…”

“Rainbow, enough”

The words were not yelled, but barely whispered, yet they carried with them an undeniable note of command. Rainbow Dash found herself unable to say another word, her full attention drawn to Spike.

“The fact of the matter is, it was my fault, my own lack of discipline. And because of my failure, I hurt Sweetie Belle and, by extension, Rarity, more than anyone” With that he begun to take the ponies off him, gently but sternly.

“Your kindness and joy at my return is…surprising…heartwarming… however, I do not deserve it”.

Once again, still sitting cross legged, he planted his fists into the ground and bowed, a look of stoic endurance on his face, towards Rarity and Sweetie Belle, who was peeking behind her sister’s back.

“Sweetie Belle, I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. I am sorry for the pain caused you, and I am sorry for making you have to see me once again. I swear it, once I am sure Equestria is safe, you will never have to countenance my presence again”.

“N…No.. NoNoNo” both Rarity and Sweetie said in unison, Sweetie herself, still shivering, emerging from behind her sister.

“You don’t have to apologize”, Sweetie added, starting to walk towards Spike “Princess Twilight explained it to me, it was not your fault, it was…”

“NO EXCUSE” Spike suddenly roared, a sound like the bellow of an angry god “THERE IS NEVER AN EXCUSE FOR HURTING THE ONES WHO HAVE SHOWN ONLY LOVE AND KINDNESS TOWARDS YOU”.

Immediately, he stopped himself, seeing the terrified looks of the ponies around him.

“Please, leave me” he added, hurt and shame for his outburst edging his voice, “I need to make ready, we leave for Canterlot in half an hour, I must return you to the others”.

Hurt and distraught, the ponies left the tent, Fluttershy sniffling a bit as she left.

Once outside the tent, Rarity suddenly burst into tears.

“Oh what have I done, after an entire year Spike’s finally returned and I treat him like a monster. He even saved our lives and I couldn’t bring myself to at the very least properly thank him”.

“Yeah, you were a cold hearted bi…”

“Rainbow Dash” Fluttershy reprimanded before Rainbow could finish “It’s not because of Rarity that Spike told us to leave, it’s obvious the poor dear won’t forgive himself”.

Rainbow Dash cocked an eyebrow.

“But it WAS NOT his fault, we all know that, we’ve all forgiven him, what do you mean he won’t forgive himself? That’s…that’s stupid”.

“Whether you have forgiven him or no, a Draka must always rectify his failures” came a strong, feminine voice.

The girls looked around and saw a tall red headed, grey-scaled female Draka near them.

“Apologies, the law of hospitality decrees that I am to introduce myself.” She took a deep bow “I am Shagga Vesha’alad, second in command to Darraor Spike Veshanesh, I did not mean to overhear, however I assume you were talking about the Darraor Spike”.

“Darraor?” Rainbow Dash asked.

“In your language, it could be translated as War Mourner. It means that he is strongest of the Legion of the Damned, and the one who leads us”.

The girls stood awe struck.

Rainbow shook her head to regain herself.

“W…Wow, he got big, strong, scary as Tartarus and became a warlord in just one year?”

Shagga slowly shook her head.

“It may have been a single year for you, however Spike has fought alongside the Legion for the past two thousand and fifty three years. We have been fighting within Ginungagap, a world beyond the constraints of time.
We have only returned now because Spike had found out that Equestria was under attack”.

“Excuse me darling?” Rarity said, eyes wide “So you’re telling us that Spike is over two thousand years old?”

“You are correct”

“And he has been fighting for the past two thousand years, and even become the leader… the Darror of this Legion you speak of?”

“You are correct, also he is Veshanesh, Mountain Father of the Draka, a title which proves that he is the strongest and most unbreakable of all Draka”.

“And that even after so much time, Spike still cares enough about us that he is willing to risk his life and the lives of his people to help us?”

At this question, Shagga cocked her head, obviously confused.

“A Draka never forgets. If you are indeed amongst the ones he considers comrades or family, Spike will defend you and die for you, if need be, until the end of time itself. Mortals, daemons or gods, he will annihilate anything that has the audacity to threaten you”.

She said all this as if it had been the most obvious thing in the world.

The ponies were dumbfounded.

Shagga looked at them for a few seconds and, seeing that they were not going to say anything else, added.

“Our Spymaster, Mika’il has informed us that your capital is under attack”.

“Wait, you mean Canterlot?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes, it is currently under siege and apparently, the two monarchs of Equestria, the ones ponies call Celestia and Luna are currently both being held as prisoners to the attackers.”

“The Princesses are captured? We have to help them.” Fluttershy said, with uncharacteristic urgency.

“Please calm yourself. The Darraor has already ordered that we are to march for Canterlot in half an hour. He is sure that there are still survivors in the Castle of Canterlot and he aims to reunite you with your kin and break the siege. We will rescue your rulers”.

Fluttershy quickly grabbed her large gauntleted hand and said.

“Thank you so much for helping us ponies”.

Slightly taken aback by such a display of gratitude, Shagga slightly smiled nonetheless.

“It is the Darraor you must thank. He has ordered we protect Equestria, and we shall do so.”

Spike stood alone in the darkness of the tent, his claws digging in the palms of his hands. He had not thought it would be so hard to see the ponies again.

Sweetie Belle had been especially hard to look upon. Spike had noticed the remnants of the scar around her throat, but whenever he would catch sight of it, he would get enraged at himself.

How could he? How could he have done such a thing to those who loved him so much?

NO.

No. Now was not the time to dwell on it. He had to stay disciplined. To focus on his duty to the ponies. He had to make sure they would be safe back in Canterlot and brake the siege.

Clarity of mind soon dominated Spike. Yes. He had a duty. He would keep the girls safe and return them to Canterlot. Twilight was sure to be there. If anyone was smart enough to organize a safe haven, it was bound to be her. He would reunite the Six and then he would butcher every daemon that had the temerity to attack his home.

With his mind still and calm, Spike began donning his armor. His last armor had been damaged too much in the previous battle and there was no time to reforge and repair it. He would have to use the great armor, the O-Yoroi that had been gifted to him when he had been awarded the title of Veshanesh.

Spike looked at the armor. He did not want to use it. It was a masterpiece of Draka craftsmanship, upon which a hundred smiths had worked on for an entire year. An especially large armor, made specifically for his massive body. Unfortunately, the way Spike fought, armors tended to be destroyed during his battles.

Nonetheless he began the ritual donning it. With each piece he could not help but admire the Nipponian Draka craftsmanship.

The “Hakama” and “Shitagi” were worn first, salamander skin, dark red pants and shirt, worn underneath the armor.

The “Dou” came next, a breastplate of interlocking black gromril steel plate scales, each steel scale, covered in baroque leering draconic faces and entire legends written in minuscule, calligraphic runescript.

Then came the “Guruwa”, the neck guard. It covered the entirety of Spike’s neck, from the nape to his throat, starting from under his chin and ending at the base of his neck. Similarly to the rest of the armor, it was covered in runescript of ancient oaths and legends.

The “Kote” followed, taloned gauntlets with leering, grotesque sculpted faces on the backs of the gauntlets and the forearm protectors.

The “Haidate” and “Suneate” covered his thighs and shins, interlocking plates of inscribed armor.

A “Kusazuri” mail skirt of gromril chainmail and plates covered his midsection, all the way to his knees.

A “Manchira” vest with and understitching of gromril ringmail covered his armoured back and bare upper arms, providing protection, while still leaving his upper arms unobstructed by plated armor.

“Sode” pauldrons of inscribed plate covered his shoulders, another neck protector covering around the back and side parts of his neck.

Black Gromril steel sabatons covered his feet and lower shins.

A “Himo” black and dark red sash surrounded his midsection.

A black, runescripted “Kabuto” helmet covered the entirety of his head and neck, two dark red horns from each side and crescent moon just above his eyes.

He covered his nose and disfigured mouth with a black lacquered gromril “Mengu” facial masque, sculpted in the form of a fanged mouth. It clicked in connection with his steel lower jaw .

Finally over it all came an “Horo” black overcoat, edged in gold and blood red and padded with gromril ringmail, completely covered in Draken Runes that drew the eye to him. It served both as an added layer of protection and also as a mystical layer that made his enemies want to attack him more. It simply made him a more appeasing target. This suited Spike’s fighting style. The more enemies attacked him, the less would attack his Legion.

Spike began flexing his massive muscles, instinctively rearranging kinks in the armor and pieces that did not sit well. He did this until the complex armor mirrored his anatomy almost perfectly, becoming as unobtrusive as a second skin.

The armor in it’s entirety weighed over four hundred kilograms, almost half a ton, but Spike’s highly developed musculature barely even registered it’s weight.

With sure, ritualistic movements he added his weapons to the “Himo” sash of his midsection.

Three wide-bladed long curving bladed were first, weapons that he had forged himself and had served him for the past two millennia.

Then he turned to the weaponstand holding three weapons he had not used in over three centuries. Weapons forged from some of the strongest enemies he had faced and killed in Ginun. He had not used these blades for such a long time, due to the fact that they gave him too many advantages. With them, he ended fights too quickly, he did not have to time enjoy the battles and it even felt as if their strength limited him, made him unable to grow in skill and strength.
Power, after all, is gained by overcoming obstacles.

But this time, it was different. He did not have time to enjoy battle, he did not have time to allow himself to grow in aptitude. He had to keep the girls that had raised him safe, and he would use every power and tool he had at his disposal to obliterate any obstacle that stood in his way.

First came “Ildezgherdi”, Dream Drinker, a long straight sword, entrapped in in a black lacquered scabbard covered in Draken Runes of suppression. Spike took it off it’s stand and drew it out of it’s scabbard. As he made a small slash, the keening wail of the cursed sword disrupted and tore at the winds of magic, even as Spike’s blood began seeping into the haft of the blade. Forged from the bones of Ildezgherdi, the Crimson Queen of Moroi Hall, and quenched in her own blood, the blade’s sound as it sliced had the power to disrupt magic and make it unstable. However, as long as one used it, the dread spirit within, drew blood and clashed wills with the wielder. A moment of weakness and the blade would drain him to an empty husk.

Second, he lifted “Karasuma “, Devil Crow, an enormous Odachi greatsword, the blade and haft,almost as long as Spike was tall, with a blade as wide as his forearm. He pulled it from the sheath and admired the crimson glint of the steel. Bloodsteel was nigh impossible to find, however Spike had found it in abundance in the stomach of Vari’Ghalka, the Crone Mother. Now, this bloodsteel blade would never break, feeding and repairing itself on the blood of enemies.

The last was an average sized katana, in a Draken Rune covered sheath. Charms, fetishes and talismans covered every inch of the heavily ornate black sheath. Spike did not unsheathe it. This was his most dangerous weapon, his masterpiece. The blade of the katana was eternally coated in the dying breath of the Elder corrupted Salamander Broodfather of the Burning Crevace. The serrated blade would create sparks in contact with any hard surface and any spark, no matter how small, would ignite the miasma that always coated it and create a flame of such intensity that it could melt iron. The only problem was that the flame would grow continuously and never die off. It was a flame that, given time, could turn an entire mountain into an eternally aflame pile of ash. This was why it was kept in the highest levels of suppression. This was why it was used rarely. This was “Tenchi Kaijin”, Heaven and Earth End in Ashes.

Fastening the three weapons to his sash, he took a small steep back.

Spike could not help but find a slight bit of irony in it all. He was one of the Legion of the Damned, and, like all Draka of the Legion, he sought an honorable death to atone for his shame. Yet all Draka, even those of the Legion, would fight to their last breath, using every tool and every ounce of strength, speed and wisdom to succeed. All Draka would fight like the possessed to achieve victory, only to forsake their own doom in the process. The sheer concept of “simply lay down and die” ran so contrary to the very nature of a Draka, that it was impossible for a Draka to even consider. It was the eternal cycle of battle, pride and sorrow.

Still, acknowledging all this, Spike knew that he was the same. He would fight until there was no more blood in his veins and no more breath in his lungs and then, he would still fight, further on, even if it meant losing his chance for glorious doom.

Twilight Sparkle paced the grand space of the Ball Room relentelessly.

She racked her brain over and over again, trying her best to think of a way to rescue the princesses. Every plan, every strategy, every tactic she had come up with had been flawed, yet still she tried. Celestia had been her mentor, her friend, almost a second mother to her, she could not simply leave her in the hands of the rotten “thing”.

Why? Why was this happening? First she had lost Spike, then three of her closest friends and now she was going to lose her mentor. She was on the very edge of despair and she knew it. She could not handle another loss.

Applejack and Pinkie Pie stood, each on a chair, trying to calm her down.

“Twi, please sugarcube, ya’ gotta calm down, ya’ won’t be able ta think of nothin’ of worth if ya’ don’t calm down”.

“Calm down, Calm down? How can I? Everypony is depending on me to rescue them, and I can’t even save what I care for most. I didn’t save Spike, I didn’t save Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow or the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and I can’t even save the Princesses”

“Twilight, please… ” started Pinkie.

“No, no, no” interrupted Twilight, as if she had not even heard her, her eyes begging to brim with tears, her hands clutching her hair. “At this rate I’ll lose all I have left, even you”.

“Twi, sugarcube, we ain’t going nowhere”.

Before anyone could say anything more, the large doors slammed open and a guard in royal armor and a bandaged head burst in.

“Princess Twilight, we need you on the ramparts” he said, a desperate look in his eyes. “Something is approaching”

“What?” she immediately did a mental scrying and, sensing that the shield was unbroken, asked him “What’s going on? The shield hasn’t been breached”.

“It’s not that, your highness. Something is climbing the cliff on the other side of the castle”.

“What the hay are ya’ talkin’ about? That’s two miles of horizontal mountainside we’re talkin’ about. Nothin’ can climb that”.

Ignoring the orange pony, the guard continued, growing more desperate by the second.

“Whatever it is, it’s almost reached the shield”.

Looking at each other, the three ponies snapped into motion, following the guard.

Granite snapped as Spike’s gauntleted hand shot through the stone. Fluttershy, Derpy and Rainbow hovered around him, while Rarity, the CMC, Octavia and Vinyl sat on his massive shoulders, holding on to whatever they could. Even with all of them, they still had room to spare. Bon Bon and Lyra sat of Shagga’s shoulders, who was a few feet behind Spike.

Further behind, climbed the rest Legion of the Damned, one hundred ninety nine Draka.

Fluttershy, hovered closer to Spike.

“Umm… Spike, you’ve been climbing non-stop for an hour now, aren’t you the least bit tired? Me and the girls could at least take the fillies, reduce the weight”.

Spike answered with a steady voice, not even breathing hard.

“No need”.

Suddenly he stopped, an arm’s length away from the shimmering sphere of protection that encompassed the Castle.

Without a word he drew Ildezgherdi and slashed the straightsword along the edge of the sphere. A long keening wail pierced the air, and a large gash appeared on the shield.

Twilight screamed and fell to her knees as the emphatic magic she had used to monitor the shield suddenly went haywire. She herd a long keening wail and suddenly felt a malicious, ancient spirit clawing at the very stuff of magic. It was alien and terrifying, yet as soon as it appeared, it was drowned out and beaten to submission by another presence, a presence a hundred times more powerful, and possessed of a determination and enduring stubbornness, unlike anything she had ever felt before.

Spike climbed through the gash and the rest of the Legion followed.

“Rainbow”

“Yeah, Spike?” she answered

“Fly towards them and tell Twilight we are coming”

“You think Twilight is there?”

“I can smell her, she is frightened”. Immediately his hand snapped forwards and caught a purple beam of energy in his palm and crushed it into nothingness.

“Whoah, why is she shooting?”

“We are still too far away, I doubt she can recognize us”.

Rainbow nodded and dashed skywards, leaving her rainbow colored streak behind her.

Rarity, holding one of the horns on his Kabuto as tightly as she could, asked.

“She is alive? Oh thank goodness. What about Applejack, or Pinkie Pie?”

“Both there” answered Spike, as he grabbed and crushed another bolt of purple energy.

Twilight fired another bolt and started to shiver, feeling it dispel again. What was worst was that it was not dispelled by a counter spell, it was crushed out of existence by sheer brute force.

Nonetheless she started mentally chanting as her horn flared, when she suddenly saw a light blue dot approaching fast. She changed her target and fired. The dot immediately avoided it and came even faster.

Twilight started chanting another spell. Whatever came, she would not allow it to hurt anypony else. The dot soon began taking form, when Twilight prepared to loose a massive blast from her horn, a concussive wave designed to shoot the dot out of the sky.

Even with her horn flaring with purple power, she recognized the light blue furred Pegasus with rainbow colored hair and tail, wearing a black tank top and worn, three quarter jeans.

Her knees gave out as Rainbow passed her and started hovering above her.

“Hey egghead” she said with a smirk “You got the wrong targets”.

She couldn’t say anything more as a pink streak of color rammed into her and tackled her into the ground.

“OHMYGOSHYOREOK OHMYGOSHYOREOK OHMYGOSHYOREOK OHMYGOSHYOREOK” said Pinkie again and again, her hair poofy once more, refusing to let go.

“Pinkie…ribs…still tender” choked Rainbow, trying and failing to scrape the pink pony off her.

Strong orange hands peeled Pinkie off.

“Well I’ll be” said Applejack holding Pinkie off the ground “I never doubted you’d make it partner”.

She offered Rainbow a hand, all the while cocking her cowboy hat forward, trying to cover her suddenly wet eyes.

“I’m glad yer’ safe…” only to be stopped, as Twilight hugged the both of them.

“Oh, thank Celestia you’re ok Rainbow”

“Hey, me too” said a bouncing Pinkie, her personality slowly coming back to normal, as she grabbed all three in a bone snapping hug.

“How did you…?”

“Long story” said Rainbow “Think I’ll let them tell you” and she pointed behind Twilight.

Twilight looked and saw two gauntleted hands appear on the edge of the parapet only to be followed by massive horned helmeted head and an impossibly wide pair of shoulders upon which stood Rarity, Octavia, Vinyl Scratch and the CMC. The gigantic armored creature continued to climb until it stood, it’s large feet on the parapet. Fluttershy flew gingerly close to him...it…whatever it was, in stark contrast to the intimidating giant.

It stepped off the parapet and went on one knee and lowered his upper body, allowing the girls to climb off his shoulders. Even squatted like that it was much taller than any of the girls and even the royal guards that had gathered around.

Two green pinpoints looked at her from the depths of the helmet as he rose his massive frame.

The girls screamed in joy and began grabbing each other, Applejack visibly crying as she held Applebloom to her chest and kissed her face and forehead repeatedly.

Only Twilight stood there, transfixed, unable to look away from the oddly familiar yet, in the same time, oddly strange green eyes of the giant.

“Who…who…are you?” she stuttered.

The giant removed his horned helmet and masque to reveal a head of purple scales, a mane of green hair and a horribly disfigured face, lacking upper lips and with a steel brace for a lower jaw.

The giant’s green eyes were edged in warmth and sorrow.

“I am back, Twilight”.

Twilight’s eyes rolled and she collapsed.

Extra Author's note:

When I described the armor and every piece, I used the proper names for the pieces that make a proper feudal samurai armor (thank you Wikipedia). Draka culture is heavily inspired by the warrior culture of feudal Japan (hence the name Nipponian style).

While Spike is fifteen feet tall, the ane six are between five feet tall (Fluttershy) and six feet tall (Applejack is the tallest obviously).

Author's Note

Alright lads and lasses.
Another chapter out.
First Rarity and now Twilight fainted, noticing a pattern here.

Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Leave a comment and some input if you can (as that is what I feed upon:pinkiecrazy:).
Feel free to ask any question you want, I’ll answer as soon as possible.
See ya next chapter.

Siege Breaker

Spike in full armor (edited an image to work with what i needed). Enjoy the chapter.

Nerg'Cathal ground the teeth of his two mouths in frustration.

How was this happening? The invasion had been going for the past three days without a single problem or any form of organized opposition. He had enjoyed battering the shield of Canterlot Castle over time, seeing the despair grow on Celestia and Luna's faces, tasting the growing fear of those ponies still hiding under the fading security of the castle.

Now, it was all going awry.

Another series of booms came from the castle's ramparts, followed by whistling through the air as fifty projectiles peppered his army, crunching through armor and daemonic flesh. One of the projectiles obliterated the skull of a three horned mutated ogre fifty paces from him.

Swearing, Nerg'Cathal walked towards the still twitching corpse. He extended one of his six obese, rotting arms and shuffled through the ruptured flesh of the carcass and retrieved the projectile. It was a ball of gromril iron, roughly the size of a pony head, inscribed with a sigil.

Like a quake, Nerg'Cathal's obese body began trembling with frustration as he recognized the sigil.

How in the nine hells had the Legion of the Damned known of the invasion?

How had they entered Canterlot Castle without his knowledge?

Why were they here?

A stomp of cloven feet diverted his attention. One of his lieutenants, an eighteen foot tall, ox headed giant of muscle and rotten skin, gurgled.

"My lord, we are ready to send another regiment of dead-pike to attack the shield"

"THEN WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR YOU IMBECIL, DO IT"

The giant shivered, overcome with fear at Nerg'Cathal's outburst, and, for all his size and mass, scampered like a frightened child to do his will.

Nerg'Cathal continued to grind his yellowed jagged teeth, even the act of inspiring fear and obedience into his own warriors, something that had always calmed him, unable to shake the foreboding feeling that had overcome him.

With unnatural dexterity for one so obese, he ran towards the middle of his amassed armies. There, shackled in unholy chains and silent, stood the two former rulers of Equestria, Celestia and Luna.

Their once pristine coats, now dirtied and mud-splattered from the road, their once beautiful flowing manes, now lank and ruffled. But it was different. Before, their eyes had been empty, overcome with the pain of seeing their precious Ponyville and Canterlot burn, yet now, with the attacks from Canterlot Castle, their eyes had lit with new hope and wide, proud smiles adorned their faces.

Seeing them, Nerg'Cathal shook with barely restrained anger.

"Well, well, aren't we in a good mood?"

The two princesses said nothing, continuing only to smile and look towards Canterlot Castle.

With a roar, Nerg'Cathal grabbed the heads of the two Princesses and lifted them.

"DO YOU THINK YOU'VE WON? DO YOU THINK THIS PALTRY DEFENSE IS GOING TO STOP ME? THEN LOOK".

With that, he turned the two princesses towards the back of the army. There, like the carcass of a primordial beast, lay a monstrosity of iron and bone. It looked almost like a cannon, the front part sculpted in the shape of a leering, grinning monstrosity. All along it's surface, gigantic, unholy runes pulsed with a sickly green and, upon it's top, an enormous cauldron bubbled with a sound like the death rattle of a thousand dying warriors.

All around it, a hundred gibbering, feather robed cultists, dressed in obscene colors chanted and wailed.

A procession of thrashing and screaming daemons were being dragged towards the cauldron, lifted over it, only to have their chests and bellies ripped open and their lifeblood and innards fall into the cauldron. The empty, drained carcass would then be taken to the front of the gigantic cannon and thrown into it.

"That, my dears, is the Flesh Giver. An ancient weapon from the early days of Ginungagap. The soul of a greater daemon powers it's engine and currently two thousand elite daemons have been sacrificed to it."

He turned the two recumbent princesses to him and looked into their eyes, enjoying the sight of their fading smiles and growing despair.

"Once that number reaches three thousand, it will have enough power to reduce your entire Castle to dust, shield and all, with one shot."
He dropped the two Princesses and began grinning.

"I will make you learn your place insects, at my feet".

Twilight awoke to the sound of explosions and cheering.

Immediately, she recognized the magical signature of the shield around the castle. It was wavering. Without a moment more, she added her own strength to the shield, stabilizing it. With a mental check, she covered the cracks in the aethyric shield and, once everything was stable again, she pushed the process of shield maintenance to a subconscious part of her mind.

"Think she's done?" a familiar voice from her left spoke.

"Oh, would you leave her do her work Rainbow? You know she needs to keep the shield up." another, softer, timid voice spoke.

She turned to her left, only to be greeted by five pairs of eyes. Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, Applejack, Pinkie Pie and Rarity all stood there, smiling.

"Oh girls.. wait... why am I on a bed?" Twilight asked suddenly feeling her face become warm "Don't tell me I ..."

"Fainted? Yeah" laughed Rainbow Dash.

Seeing her friend's red face though, she added "Don't worry, Rarity did that too, and you woke up in half an hour, faster than she did, anyway".

"Oh for Celestia's sake, how long are you going to hold that over me?" Rarity asked indignant.

"Give it a few years".

"Uhh..where are the others?" began Twilight, remembering the scene that had caused her black out.

"Don't ya worry none sugarcube, the rest of the ponies are in the main hall with the other refugees and the CMC are with Cheerilee and Granny Smith right now, along with all the other fillies".

Twilight simply stood there, relaxed, knowing the others were safe, but still, not wanting to bring up the subject she knew was on everyone's mind.

"Was...is that armored giant... really...who I think it is?"

The girls started looking at each other or playing with their fingers, clearly uncomfortable.

"Uhh, yea Twi' Spike's really grown, ain't he" said Applejack, trying to lighten the mood, but failing miserably.

"My goodness" started Twilight "How can somepony change so much in one year?".

"Actually it's been more like two thousand years for Spike" began Rainbow "Apparantly he's been fighting for the last two thousand years in this like, living Hell outside of time"

"Rainbow"

"And he's become like, the warleader of the Legion of the Darned or Damned, something like that"

"Rainbow"

"His second in command told us he's like the strongest most vicious fighter of his entire race..."

"RAINBOW" the other girls said in unison

"What?"

Rainbow looked at Twilight only to see that she was just staring into empty space, obviously trying and failing to process the information.

"Oh...damn. Uhh... soo...yea, Spike's....grown up".

Twilight shook her head, forcing herself out of her dumbfounded state and looked at the girls.

"Where is he now?"

"He's on the ramparts sugarcube. He and his warriors have been attacking the daemons since we got here".

Twilight raised herself off the bed and began straightening her clothes and hair.

"Let's go, I want to talk to him".

"Um... Twi', I know you've got a lot ta' say to him, but remember, he saved mah sister and all our friends. Without him, they wouldn't be here right now".

"I know. All I want from him, is an explanation"Twilight added, starting to walk towards the ramparts.

Fifty Draka, each armed with a dragon-flame hand cannon, pulled their flintlock triggers at the same time, with typical Draka discipline. The roaring dragon sculptures that made the front part of the twelve foot long hand cannons spewed fire and smoke and fifty gromril iron balls flew through the shield and smashed into the daemonic army. In twenty seconds, they were ready to fire another salvo.

Spike, Shagga, Goromandy and Mika'il all stood cross-legged and peering over a map.

"So there we have it, elder brother" Goromandy continued. "We have a hundred Shield-siblings, fifty Drak'aviri shock troops and fifty Val'Drakar hand-cannons".

Mika'il began "The other half of the Legion is at the Mouth of Madness, however the numbers we have now would be enough to allow us to defend the castle indefinitely".

"No, we need to attack" said Spike sharply and looked to Shagga.

Shagga explained "The daemons are preparing a massive strike with the cannon they have behind their armies. I can smell the winds of magic coalescing into that point. We cannot allow them to use it. We need to attack".

Mka'il and Goromandy both grinned. "A suicidal charge against over thirty thousand daemons and artillery with the field advantage on their side? It will be a glorious doom."

Mika'il added "Give us ten minutes to engage the enemy elder brother Spike. Once we have gained their attention enough, you will have enough time to flank their right side and slaughter your way to the cannon, as per standard Two Fang maneuver".

Spike looked at Mika'il and Goromandy a gleam of pride appearing in his otherwise cold, stern eyes. "Not this time brothers, this time we use the Piercing Claw maneuver, this time we fight side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and we tear our way to the cannon together".

Manic grins split the faces of Shagga, Goromandy and Mika'il. It had been over three hundred years since they had fought shoulder to shoulder with the Darraor in the Piercing Claw formation, and they would relish this opportunity.

"Shagga and Goromandy, you lead the Shield-siblings, Mika'il, you lead the Val'Drakar canoniers and I will lead the Drak'Aviri shock troops.

Prepare, we start in half an hour.

My orders, we kill them all and break the siege of Canterlot".

"Strength and Wisdom, Blood and Doom" said the three Draka as they rose to prepare.

Spike began to rise from his cross legged position, but a voice stopped him.

"S...Spike?"

He sighed and slowly turned to regard a small, tear-eyed Twilight.

"Twilight I..."

That was all he could say before Twilight flew seven feet into the air and latched onto his massive chest plate, only to begin a confusing display of hugging him or uselessly smashing her comparatively tiny fists against his chest and face.

"I'm so glad you're still alive...how could you leave like that?...you're back, you're back... two thousand years? really? two thousand years? and you could not even write once...thank Celestia you're still okay..."

Spike did not move during it all, merely let Twilight vent and wear herself out.

After a few minutes, Twilight became still, her face and entire body, buried in Spike's cold chest armor. Her small left hand remained on Spike's massive head and caressed his disfigured lower face. She raised a puffy eyed face and watched Spike's lipless face.

"I'm glad *sniff* you're finally back".

Spike still only stood there, his massive hand, larger than half her entire upper body, slowly patting her back. He set her down as the other five girls came closer. They had all stood there in silence and let the scene play out.

"Alright, alright, I'm done now" said Twilight panting heavily.

Rarity knelled beside her, drawing a large handkerchief and beginning to wipe Twilight's face and eyes.

"There you go darling, it's good that you got that out".

Twilight laughed a little bit, obviously slightly embarrassed at her outburst. She looked with puffy red eyes at Spike.

"Sorry about that, but in the end all that matters is that you are back. We can be a family again".

A deathly silence fell as Spike dropped his eyes to the ground.

"We can be a family again, right Spike?" Twilight asked again, her smile beginning to falter.

Spike loosed a deep sigh and bent to retrieve his Kabuto horned helmet and his facial mask.
"Tell the other refugees to prepare, my forces and I will begin the attack soon and after we break the siege and retrieve the Princesses, we will escort you all to the Crystal Empire".

"Spike please...we can be a family again right?"

Spike did not answer. He turned from them and merely added
"Prepare to open the shield once me and my forces have gone through the main portcullis"

"SPIKE... WHY? WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER?"

Twilight had grabbed the hem of his "Horo" overcoat and was squeezing the fabric in her small hands. Her entire body was trembling and the other girls were looking with desperate eyes at Spike.

Without turning, Spike explained.

"Forget me Twilight. All of you, forget I have ever existed. I am a Draka of the Legion of the Damned. My only purpose is to find a grand doom and restore my honor in death. The Spike you knew, he died the day he tore at Sweetie Belle's throat".

It was not the information, it was the finality with which Spike had said it that hit the girls like a cannon ball. By the time the girls regained their composure, Spike had already left the parapet and was heading to the gigantic portcullis of the castle, where his army awaited him.

Twilight's knees gave and she turned into a mess of trembling and desperate crying.

"Ah...Ah don't get it? Why would Spike say that? Ya' can't tell me after all this time he's still thinking about what happened that time. Nobody cares 'bout what happened, we're just happy he's back. He can't be that stubborn to want to die for a mistake he had no control over" Applejack said with a perplexed look on her face.

Still crying, her entire body shaking with hiccups and tears, Twilight explained.

"The book I read sad that Draka are … sniff... fiercely proud and the only way they would forgive... sniff... themselves of a shame or a mistake is by dying a honorable death. Why Spike? Why would you want to leave us again?"

The girls stood in silence, with only the sound Twilight's cries and sniffles to accompany their shattered spirits.

Spike moved with purpose. His heart ached. It hurt more than anything had ever hurt before. He had never thought he would ever have to break Twilight's heart the way he did.

But he had to do it.

It was better this way. Let it hurt him, he can take it. He can take all the pain.

Let Twilight hate him, let the others hate him, let them forget about him. He was Draka and Darraor of the Legion of the Damned. He had been reborn before the altar of the Legion, in order to die in glory. He cannot, he WILL not let them waste their tears over him. If they hate him, if they forget about him, they will not cry when he leaves or dies.

Yes, it's better this way. Let him be the bad one. If only to spare Twilight and the other girls more pain, he is willing to be the bad one.

The courtyard of the castle was a massive open space. Large enough to fit a thousand royal guard rank and file and five hundred war chariots. It had ever been the pride of Canterlot, the great courtyard and the portcullis and it's golden gates, a marvel of architectural genius.

Once it had been a place for grand open Galas and amazing displays of pony military discipline, yet now it was almost desolate, nothing more than a testament to the abhorrent atrocities that this war had visited upon Equestria.

Wherever one looked, they could see only groups of depressed ponies, hands and feet covered in bandages, once colorful and impeccable coats of fur now lacking color and covered in dark bruises and cuts in the process of healing .

Still, the ponies gathered. Their eyes drawn to the gigantic warriors that marched towards the great portcullis.

Two hundred and one giants, garbed in black gromril steel armors marched in lockstep towards the gates, purpose in their strides, pride, joy and battle lust obvious on their scaled faces. Two hundred and one warriors marched with joy and yelled oaths, to what seemed like a suicide assault.

And yet, as unnatural and mad as their joy appeared to the ponies around them, nopony could deny the effect their presence had. The sight of such utter disdain in the face of death filled the spirits of those watching and made them add their own cheers to the sound of marching armored giants.

As one, the Legion of the Damned stopped before the great portcullis, as it slowly started opening, the great mechanisms within the gate houses, groaning with the strain of opening the great gates.

A first row of shield and spear, one hundred warriors, all garbed in heavy armor made the first line of defense and attack, Shagga and Goromandy directing and bellowing orders from the middle of the row. The shield-siblings, shoulder to shoulder, formed the impenetrable shield wall that the enemy would break upon.

The second row, fifty truly gigantic Draka, each one a full head taller than the Draka of the first row, garbed only in lower plate armor, kusazuri chain mail kilts and plate gauntlets, but otherwise bare chested and bare headed, stood ready in a loose formation, readying their great curving blades, giant axes and ornate mauls. The Drak'Aviri shock troops were ready to feast on battle. Leading these giants was Spike, standing head and shoulders taller than even them, in full ornate armor, his eyes alone, a pair of cold green dots shining from the depths of his Kabuto horned helmet and facial masque.

The third row, led by Mika'il, fifty Draka of slimmer build, wielding great hand-held cannons, shaped in the form of roaring dragon heads, made the long range Val'Drakar flintlockers, the expert, eagle-eyed marksmen of the Legion of the Damned.

Beyond the gates and magical shield lay in wait thirty thousand daemons, over twenty thousand undead and too many changelings to count. The air smelled of a grand battle and the chant began.

As one, the two hundred and one grinning Draka Legionnaires began singing a deep rumbling chant. The Chant of the Damned, the Song of the Doomed.

Chant to listen to, to get the mood that follows

Spike felt right. The smell of steel and bared blades. The sound of armor and straining muscles. The hum of chanting voices. The atmosphere of approaching battle.

It felt right. it felt like home, it felt like family.

His chest heaved and deep voice boomed as he added his own voice to the chant. As he sang along with his warriors his mind and heart cleared and soul filled with pride for his Legion. His family in death.

Lo, do mine eyes see my doom.
In the depths of daemon gloom.
Lo, do mine eyes see death and pain.
As I promise blood shall rain.

Lord of Death, Ullail, hear our cry.
To take our souls in death, you shall try.

Our Ancestors beckon and we see pride.
On the Skull Road, gladly we shall ride.
O, Ancestors of Old, hear us howl.
In death with us, we take enemies most foul.

Lord of Death, Ullail, hear our cry.
To take our souls in death, you shall try.

For when all is Pain and Dread.
The Legion marches forward.
For when all is Doom and Horror.
The Legion marches forward.
For when all is Blood and Steel.
The Legion marches forward.

Forward, ever forward.
On a mountain of Iron and Corpses.
On a sea of Blood and Tears.
On a world of Pain and Terror.
The Legion marches forward.

We are Steel.
We are Doom.
We are the Legion of the Damned.
And we ever march forward.

With a final groan the gates opened completely and the magical shield in front of the gates opened. Spike flung his head to the sky and let loose an ululating howl.
As one, the Legion surged forward, passing through the gate and shield, to meet already advancing line of daemons.

"Gahahaha" bellowed Nerg'Cathal and turned to the two Princesses.

"It seems I won't need to use the Flesh Giver, the insects of the Legion are running to their own death".

Savoring the look of despair on the faces of the two Princesses he yelled the order to charge.

Fifty dragon-flame cannons roared and billowed flame and smoke, sending large gromril iron balls flying mere inches from Draka heads, only to surge beyond and tear through daemonic armor and flesh. Expert Draka marksmanship meant every shot counted for four or five daemons or ruptured undead by the tens.

Daemonic war engines and artillery spewed forth stone, flesh and black flame, only two break against the impenetrable wall of the shield-siblings.

Howling daemons and shambling undead lurched and ducked under their own artillery fire, only to break upon Draka shields and be skewered by their spears.

With a collective snarl, a hundred Draka shields rose up and fifteen foot, long bladed spears thrust forward, downing three rank and file of dead-pike, even as Spike and his fifty Drak'Aviri shock troops jumped on the raised shields and, using the shields as leverage, launched themselves in a sea of daemons, becoming whirlwinds of bladed destruction in the middle of screaming daemons.

Spike alone did as much damage as his fifty Drak'Aviri combined, his great Odachi "Karasuma" leaving trails of blood and entrails in a display of raw brutality and perfect technique. The fifty Drak'Aviri, a mass of ululating and howling Draka, roared with pride and battle lust, goaded and inspired by their Darraor's strength.

Salvo after salvo of cannon fire tore through daemons, Draka discipline sending balls of iron into the enemy even as the Drak'Aviri whirled the dance of death, not touching an inch of Draka flesh, yet always, without fail, breaking daemon and undead flesh and bone.

Thousands of lobotomised changelings fell from the sky towards the Legion, only to be rendered to nothing more than charred husks by the collective flame of a hundred advancing Draka shield-siblings.

As one, shields rose again and Spike and the Drak'Aviri returned behind the shield wall, leaving a field of broken daemons and crushed undead.

This was the Piercing Claw. A three stage assault that kept the Legion moving forward, even as they tore through anything that moved.

This had been the third daemonic assault that had been crushed under the Legion's boot, and they were slowly and surely advancing towards the artillery placements.

Nerg'Cathal yelled in frustration and brought one of his six rusted great axes down on one of his daemon's heads.

"Why have you stopped? Send another charge. Send them all".

A daemon lieutenant stammered a response.
"My lord, we have send all we could, nothing can break through the Legion, and we keep battering them with artillery assault, but it is of no use".

Sickly yellow froth burst from Neg'Cathal's mouth as he tore through the screaming lieutenant's belly. His wrath somewhat subsided he turned to the Cult Hierophant.

"How much longer until the Flesh Giver is ready to fire?"

The Hierophant shook and quickly blurted out.

"Seven hundred more daemons my lord".

"YOU WORTHLESS SCUM, MOVE FASTER" he yelled as he turned to his five remaining lieutenants.

"Send in the Corpse Lords".

A deep rumble shook the ground as ten, fifty foot tall, gigantic abominations made of what looked like a amalgam of corpses, iron and rusted chains, rose from the daemonic army and began charging towards the Legion.

The great slabs of iron that made their teeth shuddered, drooling old blood in place of saliva, and the house-sized hooks and cudgels that made their hands thrashed in uncontrolled fury as the Corpse Lords charged through the no-man's land between the two armies.

"Kazhalaa" yelled Mika'il and fifty Val'Drakar cannons shot a simultaneous salvo, tearing the first Corpse-Lord to rotten pieces of flesh and iron.

"Vashala'Alir" Shagga and Goromandy bellowed as a hundred shield-siblings and fifty Drak'Aviri drew breath and, raising their right hands to their mouths and activating the Draken Runes on their forearms, let loose gouts of red hot flame. Guided by the magic of the Draken Runes the gouts of flame rolled and compressed until they became fireballs, each as large as the Draka who had cast it and, with a collective roar, one hundred and fifty Draka loosed the flaming missiles.

Four more Corpse-Lords disappeared as one hundred and fifty fireballs tore them to flaming smolders and dust.

"Sa'an'ishar" Shagga called for "Shield and Spear" formation but before the Legion cold form, Spike, Darraor of the Legion, opened his way through the shields and walked before the shield wall.

Drawing a breath, he lifted his own right hand and loosed a gout of pale green and white-hot flame. Like the others, the same Draken Rune on his forearm guided the flame to roll in on itself and compress, except it grew until it became three times the size of Spike's already massive body.

Spike loosed it and the flaming ball flew straight and true, scorching the earth and cracking the stone behind it.

A Corpse-Lords disappeared upon contact with the flaming missile, it's massive body reduced to ash by the monstrous heat before the fireball exploded upon contact with the last four Corpse-Lords, with a boom that shattered every window of the already far away Canterlot Castle.

When the dust settled, only the few flaming remains marked the passing of the last four Corpse-Lords.

The Mane Six took their hands from their heads, their ears still ringing from the sound wave that Spike's exploding fireball had caused.

"Holy shi..." Rainbow began.

"Wha'? Ah can't hear a thing your' sayin' RD" yelled Applejack, rubbing a finger in her ear, trying to stop the ringing.

"Wowie Zowie, is that really Spike?" Pinkie Pie added, her mouth agape.

"Oh...Oh...my, they are all quite impressive, I've never seen someone fight like that before" Fluttershy said, staring in disbelief at the canvas of war unfolding before her.

Twilight could only stand there, mouth open and eyes wide. She had never, not even from the royal guard, seen such a display of discipline and fearlessness. The Draka were truly formidable. It was one thing to read about them in a book and another to see them in real life.

Moreover, never in her wildest dreams, would she have thought that Spike would become so strong. He truly deserved to be named the strongest of the Draka.

Yet, also, she had never been more frightened of him.

Was this really the Spike she had grown up with?

Shagga roared loudly as she brought the edge of her shield on a daemon's knee, cracking it and then pierced it's skull with her spear. The battle had been going on for an hour and the Legion had finally reached the artillery placements. Here, the fighting was at it's most brutal, the desperate daemons, fighting like the possessed, trying to defend the artillery.

The shield siblings pushed forward, even as Spike and the Drak'Aviri tore through rank after rank of daemons in front of them and the Val'Drakar gunners shot for the artillery.

"Shagga, Val'Vasili" a roar came from behind her. At the edge of her eye she saw the horribly wound Draka of the Drak'Aviri sock troops that had spoken. The Draka warrior was horrifically wounded, two large gashes across his chest and belly, a hand over his stomach, trying to keep his entrails from spilling out, and bleeding from a dozen more cuts across his body.

Shagga nodded quickly, mutual understanding coming between the two warriors and she lifted her shield. The Draka charged under her shield, whopping and howling and, grabbing his great ax with both hands, began tearing through a dozen daemons, even as his guts spilled out of his stomach, effectively cleaving his way to one of the black flame daemonic war-engines.

Four daemons fell on the lone Draka, driving him down to a knee, in a frenzy of stabbing swords and spears. But the dying Draka had done what he had intended to do. He had cleared the way to the war-engine. He turned to Shagga and ginned wildly. Opening his mouth and raising his hands to the sky he laughed loudly, while the daemons kept stabbing at him.

"Ancestors, my shame has been atoned,upon the Skull Road I now come".

Shagga's heart overflowed with pride at the redeemed Legionnaire, while also filling with sorrow at the loss of a battle-brother.

"Mika'il" she yelled.

In one fluid motion, Mika'il rested the dragon-flame cannon on Shagga's shoulder and pulled the trigger. The gromril-iron ball hit the unholy crystals that powered the war engine and it exploded with a loud crump, engulfing the laughing Draka and every daemon around it in a torrent of black flame.

Shagga threw her head back and let loose an ululating howl, marking the passing and redemption of another Draka of the Legion. The rest of the Legion took up the howl and doubled the viciousness of their attacks, hoping to find their own glorious dooms.

This had been the thirty-seventh Draka who had died, and Shagga knew she and everyone else in the Legion would mourn and honor their passing after the battle.

At the sound of the ululating howl, Spike threw his head back and howled himself, honoring the fallen Draka. Without looking he slashed upwards with his left hand, his Odachi "Karasuma" bisecting a eighteen foot tall corrupted minotaur, in two separate halves.

Immediately he switched the blade to his right hand and beheaded three smaller daemons with one strike, and then launched a storm of slashes, carving through a dozen heavy armored daemons in half as many heartbeats.

Spike knew his "Blood Madness" was under control, even though he felt the veins on his forehead thicken and pulse with anger at the loss of so many of his battle-brothers and sisters. He was proud of them nonetheless. They had died with honor, as he himself hoped he would die, but he knew he would still feel their loss.

Yes, the Madness was kept in check, no threat of it attempting to overcome his mind at the moment, however something else bloomed in the depths of his stoic and unwavering heart.

It was the joy of battle, the sheer ecstasy that only coming blade to blade with an enemy could offer. Spike sliced through a nightmare steed and it's daemonic rider in one fluid motion only to continue it by impaling a dog headed daemon through the skull, helmet and all. Spike slightly shook his head and cleared his mind. He could not allow himself to fully enjoy battle at the moment, he had to keep himself free of distractions for now.

It was paramount that he eradicate any threat to the girls right now. Anything else could and would wait.

"Elder brother"

Spike turned his head to Shagga.

"The daemon's general is heading towards the great cannon, we will hold the line here. End him."

Without a word, Spike raised "Karasuma" in a two handed grip as his muscles and veins swelled with strength, and brought it down in an explosion of force, the blade and cutting wind, brought by the power of the strike, ripping through two dozen daemons and opening his way to the six-armed obese monstrosity that was the general of the daemonic army.

Shagga watched Spike tear through the daemons and charge after the daemon general. She would take no chances. With quick silent hand code, she signaled two Drak'Aviri and Goromandy to follow and offer support to Spike.

She refused to allow her Darraor to stand alone. He had done enough of that. The Legion would always be here for Spike.

Nerg'Cathal ran towards the great cannon as fast as he could. He was done with this. All of it.

Whether the Flesh Giver was at full strength or not, he would fire at the Legion and obliterate them completely. Of course many daemons would be caught in the blast, but such was the nature of war.

The sound of howls behind him made him turn to see four Draka running towards him. Three were a mile away, and the largest one of them all, and judging by his incredibly ornate armor and size, probably the Legion's leader, was almost half a mile from him.

He smiled to himself. He should at the very least enjoy himself a little bit before ending it.

Turning abruptly he charged towards the giant Draka with the odd looking armor and horned helmet. With a chuckle he drew his six great rusted axes, one in each of his six rotten hands.

With a mental chant, he activated the unholy runes sown within his bulbous putrid flesh and increased his speed tenfold.

Yes, he would enjoy this, but make it quick, he would rip the insect's head clean off...

With a sudden shudder down his spine, Nerg'Cathal felt it. The closer he got to the giant Draka, the more he felt the sense of imminent danger, gnawing at his very survival instinct. The animal part of his brain told him something very clear and simple. This Legionnaire was dangerous, very dangerous, moreso than anything he had ever faced before.

Muttering a curse, Nerg'Cathal changed his strategy. He would kill the other three Draka, behind the giant one, first. Mentally chanting another spell, fifty feet from Spike, Nerg'Cathal blinked out of existence for a few seconds only to appear half a mile behind Spike, in front of Goromandy and the two Drak'Aviri.

With an almost casual flick of the wrist, he slashed with three axes at the first Draka, a brown scaled, white maned fourteen foot mountain of muscle, landing three strikes against the Draka's raised greatsword. The three strikes battered the Draka's defense and scored three deep cuts aganst his muscled abdomen.

Without skipping a beat, Nerg'Cathal pulled on the three axes, disarming the Draka and hamstringing him with a slash from his fourth ax.

As the roaring Draka fell to the ground, he launched his fist catching Nerg'Cathal in the face, breaking a few teeth.

With a roar Nerg'Cathal chanted his preferred spell "Nergui Makah Akui" - "In the name of the Rot I tell you, Putrefy".

Where Nerg'Cathal's axes had hit, the Draka's flesh began to rot at a horrific rate. The rot quickly spread and in mere seconds, the Draka's entire body had become a rotten carcass.

Yet something had been wrong. The Draka had neither screamed nor despaired. Instead in his final moments, the Draka had started laughing like a maniac and had begun yelling something in Draconian that almost sounded like a death-chant.

A roar from his left awoke Nerg'Cathal from his reverie, as another of the Draka of the Drak'Aviri, a tall, thin, white-scaled female with midnight blue hair launched herself at him. Like the Draka he had just killed, she was only armored on her lower body and arms, a studded leather tank top and myriad of tattoos being the only thing that covered her chest and breasts.

Nerg'Cathal licked his lips with a rotting tongue as he brought all six axes to intercept her large, rune inscribed mace. Rusted splinters flew from the axes and Nerg'Cathal smiled.

"Oh my dear, such a shame...Nergui Makah Akui"

As soon as he had spoken the spell, the rusted splinters that had fallen from his axes flew and pierced the female Draka's exposed flesh. Like the Draka before she began rotting fast and was dead in seconds.

Nerg'Cathal scowled. The female Draka had also died laughing. He did not like this. There was no fun in killing something that accepted death. Where was the fear, the despair?

A shuffle from behind him made him turn in time to slash at a long bladed spear and divert it's trajectory.

The third Draka, a large, stocky creature in full armor armed with a large tower shield and a spear grinned at him. He pointed his spear and spoke in muddled Daemonicus.

"Rotten fruit, tell fucking Abyssal Gods, Goromandy send you to them".

Rage bubbled in Nerg'Cathal's head. How dare this insect address him?

With an enraged shriek, Nerk'Cathal launched a flurry of blows from his six axes, every attack connecting with the large tower shield the Draka wielded and, within seconds, the shield began rusting and split in two.

"Gahaha, let me educate you insec..."

Nerg'Cathal's insult stopped short as Goromandy thrust his spear beyond the obese daemon's defenses and stabbed him through the neck.

"Is all, rotten fruit? You bore Goromandy".

Froth covered Nerg'Cathal's mouth, even as his wound closed, putrescent flesh reknitting itself in moments.

"Hierophant, NOW"

A few miles away, next to the great canon "Flesh Giver", the Cult Hierophant heard his master's shout, both real and telephantic, and reordered the flow of magic drawn by his cultists, in order to do Nerg'Cathal's bidding.

Sickly yellow light burst alive around Goromandy and, with a blaze of light, Goromandy's helmet and chest armor disappeared, only to reappear near the Hierophant's feet. The Object Displacement Conjuration had been a resounding success.

Too angry to mock or savor this, Nerg'Cathal brought all six axes smashing against each other and produced a small could of rusted shards.

"Now you're precious armor won't protect you against my shards".

Goromandy stared for a second, then opened his mouth to a booming laughter and threw his spear. With nonchalant backhand from one his axes, Nerg'Cathal rusted and broke the steel spear to bits.

Still laughing, Goromandy drew his curved sword and, like a maniac, charged straight through the cloud of shards.

"Imbecil...Nergui Makah Akui".

The shards flew and pierced Goromandy's flesh. Immediately his flesh began rotting, yet with all that, still laughing, Goromandy still charged.

With a curse, Nerg'Cathal slammed all six of his axes into Goromandy's flesh.

"Just die you...."

The curved sword flashed and cleaved through Nerg'Cathal's face cutting a deep gash into his skull. With a howl of pain and anger, Nerg'Cathal grabbed the still laughing and rotting Goromandy by the head and raised him into the air. He brought the dying Draka down and smashed him into the ground in a spray of blood and already rotten flesh.

Goromandy had laughed all the way.

Nerg'Cathal bellowed to the sky. Again, he had been denied the savoring of his victory. Again, his enemy had died with no fear, only joy and pride.

"What the hell is it with these damn insects, I will be denied no longer..."

Animal instinct rather than knowledge made Nerg'Cathal raise two axes above his head as Spike slashed down. His Odachi tore through the two axes and sliced deep into Nerg'Cathal's shoulder.

Nerg'Cathal stiffeled a shiver of panic. There were no roars or howls from this Draka, this one was as silent as the grave.

A savage punch in his gut from Spike, lifted the two ton obese daemon off his feet and sent him flying six feet away.

Nerg'Cathal half-rose on his knees, puking half digested food, Spike's steps sounding closer and closer.

"Get up rotten fruit" the deep guttural voice of Spike spoke, as solid and cold as a gravestone.
"I would have you die slowly".

Author's Note

Hello all,

Sorry it's been so long, found myself knee deep in commissions and had to work a lot (not a valid excuse i know but i'ma try nonetheless:twilightsmile:).

As always, if you like what you read, feel free to like, follow, all that good stuff, but more importantly, leave a comment or some feedback/criticism/input.

More grimdark coming soon.

Draconica Irae

"And who are you to think you will fare better than your comrades, boy?" asked Nerg'Cathal, the instinctive animal fear he had sensed before at the sight of the giant Draka, now growing with every passing moment and thrumming at every inch of his mind and body, screaming for him to run and hide.

The fifteen foot tall armor-clad Draka looked at him with the dead cold, green points of light that were his eyes and said in a deep rumbling voice.

"Rotten fruit, you do not deserve to know my name"

With that, he launched himself at the obese putrescent daemon with a speed that beguiled his enormous frame. In the blink of an eye he had covered the distance separating them and began a furious assault.

Nerg'Cathal found himself immediately on the defensive, his six rusted axes rising and falling, slashing and parrying at the curtain of slicing steel that the Draka had raised before him with his single enormous curving blade.

The Draka wielded his monstruos blade single-handed with a speed and strength unnatural for a weapon so large, launching blizzard after blizzard of slices and cuts, laving Nerg'Cathal with no other alternative other than to backpedal and defend.

With a roared chant, the unholy runes within his flesh blazed with unnatural power again and increased his speed tenfold. Howling with frustration, rage and fear he launched himself forward, his six empowered arms sending a torrent of ax-blows at the Draka.

The Draka met Nerg'Cathal's assault with the silence and immovable surety of a mountain. Without a single step backwards, he intercepted and deflected every attack, with such force that it sent Nerg'Cathal's arms snapping backwards, his own Odachi licking out like a viper's tongue to slice at the rotten daemon's flesh.

Such, the two warriors fought for a few seconds, the speed and force of their blistering assaults turning their bodies into blurs of motion, sparks flying everywhere as Nerg'Cathal's axes fell and sliced, only to be intercepted and smashed away by the Draka's ever present blade.

The assault stopped with the same brusqueness as it had began, Nerg'Cathal jumping away, his rotten body covered in multiple nicks and cuts, while the Draka stood there, his massive body unstained by the bite of any of Nerg'Cathal's axes.

Nerg'Cathal seethed with pain and fury. In those few seconds he must have slashed over a hundred times at the Draka, only to be met with blade. The sword had seemed to be everywhere at the same time, moving faster than the eye could see, even going so far as to slice him a few times while still defending.

What was worse, the enchanted axes Nerg'Cathal wielded had failed to completely rust the Draka's blade. Even as he watched, the blood staining the blade drained away, as if the sword itself was drinking it. Before his bloodshot eyes, the weapon repaired itself, gorging on Nerg'Cathal's blood and shedding away the little rust that had appeared around it.

"I see, a blood iron weapon" Nerg'Cathal spoke, trying and failing to cover the tremble in his voice. "I know of only one Legionnaire who has such a weapon, and, considering the strength you've shown, you must be the Darraor of the Legion, the one called Spike"

Spike said nothing, only started walking towards the obese daemon.

"Well, well mighty Spik..."

"Quiet".

The single word carried with it a clear and undeniable note of danger, forcing Nerg'Cathal's mouth to clamp shut instinctively. It had not been shouted, merely said, almost whispered, nonetheless it had carried clearly and without doubt of intent.

"Cowards do not deserve to say my name, be silent, kneel and die".

Nerg'Cathal recoiled. Spike's voice was a low, deep and measured sound that promised only doom, and the greater daemon could feel the cold hand of fear grabbing hold of his spine and refusing to let go.

"Kneel? KNEEL? YOU ASK ME TO KEEL, INSECT?" yellow froth bubbled between Nerg'Cathal's disease ridden lips, fear and anger warring for dominance over his mind.
"ENOUGH OF THIS. HIEROPHANT, NOW".

Miles away, leading the Pantheonic Mandala of the thousand cultists and powering the abhorrent strength of the Flesh Giver cannon, the Cult Hierophant heard his master's call again.

Once more he redirected the flow of magic drawn by his cultists and chanted the Object Displacement Conjuration.

Bound to one of the four mansion-sized bone wheels of the Flesh Giver canon, Celestia and Luna gaped at the battles being fought on the no-man's land between Canterlot Castle and the burning remnants of Canterlot itself.

"What do you think is happening, sister? Do you think our subjects have decided to attack?"

Celestia squinted her eyes and held her hand at her brow, trying and failing to make something out through the great dust clouds that had risen from the battle.

With a sigh, she gave up and looked to Luna.

"I have no idea Luna, but, whatever it is, we can only pray that it bears fruit. This might be our only chance to escape".

Luna continued to look in the distance and found herself slightly shivering, the sounds of screaming and dying daemons reverberating through the air. Whatever it was, she was not sure she wanted to meet something that could make even daemons scream with such despair.

Tendrils of misty yellow magic came to life around Spike and, with a blinding flash of light, the armor of his upper body, including his helmet and facial mask, disappeared.

Without a moment's hesitation, Spike mentally sought out the residual magic that had stolen his armor and, finding it concentrated at a point a few miles from where he stood, Spike added his own power into the magical flow.

The Cult Hierophant grinned as he saw the gigantic armor pieces appear at his feet, only for his smile to turn into an open mouthed shriek.

Through the flow of magic that had connected the Hierophant to Spike, came a surge of power. The Hierophant's eyes and ears bled as he felt the full weight of Spike's presence seep within the aethyr and crush his mind as powerfully as if his hand would have crushed his skull.

With a final yell, The Hierophant's eyes, nose and mouth burst with blood as the magical overflow shattered his brain to mulch. He fell in a puddle of his own blood, dead before he had hit the ground.

Celestia and Luna both flinched at the sight, for once thankful of the magic-binding chains they were manacled to.

"DECAY AND TURN TO DUST, INSECT" came the stammering, howled screech of Nerg'Cathal, any semblance of self control and daemonic dignity utterly gone, drowned beneath a mixture of animal terror and pure outrage.

"NERGUI MAKAH AKUI"

It would end now. Without the protection of his armor, Spike's flesh had become nothing more than a gigantic target for the encroaching cloud of rusted shards that had fallen from the daemon's axes. In a few moments, the shards would pierce his flesh and soul, and rot him from the inside.

Gigantic lungs expanded and enormous chest muscles bulged as Spike drew in a monumental breath. With a roar of flame and incandescent heat and a wave of force, Spike blew an enormous gout of white-hot and pale green flame at his own feet, the flame exploding outwards and upwards like a pillar towards the dark sky.

His flesh searing off in layers at the insane heat, Nerg'Cathal screamed in pain as he jumped backwards. Seventy feet away, the greater daemon looked in awe at the gigantic flaming pillar, even as he felt the cloud of shards of his axes be obliterated by the incandescent fire.

With a hiss like the death rattle of a Leviathan, the flaming pillar sputtered and consumed itself, finally going out.

In the middle of almost forty feet of scorched earth, billowing smoke and melted stone, stood Spike, his flesh smoldering, his purple scales glowing white-hot at the edges.

The momentary astonishment gripping Nerg'Cathal's mind, the utter insanity and lack of any self-preservation instinct from this Draka, deadened his nerves almost to the point where he did not notice Spike start to move again.

Like a shot from a cannon, Spike surged towards the greater daemon, covering the seventy feet separating them in mere seconds.

It was all Nerg'Cathal could do to raise all six of his axes in a block as, for the first time in their duel, Spike grabbed the haft of his Odachi with both hands and thrust his blade forward.

The strike hit Nerg'Cathal like the fist of a giant and, in a spray of broken shards that had once been his axes, sent the obese daemon flying, a gigantic hole in his chest, two of his six arms reduced to gobbets of useless meat, spraying the ground with old, coagulated blood.

Even as he rose, a backhand slice ripped through the daemon's throat, gushing with arterial blood. Spike had followed the daemon's flight with amazing speed and had sliced at him once more, allowing no chance for the daemon to regain his bearings. Nerg'Cathal howled in pain, as Spike's sword rose and fell and, in the space of a few heartbeats, cleaving through his body, faster than he could regenerate.

Ancient, coagulated blood flew and stained Spike's massive frame, adding another note of horror to the already monstrous sight of Spike carving through the obese daemon's flesh like a ravenous wolf through a downed sheep.

Gurgling shrieks of pain rattled through Nerg'Cathal's savaged throat as Spike's blade tore into his bulk, rending away his flesh, strip by bloodied strip. With a desperate conjuration he blazed power within his flesh-sown glyphs and runes and blinked out of existence.

The great Odachi "Karasuma" met with stone instead of flesh and carved a deep scar into the earth as Nerg'Cathal's shape blistered out of focus and, with a crack of power, disappeared. Without so much as a gasp of surprise, Spike extended his perception, blocking out all sound, only to focus on the shallow crack of energy, one mile afar to his right. The daemon's old, coagulated blood, staining his chest, arms and ringmail kilt, lit up in a scarlet blaze, as Spike made to charge the far-away daemon and end the battle. Invisible tendrils of magic ran from a chanting Nerg'Cathal, only to link themselves to the blood staining Spike's body and shackling him to the spot.

Nerg'Cathal howled chant after chant, empowering the magic inherent in his own daemonic blood, adding layer after layer of complex magical simulacra to the aethyric chains now binding Spike. Pressure and force of gravity grew until the weight of an entire castle both pushed and pulled at Spike in the same time.

Yet, with all that power, even bound by Nerg'Cathal's strongest sealing ritual, Spike still moved, step after tedious, slow step, his muscles bulging like steel slabs, his veins standing out like iron cables, refusing to allow even a whisper of pain escape his lipless mouth, concentrating every ounce of his unbreakable determination into reaching the daemon.

It was impossible, ludicrous in every shape and form. Nerg'Cathal stared in pure, unadulterated terror at this monstrosity that was powering through his strongest seal, seal he had used before to bind the Behemoth itself. No, no, he could risk it no longer. Even if he had to postpone the conquering Canterlot Castle, he had to use the "Flesh Giver" cannon on this insane Draka before he would be killed.

Sympathetic magic bloomed into existence as Nerg'Cathal linked his mind to the greater daemon trapped into the engine of the Flesh Giver cannon. He could feel the greater daemon's spirit howl in unending pain as magic tore at his soul to force the unholy engine into a perpetuum mobile. He could hear the wail of the two thousand five hundred lesser daemons that had been sacrificed to the cannon's insatiable appetite. The "Flesh Giver" was not at full force, but it was enough to decimate an army, it had to be enough to kill a lone Draka.

Urgency took the place of contemplation and risk assesment as Nerg'Cathal felt the binding seals he had set on Spike with his own blood begin to rend and tear, slowly breaking by nothing more than the mad Draka's unending stubbornness.

With creaks of bone and groans of steel, the "Flesh Giver" began turning, bound to the will of Nerg'Cathal, and changed it's target from the Castle to Spike. Unholy engines roared, grinding wailing spirits of sacrificed daemons and setting them aflame with abyssal fire.

His four remaining arms outstretched, his mind and magical prowess stretched to their limits, Nerg'Cathal added a final layer of protection between himself and the advancing Draka. A wall of solid granite, twenty feet thick and forty feet tall, as large as the great portcullis of Canterlot Castle, burst from the ground and shot upwards. Even if Spike was still almost a mile away, Nerg'Cathal knew enough of the destructive power of the "Flesh Giver", to want as much protection between himself and the resulting assault as he could.

With a final show of force he added the entirety of his remaining magical pool to the mystical bindings that restrained Spike, bringing the Draka to a complete halt for a few seconds.

Two thousand five hundred souls wailed in unison as they were consumed by the abyssal flame and were cast out from the cannon's belly as a great ball of flame, darker than oblivion itself.

The ball of elemental nothingness flew reducing all around it to dust, roaring like the damned and, with a crack like the world itself breaking in two, erupted in a mountainous cloud of dark flame and pure oblivion upon contact with Spike's body. Throughout it all, Spike had not uttered a single sound.

Upon the battlements Twilight screamed, overcome by pain, her magical emphatic link forcing her to feel the sheer absurdity and unnatural horror that the black flame contained within it. It was disgusting and enticing at the same time, her mortal mind unable to comprehend why this anathema of existence drew her so. It was as if it called to her, howling for her to give herself to non-existence, while in the same time pushing her away with promises of the untold horrors that lie waiting in the abyss.

She screamed again as the shockwave caused by the blast shattered the shield protecting the Castle and tore at it's ancient walls.

Even though the grand explosion had taken place miles away from Canterlot Castle, the shockwave had ripped cracks in it's enchanted walls and the soundwave had left everypony taking refuge within the castle reeling, hands clasping their ears, in a futile effort to somehow drown out the unholy wail that had accompanied it.

Upon the cold hard stone Fluttershy and the rest of the girls fell clutching at their ears, the ungodly wail of over two thousand burning souls tearing at their minds, when an arm hit her back. The trashing and convulsing form of Twilight fell hard against her, gripped in a magically-induced seizure.

Grinding her teeth against the fear, Fluttershy jumped on Twilight, grabbing her arms and pinning them down, refusing to allow her friend to hurt herself in her seizure.

"Help, girls, help" she yelled, her pitiful pleas drowned out by the wailing souls.

A pair of strong, orange furred hands clasped Twilight's jaw, forcing her mouth open and jamming the length of her forearm between her teeth. Applejack yelled in pain as Twilight bit hard.

"Don't let her bite her own tongue, Rarity grab her legs, NOW".

The wailing spirits all but forgotten, the five friends moved as one, completely imobilizing Twilight, keeping her safe from her own body while the seizure played itself out.

Shagga shouted as the stone under her feet cracked and shattered, the shockwave hitting her shield like a charging mastodon, sending her flying.

All around herself she saw flying Draka and daemons. The explosion had been of such a magnitude and force that it had stopped the battle in it's tracks, even though it had happened three miles from where the battle was taking place.

Hard stone shattered and splintered as her armored back hit the ground. Without a wasted moment, Shagga rolled, letting inertia do it's duty and recovered herself, her strong voice drowning out the odious wail coming from the two mile wide black flamestorm, as she called for the Legion to rise.

As one, the Legion of the Damned recovered, their monstrous constitution and unbendable discipline allowing them to relaunch their savage assault upon the still downed remnants of the daemonic army.

Shagga attacked with unrestrained ferocity, shattering daemonic armors and helmets, her mind consumed by only a single thought.

Was her Darraor still alive?

Nerg'Cathal pushed himself off the ground, coughing blood and pulpy rotten flesh, as he lifted slabs of granite off himself, the final remnants of what had before been his massive protective wall.

Setting himself on the ground, he could not help but break in a howling laughter, his two mouths shivering in the uncontrollable shake of one who had just barely escaped certain death.

Heavy footsteps from behind made him turn his head, as three hundred daemons ran or limped towards him. Between the daemons, more dragged than allowed to run, the Princesses were being pulled towards him. Both of them had their hands clasped around their ears and looked as if almost about to lose consciousness.

"My lord, my lord we must retreat" a lieutenant said, his rank too low to make his name worth remembering to the mind of Nerg'Cathal.

"WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT YOU CRETIN?"

"My lord, we were already losing before you fired the cannon, now the remainder of the army is being slaughtered by the Legion as we speak, we have no more warriors".

Nerg'Cathal turned his head to regard the battle, his bloodshot eyes widening as he saw broken daemonic battalions being butchered by the advancing line of the Draka. Yes, retreat was a good plan now, he had no more strength left. Groveling in the dirt and requesting more warriors from Jalaman Hun, Wilhelmina and Kilmaiil the Half Born was a preferable fate to instant death. Yes, he had to retreat, the world could not afford to lose his great genius.

"Rally what you can of the troops" he belched out as he struggled to his feet and grabbed at the chain restraining the two Princesses "Form a rearguard and cover my retreat".

The daemon lieutenant blanched at the suicidal order. Nerg'Cathal intended to sacrifice them in order to escape.

"B...Bu...But...M...My lo..."

"JUST DO IT, OR YOU DIE BY MY HANDS" bellowed the furious greater daemon, his four arms pushing the shaking lieutenant out of his way. What were a few hundred more warrior's lives in exchange for his own? He HAD to escape, now.

"CHOOSE INSECT" he added, pulling on the chains binding the struggling Princesses "ROT RIGHT NOW BY YOUR DEFIANCE OR DO AS I ORDE..."

With the finality and inevitability of a burning world, it came, a whisper, clearly audible even over the din of battle, carrying with it the promise of a doom already set in stone.

"Are you quite finished?"

Nerg'Cathal dropped the chains, his entire body shivering like an infant's, and he turned towards the almost two mile wide crater of charred and corrupted earth that the Flesh Giver's attack had created. In the middle of it, blood spurting from a hundred deep wounds, many of his once purple scales now charred to deep charcoal black, his flesh, a ruin of holes and slices, his left eye, reduced to a charred, black and unseeing orb, stood Spike, his form standing tall and defiant, as he had ever been.

Spike ground his fangs against the weakness that would have made him give in to the pain and pushed the torments of his body deep within his mind, only to fuel his growing anger.

"Now, as I have said before, KNEEL".

For the first time since the battle had started, Nerg'Cathal heard the silent and reserved Darraor of the Legion of the Damned roar. It was like the howl of a battle-crazed god and carried with it the strength and horror of a collapsing mountain.

The "Word of Sovereignty" Spike had uttered carried with it the full might of Spike's determination and presence, bound and formed by the winds of magic, making it as palpable as a titan's fist.

Lesser daemons were smashed to the ground in small craters of their own bodies, armors shattering, bones breaking and flesh turned to mush. The two Princesses fell to their hands and knees, as the pressure of the "Word of Sovereignty" mounted upon their backs, threatening to grind them to gristle. Nerg'Cathal himself, shot to the ground, his kneecaps shattering, his shoulders slouching, as if the entire weight of a fortress had fallen upon him.

With the sound of burned flesh cracking open into fresh wounds and gushes of blood splattering the ground, Spike began moving towards Nerg'Cathal.

Nerg'Cathal could hear it, beyond the sound of Spike's boots, beyond the heavy breathing of the two Princesses as they struggled not to be crushed by Spike immovable will, beyond the sound of his own, violently shivering body. He could hear the mocking laughter of the Abyssal Gods as they turned their gaze from their, now broken, champion.

In Spike's approaching form, he saw his own demise.

With a final, thunderous crack, Spike iron-shod boot cracked the stone before Nerg'Cathal and he drew the “Tenchi Kaijin”, Heaven and Earth End in Ashes. The charms, fetishes and Draken Runes covering the sheath of his most dangerous sword blazed as the weapon was unsealed and the miasma of the Elder Broodfather of the Salamanders, coating the blade, billowed out in an almost visible red haze. Spike raised the blade for the final strike.

Nerg'Cathal, once lord of decay, once one of the Ten Masters of Ginun, once among the strongest greater daemons of the Abyss, now lie prostrate, his face stuck in a rictus of fear and despair, his two mouths open to scream and wail, his face covered by his own tears.

Without a word, Spike sliced down with the "Tenchi Kaijin". The strike had been of such strength and precision that the air friction had heated the steel blade enough to ignite the coating miasma.

With a final shriek, Nerg'Cathal disappeared in a blazing firestorm, it's blistering heat enough to turn the stone around the daemon to brittle dust. Flames roared and billowed out as the blade was returned and resealed within the enchanted sheath. The strike had lasted mere moments, but it had been enough to reduce Nerg'Cathal and the area ten feet around him to nothing more than ashes.

Spike tore his hand from the hilt of the blade, bits of purple scales and raw meat ripping off where the overbearing heat had burned through his own flesh. The seals were getting weaker, every time he used “Tenchi Kaijin”. He doubted the seals binding the flaming blade would last more than another use, two if he was lucky and the winds of magic would flow favorably.

His remaining good eye falling upon the two struggling Princesses, Spike broke the residual weight of his "Word of Sovereignty" and kneeled to them. His massive hands engulfed the shackles binding the two Princesses and, one by one, began shattering them.

Celestia and Luna rose slowly, only to find themselves facing a kneeling, horribly wounded giant. Even kneeling, the creature was a full head taller than the Princesses, his impossibly wide and muscular frame breathing heavily as blood poured from a myriad of wounds, many of them, grisly and deep enough that by any stretch of logic and reason should have killed him tens of times by now.

The scaled giant dropped his massive, lipless head in a short and superficially cordial salute to the two Princesses and said in a deep, rumbling voice.

"Princesses Celestia and Luna, I am Spike, your former student's assistant, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned. I am here to escort you and the other survivors of this attack to the Crystal Empire".

Luna and Celestia both stood there, dumbfounded by the knowledge, any question they would have had, cut short by this mind-stunning information.

The Spike they knew had left, had been a small, pudgy, weak little child. What had returned was something that terrified even them, his savage and merciless determination as obvious as his battle-ravaged body.

Author's Note

Well, lads and lasses, here's the new chapter and more of the grimdark brutality I have promised you.

Stick around, there's a lot more coming, hopefully you'll enjoy reading as much as i enjoy writing it.

As always give a like if you want and a comment/input if you've got the time.

Appreciate all of you, feel free to ask me anything in the comments :twilightsmile:

Honor the Fallen

Twilight awoke slowly and calmly for what felt like the first time in ages. All around her she could hear the sounds of her sleeping friends. They had all decided to sleep together in the same room for what would most likely be the last time they would see Canterlot Castle for a long time. Come morning they would all begin the long march to the Crystal Empire.

The overly large circular room of the Castle's eastern spire was a gigantic work of architecture, and it had served them all perfectly as a temporary abode. Looking around the gloom of the room, Twilight saw her beloved friends, still slumbering away the horrors of the previous days. She was grateful for Luna's presence, her magnificent magics chasing away all nightmares and allowing her subjects a well-earned peaceful sleep.

As she lift herself off the bed slowly, Twilight began tip towing towards one of the large curtained windows of the room. She made every effort not to awaken anyone else, however a small yawn from left signaled her failure.

"Yaaawn...Whatcha' doin' sugarcube?... What's the time?" whispered Applejack, slowly rustling from her bed, making every effort not awaken Applebloom. Since the tiny foal had been returned to her, Applejack had all but refused to let her out of her sight or, at the very least, too far away from Big Mac or Granny Smith. The latter of whom were sleeping on a couch and a smaller bed, respectively.

"Sorry about that Applejack, I was just about to check the time, I think it's about to begin in an hour or so. I was going to ask one of the guard to get us some coffee before waking you all up."

A small, still somewhat drowsy smile plastered Applejack's face.

"Aww, thanks sugarcube, but ah think it's about time we all woke up anyway" she yawned and slowly got up from the bed. "Ah feel like we've been sleeping for half a day".

Twilight pulled the curtain from the large window and looked towards the night sky. After the daemonic attackers had been destroyed by Spike, the great sickly-green cloud that had covered Ponyvile and Canterlot had dissipated and now, for the first time in many days, the moon and stars smiled back at her.

By it's position, Twilight guessed that it was almost midnight. It was good. They had all slept for about eight hours. She didn't want to wake them, they needed all the sleep they could get, however it had been their own decision that they wanted to attend the great funeral tonight.

Twilight's mood plummeted slightly as she reminded herself of the funeral that was about to take place. Over fifty of Spike's Draka had died for them in the breaking of the siege. It was the very least the ponies could do to attend the funeral.

She turned to Applejack and nodded.

"Let's wake the others, it's almost midnight and Miss Shagga told us that the proceedings will begin at one in the morning".

Applejack nodded and turned to wake the rest of the Apple family. Twilight herself began gently shaking Rainbow Dash's shoulder. The blue pegasus slightly fluttered a wing, trying to swat Twilight away and snuggling her adoptive daughter Scotaloo closer to her chest.

"Dashie c'mon, it's time to get up".

"Five ... more minutes" mumbled the somnolent pegasus, still in the middle of what was most likely a pleasant dream.

Twilight shook her head slightly and, smiling, went on to wake Fluttershy and Rarity. Rainbow would have no choice but to get up when the others were awake too. A small squee from behind her signaled that Pinkie had woken up too.

Within one of the many tents that had been set upon the Castle's courtyard, the massive form of Spike sat cross legged as he proceeded with the ritual donning of his armor. It was a much more cumbersome ritual now that his entire body was covered in bandages and still healing wounds. It had been a long time since Spike had ever been this wounded, however he took the pain with the same silent and stoic endurance with which he did everything else.

With slow movements he put one hand over the large bandage that covered the ruin that once had been his left eye and slowly began unbinding it. The bandage finally away he looked at the polished surface of his chestplate that was the closest thing to a mirror. Draka were never prone to vanity, as such very few actually owned mirrors, Spike even less so. He knew full well how hideous his face was, however he wanted to inspect the damage to his eye.

A face of purple scales, lipless ever bared fangs, covered in scars both old and fresh stared back at him. His left eye was surrounded by multiple fresh, still healing scars that started from his forehead, criss-crossed around his temple and ended around the upper part of his chin. What had once been his left eye was now nothing more than a blinded milky-white orb, his once green pupil now almost as white as his sclera. His appearance of no concern, the only thing that was on Spike's mind was how many hours would his brain need in order to get accustomed to his now limited depth perception. At the very least he was grateful that Draka minds and bodies were so adaptable to change.

His massive chest expanded, fresh wounds threatening to open again under the bandages, as Spike stifled a yawn. He had not slept for many days now, and this night especially had offered him no rest. In his mind's eye he could see the faces of each and every Draka that had fallen in the breaking of the siege. He knew each of them by name. Knew their stories, their shames, their oaths. They had been family.

With a snort Spike threw his head back up, crushing the pitiable thoughts that had entered his mind. Regret battled with pride for his warriors in his mind, only for pride to emerge victorious, as it always would.

Family or no, the fallen Draka had been warriors of the Legion of the Damned first and foremost. He would not shame them by feeling sorry for their deaths. They had died as true Draka of the Legion must, giving their lives for honor and glory, in worthy dooms, absolved of their shame. He would meet them again in the halls of the Ancestors when he himself found his own doom.

Yes, tonight they would sing for their fallen, honor their sacrifice, praise them for their absolution. Their voices shall accompany them upon the Road of Skulls, paved with the bones of their vanquished enemies, as they ride towards the Hall of the Ancestors and the waiting arms of their Ancestors. They have earned their places of honor.

A familiar scent touched upon Spike's heightened senses and he called before the newcomer even had time to say anything.

"You are early, Shagga Vesha'alad".

The folds of the tent's entrance opened as Shagga walked in and offered a respectful bow. Spike turned towards her and reciprocated the bow. Proper respect and conduct was expected among Draka, even close friends.

"Apologies for the intrusion Veshanesh".

"You cannot intrude upon one that is grateful for your presence, Shagga" said Spike as he began to don the rest of his armor once again, oblivious to the sudden shade of red that had appeared on Shagga's normally gray scaled face. Immediately she walked behind him, doing her best to cover her face, and continued.

"I have come to announce that everything is ready. The moon shall approach it's zenith in an hour's time".

"Gratitude Battle-Sister".

Shagga continued to look at Spike as he continued the donning of his armor. He seemed unencumbered by the many fresh wounds plastering his frame, moving with the same surety he had always had, however for Shagga, who had known him for the past two thousand years, the pain he was in was obvious. The fact that his arms hesitated slightly and his breath shuddered for a moment whenever he had to put a piece of armor on his back, meant that he was feeling enough pain that any other Draka would have passed out. Spike, on the other hand, was much too stubborn to ever admit to it.

Shaking her head slightly, she kneeled behind him and grabbed the back piece of his chest plate out of his hands. It took all her strength not to fall forwards at the monstrous weight of the armor piece.

"Shagga, there is no need...".

"Apologies Darraor, but allow me to assist nonetheless".

They remained as such, Spike accepting Shagga's help and Shagga offering it willingly. With every minute that passed, another piece of armor was festooned upon his massive frame.

Even though she was concentrated upon her actions, Shagga could not help but notice the way Spike's muscles moved, setting each piece into place, leaving no weak points in the armor. She also could not help but notice the many new scars that covered his body. Yet, for all that, she did not quiver. For a Draka, scars were nothing more than epitaphs of their deeds and determination, and Spike's body could fill an entire library with stories.

"Shagga" came Spike's deep voice as the last piece of armor was set.

"Yes Darraor?" she asked, her hands still busy with the many straps of his neck guard.

"I have yet to apologize for my actions in the Everfree Forest".

"There is nothing to apologize for Darraor".

Spike slowly shook his head.

"There is everything to apologize for, Shagga. For a moment I had allowed myself to fall to Madness and, in the process, frighten both you and my warriors".

Shagga's hands stopped moving and she moved from behind Spike and to his side.

"I will not deny that you have frightened me, my lord Spike, however do not think that you need apologize for it. I and every warrior within the Legion know full well that you would never fall upon us".

"There is no way you can have surety of that. The Madness has claimed greater Draka than myself".

Shagga's strong, yet surprisingly gentle hand set itself slowly on Spike's mangled face and turned his head to meet with her eyes.

"In the past two thousand years I have seen you grow from a weak, Madness plagued youngling into the stone made manifest that you are today. I have seen you fight and overcome the impossible time and time again. I have seen you overcome your own Blood Madness as it tore at your very mind and soul. No, my Darraor, you are wrong this time. We KNOW that you will never allow the Madness to set you against us. You have proven it too many times for us to think otherwise".

Suddenly, as if realizing what she was doing, Shagga pulled her hand away.

"A...Apologies Darraor. I forget myself. I shall leave you to your preparations".

She rose from the ground and made for the tent entrance.

"Shagga".

She stopped, dead in her tracks as she felt Spike raise from the floor and turn to her. Two massive hands set on her shoulders, their surprising gentleness, an odd counterweight to their monstrous strength.

"You have my thanks...for everything...".

With that he turned from her and returned to his weapon stand, beginning to set his weapons to his belt.

Shagga stood, dumbstruck, for a few more seconds, then continued her stride towards her own tent. Draka of the Legion of the Damned had never been ones for overt show of affection and Spike, even less prone to such things . Yet, with those few words, he had told her more than she had ever thought she would ever hear. Her heart filling with heat, she couldn't help but stroke the palm of her hand, where she had touched his face.

High upon the tallest Spire of Canterlot Castle, within the great room of the Royal Quarters, Celestia stood in front of the mirror, brushing her mane. Her crown lay forgotten on the bed, as she made ready for the funeral. She had been brushing for the past twenty minutes, absent-mindedly repeating the same movement again and again.

Upon her lap lay the hastily scribbled notes of a letter she had been magically delivered no more than an hour ago. The jagged runic lines of Draken Script covered the letter and the edges were still signed by the mystical green flame which had been used to deliver them.

Spike had written to her.

Princess Celestia,

Upon this piece of paper I write my deepest sympathies and condolences for the loss of so many of your subjects. I also extend my gratitude for your decision to attend the Final Song of my fallen warriors.

I apologize for my inability and unwillingness to speak with you at length in person. I am sorry to say that millenia of battle has made my tongue laconic and my tone lacking in sympathy. It is better that I share my thoughts in writing.

Upon your rescue from the clutches of the daemons I had sensed your desire for answers. Answers I cannot provide. I fear that the omens do not bode well and we shall have few chances to speak at length. Thus, I write all there is to say, in this letter.

Celestia,

I have a request to ask of you.

Upon my return to this world, I have met with Mother Renrin, Honored Mother of the Kirin Clan. I am aware that you know her personally. You also know of her knowledge of fate and things that are yet to be. Upon my meeting with her, she has prophesied my doom if I was to return to Equestria.

Mother Renrin has never been wrong in her prophecies.

I shall die. That is assured. Whether I die during the exodus to the Crystal Empire, or in the battles that will follow it, I am sure to die.

The Elements of Harmony.

I ask of you to protect those most important to my heart.

Know that the only reason I try to distance myself from them is because I am trying to protect them. But it is not working. They refuse to forsake me. They refuse to forget about me.

Celestia, my request is as follows. No matter when or where I die, I ask that once you have reached the Crystal Empire and regained your strength, you erase the memories of my existence from the minds of the Elements of Harmony.

I know of the taboo set upon the Mandala of Forsaken Memories, I know of the strength required to perform such a spell. Nonetheless I know that once you have regained your strength, it will be in your power to do so, and I ask that you do it.

If they are ever to regain a chance at happiness, they must completely forget of my existence. My heart cannot bear the knowledge that they would ever cry again. Not for my sake. I am not worthy of their tears.

I ask that you not speak with the Elements of this. They are sure to protest against it. Yet it is all for their own good.

Tears rolled down Celestia's face, staining the letter, even as she smiled.

A small knock at the door to her quarters announced a visitor.

"Sniff... enter...Sniff".

Luna entered the room, her form dressed in a pitch black royal gown, as was custom for the attendance of any funeral. As she closed the large doors behind her, she noticed Celestia's tear stained face, a perplexing contrast with her smile.

"Sister?".

Celestia ran a forearm across her eyes, the tears staining her otherwise pristine white pelt. Without an answer, she simply extended the letter to Luna.

Luna took the letter and began reading it. Celestia couldn't help but smile wider as her usually composed sister's lower lip started quivering.

"And we actually had the gall to believe he did not care anymore" Celestia began as she put the brush down and began clothing herself in her own gown.

"Unbelievable. After so many years. He never stopped loving the six girls. He came here knowing it will be his death. He is willing to even have them forget him rather than see them cry." Luna couldn't help but turn her head. It was not befitting of the Princess of the Moon to be seen crying.

"We cannot show the Elements of Harmony this letter. We must not".

"Agreed" started Celestia, regaining her composure. "Once we have reached the Crystal Empire and regained our strength, we shall do as he asked. We owe him that much".

"But...do you believe it will be okay? The Mandala of Forsaken Memories is taboo for a reason, nopony would ever want to forget something precious to them".

Celestia sighed.

"I know sister, however what would you have us do. We owe Spike not only our lives and freedom, but the lives of many of our subjects. It is our duty to do this, at the very least".

Celestia was right. No matter how wrong it felt, Luna knew her sister was right. She could only hope that the girls would forgive them.

Upon fifty seven pyre-beds of interlocking oak lay the bodies of fifty-seven Draka. Many of the bodies were either carbonized or savaged beyond recognition, yet each of them, no matter how mangled, had been set in a mortuary armor of blackened iron. In their gauntleted hands they clutched their weapons, refusing to release them even in death.

The armors and weapons had been repaired and oiled, their mortuary masques, carved into the liking of their faces, obscuring their heads and completing the ensemble.

It had been ever the way of the Draka of the Legion to be cremated along with their weapons and armor. They would carry them unto the Halls of the Ancestors, with pride and honor as their staunchest allies even in death.

Lined before the pyres stood one hundred and forty-three Draka, each dressed in full battle regalia, their faces alight with anticipation, their eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and pride.

Even before Spike had become Darraor, it had been the custom of the Legion to sing for the fallen. But where before it had been something each Draka did by themselves, Spike had made of this a ceremony of honor. It had made the burden of their shame lighter on the shoulders of the Legion of Damned, for now they all knew that they had a family to help them carry that burden. They knew that when they died, they would be mourned this way, and their journey upon the Road of Skulls would boom with sound of their unfallen brethren's song, honoring them and their absolution, calling for them to await their brethren in the Halls of Eternal Glory.

Spike stood in front of the assembled troops and awaited the moon's zenith. His armor shined in the moonlight and his form was one of unbreakable discipline and poise. It was his duty as Darraor, as War-Mourner of the Legion of the Damned to set the fallen alight with flame and praise their sacrifice.

The night was cloudless, even the wind unwilling to break the reverential silence with it's howl.

All stood still.

With the sound of groaning wood, the grand doors of the Castle opened and Princess Celestia and Luna emerged dressed in beautiful pitch-black gowns. Following them were the Mane Six and their immediate friends and family, all dressed in the same black clothes of mourning. Beyond that marched the Royal Guard, their freshly cleaned and oiled armors gleaming in light of the moon and stars. Finally, followed the rest of the pony refugees, dressed in funeral attire.

Everypony, from the smallest filly to the largest Royal Guard, to the Mane Six and Princesses themselves, held a single midnight blue rose in their hands.

Celestia's eyes locked with Spike single green eye and mutual understanding passed through them. She bowed deeply to him and called.

"Spike, Veshanesh of the Draka, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, we come uninvited, however allow myself and my subjects to offer our gratitude to the ones who have sacrificed themselves for our sake. Allow us to honor them".

Gratitude and pride bloomed in Spike's chest. He wanted to thank them but it was not the way of the Draka to show overt emotion. He did them the greatest respect he could. Spike turned and set his fist before his heart and nodded slowly and deeply.

Spike turned to his warriors and roared.

"Brothers and sisters, the moon reaches it's zenith, let us bellow to the heavens".

"WE ARE THE LEGION" roared the assembled Draka.

"Let us cry out for our fallen siblings, let us bellow their names in honor, let us roar their journey upon the Road of Skulls".

"WE ARE THE LEGION"

"Sing aloud brothers and sisters, sing until Ullail sheds tears of death. Sing until the Ancestors open the gates to the Halls of Eternal Glory. Sing until the heavens shatter and the world trembles".

"WE ARE THE LEGION"

As one the voice of Spike and his Draka bellowed out in unison as they began the Final Song.

(the Final Song, as I believe it would sound).

They sang in the ancient tongue of the Draka, warriors all, bound by more than blood. Bound by deeds, pain and oaths. Bound by their shame and bound by their love for each other. Bound by the trust and respect that only those who have faced true hardship side by side could feel.

Spike's voice boomed as thunder, louder than all.

For Draka, paragons of endurance and discipline, this was the one time they were allowed to shed tears. Not of loss and sorrow, but of pride and joy. Every Draka that sang had faces stained with tears even as they grinned. They're eyes alight with fervor and they're fists pounding rhythmically at their chest plates.

Spike himself cried, even as his face remained impassive. His chest rising and falling, tears streaming from his single eye, his voice filled with pride.

Even as the Draka sang, the procession of silent ponies passed the pyres, leaving roses on the pyres. Overcome by the song, even they cried. They cried for warriors whose names they had not known but who had given their lives for them. One and all, they could not help it but cry tears of joy, not of regret.

Twilight's chest heaved, her face split by a smile she could not contain even as tears fell down her face. Even though she did not understand the words, she could feel the meaning of the song. It was not the Draka saying "Farewell" to their fallen. It was them saying "See you soon".

She looked around and saw the same crying smiles plastered on everybody's faces. Her friends, the Royal Guard, the ponies, even the Princesses.

The procession ended and Spike began moving. Still singing, a torch in his right hand, he moved from pyre to pyre, setting them alight, the flames licking at the oak and the armored bodies of the Draka that lay upon them.

Smashing the torch on the ground in front of the pyres, Spike threw his head to the skies and howled, releasing the energies bound within his own body, feeding the flames of the pyres. The flames roared and grew, fed by Spike's strength, until they became white-hot pillars of incandescent fire. Oaken pyres and iron-armored bodies were obliterated by monstrous heat, reduced to ashes dancing upon the flaming pillars, rising towards the night skies.

As the flames died out, so did the song. Draka hands clasped each other's shoulders and as one they all released a long ululating howl towards the moon.

It had ended.

The assembled Draka regained their composure, drying their eyes and forming once more into the bulwark of discipline they had always been.

Celestia approached Spike.

"Thank you for allowing us to attend".

Spike merely nodded his understanding.

"You honor my fallen brethren, for that, you have my gratitude".

With that, Spike turned towards his warriors once more.

"We ready for the march to the Crystal Empire. Upon our blood and steel we make an oath before our fallen. No ponies shall fall on the road. OUR WORD IS OUR LIFE".

"OUR WORD IS OUR LIFE" came the voices of a hundred and forty-three Draka.

Author's Note

I couldn't help myself.

I had to make a chapter dedicated to the fallen Draka.
It was your support that convinced me to do this. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart.

Hope you love reading it, as much as I did writing it.

As a side note i want to give a shout out to Mr. Greg Universe's comment "No Draka was ever honored for what he or she received. Honor has been the reward for what they gave." You, my brother, have summed it all up in one single sentence.

The Road

Boots shod in iron and steel crushed the brittle stone of the pathway as the mile long procession of ponies and Draka maintained a steady but brutal pace. Ponies in the prime of their lives huffed and sweated as they struggled to maintain the pace, even the elite members of the pony royal guard having a hard time keeping the speed that the Draka had enforced in order to reach the Crystal Empire as soon as possible.

In stark contrast with the gasping and sweating ponies, were the one hundred and forty-three Draka, their long legs and monstrous endurance allowing them to maintain the pace easily, even holding back, allowing straggler ponies to catch up. For their impassive faces and grim demeanor, an outside viewer would have almost seen the procession as a large group of prisoners, being corralled towards an unknowable fate. But that idea would have been dispelled quickly with only a closer inspection of the procession. For any who looked with the very least of attention to detail would have seen the way the Draka kept close to the ponies, weapons ready to defend them. Any would notice the many elderly and wounded, sat comfortably on entire trains of wagons, being pulled by the strong Draka. Any would notice the giggling and smiling foals running around, like the bundles of youthful energy that they were, more than a few attempting to climb on the mountainous Draka who, for all their grim demeanor, were too kind to shoo them away.

Spike, at the very forefront of the refugee line, looked behind himself and towards the long line of pony refugees and Draka protectors. Not for the first time, he smiled inwardly as he saw his warriors helping struggling ponies or allowing children to run and play around them or even clamber on their shoulders. He understood his warriors completely. For the Draka of Legion of the Damned, warriors who had known only battle and war for centuries, the closeness of the kindness and youthful innocence that only children could muster was… endearing, almost even... relaxing.

He, himself felt the same way, even as his left hand shot out to grab a falling filly and place her back along her young friends who had decided to take up residence atop his wide shoulders. It was amazing how fast children could get accustomed to new things. The first day of the exodus, the children had hidden between their parents' feet, crying and shivering at the sight of the terrifying Draka, especially Spike's horribly disfigured face, the second day a few brave ones had approached them, making games of bravery out of the act of coming as close to them as possible. By this, the third day, the children treated the Draka as friends and, even though the stoic Draka showed no outright emotion for this fact, Spike knew they appreciated it nonetheless. Ponies seemed to have this uncanny gift of making others want to befriend and protect them.

The exodus towards the Crystal Empire was halfway there. They had already covered the Everfree Forest and were at the midpoint of crossing the Badlands, an area frequented by cave trolls and goblins, usually considered a danger zone by Equestrians. However, the proximity of such monstrously strong creatures such as the Draka had made absolute certain that not even a single beast had had the temerity to approach the ponies, let alone attack them. The Draka had sworn an oath that they would allow no ponies to come to harm during the exodus, and they would keep their oath, no matter what.

The sound of fast approaching footsteps to his side, signaled to Spike that his time for silent recollection has passed. Without turning, smelling the identity of the newcomer, he began.

"It would be best if you maintained your position at the middle of the column, Princess Celestia, you are too valuable to be out at the forefront".

Princess Celestia huffed slightly as she regarded the imposing Draka.

"I am far too old and capable to be in the category of maiden in distress, Spike. Moreover I wish to have words with you".

She rose her eyes and had to bite her cheeks in order to not burst out laughing at the sight of the children sitting on his shoulders and especially at the sight of one particularly young filly that had decided to fall asleep on top of his green-maned head.

"However I don't know if I shall be allowed to speak by your new friends" she chuckled earnestly, happy to see that for all of Spike's physical changes, his ability to befriend and make children feel safe had not disappeared.

Clapping her hands sharply she called.

"Very well my little ponies, you've had your fun, now it's time for the adults to enjoy some time with the nice Draka".

"Ooooh..." the children sulked in unison as they floated off Spike's fifteen foot height, aided by Celestia's magic.

"Not this one" Spike said as Celestia made to levitate the tiny filly sleeping on his head "She is young, needs her rest".

Celestia smiled warmly as she changed her levitation spell to a simple sound blocking one, muting the area around the small child's ears.

"Then I have my answer" Celestia said as she watched the children go towards their respective parents.

"Concerning?"

"This...act of yours. This attempt at aloofness. You still care as much for us ponies now as you did before you left. Even though the Legion of the Damned and the Draka have been your family for so many centuries, you have kept a place in your heart for us, especially those six girls." she added, a sly yet kind smile growing on her face.

Spike's eye narrowed dangerously as he regarded Celestia.

"I do not play at aloofness Celestia. I am a warrior and as such, it is my duty to keep my emotions under control. You know fully well about my condition and what can happen if I allow myself to loosen restraint".

Celestia began lowering her head, taken aback by the gigantic warrior's brusqueness.

"And as for whether I still care for ponykind, you know I do, I have said as much in the letter I have sent you those few days ago, and so I ask, why are we having this conversation once again?"

"I merely wanted to be hear the words out of your own mouth" Celestia explained as she raised her hands, trying to placate the Darraor. "And to ask a final time, if you are sure you want me to carry on with the Mandala of Forsaken Memories on the Elements of Harmony once we are at the Crystal Empire".

Spike's eye softened anew. He sighed.

"Apologies Princess, as I have said in the letter, millenia of war has made my tongue ungrateful and my tone quick to accuse. However, my decision stands. Do the ritual as quick as you can. Make them forget me. The girls are much too kind, much too forgiving to do that by themselves".

Celestia's appearance grew grim as she listened. He continued, his usually silent and reserved personality opening up slightly for what must have been the first time in what felt like centuries.

"In Draka culture, the Legion of the Damned is treated with respect, but in the same time, all Draka follow the saying - You, family of the child that now walks with the Legion, grieve and honor your fallen child, for death is all that awaits upon that path."
"My death is assured to me, Princess, as sure as the endurance of stone. The prophecy of Mother Renrin is merely the confirmation of something that I know. This is why the girls must forget me".

With that he looked behind towards the six girls, the group busy helping Cheerilee with the many children running around her.

"They are kind-hearted to a fault, and my death will only wound them further. Help me end that pain, Princess".

Celestia spent a long while looking at Spike, unsure of what to say or even whether to say anything at all. In the end she decided to push a little further.

"You continue to speak about their well-being, but what of your's Spike? Have you not been through enough already? How can you accept the knowledge that once the ritual is complete, those six you love so dearly will have forgotten your entire existence?"

Spike stood in silence for a few more moments, only to answer with a voice edged in unbearable sorrow.

"Since I have returned to Equestria I have had to restrain myself more and more from talking to them, being around them, hearing them. I must, for every moment I see them, I want nothing more than to go them, plead to them that they not forget me, plead with you that you deny my request and refuse to do the ritual. Just thinking of it tears at my heart more than anything I have ever had to endure. But it must be done. For them. It shall be my final act of gratitude and apology towards the six who raised me".

Twilight picked up a small child and put him in the wagon alongside his mother. She could not help but smile as the mother mouthed a silent "thank you".

"Phew" a voice called from behind the wagon. Twilight recognized the voice of Pinkie Pie and slowed her stride in order to let her catch up.

"This place looks less fun than my parents' rock farm" Pinkie added, her poofy mane flailing wildly as she snapped her head looking around, in her typical hyperactive fashion.

Twilight couldn't help but agree. The Badlands were nothing more than a succession of barren outcroppings, spanning over fifty miles, adorned with nothing more than stony hillocks and populated with troglodyte cave trolls and all manners of dangerous, hungry beasts. Yet, for all that, nothing had even attempted to approach the refugee line, the mere presence of the Draka, more than enough to convince even the most starving of beasts to steer clear of the long convoy.

"Couldn't agree with you more on that one" said Rainbow Dash as she landed on top of the wagon. "There's still a little ways to go, but soon we'll reach the Mountains of Grey Crystals and with this pace, we'll only need a couple more days to reach the Crystal Empire".

"Thank heavens, I can't wait for a long refreshing bath" said Rarity, looking oddly haggard for one who had spent most of the journey atop one of the supply wagons.

Twilight looked upon the long column once more until her eyes strayed towards it's front. Spike walked there, as he had done for the past few days. He was talking to Princess Celestia and was looking towards them. He turned his head as soon as Twilight locked eyes with him. A part of her wanted to fly at him, force him to look at her, speak to her, but she knew it wouldn't matter. For whatever reasons, Spike had lately outright refused to speak to any of them, almost deliberately avoided being even around them. The sister and friend part of her wanted to cry out to him, but the steely-eyed realist in her told her to wait. Once they had reached the Crystal Empire, she would force Spike to talk to her, whether he liked it or not.

"Anything?" asked a concerned Rarity.

Twilight shook her head, knowing what Rarity was referring to. For the past three days, Spike had never slept while the convoy had made camp during the night. All he did was lead the convoy during the day and take watch during the night.

"He took up watch the whole of last night too. This is the third day he hasn't slept, doesn't he ever get tired?" she answered, her voice edged with concern. Whether he talked to them or not, in Twilight's eyes, Spike was still her little brother and she was worried for him.

"Umm...I don't think he does..." came the small voice of Fluttershy.
"I mean... think about it. He's been fighting daemons since coming to Equestria, broke the siege of Canterlot, saved us all, got horribly wounded and still he did not rest. After all that, I don't think a few days of marching are enough to put him down".

Rainbow Dash shook her head in amazement.

"Gotta hand it to the little... formerly little guy. He's got brass ballls...."

"RAINBOW, there's hardly need for such language" called Rarity indignant.

"What? Don't tell me you're not impressed".

Rarity opened her mouth only to close it again and nod.

"I will not deny that, if nothing else, his tenacity is unlike anything I've ever seen before".

"Like I said, brass balls" smirked Rainbow and flew before Rarity could castigate her again.

Rarity sighed deeply and turned her attention to Twilight.

"Have you managed to coax him into talking with us again darling?"

"No, the stubborn guy won't even look at us for more than a few seconds at a time. Whatever it is, I hope he gets over it really quick, or I’m going to have lock himself and us in the Crystal Palace until he decides to talk to us again".

Rarity put a consoling hand on her friend's shoulder.

"We'll be glad to help you in that endeavor, darling".

A long ululating howl split through the air as the convoy strode onward. Spike's head snapped upwards as he took in the familiar sound.

"Shagga" he said as he slowly and gently lifted the still sleeping filly off his head and handed her to the female Draka.

"Take the child to her parents and lead the convoy, our scout has returned".

Shagga nodded and returned to the column, as Spike broke into a run, putting distance between himself and the convoy. A few twists and bends in the road later and he had reached his destination.

Leaning against a large boulder, cleaning fresh blood from his curved sword stood the familiar figure of Sekeolath Vengryn, an almost thirteen foot tall, whipcord slim Draka with scales as grey as a dulled blade and a mane of raven black "hair". Eyes as yellow as those of a wolf regarded the Darraor and a small, barely noticeable smile took shape on his heavily scarred face.

Spike, whose disfigured face could form no smiles, held out his hand, clasping Sekeolath by the forearm, helping the ancient Draka who had been almost like a father to him off his stone perch.

More than a thousand years his senior, Sekeolath had been the one that had trained Spike in the art of Draka warfare during his first two centuries as part of the Legion of the Damned. For some unknown reason the unusually taciturn and morbid Sekeolath had found a kindred spirit in Spike and had taken a vested interest in training Spike in the ways of a true warrior. There had never been a prouder day in Sekeolath's life than the one that Spike, barely three hundred years old at the time, had defeated him in a glorious, five day long duel. It was the pride that only a teacher could feel when his student became the master.

Now, more than one thousand and seven hundred years later, the kinship remained, as strong as it had ever been, the two taciturn Draka, finding comfort in the occasional sparring match and their single minded devotion to the art of battle.

Spike eyed the bloody sword and Sekeolath answered the unspoken question.

"A band of trolls, thought I would clear the way before the convoy".

Spike nodded his approval.

"Mika'il?"

"Remained at the base of the Mountains of Grey Crystal, awaiting us, told me to come report".

Spike nodded his approval once again, pleased at his two best scouts.

Clasping his former mentor's shoulder he signaled towards the convoy.

"Go, eat and rest".

"Bah, who would waste time eating when there is killing to be done?" Sekeolath answered chuckling, even as he strode towards the convoy.

"And there is food to eat, now go, I will save you a few daemons if we get attacked soon".

"Not if I get to them first old friend, remember who taught you how to kill" retorted the older Draka, chuckling darkly.

Spike watched his friend go as he stood, waiting for the convoy to catch up to him.

As he lay in wait, he took a few moments and allowed himself to retreat within his own mind. It had been good to talk to Sekeolath once more, like the good old days. The past few days had been too unlike the simpler centuries in Ginungagap. There were too many distractions here, too many elements that made his mind unfocused and his heart ache.

The girls were a particular reason for this. He had found himself more than once wondering at how to better help them or keep them safe.

With so many fresh distractions he had even found himself looking at Shagga differently. He had always seen the female Draka as a beloved companion and strong ally, to be counted upon in the heat of battle. Lately he had found himself unwittingly staring at her with something more than just respect, his eyes drawn to her fiery mane of red hair and her...

Spike violently shook his head. No, things had been simpler in Ginungagap. It was a simple matter of kill or be killed, no distractions, no other concerns. He was Spike, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, he did not have the luxury of allowing himself distractions.

Clearing his mind and stilling his heart, Spike retreated in his favorite waking dream. The dream of battle unending, full of raw red things and music that sounded like steel on steel and unending battle chants.

Wilhelmina Aszh'Vala, the White Widow of the Dead Sea, huffed impatiently upon her mobile throne as she was carried atop the mountain peaks. The long trek to the Mountains of Grey Crystal had been both boring and bothersome. Her long, snake-like lover body extended to lash across the back of one of her throne bearers. As the tail scythed into the daemon's flesh, he let loose a howl of ecstasy and a torrent of proclamations towards Wilhelmina, swearing his undying love for her and his gratitude for the gift of pain she had bestowed upon him.

Wilhelmina smirked as she heard the proclamations and looked upon the sea of daemonic heads that surrounded her. Every daemon in her entourage had eyes filled with passionate fever, slaves to her every whim and desire. She needed no taskmasters or slavers to maintain order, her beauty and her song were enough that she could enslave anyone's heart, man or woman. Her entourage of ten snake daemonette's, priestesses of the Abyssal Gods, looking like smaller versions of herself, almost as beautiful as their mistress, rode silently on small palanquins, occasionally lashing out with their own tails on the backs of the daemonic bearers, eliciting ecstatic cries from them.

Her contemptuous eyes scanned the daemons, making a mental selection of whom she would chose as her plaything for the next few hours as she waited for the Equestrian and Draka convoy to fall into the jaws of the trap.

She had heard of this Darraor of the Legion, of this Spike, Veshanesh of the Draka. Wilhelmina licked her lips as her mind was flooded by the images of how she would enslave this indomitable male's heart and make him her pet. He would belong to her and only her.

As the seven thousand strong army of daemons reached the summit and began the preparations for the ambush, Wilhelmina's eyes were drawn to a peculiar shape that looked like the peak of an adjoining mountain. As the shape moved, her face split into a lunatic grin as she realized that what she had taken for a peak was the monstrously large form the undead primordial dragon, the Mountain Eater. The creature was already in place, awaiting the column. Wilhelmina's army was here only to offer support if there was need for it, yet she doubted there would be any need.

Nothing could survive the Mountain Eater. Nothing.

Cupping her slender hands to her full lips, the white haired snake daemonette yelled to the Mountain Eater.

"You can kill them all, but leave their leader for myself. I have need of a new pet".

If the undead abomination had heard her, it gave no sign. It simply stood there, on it's fresh perch of a mountain peak, it's eyes dead and house sized talons raking at the mountain side, eagerly awaiting the freshly chosen prey.

Author's Note

Hello all, latest chapter here.

Special thanks to Tangisir Sekeolath (a new-found friend) and possibly the first ever Draka OC created by him - Sekeolath Vengryn (his constant support and the quality of his OC were enough for me to want to add his character to the story). Once again thanks a lot, brother.

Not much else to say except, enjoy and feel free to comment and ask questions. I'm happy to talk.

Once again, thank you for the support and see you soon, gonna go and binge on Megadeth for the next few hours:pinkiecrazy:.

Steel and Doom

"We are Steel".

"We are Doom".

"We are the Legion of the Damned".

"We shall know no fear".

Thus did the war chant sound and echo throughout the mountains as another wave of daemons smashed themselves upon the waiting shields of the Legion. The few daemons that survived the Legion's spears long enough to retreat were shot down by the Val-Drakar hand cannons.

Row upon row of ponies trudged on, obeying the Draka's command of not stopping. The Royal Guard stood between the ponies, weapons at the ready, even though there was obviously no need for it. Not a single daemon had pierced through the defending line of Draka and, by all appearances, that was not about to change soon.

The ambush had come as a surprise to the convoy of ponies and Draka. The daemons had come from deep within the mist caking the peak of the Mountains of Grey Crystal. The mountain winds, strong and irregular as they were, had made it all but impossible for the Draka to smell their enemies. Yet, for all that, successfully ambushing a Draka and catching a Draka unprepared were two different matters entirely. The Draka are always ready for battle. The howling, charging daemons had emerged from the mist only to find a bulwark of perfectly disciplined Draka waiting for them.

Shagga threw her fist forward, catching a daemon's throat and crushing his windpipe. Even as the pitiful creature fell to it's knees, suffocating on it's own blood, Shagga's ax cleaved it's skull and ended it's life. Another charged at her only to find itself facing the female Draka's tower shield. With a mighty heave Shagga lifted the daemon on her shield and flipped the doomed monstrosity behind her. A quick stomp on the nape of the daemon's neck stilled it's thrashing.

She looked to the convoy and yelled the signal. As one the line of Draka moved sideways, maintaing the bulwark and keeping the convoy of ponies at their backs. Her eyes scanned around only to lock with those of Sekeolath. The slim Draka had a struggling daemon by the throat while tearing through the failing defense of two others.

"Sekeolath" she yelled, "where is the Darraor?"

Sekeolath shot out with his foot, snapping a daemon's leg at the knee cap and put his blade through it's skull even as it fell. A gout of flame caught another daemon point blank and cooked it in it's own armor. With a few deft twists Sekeolath snapped the third daemon's neck.

"Rot in the grasp of the Abyssal Gods, bastard child of darkness and life!" he spat at the lifeless victim and turned his attention to Shagga.

"The Darraor has gone further into the mist, he has ordered that we hold the line and keep the ponykin safe".

Shagga nodded "Understood". Turning her attention to the line of Draka she gave the instructions. "Legion, tighten formation, let none pass through. Drak'Aviri shock troops, at the other side of the convoy, guard the flank".

The Legion nodded as one, trusting in Spike's second in command's wisdom.

Deep within the mist, Spike sliced left and right, annihilating an entire charge of daemons before they had even reached the Draka line.

A goat headed thing, wielding an enormous claymore sliced at him, only to stop short as Spike's massive hand engulfed it's wrists and crushed both hands and the claymore's haft in his vice-like grip. The daemon's scream of pain was ended as Spike caved in it's skull with the haft of his Odachi. Another, this time a gigantic leonine abomination, found it's end as the Darraor's fist crushed it's maw and skull in a single blow.

Spike looked at the pool of blood and corpses around himself. He could hear more daemons approaching from his flank even as another group charged from in front of him. Even through the mist's limited visibility, the sound the foolish daemons made was enough for him to deduce their feeble attempts at tactics.

Spike did not like these daemons. They were too driven, their eyes were too bloodshot and fervored. Normally daemonic battalions broke at one point or another but these ones fought to the last, almost as if possessed. Neither did he like that low humming he kept hearing. It had begun with the battle and Spike could almost hear it at the edge of his consciousness.

Spike spat on one of the corpses and brought his hand to his mouth. With one massive breath he let loose a gout of flame which rolled in on itself and grew into a grand fireball, molded by the Draken Rune on his forearm. It grew until it was three times the size of Spike's body and he let it fly.
The grand ball of flame flew, splitting the wall of mist only to collide with and reduce an entire battalion of daemons to ash and smoke.

Twilight shuddered as she heard the great explosion and yelled as it's force tore at the cloud of mist surrounding the peak of the mountain. From the corner of her eye she saw the pale green flames billowing and, some distance away, Spike striding towards another advancing battalion of numberless daemons.

Even as she looked, Spike charged and shot through the daemons like a wolf through sheep, reducing entire groups of daemons to broken meat and armor in moments.

With a shake she tore her eyes away and ran as fast as she could towards the two princesses.

Celestia and Luna sat, horns crossed, drawing power within them.

"Twilight!" gasped Celestia "we need you... now".

With a curt nod, Twilight added her own strength to the spell. With a final heave of energy, the three alicorns loosed a gigantic ball of force towards the sky. It rose quickly, only to expand and wash down like rain over the mountain peak.
Although harmless to any living being, it had succeeded in it's purpose. The gigantic cloud of mist had been pushed off the mountain, leaving the entire area with perfect visibility.

The three alicorn's eyes grew in shock as they saw the full daemonic force. Row upon row of daemons stood at the ready at one side of the plateau, splitting into battalions numbering between five hundred and six hundred each and charging at the Draka like clouds of hungry locusts.

Behind the lines of daemons a group of ten women with the lower bodies of snakes whirled and danced in a display that was in the same time glorious and terrifying in it's beauty. It spoke of horrible and lascivious things, of love of the flesh and death of the soul, of the horrible beauty of war. Another, this one larger than her comparatively diminutive counterparts, similarly snake-like in her lower body, her beauty, at once both supremely glorious and unbearably disgusting, obvious even over such a distance, presided over the odd dance, guiding her coven.

Twilight did not have to wonder who she was, for the name came as a kiss of death upon the winds of magic. Wilhelmina Aszh'Vala, the White Widow of the Dead Sea.

"Princess Celestia..." she looked to her mentor "What..."

"I do not know Twilight" she answered, her quizzical and worried look adding another layer of fright to Twilight's already waning resolve "But whomever they may be,there is a lot of magic being drawn towards that place. I fear the worst".

Twilight instinctively began weighing multiple options in her mind, her inquisitive personality and keen intellect forcing her to weigh in and consider as many strategies as possible. Yet, they all had the same common basis. They all relied on the use of the power of the Elements of Harmony that she and her friends represented. She doubted she had recovered enough of her strength to be able to do this.

No, she could not allow herself to think this way, she was Princess of Friendship, she HAD to do it. With that in mind, Twilight Sparkle stretched her wings and took to the skies to gather her friends. It was all she could do before it happened. Before that horrible rotten thing had left it's perch and the wind caused by it's monstrous wingspan had rocketed her to the ground.

The corpse of the Mountain Eater had sat patiently atop it's mountainous perch for long enough. Kilmaail the Half-Born had seen all he had needed to see through the monster's eyes and the sadistic little insect had given the order.

"Attack their leader, the one named Spike, separate him from his warriors and butcher him".

Like a primordial beast, the Mountain Eater had taken flight. It's wingspan, almost as large as half of the plateau, covering the assembled forces of Draka and daemon in dark shadow, heralding his arrival as an envoy of doom.
Ancient and rotting jaws opened and phlegm filled throat rattled to give wake to a roar so massive that the entire mountain seemed to quake.

Black flame belched forth from his rotting maw, reducing fifteen Draka to ash.

The telepathic voice of Kilmaiil came, channeled from deep within the unholy runes carved within the Mountain Eater's flesh.

"Know my name and tremble worms, for I am Kilmaiil the Half-Born, Prophet of the Abyssal Gods, know that I bring your doom as I have brought it upon your foolish companions at the Mouth of Madness. Know that you are last of the Legion of the Damned. Know that upon this mountain, your bones shall wither and turn to dust".

Howls of rage came from the Draka as they saw the perversion suffered by the corpse of the once proud forefather of the draconic race, the Mountain Eater and at the knowledge of the fate of their battle siblings at the Mouth of Madness.

One roar came louder than the rest, almost rivaling that of the Mountain Eater itself.

Spike, standing atop a small hillock of daemonic corpses howled his anger for all to hear.

"Come to me Mountain Eater, let me reacquaint you with death".

From deep within the Mountain Eater's rotting flesh, his chained spirit rose at the sound of the power in that one voice. He could feel in it, the voice of one that would defy his might. For a single moment, he could almost feel the spark of hope burst into existence, the hope that this one warrior would be able to stop him.

It was quickly extinguished by the magic of Kilmaiil, for even if the soul wanted freedom and the peace of the afterlife, the body obeyed only Kilmaiil. With a surge like that of a falling comet, the titanic undead creature launched itself at Spike, the enormous, indestructible horn atop his head leveling with Spike. Enormous, leathery wings, pierced with holes of rotten flesh launched gusts of wind as powerful as the fists of giants at the Darraor before the Mountain Eater had even approached the master of the Legion. Yet for all that, Spike did not waver. He stood and took it all, even as the stone around him burst from the pressure, even as his own armor started denting and groaning, he simply stood, immovable and indomitable, merely taking his blade in a two handed grip. Every muscle and vein on his body bulged with barely restrained energy as he readied himself to deny the Primordial Dragon.

Spike was angry. Angrier than he had been when he had seen the charred corpses of Mr. and Mrs. Cake and children. He could feel the Madness gnawing at his mind again, his ears hearing nothing other than those words "companions at the Mouth of Madness". This Kilmaiil had killed them, his warriors, his FAMILY, HIS BROTHERS AND SISTERS. HE. WILL. DIE.

A roar like that of an elder god escaped his lipless maw as Spike welcomed the Madness. As he took the rage and hatred and turned it in on itself, disciplining it and turning it into complete focus, closing off any parts of his brain that were not dedicated fully to battle and vicious savagery, transforming his entire being into and engine of war.

The clash of Spike and the Mountain Eater took shape with the sound of two mountains crushing together. The horn of the Mountain Eater came with the insurmountable force of lightning only to be smashed away by the vicious strike of Spike's blade. Even as the monstrously large head snapped sideways, the rotting undead body, ignorant of both pain and damage surged onward, inertia taking place of intent.

Spike found himself taken to the air, his body smashed by the titanic sized skull, as the Mountain Eater took flight again, taking him towards the adjacent plateau.

Wilhelmina screamed in anger as she saw her future plaything be taken away. She had wanted the mighty Darraor all to herself, but now he was being taken to an entirely different plateau. Even if she were to make the effort of going to salvage whatever remained, she doubted she would find anything more consistent than a puddle of blood.

Damn it all, she would have words with Kilmaiil when she would return to the base. No one took from Wilhelmina what she had decided would be hers and hers alone.

She turned to her coven of Sirens and screamed her displeasure at them.

"Faster you useless harlots, sing louder, I might have lost one plaything but the rest of the Draka will be mine".

The Sirens looked with fear at their mistress and began singing louder and faster, doing their best to corrode away at the Draka's indomitable wills.

Shagga looked in horror as Spike was flown away. She knew that the rest of the Legion shared her fear. They had all heard that roar, the entire Legion had felt it again, that same dread that had permeated their being when Spike had seen the charred bodies of the ponies in the Everfree Forest. Shagga knew full well what that feeling and what that roar meant. Spike was once again grappling with the Madness.

A flutter coming fast behind her alerted her to a new problem. Shagga released her shield and ax and jumped suddenly to her left, her strong hands closing like a vice as she grabbed and tackled the struggling blue streak to the ground.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing? Are you crazy? Let me go?" the comparatively little blue thing said as it tried to struggle out of her grasp.

Multiple footsteps coming towards her stopped as they saw the scene unfolding.

Shagga rose, still keeping the struggling Rainbow Dash in her embrace, refusing to let her go and allow her to fly towards the adjacent plateau. She looked towards the other five ponies, especially eyeing Twilight's lolling left wing, obviously freshly broken at the shoulder.

"Let me go, LET ME GO" Rainbow Dash cried again "What's the matter with you, Spike was taken by that thing, we need to get to him, we need to help him".

"Please Miss Shagga ..." began both Twilight and Fluttershy, obviously anxious and worried.

"Listen here missy, ya' better not try to get in our way or ah swear ah'll...".

"ENOUGH" bellowed the female Draka, her voice carrying much less of the instinctive domination and commanding presence than that of Spike, but enough that it made all six girls turn rigid and a few Draka turn their heads in surprise.

"You can not, you WILL NOT go to the Darraor's aid. He would never forgive me if I allowed you to go near him, in the state he is now".

"But you can't..." Twilight began.

"I can and I shall" bellowed Shagga again. Twilight recoiled at the shake in Shagga's voice. The strong and usually calm female had always spoken in measured and calm tones with the girls, but now her voice and entire body were shaking, either of fear or concern, she could not hope to guess.

"But... but... he's already wounded, he hasn't had any proper treatment or rest since Canterlot...he'll... he'll... DIE IF WE DON'T HELP HIM".

"HE WILL END YOU IF YOU TRY TO HELP HIM" Shagga bellowed again, this time drawing her other ax for emphasis ""Listen to me, if you go anywhere near the Darraor now, you would be in more danger than if you were to be surrounded by a pack of starving rot-wolves. The red haze is upon him once again and you must not approach him".

Rarity looked aghast. With a voice shaking with impotent anger "You would let him die? Alone and with his mind broken?".

Shagga stopped and her mouth clamped shut. Her red pupils contracted even as her mane of red "hair" bristled. She looked like an angry lioness ready to pounce.

The tense moment carried on for few moments only for Shagga to release Rainbow,turn away and retrieve her shield.

"May his doom be a grand one" she said with finality.

"You are to take the rest of the convoy, tell all to run as fast as they can, we will attack the remaining daemons, force them to stay and fight and allow none to follow you".

"But...?" began Twilight again.

"YOUR ORDERS HAVE BEEN GIVEN... PLEASE... THIS IS WHAT THE DARRAOR WANTS, THIS IS WHAT EVERYTHING HINGES ON, THE CONVOY MUST BE KEPT SAFE".

The strength and command in the voice allowed no more protest or contradiction. The girls turned, eyes aghast and shoulders slumped, wanting nothing more than to run towards Spike but unable to deny the truth in Shagga's reasoning.

In their hurry they could not see Shagga's trembling shoulders, could not hear her muffled sobs and could not see her wet eyes.

Shagga looked towards the adjacent plateau, at the sight of Mountain Eater and the small shape of her precious Darraor atop the titanic head

"Please Darraor...you cannot die...you cannot leave me".

Wiping at her eyes, ashamed of her own weakness, Shagga set her jaw and looked to the daemonic line. All of them would die for this.

"Grasping Claw formation, let none survive".

"ORAAAHH!" came the war howl of the Legion, each and every one wanting nothing more than to see the daemons spitted upon their spears.

The blade rose and fell again and again, sending a torrent of sparks as Spike chopped through the steel scales and iron bones of the Mountain Eater's skull. Even as bones splintered and flesh ripped asunder, it healed almost as fast, the unholy magics permeating the abomination's body reknitting undead flesh.

Even though the monstrosity felt no pain, uncountable millennia of battle and honed instincts made it jab and twist it's massive head and long neck with the speed and force of a whip.

For all that, Spike held with the grimness and calm of stone, his face an unmoving funeral masque, his untold anger betrayed only by the net of veins standing out against his face and the bursts of flame escaping his lipless maw.

With a horrible roar, the Mountain Eater launched himself against the side of a granite cliff, reducing the ancient stone to rubble. Even as he felt ribs crack and armor break, Spike did not let go. He sliced again and again, ignoring the foul blood that spurt and burned his flesh with the intensity of acid. The ridiculous speed of the regenerating flesh made it seem like nothing more than an exercise in futility yet, in the depths of Spike's mind, beyond the crashing waves of rage and the unbreakable wall of disciplined self-control, the embers of a strategy began to take light.

The Mountain Eater struck again, smashing his own body against granite, trying to dislodge the stubborn warrior that would not stop slicing at it. Gigantic leathery wings expanded as the Mountain Eater took flight. Spike found himself unable to do anything more than hold as pressure of the wind flattened him against the abomination's skull. The undead dragon rose until it burst out of the sea of clouds, only to reverse and plummet towards the stone plateau like a hawk towards it's chosen victim.

Spike saw the ground coming fast towards him, the air pressure denying any attempt he made of trying to jump off the abomination's snout. It was all he could do to contract every single muscle in his body, a virtual armor of steel slabs of muscle tissue against the coming impact.

The plummeting dragon made contact with the plateau with the sound and effect of cataclysm, the sheer weight and speed of the creature ripping away an entire section of the plateau, sending it rolling down the face of the mountain.

Even as the massive head and body rose from the crater, broken flesh and bones already reknitting, it found itself falling again as the joint and ligaments of it's right foreleg were slashed through. It collapsed on it's side, barely even registering the purple scaled warrior as it jumped from under it and plunged it's blade and body into the creature's eye.

Spike rose from the mush that had once been the Mountain Eater's Draka sized eye. Grinding his fangs against the pain of his crushed muscles and grinding broken ribs, the Darraor of the Legion surged onward, driven by unbendable will and savage battle lust. From within the depths of his fast shattering mind, the analytical part of Spike analyzed every movement and action with the cold calculating intensity of an apex predator.

The Mountain Eater may have the size of an entire fortress but there was no such thing as a chain with no weak links. And Spike exploited those weaknesses. He jumped as he felt the massive neck muscles of the undead dragon's neck flex, avoiding being sent aflight by it's whipping neck. Even as he ran, he once again grabbed his blade with both hands, sending a monstrous slash at the monster's left foreleg, slicing through the mountain of flesh that was the abomination's bicep. Even though the iron-strong bicep was five times Spike's size in thickness and seven times in length, Spike's monstrous strength and perfect technique cut into it, the slicing force of such strength that it scraped against the bone.

The Mountain Eater fell again, now both it's forelegs cut down from under him. For the first time ever, his own titanic size was it's greatest downfall. Kilmaiil the Half-Born screamed in disbelief upon his throne in the great cave expanse as he saw through his mind's eye the turn the battle had taken. He raged impotently at the colossus of purple scales who was defying his might.

Spike launched himself upwards grabbing onto a scale and hauling himself upon the great expanse of flesh that was the Mountain Eater's upper back, near the nape of his long neck. Wasting no time, he ran his blade up to the hilt into the flesh and charged forward, his blade cutting into the rotten bulk, cutting the entirety of the dragon's sternocleidomastoidian and trapezius muscles effectively rendering the massive creature unable to even lift it's neck and head.

Kilmaiil howled again and lifted his emaciated arms towards the idols of the Abyssal Gods, begging for more strength. He felt as the winds of magic went rabid around him and screamed in pain as a surge of unholy energy ran through his body and traveled through the aethyr and the mystical connection binding the Mountain Eater to Kilmaiil's will.

Spike found himself suddenly slicing at empty air as the prone abomination suddenly jerked it's entire body, sending the Darraor flying. He could see the grievous wounds he had inflicted closing in seconds. Spike took a deep breath and brought both arms in front of his chest, hearing rather than seeing the scything tail as it impacted with the force of a comet into the Draka and sent him flying into a stone wall. With impossibly fast jerking movements the undead dragon turned it's head and launched a gout of black putrid flame and smoke at Spike. But Spike's analytical mind had foreseen this attack from the moment he had heard the tail scything for him. Even as the stone around his body shattered from the impact, he dropped his Odachi and cupped both palms in front of his mouth as he exhaled a gout of flame. Draken Runes upon his forearms blazed with power and once again the flame was molded into a grand ball of incandescent fire three times Spike's size.

With a growl, Spike let it fly and the pale green missile of compressed flame tore through the black unfocused flame of the Mountain Eater only to dispel into nothingness before reaching the monster. Undead or no, the Mountain Eater was still a dragon and magic came as easily to him as breathing. A simple shift in the winds of magic and the ball of flame had become not but a self-consuming missile. Another shift within the winds and a wave of pure force washed upon Spike crushing him against the stone wall again and again.

Blood spurt from Spike's mouth as more muscles were crushed and bones splintered and fractured under the relentless assault of force. Still, Spike fought against the force until the palms of his hands were leveled with the Mountain Eater's gigantic head. Every Draken Rune on his arm blazed and consumed as Spike squeezed his opened hands into fists. The Mountain Eater's blazing, freshly regenerated eyes exploded into mush as the telekinetic grasp ripped into them.

The moment the assault of force had ended Spike was once again charging at the undead dragon. The few seconds it took him to cover the hundred feet separating them, newly regenerated eyes glared at him. Spike did not falter, his long bladed Odachi licking out to cut at the monster's forelegs once again. He had to keep close and personal, he had already exhausted almost every Draken Rune he had at his disposal and he could not allow the monster to use magic again.

The Darraor had not felt this way in a long time. It had been so long since he had been in a battle that he did not know if he would survive. The realization made Spike want to howl with joy. He was close. This could be it. This opponent could be his doom. His much awaited redemption.

Galvanized by the thought, Spike barely even felt the claw, four times larger than himself, smash into his right side. Battle instincts took over immediately, throwing his blade into his left hand as he took the hit with his right shoulder. Stone smashed and splintered upwards where his foot ran deep into the ground giving leverage and helping him to stop the blow completely.

The Mountain Eater stood dumbfounded at the sight of this little creature that had stopped his claw. He had shattered entire mountain sides with his blows but this Draka had taken the brunt of the attack with his body and overpowered it. The momentary diversion was enough for Spike's blade to bite deep into the dragon's wrist, the sheer strength of the strike almost enough to rip it off completely.

Spike jumped and ran upwards on the Dragon's arm, the muscles of his back and chest flexing and resetting his freshly dislocated shoulder. Powerful arms swelled with muscle as he grasped the blade with both hands and powerful legs propelled Spike as he jumped from the dragon's forearm right before it's great maw. A two handed slash ripped through the undead abomination's titanic sized skull and Spike found himself atop the dragon's head once again.

This time however, Spike knew what to do. He had analyzed his enemy throughout the battle and knew how it functioned. In one fluid motion he sheathed his Odachi and drew his straight sword Ildezgherdi, the Dream Drinker. With a perfect thrust the he pierced the wailing blade up to the hilt into the dragon's forehead.

Far away, deep within the security of the cave complex, Kilmaiil the Half-Born wailed as he heard the wailing blade and felt it's mystical edge partly sever the aethyric connection between him and the Mountain Eater's corpse.

The effect was immediate. An ear piercing shriek belched from the throat of the Mountain Eater's ravaged throat and his head shook violently, sending Spike flying once again. He landed on his feet upon the cold stone and watched as the undead dragon's thrashing nearly shook the mountain apart.

As quick as it had begun, it stopped. The undead creature rose it's skull and regarded Spike with cold, death filled eyes. A voice, as ancient and as wise as the world filled Spike's mind.

"Your name?"

Spike simply stood, his mind still in the process of fighting against the advancing Blood Madness, barely able to register the meaning of the words.

"Please warrior, time is short. Your blade has released enough of the bindings upon my soul that I may speak with you, but my body is still under the sway of the Abyssal Gods and I can feel it preparing to attack you again. I am... was the Mountain Eater, third of the Primordial Dragons, please... give me your name... so that I may know the title of the warrior that may yet allow me the sweet release of death once more".

Spike's mind slowly began to calm. The clash between rage and discipline gave way to the warm familiarity of the customs of the warrior's code.

"I... know not... if I can defeat you. I know not if I can gift you... with the release... you so desire. You are strong... stronger than any opponent I have... ever faced" Spike began slowly, finding it hard to speak while the Madness still held some sway within his mind.

The tired but truly warm and grateful laugh of the Mountain Eater thundered in Spike's mind.

"Yet I wish to know it nonetheless. Even if you do not defeat me, I wish to know your name. You, young warrior who has opposed me on equal grounds.
Give me your name so that if you die by my claws and fangs I may remember it always as one among the few, truly worthy opponents I have faced.
Give me your name, so that if I am freed by your hands, I may hold it in gratitude for all eternity."

"I am Spike, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, Veshanesh of the Draka"

"Yes, YES, truly you are a death-seeker as myself, Darraor of the Legion, truly you are deserving of the title of Veshanesh of the Draka. Truly you rival the strength and will of the Primordial Draka himself, first bearer of the title of Veshanesh".

With every word, Spike's mind calmed even further. Apart from his beloved Legion and the six ponies, he had never been acknowledged with such warmth and gratitude before. He calmed until he found himself with a mind as clear as a still pond. He found himself unable to hate his enemy... no... not enemy... adversary. He found himself wanting to fight him for nothing more than the pure joy of battle itself. No hatred, no enmity. Just the pure bliss of battle.

"Come then" continued the voice as the Mountain Eater's body crouched into a lunging position. "Let us battle for battle's sake. Let us test our wills and our strength. Let us indulge in the glory of the fight. SPIKE, IT WOULD BE THIS ONE'S HONOR TO DIE BY YOUR HANDS".

"AS IT WOULD BE MINE TO DIE BY YOURS" bellowed Spike as he drew his Odachi, Karasuma, the Devil Crow and grabbed it's hilt with both hands, setting himself in a "Hasso" stance.

Even as the great beast jumped at Spike, the Draka's mouth opened not to roar or grunt or growl. But to laugh.

"GAHAHAHAHA" the laughter boomed and clashed against the stone cliffs of the mountains. For the first time in over two thousand years Spike laughed. Even as the warm and joyful laughter of the Mountain Eater boomed into his mind, Spike laughed in tandem, both warriors overjoyed at the realization that they had finally found a worthy opponent. One that could truly challenge them and maybe even grant them their rest.

The two warriors clashed against one another for a time, titanic claws falling only to be smashed away by Spike's ever present blade. They laughed as they fought, falling completely into the rhythm and sway of battle until their every movement seemed too look like a dance of death, true poetry in motion.

Suddenly, the dragon's wings opened and he took to the sky.

"NOOO! Not like this, this battle must be fought face to face, warrior to warrior" the Mountain Eater's voice bellowed in desperation within Spike's mind "Spike, the coward that controls my body will attack you from a distance. He will not allow me the honor of battle."

Spike looked to the dragon, his eye widening with anger and disgust at the worthless coward that would rob this noble dragon even the right of honorable battle.

"No, you shall not be denied this" bellowed Spike as he tore the remnants of his broken armor from his troso, revealing the recently inked Draken Runes that blazed upon the Draka's massive chest.

"Aku" "Soku" "Zan", "Evil" "Cut" "Immediately", the three Runes created by Spike's own hand, the strongest of his spells, the Runes of Challenge, the runes that would force any who witnessed them to attack close and with full force.

"Yes, YESSSSS, THIS WILL BE THE FINAL STRIKE TO END IT ALL, YOUR DOOM OR MINE. IT HAS BEEN A HONOR, MY WORTHY ADVERSARY" bellowed the joyful voice of the Mountain Eater as his body, unable to resist the compulsion of the Runes, denying even the control of Kilmaiil, plummeted from the skies towards Spike, horn first.

Spike drew his blade above his head grasping it with both hands. The most aggressive stance of the Yagyū Shinkage-ryū school of swordsmanship, the Jōdan-no-kamae stance. He would honor this adversary by using the same stance and technique he had used to defeat the Avatar of the Abyssal Gods. The same technique that had almost killed him.

As the dragon plummeted towards him, Spike closed his eyes and extended his perception throughout his own body, until he gained control upon his own myocardium muscle tissue, his heart muscles. Exerting the utmost control he began forcing his heart to beat faster and faster and faster, until the steady rhythm of his beating heart had become an incoherent hum, like the wing beat of a dragonfly. Blood vessels as strong a steel cables groaned as his blood flow turned into a torrent of unbearable velocity, bringing blood and overflowing energy to his muscles.

Spike's every vein stood out like an iron cable, every muscle swelled more than they had ever before, until they threatened to burst his skin and scales apart. The friction of his own blood's velocity grew to such intensity that it began evaporating and seeping out of the very pores of his body. Spike's massive frame was engulfed by the vapor until his entire form would resemble naught but a blurred shape lost in the depths of the crimson mist that had formed around him, as much a herald of doom as the titanic beast speeding towards him.

"YES, GLORIOUS" came the last few words of the Mountain Eater before his aerial charge reached Spike.

In the heartbeat before the two warriors clashed, Spike opened his eyes and sliced down with "Karasuma".

So did the two entities, war and battle personified clashed. In the moment as the horn and blade connected, time seemed to stop for a mere moment, the length it would take a hummingbird to flap it's wings once, as the two warriors reached the complete apex of their strength. They saw each other's pain, joy and trials as mutual understanding passed through one another in the way that only two warriors bound by code and deeds can, reveling in being pushed to the brink of their entire being and martial prowess. The single clash of weapons had meant more to them than a thousand lifetimes as comrades, had given them a glimpse within each others souls. So did that one moment pass, as all things do.

The blade fell like the ax edge of the elder gods, bringing with it the entirety of Spike's strength and conviction.

The unbreakable horn of Mountain Eater split in two, followed by the entirety of his colossal body. In a heartbeat, the Mountain Eater, third of the Primordial Dragons, had been sliced in two perfectly symmetrical halves.

Spike stood there, his blade before him, as the split titanic form surged harmlessly to either side of him, not even touching him, as the dragon's own inertia pushed the two halves to the other side of the plateau, where it lay still.

With no possibility of the body regenerating from such damage, the unholy energies animating the corpse flowed and dissipated from it.

"Ahhh, finally... I can feel the bindings upon my soul breaking. The Abyssal Gods have been denied today".

Spike turned his head to regard the broken halves. His one good eye met with that of the Mountain Eater. The once cold and death filled eye had regained it's former life and color. The green eye of Spike met with the blue one of the Mountain Eater.

"Thank you ... Spike. You, whom from this day I shall call my brother and my savior".

Spike sheathed his blade and brought both his hands together and took a deep bow, acknowledging his former adversary's respect and gratitude.

"Know that I shall be there to accompany you upon your last march upon the Road of Skulls and Bones. Know that I shall await to drink with you within the Halls of the Ancestors. But hurry not upon that road, young warrior. Those such as you, who have something you wish protecting... you cannot afford the luxury of death... not yet... at least".

Spike looked on as the two halves began turning to brittle dust, swept by the mountain winds.

"Ahh, battle... such bliss it has been".

Such were the final words of the Mountain Eater as his soul departed for the rest of the afterlife.

With the departure of the Mountain Eater, Spike fell to his hands and knees as the expected pain hit him. Blood exploded and gushed from his mouth as every muscle of his body contracted uncontrollably. This was the price to pay for such a technique.

Spike fell on his back as he desperately tried to get his heart back to a normal rhythm before it burst apart. It would be shameful to die like this. A Draka of the Legion must die only in battle. He still needed to make sure the girls were safe.

These were his thoughts as his heart slowed back to it's rhythm and calmed. These were Spike's thoughts as his eye rolled back and he fell into unconsciousness.

Author's Note

Hey lads and lasses, it's been a long time i know, but here you are.

I've been waiting to write this battle scene since i began this story, hope you enjoy it.

As always, give a comment, ask some questions and by all means, please enjoy.

Sacrifice

"Hurry...Hurry... apply pressure there".

"Celestia... oh Celestia... I don't know where... there's too many wounds".

"Fluttershy... please... we need you".

"...".

"PLEASE".

"Get it together girl... we didn't return from tah convoy just tah watch him die. Yah've seen blood before, yah've done this before. Now get yer back in gear. "

"O... Ok... H... Hand me a rubber chord... we need to stop the blood flow from the main arteries first. Pinkie... Rarity, you two apply pressure to the wounds on his chest".

The muffled sounds came as if from the depths of a long tunnel, hollowed out and lost on the way. Yet they did not fail to carry the myriad of emotions held by their owners. Sorrow, fear, horror, sympathy, sadness... towering above all others... the conglomerate feeling of love that flowed awash from the six owners as a light rain in blistering summer sun.

Driven by those familiar and beloved voices, Spike's eye opened slowly, the spiderweb of exhaustion clearing from his sight. Draped on either side of him like guardian angels he could see the forms of his six beloved ponies slowly coming into focus. By his right side were Twilight, clearly trying her best to murmur a healing spell even as tears dropped off her mouth and nose, Fluttershy, shivering like one about to die of frostbite, a look of utter terror in her eyes, even as she tried her best to tighten the rubber strip around his monstrous bicep, Rarity and Pinkie Pie straddling his stomach as they put their entire combined body weight in pressure on a large piece of cloth, trying to staunch the blood form the gruesome gashes on his massive chest . Rainbow Dash and Applejack stood to his left side, trying their best to stop the blood from a myriad of deep cuts and wounds, their worried eyes brimming with a chaotic intermingling of hope, fear and sorrow.

Ancestors bless their kind hearts. All he had wanted was for these six that had been as mothers to him was to never have to shed tears again. Yet here they were, by his side, after everything he had done to distance himself from them. They would never willingly give up on him. He was not worthy of their tears and worry.

Spike looked at them for a while longer, taking succor from their kindness, it alone giving him more healing and relief than a thousand years of slumber.

He knew that once the Mandala would be completed, they will have truly forgotten him. Even though he was prepared for that moment, even though he wanted it to happen, for their own good, he could not help but hold a strand of hope that the moment would be delayed as long as possible, or that at least he would die before it transpired.

"Curse it all" Spike thought to himself. Curse his foolishness, curse his selfishness. Curse the fact that he could almost feel himself wanting to return to Celestia and beg her not to perform the Mandala of Forsaken Memories.

"No, NO" Spike roared in his own mind. He was getting soft. It MUST be done. These girls, these six... angels that have shown nothing other than the purest of kindness … angels who have even forgiven his betrayal, his insanity... they MUST forget him. They are too kind, too pure, his death would hit them too hard and he could not allow that.

"Look, LOOK" yelled Twilight's wet eyes caught Spike's one good eye gazing at her.

Knowing that the time for rest had long passed it's due, Spike began to rise in a sitting position even as the tiny protesting hands of the girls slapped uselessly against his muscled torso, trying futily to stop him.

"Stop, Stop, Stop" the girls called out.

"Please Spike, you have to let us help you... you can't go on like this" Fluttershy cried out, tears falling down her face, her yellow furred hands stained by the crimson of his blood.

"Spike, please" were the only two words Pinkie said, her mane lank and her eyes pools of tears.

Twilight could barely say anything, her entire form racked by hiccups and sobs even she continued to try to heal his wounds, even her alicorn magic all but useless against Spike's magic resistant flesh.

"Why... why... why do you go so far? Why would you keep fighting so hard for us? Why... when we could not save you. Why? WHY?" she yelled the last word, the stress and pain of seeing her once little Spike go through so much, bursting like a fractured dam under the onslaught of a raging river.

Spike looked at her. For what felt like a lifetime he looked at those six angels, his eye passing from girl to girl, their emotions exposed like open books for him to read. No hidden agendas, no lies, no obscured motives. Pure and genuine concern and love was all that he could see on their faces.

"They will forget me. Once the Mandala has been completed, they will forget everything about me" Spike told himself once more, as if to cement the knowledge in the depths of his brain. "I can allow myself this. One final good memory with them, before I am no more in their minds".

With one motion he slowly whipped his monstrous right arm lifting the six girls and squeezing them to the slabs of steel muscles that made his massive chest.

"Because you took me in and treated me as family when I had none. Because you have always been kind to me. Because I love you. Always and forever. That is why I will never stop fighting for you".

Spike simply stood there, holding the six bewildered girls to his chest as they lay still and dumbfounded to his chest. It did not matter to them that his blood was staining their fur and clothes. All that mattered to the six girls was this moment. For the first time since his return, it felt like the family that had been before. Before it all, before the accident, before the exile, before the pain.

The six ponies shook like leaves, trying to stifle sobs that could not be stopped, their minds overcome at the voiced confirmation of what they had believed since Spike had returned. It was almost too much for them to bear, as acceptance and understanding flowed upon them like a torrent. Over two thousand years and Spike had lost not even one iota of the love he held for them. Beneath it all, beneath the scars, beneath the muscles, beneath the stern, uncompromising gaze, lay still the soul of that gentle, ever-loyal dragon that had left a year ago.

Spike said nothing, merely let the girls sob away their frustration and relief. He closed his eye and calmed his mind once more. It was good. It was good to finally be able to tell them what he felt. This one moment would be his torch to light his way and warm his soul, once the girls would forget him.

He was, at the very least, glad that his beloved Legion of the Damned, his adoptive family would still be there to further ease the burden. He was glad, he would be able to see Shagga again. Soon, once he would allow the girls to do what they can for his wounds, all seven of them would descend this accursed plateau and go back to the mountain pathway, where he knew, his Legion awaited him, victorious as they ever were.

The scene unfolding upon the peak of the plateau was as if the fever dream of dying man had been wrenched away from it's owner's mind and fallen upon reality. Screams of pain and howls of despair rang through the mountain winds, like the wails of so many lost souls.

Shagga raised her tower shield as a rune-encrusted mace the size of an ogre's skull smashed into it with the force of a bull's charge. What followed was a flurry of spasmodic blows that slowly but surely chipped away at her defense. Her warrior instincts, honed in over two thousand years worth of battle took over completely. In the pause between one blow and the next, Shagga edged her tower shield almost diagonally, making the mace's head skid harmlessly upon the shield's surface. The force of the blow broke the assailant's stance, it's momentum forcing him off-balance.

Shagga found herself facing and opponent with so many openings she could barely check the thrust of her spear in order to avoid the assailant's throat. She hit it in the right shoulder, hoping to render him disabled from the fight. She should have known better. The assailant reversed it's stance quickly, ripping through the steel haft of the spear with one of the maces, even as the tip of the spear pierced his shoulder. His right arm barely able to move, he raised his left handed shortsword and charged the female Draka. But Shagga's strategy had partially succeeded and the assailant was one arm short. Shagga put her shoulder to her shield and rammed her entire weight into the assailant's chest, knocking the wind from him and launching him onto the awaiting ground.

Immediately Shagga drew her bardische ax and returned to the circle of Draka that made the last defense. A single moment of calm was enough for Shagga to steal a quick glance to the pathway on the plateau. There was no sight of the pony convoy. Shagga smiled grimly to herself. At the very least, they had done Spike's bidding. The assault had been a success and they had delayed the daemons enough for the convoy to leave the plateau far behind. By this point the convoy must have already reached the base of the mountain.

Whatever iota of contentedness had taken hold of her quickly faded as the whistle of blade brought Shagga back to the nightmare reality she was trapped in. The edge of her shield intercepted the blade even as she grabbed it with the hook of her bardische ax. With a quick twist she ripped the weapon from this new assailant's hands and bashed the shield into his face. Fangs, scales and blood flew as the assailant staggered back. His despair filled eyes rose and met with Shagga's. Shagga wanted to help but she had no idea how to do it. The assailing Draka's mouth opened and barely coherent words escaped his bloodied mouth.

"Kill me... battle sister... please... KILL... ME"

He screamed the last few words as his twitching body charged Shagga once again. She took the impact on her shield and knocked the assailant back with a kick to the knee cap. She could not. She could not kill the one that had once been a valued battle-brother.

Similar pleas came from all around her, coaxing her to retreat further into the circle of the remaining fifteen uncorrupted Draka. All around the defending circle, twitching Draka smashed away at defending shields, their faces covered in tears, their voiced howling for death, pleading with their uncorrupted brethren to either kill them or run, as far and as fast as possible. Those snake-like witches had stolen everything from them. Had taken their bodies, their dooms and their honor.

It had gone so bad so quickly. The battle against the daemons had been one sided. Even after her Darraor had been taken from her sight by that undead abomination, they had still taken the remaining daemons with relative ease, almost four thousand remaining daemons. Their berserk fervor had meant little against the unbreakable discipline of Draka warfare. Yet it had all been a ruse. Every daemon had been nothing more than a diversionary sacrifice to keep the Draka away from the eleven singing snake-women.

The first Draka to fall under their trance had ran towards them, howling like one possessed, snarling in protest at his own unobeying body, only to fall prostrate before the singing snake-women. Shagga had seen the Draka's muscles twitching, trying to force his body to obey. It had all been for naught. A single snake-woman had coiled on his back and had ended his struggles.

Shagga remembered it vividly, every single detail, no matter how tiny, knowing that the sheer wrongness of what had happened would follow her to her grave. She remembered as that one accursed snake woman had snapped her head to the skies and opened her mouth. She remembered the sounds of popping bones and opening flesh as the snake woman's mouth had opened until it looked as if her entire head had become one enormous, disfiguring maw. She could remember seeing the creature's ridiculously long, spiked tongue shoot out of her throat like some spidery leg, only to shoot into the nape of the neck of the prostate Draka, and to dig downwards into his spine.

Shagga remembered it. The screams of pain, as the spiked appendage had ripped straight into the Draka's bone marrow, tearing and ripping away clumps of nerves and replacing them with ones from the snake-woman's own body, like strands of cobweb.

Worst of all, she could remember the look upon the Draka's face as his twitching body had risen back, only to grab hold of his weapon and charge at his own battle-siblings. She could see the complete horror in his eyes as the corrupted Draka had realized what had happened. The snake-woman had stolen his body, leaving only his mind intact, forcing him to see his own dishonor. The snake-woman had stolen everything from him.

For a Draka to have his body taken and his honorable death stolen, only to be replaced with this abominable servitude. It was a fate so disgusting it made Shagga want to puke.

Oh, how to Legion had roared as one, disgust and rage clear on their faces and ringing in their voices. Oh how they had charged, ripping away at the remaining daemons, determined to reach the snake-women and skin them alive for the travesty they had committed. For a moment it had seemed as though the sheer momentum of their stampede would have crushed the remaining daemonic force to gristle, but sheer numbers had stalled the Legion enough for another Draka to fall to the sway of the song, only to run crying out in protest and fall prostate before the snake-women. The scene would repeat itself, a snake-woman straddling his back, only to rip away at his nervous system and take hold of his body. The abomination would then resume the song even as the newly corrupted Draka would turn and attack his own battle brothers and sisters.

So would follow another Draka, than another, until Shagga and barely over a score of uncorrupted Draka had found themselves facing not an army of daemons, for there were none alive left, but instead, an army of their own battle brothers and sisters.

One hundred and twelve corrupted Draka now surrounded the circle of sixteen Draka left uncorrupted, blocking their way to the snake-women. Their swords and spears licked out to carve scores upon the Draka shields, only to be just barely repelled by measured strikes. For all the Draka discipline and ruthless nature, the remaining uncorrupted Draka had found themselves unable to fight properly against their once beloved family. Every stroke that should have loped a head off would be redirected towards a shoulder. Every spear thrust that should have impaled a skull would find itself stuck in a bicep or a pectoral. And with every strike came the pleas of the still conscious corrupted Draka, begging for their brethren to either kill them or retreat.

Neither was an option. Retreat was impossible, with the circle of Draka surrounded completely by their former brothers and sisters. As for giving those corrupted the release of death, Shagga and the rest could not even fathom it. A Draka of the Legion had to die upon the weapon of a daemon. It was the only way for their shame to be erased and for them to enter the halls of the Ancestors. To die at the hands of their own kind... it was too much. To kill another Draka was to invite madness. Shagga knew she did not have the heart to kill her own brothers and sisters. It would have broken her.

Shagga violently shook her head, trying desperately to drown out the song of the damned snake-women. This would not last. Already she could feel her self-control eroding under the weight of the accursed song, calling out to her with honeyed voices that spoke only of death and decay, slowly but surely tearing away at her will and discipline, slowing her counters and fogging her mind. Looking around her, Shagga could see the same strain written upon her fifteen companion's faces.

To her right, the lanky form of Sekeolath grabbed hold of one of his former battle-brothers in a monstrous bear hug and, snapping his head forward, headbutted him in the maw. The corrupted Draka fell backwards spitting out blood and teeth only to be rendered unconscious by the flat of Sekeolath's blade.

Shagga shook her head again. She knew Sekeolath well enough to realize that the lanky Draka could have killed his assailant ten times by now. If even the grim and ruthless Sekeolath could not bring himself to fight with lethal intent against his former companions than they were truly doomed.

Suddenly Sekeolath fell to his knees yelling, veins bulging out against his temples. Shagga's eyes widened as she realized what was happening and her right arm shot out grabbing Sekeolath by the shoulder even as he rose into a charge.

"NO BROTHER FIGHT AGAINST IT" she yelled as Sekeolath's body struggled to break free and run towards the snake-woman. The song had gotten to him too.

A few of her companions turned and try to grab Sekeolath and pin him down but the grim and lanky Draka was one of the best warriors in the Legion. His elbow snapped catching Shagga in the temple and a few deft twist had another two Draka on the grown. Like an arrow from a greatbow Sekeolath shot towards the snake-women, the defending wall of corrupted Draka opening like a gate to grant him access even as both his corrupted and uncorrupted brethren screamed for him to stop.

Sekeolath Vengryn ran towards the snake women, his body twitching and denying his will with every step.

"Curse it, Curse it, CURSE IT ALL" he bellowed as he tried desperately to fight against the control. Behind him he could hear the pleas of his brothers and sisters to stop. This was not how it was supposed to happen, this was not how his doom should have finally come, there was nothing honorable about such a fate.

He roared, as he reached the snake-women and fell to his hands and knees before them. Even as he fell, every muscle on his body twitched, Sekeolath fighting with rabid abandon, trying to force his body back to his own control. His left arm began to shudder and tremble until it looked like it would snap, only for a sudden shifting of his weight to divert his attention.

One of the snake-women had coiled on his back and was preparing to rip into his spine, preparing to take any chance he ever had of attaining a honorable doom.

"Damn it, Damn it, DAMN IT ALL TO THE ABYSS", he roared as the spiked tongue shot into the nape of his neck, down into the length of his spine, ripping at his bone marrow and nervous system. The pain was too monstrous to even be countenanced, it was as if his entire body was being flayed, strip by bloody strip.

He was going to fail his brothers in the Legion and worst of all, he was going to fail Spike. NO, NO, NO HE COULD NOT, he could not fail Spike, not the only Draka who had truly understood him, not the only Draka who had been the closest thing to a kindred spirit he had ever had.

As if galvanized by the thought, his mind worked through the pain only to retrieve a memory, a single piece of advice that Spike had given him in one of their most recent of duels.

"Remember old friend, do not fear pain, it is your closest ally and greatest of friends. Pain is what tells you that you are still alive. If you still have enough strength to feel pain, you have enough strength to fight back. For a warrior, pain is as important as the finest crafted sword".

Yes, YES, Spike had been correct, if he felt this pain right now, Sekeolath knew he could still fight back. Now focus, FOCUS, before that snake thing atop his back manages to wrench control of his body, find a way to end her life.

With realization comes clarity of mind and with clarity comes knowledge. Knowledge that beneath all that pain, Sekeolath could feel one more thing. Like the smallest ember in a rainstorm, it nagged at the back of his subconscious mind, calling out for his attention.

The insane pain caused by the snake woman ravaging his spinal chord had almost drowned out the effects of the song. His body had gained a part of it's self-control back.

"Yes, now's the time, see my death, Ancestors" cried Sekeolath rising from the ground with twitching movements, powering through the pain with nothing more than sheer force of will, even as the accursed snake woman tried to rip at his last remaining nerve endings. She was to learn of a Draka's determination.

Sekeolath's arm twitched and swelled with muscle as the grim Draka leveled the sword tip with his own throat.

"May you rot in the grasp of the Abyssal Gods, bastard child of darkness and life!" he bellowed as he plunged the sword deep into his own throat, the tip piercing through only to come out the other side and impale the snake woman through the skull.

Gurgling, blood filled laughter came from Sekeolath's ravaged throat, as he began falling once again slowly, the now dead snake woman lifeless on his back.

"Gyahahaha... *cough*…*cough*... by the ancestors... *cough*... it was a good war... *cough*... wasn't it Spike? … *cough*... let's... end it … with a roar...*cough*".

Even as he spoke, with his last bits of strength he ripped his chest armor, revealing the Draken Runes etched on his chest and belly. Sekeolath had never been particularly fond of Draken Runes, they were too impersonal, much more suited for the spell-screaming dragons than for him. But they had their uses.

His arms rose to the sky as the Runes blazed with incandescent energy.

"Open the gates wide Ancestors, Sekeolath is coming, GAHAHAHAHAHA".

Wilhelmina's eyes widened with shock as she saw the mad Draka kill her snake priestess. Shock turned to horror as her witch sight noticed the winds of magic converging upon the runes etched on his chest and belly. The insane creature was going to blow himself up.

She could have yelled a warning to her remaining nine snake priestesses, but that would have required a conscience. Instead she cried out a shielding cocoon of magic and launched herself back.

The Draka glowed with aethyric power for a second more, only to explode in a burst of flame and rabid pure energy, engulfing Wilhelmina and the remaining snake priestesses in raw power.

Wilhelmina cried out as the unrestrained energy battered at her magical shell, bits of it seeping through to slice at her skin and singe the tips of her long white hair. The nine priestesses were not so lucky. Rabid unrestrained energy took hold of them and tore at their bodies, leaving nothing more than carbonized bits of flesh behind it's rampage.

As the explosion ended and the dust settled, the magical cocoon dispelled and Wilhelmina rose from the ground, with only a few cuts and bruises, her hair slightly singed but nonetheless uninjured. Yet she was enraged beyond anything she had been before. Her unnaturally beautiful features contorted in a mask of animal hatred.

How DARE these insects mire her beauty with cuts and bruises. Did they not understand? It was a privilege to be taken as a slave by Wilhelmina.

An ululating howl snapped her awake from her reverie. Galvanized into action by Sekeolath's actions, the fifteen uncorrupted Draka had surged forward like tidal wave impacting and breaking through the wall of their corrupted brethren, charging towards her like rabid beasts, desire to rip her to bloody chunks etched on their faces. Howls of encouragement came from the throats of the controlled Draka even as their bodies moved to run after them.

Wilhelmina snarled and moved to order her coven of priestesses begin the song anew only to realize that her coven had been reduced to broken flesh. Her ire growing, magic flowed within Wilhelmina like a torrent empowering her voice. She was the White Widow of the Dead Sea, she needed no aid.

Her voice came like a monstrous amalgamation between an angel's song and a banshee's screech. It tore through the hearts of the remaining Draka, stopping them dead in their tracks, wrenching away all strength from their limbs and burning into their minds. She may not be able to control so many Draka with her song, but her voice could break their momentum and their strength easily.

"To the depths with it all" she whispered to herself. There were no more snake priestesses left, and she was not about to demean herself by permanently relieving them of their own bodies. "Restrain them" she commanded to the reluctantly obeying corrupted Draka as she drew her slim scimitar "I'm going to end them myse...".

The sudden and impossibly accurate spear throw had almost pierced her between the eyes, the weak magical shell she kept around her as a layer of protection against surprise attacks having been the only element that had prevented her impromptu death. The layer had diverted enough of the attack for Wilhelmina to be able to duck under it.

"What the he..." she tried to speak only to find a thirteen foot rapier thin female Draka with red hair towering above her. Impossibly, the female Draka had actually taken the brunt of her song and was still standing. She had been the one to throw the spear and by the time Wilhelmina had lifted her head, the female Draka had covered the distance between them.

Shagga's bardische ax came crashing down like a thunderbolt, only Wilhelmina's preternatural reflexes allowing her to escape the murderous edge with only a few strands of her long white hair taken sliced off. The ax did not stop it's momentum, instead curving in a vicious arc chopping into Wilhelmina's waiting scimitar. It came with the force of an angered ox, taking the serpentine daemonette off the ground and throwing her a few feet away.

Wilhelmina knew she had never been one for melee battle, nonetheless she was surprised at the sheer strength of this lithe female Draka. The few seconds it took for the daemonette to regain her bearings and Shagga was once again upon her, the vicious ax licking out to scrape against Wilhelmina's scimitar, pushing her back with every blow. A deft twist and the scimitar had been captured in the ax's hook and, with a brutal tug, clattered to the ground.

In a sudden burst of despair, Wilhelmina opened her mouth and launched another wailing scream only to remain open mouthed as the Runes beneath Shagga's armor blazed and reduced the magical enfeebling sound to nothing more substantial than a strong gale. So this was how this Draka had managed to fight against her scream, she was an excellent runecrafter and had made contingency runes against magical assaults.

Wilhelmina smirked cunningly.

"You are capable, little girl" she laughed darkly "but I know enough about Draken Runes to be aware of their finite magical energies. At one point their energies will be expended and then you shall feel the full force of my song you little bi..."

Her speech trailed off as the ax came flying at her, ripping deep into her cheek.

"NOOOOO" Wilhelmina howled, horrified at her sudden disfigurement, terrified down to her very core that once again her beauty had been sullied. "I'LL SLAUGHTER YOU FOR THIS YOU WORTHLESS SLU...".

Once again her speech was cut short, this time by Shagga enormous tower shield as it smashed into her side and launched her into the ground, creating a small crater where she lay. Shagga hand clamped onto the daemonette's throat with the force of a vice as her shield rose above her, preparing to cave in her skull. Shagga's face was as if carved in stone, a mask of merciless determination.

Fear took hold of Wilhelmina as she saw her death leering above her. Any attempt to scream was foiled by the vice-like grip on her throat and her hands slapped futily against Shagga's iron hard grip. Wilhelmina's hand suddenly shot up, resting against Shagga's face. Immediately the shield froze in it's descent towards her skull as the daemonette forced her essence into Shagga's mind.

The female Draka began to struggle and tremble as the unholy essence of the daemonette began tearing through her mind, scrambling memories and thoughts in search for a weakness to exploit. It found said weakness in Shagga's subconscious, that part of her mind that was tasked with keeping control over the energy flowing into her Draken Runes. Like a ravenous beast, it tore at it, the runes beneath Shagga's armor extinguishing like dying embers.

"N...Noo, get out... I'll tear you a...apart for this.... I w...will not fail... my Darraor" screamed Shagga as she forced the daemonic essence outside of her mind. She found herself in the same position they had been, Wilhelmina laying beneath her, clutching at her throat. Only this time, a sinister smile split the daemonette's face.

Wilhelmina's long serpentine tail crashed like a boulder into Shagga's temple, the impact making Shagga loosen her grip for only a second. It was enough for Wilhelmina to release another wailing cry, taking Shagga off her feet and stealing the strength from her limbs as it launched her into the air. With no Draken Runes to absorb the energies, Shagga had taken the full magical blast point blank and had come crashing down in a tangle of broken armor and paralyzed muscles.

"Your Darraor? YOUR DARRAOR?" screamed Wilhelmina hysterically as she slithered back from the ground "First you have the insolence to sully my famed beauty and put a scar on my pristine face" she continued, slithering slowly towards Shagga, her voice rising even more until it bordered on the fever pitch of insanity "Then you have the audacity to lay claim to the one I have rightfully decided would become MY PLAYTHING. WHATEVER IS LEFT OF THE DARRAOR SHALL BE MINE".

The tip of her tail coiled around Shagga's neck and began lifting her from the ground. With slow, deliberate movements, she took the bardische ax from Shagga's weakened grasp, and brought her face inches from the female Draka.

"I will make you watch, girl. I will make you watch as I corrupt the last of your brethren one by one. I will demean myself to doing that if only to see you suffer. Then I shall take my time, flaying you alive".

Returning her stare to the corrupted Legionnaires, she yelled "Hold her, force her to look", as she began slithering to the first of the fourteen uncorrupted Draka, her spiked tongue lolling out of her mouth, aiming for the nape of his neck and his spine.

Every step felt like a thousand years of pain, bandages chafing against fresh wounds and broken bones grinding together, yet for all that Spike did not utter even one grunt of pain or one word of complaint. He had long ago become the type of man that could be trapped on a mountain peak in the middle of a snow storm and say nothing about the cold. He just dealt with it, drowning any hint of weakness under pure determination and stubborn refusal to stop.

The six ponies held on to his massive shoulders and back as his clawed hands shot through the stone and he escalated the almost three mile tall expanse of sheer granite wall to the plateau where the ambush had begun. Taking the mountain road would have wasted too much time and time was in short supply. Spike had wasted enough time cauterizing and bandaging the most grievous of his wounds and had decided to take the shorter route.

"Oh buck" yelled Rainbow Dash as she squeezed herself closer to Spike's thick neck, trying not to be swept away by the strong mountain winds. The winds had started suddenly, as was common so high atop the mountains, and now they roared like braying hell hounds, drowning out all sounds and scents, preventing the two pegasus and alicorn to take flight. The three fliers had found themselves forced to rely on the already wounded Spike to carry them, otherwise the wind would have smashed them against the granite wall. Spike had done this without uttering one word of complaint. He may be wounded but six mares were barely a noticeable burden for him to carry.

"Are yah sure it was the best plan tah take this way?" yelled Applejack.

"We would have wasted half a day if we would have taken the pathway" said Spike, his deep rumbling voice clearly audible even over the roar of the wind. "We are almost there, hold out for a bit longer".

"It's not us we're worried about darling" yelled Rarity, her arms wrapped around Spike's head.

Spike growled inwardly. He appreciated their concern, knew it was coming from a good place and a kind heart, but as a Draka, their pity was starting to chafe at his warrior's pride. "I am fine".

The finality in his voice told the girls to not press the issue anymore. Spike had become more and more anxious the longer he was from his precious Legion. The six ponies had finally managed to get Spike to speak his true feelings toward them, but two thousand years in Ginungagap had still changed Spike. Even when speaking his true feelings, he was laconic, to the point and did not waste more words than necessary.

Changing the subject quickly, Spike added "Once we are up there, I want you to stay close to me. We shall gather the Legion and hurry after the convoy. I want no more heroisms for you, nothing that would put you in unnecessary risks".

"Ok Spike, but you do realize we're the Elements of Harmony right?" started Twilight a bit coyly. "You don't need to worry about us, we can keep ourselves safe".

Spike said nothing more, merely concentrated on the soon to end climb. A few feet above, the edge of the plateau lay waiting, almost inviting. He would soon be reunited with his Legion and Shagga. His family in war.

The scene that awaited Spike was as if his worst nightmare had been forcefully ripped from his skull and set into grim reality. It was not possible. What he was seeing was not possible. It must have been an illusion plated before his eyes by some sadistic god.

Before his eyes, Shagga lay on her knees, covered head to toe in blood. Above her a serpentine woman, holding the bloodied shape of Shagga's own bardische ax and all around them the forms of his beloved Legion, his family... his brothers and sisters in war.

Why? Why? Why were they just standing there? Why were they not helping Shagga? Why were their eyes filled with tears? Why were their mouths calling for him to run away? Begging for him to forgive their failure?

No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NOO. NOOO. THIS WAS IMPOSSIBLE. NOT THEM. NOT HIS LEGION.

Wilhelmina looked at the slowly approaching mountain of muscle and purple scales that was Spike, Darraor of the Legion. Incredible. He had survived the battle with the Mountain Eater. No. Not just survived. He had won. Wilhelmina licked her lips. Yes, he would be a worthy acquisition for her. Once she would take his body from him, he would become her bodyguard, maybe even her consort, if she felt so inclined. Yes, one of such monstrous strength would indeed be a worthy acquisition.

"You must be the much renowned Spike. Mmmm... Yesss... truly you live up to your na...".

"My Legion... Shagga... ".

Wilhelmina's brow furrowed at the interruption. She would have to lash the disobedience out of him. Nor did she really enjoy his continued concern for the broken thing that had been Shagga.

"No need for you to ever concern yourself with your former companions, dearest. Soon I shall be all that will consume your every waking moment. Your Legion already belongs to me. Permanently".

"Then you will die. You will die and my brothers and sisters shall be free again" said Spike suddenly. The sheer threat in his voice made Wilhelmina jump back. It was like she had heard the growl of a lurking beast, ready to pounce.

Wilhelmina stared for a few seconds, trying to control her breathing. Shaking her head, as if to physically throw away her growing fear, she calmed herself. There was no reason to be afraid. She had over a hundred and twenty six Draka at her beck and call and she could still hold her own in battle. No matter how strong this one was, she doubted he would be able to stand against her voice.

"I am afraid to say it shall not be so" she chided again, determined to coax the warrior in a rage, hoping to force him to attack head on, to make mistakes, to leave himself vulnerable. "You see, dearest, their entire nervous system has been replaced. They can still think and hear and speak, but their bodies are at my command. Even if you were to somehow manage to defeat or kill me, their bodies will just stop functioning. And would that not be just such a sad ending for the, oh so revered Legion of the Damned? As for this one..." Wilhelmina laughed, grabbing a handful of Shagga's hair and lifting her head to reveal a face covered in blood. "I've sliced her every muscle to ribbons, broken every bone in her body and torn every nerve ending to shreds. It's quite amazing she's still alive. I believe I'll just leave her here, to die of starvation. Won't that be just such a grand doom for her?" she laughed again "More than this harlot deserves anyway".

The information hit Spike like a stake through the heart. This.. this... thing... had taken it all. She had... taken his Legion... had stolen from them their chance to have worthy dooms... to achieve redemption... had taken even Shagga from him.

"No... no... no... no... no...no..." Spike repeated again and again in a whispered tone, unaware of the six horrified ponies staring at him. Unable to see anything other than his Legion and their crying and pleading faces. Unable to smell anything other than Shagga's blood.

His body shook and his head twitched uncontrollably. He could feel it. The Madness, coming like a tide once again. But this time it came stronger than it had ever done before.

"No... no... no... no... no...no..." it could not be. Not his family. Not them. Not like this.

"No... no... no... no... no...no... …. …. …. NO.... it WILL NOT end this way" he said suddenly, as he forced the Madness screaming back to a corner of his mind. He would not allow it to consume him. Not now. He had a job to do. He had to offer his family redemption. He had to give them a proper doom. It was the least he could do for them. It was his duty as Darraor. It was his duty as their elder brother.

Spike bent down to rip a notched hell-steel sword from an eviscerated daemon's cold hands. He knew it would break his mind and shatter his heart to do it but HE would give them death. HE WOULD GIVE THEM REDEMPTION.

Wilhelmina shuddered as she saw Spike retrieve the dead daemon's weapon. What was he doing? As if sensing imminent danger she launched her essence forward into Spike's mind, hoping to catch a glimpse at his thoughts. Hoping to understand his actions. What greeted her as she pierced through his mind was unlike anything she had ever felt before.

She was daemon. She was one with the abyss. Yet even she could not help but shriek in utter horror as she delved into his mind. The sheer, unadulterated fear it caused in her, paralyzed her physical body and froze her voice in her throat. It was as if she had fallen into the coldest pit in existence. The glacial hatred stilled her thoughts and clawed at her mind even as the maelstrom of burning rage surrounding it, unable to pierce the cold, roared it's desire to turn her dreams and soul to ash and dust.

Wilhelmina fell to the ground, finding only enough strength to scream "A... Attack... Ki... Kill him... now...".

The corrupted Draka surged forward, their bodies twitching and spasming, even as their voices cried out.

"D... Darraor... please run...".

"Elder b... brother... please... we have f... failed you...".

"P...Please... Darraor... leave this... accursed... place".

Even Shagga, broken and battered as she was, screamed in fear, as she lay there, desire to see her precious Darraor safe overcoming even the torments of her body. Air expanded ruptured lungs and blood flowed from her mouth as she yelled. "Do not... die for... us... Darraor... we a... are not worth it."

"ENOUGH".

Spike's bellow came over the roar of the wind, drowning out even the sound of charging warriors.

"Who am I?" came Spike's question, catching the corrupted Draka by surprise, stilling their tears and ending their screams.

"WHO AM I?" came his question once more, this time carrying with it the full force of Spike's dominating presence.

The answer came as a collective howl from the charging Draka.

"Spike, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, Veshanesh of the Draka, Elder brother to us all".

"Yes, YES, I AM YOUR DARRAOR, I AM THE WAR-MOURNER OF THE LEGION, I AM THE ONE WHO DECIDES WHO HAS DIED WITH HONOR, I AM THE ONE WHO GOVERNS OVER THOSE WHO ARE TO ENTER THE HALLS OF THE ANCESTORS".

Spike's hand bowled up into a fist, preparing himself for what he had to do next. Sorrow and rage burned into his muscles, making him squeeze his fist until his claws pierced his flesh and blood flowed from the palm of his hand. He leveled the hell-steel sword with his charging warriors and bellowed once more.

"You have already died at daemonic hands. Your redemption is assured. Thus do I, Darraor of the Legion, decree. Thus shall I send your bodies to follow, at the end of daemon steel and join your spirits upon the Road of Skulls. MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS, DO NOT CRY, REJOICE, FOR YOUR SHAME IS AT AN END".

Like a wave hitting a stone wall, so did the sounds turn in on themselves. Wails of sadness and screams of despair turned to howls of glory and tears of happiness. Horror turned to pride and fear turned to stalwart courage. Despair turned to hope. Spike had eased their mind and stilled their sorrow. His words had been like the call of the ancestors. He was to bestow upon them the greatest gift. He was to end their shame and set them upon the Road of Skulls, to eternal rest and glory.

Slicing through the roar of the wind, the long, ululating howl of one hundred and twenty six Draka signaled their joy as they charged no longer into the maw of despair, but into the waiting arms of glorious doom.

Spike moved with the silence and surety of death, every thrust ending the life of dearest battle-brother and sister, every slice, severing ties that he had formed over hundreds, even thousands of years. He kept it clean and quick. The hell-steel sword thrust forward, piercing hearts or sliced downward, severing necks. He gave them deaths worthy of warriors of their caliber.

Every Draka that died at the end of that dread blade, died with a smile on their lips or laughter booming in their throats. They died with tears of joy in their eyes as they saw the Road of Skulls expanding before them and the Halls of the Ancestors opening to greet them. They died knowing the truth in Spike's words. Their Darraor had taken it upon himself, to bear the immense burden of freeing their bodies from control, so that they may join their spirits unto the Final March. They died redeemed, their shame forgotten, chanting Spike's name, howling his honor and sacrifice for all the world to hear.

Yet, with every Draka he set free, Spike's heart died and his mind descended further into darkness. He knew them all by name and deed. They had been his family, his friends, his anchor to sanity. Every Draka heart he pierced reverberated into his own, every life he ended shattered his soul to fragments.

But Spike did not cry. He did not scream. He did not wince. He looked at them as he ended their lives, cementing their faces into his mind for all eternity. He would not dishonor them by showing weakness. He would give them all, the peace they had so rightfully earned.

It all ended as the last of the Draka fell, the hell-steel sword sliding out from his chest. Spike's face was a funeral mask, unmoving and horrific in it's stillness. A few more steps and he kneeled before Shagga's broken body.

With slow, gentle movements he lifted Shagga into a sitting position and brought her forehead touching his own. Thus they lay for a few moments as Spike leveled the sword with her heart, his hand shaking violently as he readied himself to end her suffering. To give her a warrior's death and set her upon the Road of Skulls, to her Ancestors.

"Fare well... and see you soon... Shagga".

"Thank you... for everything... Darraor... thank you... for setting us... free... for... giving us... redemption" she answered with a quiet, shaking voice even as her hand rose slowly and shakily to touch Spike's scarred cheek "I...I... l-love... y-you... my... D-Darraor... m-my... Spike".

Spike touched his mangled, lipless mouth to her bloodied lips, the closest thing to a kiss he could manage.

"As I do you" he answered and the blade pierced her heart. Shagga died, a beautiful smile on her lips as she fell asleep and joined the Final March.

Spike rose and looked upon the trembling form of Wilhelmina. She had been too afraid of what she had seen in his mind to even think of trying to escape. As his eyes rested upon her, his mouth opened in a blood-curdling scream of such rage that it froze the blood in the veins of both Wilhelmina and the six ponies that watched in horror from afar. Froth exploded from his mouth as his eyes blazed with bestial hatred and he launched himself in a rabid charge to Wilhelmina.

Wilhelmina screamed, launching wave after wave of wailing force to Spike to no avail. Any strength it took was replenished by his boiling blood and rabid fury. Any pain it caused was nothing compared to the pain that already tore at his heart. He pounced upon her with the force of a comet, crushing bones and flesh.

"N... N-No...p-please" she begged, blood bursting from her mouth as her lungs were pierced and torn to shreds by her own breaking ribs.

Spike's hands came slowly, almost gently to either side of her face and lifted her as he himself rose from the ground. His clawed thumbs rested in front of her eyes.

"You... die.... sslooow..." he whispered, his voice more an animal growl than coherent speech, like the proclamation of the Reaper.

His claws began digging into her eyes and brain and Spike made sure it was slow. Slow and painful. He took in every moment as her screams of pain turned to wails of despair and then to the whimpers of the dying. With one final squeeze he crushed her skull into grime and gristle.

Without a second look as the lifeless, headless carcass fell to the ground Spike turned back and began walking to Shagga's and his Legion's bodies.

Twilight, Applejack, Fluttershy, Rarity, Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Dash watched in horror, their eyes wide with fear, sorrow and tears, and their hands clasped to their ears trying desperately to not hear Spike's screams.

But no matter what they did they could not unsee Spike walking between the corpses of his Legion, stumbling and falling only to rise back and begin walking again, erratically and spasmodically, his hands clawing and digging at his scalp, matting his green mane of hair with his own blood.

No matter how hard they pushed against their ears they could not drown out the sound, at once both horrific and pitiful, of Spike's screams and cries, like a wolf crying over his dead pack. And beyond even those sounds, no matter how hard they tried not hear it, the word Spike would not stop repeating again and again and again.

"No... No... No... No... No... No... No... No...".

Author's Note

Ummm... yea, not much to say. Grmdark is as grimdark goes honestly.

Hope you're not to put off by the atmosphere of this chapter, but, well this is grimdark. Hope you still enjoy reading it nonetheless. Don't worry it's not the end yet, still quite a way to go.

As always, give a comment if you have the time (especially concerning this chapter, I really want to know what you think about it) and feel free to ask me any questions.

See ya soon.

Forgive Me

My breath rasps out in ragged gasps as I run with all my might.

Around me the churning vortex bellows out like the death scream of a thousand slaughtered beasts.

My flesh burns even as my muscles are frozen solid by the icy flame of the Mouth of Madness.

A child's whimper comes from my left even as a shadow springs out from the edge of my sight. I make no attempt to turn, only keep running.

It has been like this for days, and I know that the moment I stop running, the Mouth of Madness will claim my soul, only for the portal to rip it asunder and add my entire being to the collection of it's myriad of bodiless voices that call out to me, begging me to stop, to help them, to end them.

An infinite number of faces dart in and out of the periphery of my sight, some in rictus grimaces of pain, some in begging crying howls, most in unimaginable malice. I see the faces of Dragons, Draka and ponies. Of daemons, deposed kings ancient heroes and forgotten gods. Of things worse still, monstrosities with bones of ice and blood of fire, abominations who had beheld the very first night of existence.

It is of no matter. The Mouth of Madness, the portal between creation and the Abyss, between reality and Ginun will claim any who cannot make the journey. Mortal, god or more, the portal is as insatiable in it's appetite as the Abyss itself.

But I will NOT fail, I will NOT stop.

I have taken the oath of the Legion of the Damned.

I will reach Ginun.

I will find the Legion of the Damned.

I will have my redemption.

I am Spike and for my sin against my family, I WILL SUFFER AND ENDURE.

The memory of his first journey through the Mouth of Madness over two thousand years ago, when he was but a weak, pathetic runt had sprung unbidden within the surging maelstrom that was Spike's mind and replayed itself with dreadful clarity.

A massive gauntleted fist shot out and caught the purple scaled giant in the temple. Spike turned snarling like a hungry wolf only to realize that it had been his own. He had tried to knock the memory out of his mind by instinct.
Yes, yes the hit had been a good thing. He couldn't afford to waste time reminiscing of things long past. He had to not be distracted, had to concentrate. He had to protect... had to protect...

Who?

Who was he protecting?

His Legion?... Yes that must have been it. He had to protect his Legion.

Spike turned to the reassuring faces of his comrades. He wanted to see Shagga's warm but fierce features. Goromandy's perpetual grin and jovial face. Sekeolath's stern and loyal look. Mika'il's eagle eyes and ever-present half-smile. He wanted to see the face of each and every one of his beloved Legion. His brothers and sisters in battle.

Spike turned to his Legion and saw nothing more than six ragged looking ponies, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and concern. The purple one's mouth moved but he could hear nothing. It looked almost like she was pleading with him.

This was wrong, who were these six ponies? Who were they and what had they done to his Legion.

Where was his Legion?

Where was Shagga?

"SPIKE, SPIKE!!! SPIKE SNAP OUT OF IT!!! SPIKE IT'S US"

Twilight screamed for all her worth, her comparatively tiny hands held in front of her in a feeble and instinctive attempt to try and shield herself from the massive Draka's advance.

Spike's single eye was unfocused, his pupil contracted to pinprick of growing anger. Threat and the scent of danger coated the air like a scarlet curtain as his hand formed a boulder sized fist and slowly began to rise.

Spike lifted his fist. He would MAKE them tell him where his Legion was. He would FORCE them to tell him. Even if he had to break every bone in their bodies he would make them tell him.

He stopped as the scarlet blood coating his hand and forearm like a butcher's glove caught his eye and brought him back to unforgiving reality.

He had killed them.

He had killed his Legion with his own two hands.

Twilight stared at him, her chest heaving, her arms and legs trembling. The other girls looked petrified with utter fear.

He had almost attacked the girls. These six who had been always as precious to him as his Legion, these six for whom the Legion had given their lives in order to protect, and he had almost attacked his last remaining family without hesitation.

Shame piled on shame piled on shame.

Sin upon sin upon sin.

Spike's arm fell limp to his side and his shoulders slumped. His eye gained focus once again as he awoke from his momentary lapse in reason. He turned without a word and began walking through the dense forest again, not even registering the trees that snapped and toppled before his unyielding stride, the boulders that shattered beneath his iron shod boots and the innocent forest animals that he killed with unconscious swipes of his claws as soon as any got within close proximity to him.

Nothing else registered to his mind apart from a few simple words.

"Keep the girls safe. Keep your oath. Make the Legion's sacrifice matter. Do at least this one thing right".

With Spike once again resuming his silent advance, the girls let out breaths they had not realized they had been holding. Shaking like leaves from both fear and complete exhaustion they started again following Spike.

Spike.

It had become hard to even recognize him. He was still as unyielding and as imposing as ever but... "wrong". Muscles on his massive body twitched as if he had a hard time controlling himself and incoherent whispers came from him, the mumblings of one on the precipice of madness.

Throughout the five hour long trip, only once had Spike's words been as clear as crystal. And they had torn through the girls' hearts like daggers.

"Shagga... Sekeolath... my Legion... please... the nightmare won't end.. I can't wake up... someone... unshackle me... please...do not leave me...".

For all that, it was still Spike. His eye still held the unbendable steel and unbreakable loyalty towards them she had grown so used to, but it had become edged with a sadness that tore at her heart.

The girls had given up trying to talk to him, to comfort him, even to attempt to gain his attention. Since they had left the plateau and the massive funeral pyre Spike had erected in order to properly send his warriors off, the grim Draka had become even grimmer, unstable and determined to suffer in silence.

He had not said a word to them.

"I don't like this..." came the small squeaking voice of Pinkie, her hair lank and voice edged with frustration "TALK TO US YOU OVERGROWN LIZARD, YELL AT US, DO SOMETHING".

Spike did not turn, did not speak, did not even seem to hear her. He just kept walking.

Whatever else she would have said was left unheard as Rainbow Dash's hand clasped firmly on her mouth.

"What're you crazy? You saw the way he's acting now. Don't push him. Give'em space, girl".

In a completely uncharacteristic display Pinkie struggled out of her grip and started yelling again.

"You're the one who's crazy. We can't leave him like this.He NEEDS to talk about what happened. He HAS to vent. I've seen things like this before. If he bottles it up, the grief will eat him from the inside out. Is that what you want?"

Rainbow Dash opened her mouth to retort but clamped it up as soon as she realized that no words would come.

"How many times has he saved us? How much has he sacrificed for us?" Pinkie continued, hysteria and frustration cracking her voice, her eyes filled with tears. "If we don't help him now, than what does that make us?"

"We understand that Pinkie but..." began Fluttershy only to stop dead in her tracks as the enormous shadow of Spike fell over them. His face nothing more than an unmoving masque of stoic endurance he walked towards Pinkie's suddenly shrinking frame. An opened hand the size of a Royal Guard's shield reached out to her as Pinkie closed her eyes.

"Do what you have to do Spike.Take it out on me if you have to. Just please... feel better" squeaked the pink pony, the eyes of her five friends, paralyzed with fear and unbelief, bearing witness to what they feared would be a retelling of the tragedy that had happened one year ago .

Fingers almost as large as the girl's forearms with talons as long and sharps as daggers closed in on her head.

Pinkie's eyes slowly opened, the gentle yet stern pat on her head, frizzing up her lank mane. She looked up and locked eyes with Spike remaining orb. Inside it she saw the love, gratitude and the look of one who would charge into Hell itself for her. But sorrow and loneliness beyond anything she had ever witnessed before muddied that honesty and affection.

"Please... we need to keep moving... forward... always forward".

Spike's voice was rugged. His deep baritone cracked reminding more of a growl than his usual steady tone. No matter how hard he tried, Spike could not deny it. The killing of his own Legion had hurt him more than the girls could ever comprehend and nothing they would say would help him.

He ceased patting Pinkie's head and turned, the girls' forlorn gazes and their pity nipping at the last vestiges of his pride.

The Madness gnawed at the back of his mind harder than ever before, like a blood starved wolf than had suddenly found itself without a leash. It tore at his reason and will, howling, demanding and begging to be let loose. It promised that it would help him forget. It swore that battle would help him unsee the faces of his Legionnaires. Help him forget their last words of gratitude.

Spike crushed it squealing to the very depths of his subconscious.

Not yet. Not yet.

He had to keep going. Had to get the girls to safety. Had to ensure that Celestia would erase their memories of his very existence.
Only then, when he was truly alone, would he seek out the remaining daemons and allow his sanity to shatter. Only then would he give in to the Madness, and glut himself on blood and slaughter and pray it will lead him to his death.

Mother Renrin had been right in her prophecy. He will die, alone and forgotten, nothing more than a madness plagued beast, no more worthy than the daemons he despised so much.

It would suffice. He had lost the right to a honorable death the moment he had become kinslayer. It was of no matter that he had freed the Legion and given them worthy deaths. They had died by his hand nonetheless, and now, the Draka blood on his hands had branded him as unworthy of honor.

To be a Kinslayer.

There is no shame greater for a Draka to bear.

The curved szabla blade jumps out of my grasp as the grim and lanky form of Sekeolath spins, and throws out his foot.

It catches me in the kneecap and I go down in a heap. Already I can feel the Madness thumping to my skull.

"Hmph, get up boy. You are a Legionnaire now. Get up. If you're expecting a worthy death with such a weak technique, you are as stupid as you are small. Now, GET UP, SPIKE".

His taunts seal it. My sight goes awash in a coat of red as the Madness takes hold. I hear myself scream and launch in a desperate charge, the tulwar in my left hand licking out in an attempt to run the taller Draka through the throat. I may be still a child in Draka years, but I will not be humiliated.

With a grimace of contempt, Sekeolath throws the tip of my blade away with a precise backhand of his dagger and moves within my guard.

The Madness snuffs out like a candle in a rainstorm as his knee slams into my gut and lifts me off my feet, knocking the air from my lungs. I fall onto my knees, the ground caressing my forehead, as if begging me to stay down.

"Weakling" he snarls. "Look at you. Can't even control your emotions, you charge head on, no tactics, no technique, no strategy, like an idiotic minotaur. Go ahead. Stay down. Training is over for today".

Still on my hands and knees, struggling to draw breath, I look around. Many of the Legion look back with open contempt. They are disgusted with me. I know that.

I am small. I am weak. I cannot even control the Madness within me.

But I will NOT stay down. I refuse.

I will make them respect me, even if it kills me. I will EARN my warrior's death. I will EARN my honor.

The Madness comes howling back, but this time I beat it into submission even as my trembling limbs push me off the ground. Sekeolath's eyes widen as I advance on him again. No charge this time, but a fighter's advance.
The tip of my tulwar licks out for his midsection as I lunge. Sekeolath somersaults out of my range and his boot connects with my temple. I grit my teeth against the pain and force myself to not fall unconscious. My tulwar spears out of my hand as I throw it at the spot he is going to land. Even as it rolls slicing through the air, I roll to Sekeolath's left side.

He smashes the flying blade away with a casual flick of the wrist and turns on me launching as monstrous sweep with the flat of his ax. His eyes widen in surprise as I allow the blow to land on my side. Ribs fracture but I roll with the blow and turn sweeping the szabla I had recovered during the roll to his face.

It strikes true.

I remain shocked as I see the blade caught between his teeth.

"Finally, a decent attack" he mumbles and bites the steel into fragments.

His first punch lands into my throat, almost shattering my windpipe. His second and third break three ribs. His claws dig into my flesh as he lifts me high and slams me down onto the unforgiving stone of Ginun.

As I lay there, unable to move, the sweet peace of unconsciousness slowly claiming me, the red headed beauty that is Shagga leans over me. There is no more contempt in her eyes. I can almost see pride.

"He may be small and weak, but he has the will of a true Draka" she says as she looks towards Sekeolath.

For the first time in the three years I have been part of the Legion, I see Sekeolath's face twist in the semblance of a smile.

"He's got grit, I'll give the runt that much".

The daemons slammed themselves against Celestia's magical shield again and again. It was only a small battalion of daemons, no more than fifty, barely a scouting party, most likely part of the larger army that had attacked them atop the plateau.

Behind the magical cocoon and in front of the refugee convoy, the Royal guard hastily formed into a shield wall, and leveled their spears. With a sound like broken glass the cocoon broke and the daemons charged the Royal Guards.

Ponies yelled as the shield wall was pushed back. Gold plated spears and Equestrian steel thrust out between interlocking shield only skid away harmlessly against daemon forged armor and stone hard daemon flesh.

Celestia and Luna hovered over the battle, magic sizzling from their horns in a hail ofaethyric bullets as they attempted to support the Royal Guard. A score of daemons fell, their bodies riddled with suppurating gashes, but it took many hits to end even one.

Celestia gasped heavily as she made ready to launch another hailstorm of magic. She was exhausted. Spike and his Legion had made killing daemons look so easy but it was nothing like that. A few daemons would have been enough to tear through her entire contingent of over two hundred Royal Guards if she and her sister had not been there to lend their considerable magic to the battle.

Savage, blood-maddened and tough as stone, daemons were complete killing machines and these ones were barely minor daemons. The lowest on the daemonic pecking order.

Her train of thought snapped into fragments as a stone the size of a cartwheel flew inches from her cranium. A bellicose roar caught her attention and she looked down only to see a mutation riddled bull headed daemon glaring at her, another boulder in his head making ready to launch it at her.

"Come down weak-meat, so that I make feast on your flesh" he called out in a distorted Equestrian language.

Celestia didn't bother retorting to the monster's taunt but instead launched a fusillade of blazing white lightning at it. It shattered against the boulder as the daemon brought it in front of itself as a shield, blackening and cracking apart the stone. A last bolt caught the daemon in the chest pushing it back a few feet.

The smell of charred flesh assaulting her nose, she made to turn from what she presumed was a dying daemon, only to stop as it began laughing in a hideous amalgam between the sound of a bull and a goat.

"Gahahaha, weak-meat thinks little light show can kill Haz'zak the Red Horn. Gahahaha, no wonder weak-meat's kingdom was so easy to slaugh..."

His words were lost to the wind as the creature exploded in a spray of broken flesh and blood, a crimson stained curved blade in place of where the daemon had stood.

The air thickened with threat, the stench of daemon flesh drowned out by the scent of burning embers and the iron tang of lifeblood. All sound dimmed save for the steady thump of heavy boots on the ground.

The daemons turned from the shield wall, all thoughts of feasting on pony flesh drowned out by this apparition straight out of nightmares that even daemons feared to think of. A purple scaled giant,, his face, a hideous death's-head grin of lipless dagger fangs, his bare chest and arms, slabs of scar and blood covered steel chord muscle, his single eye, a dot of green promising a messy death from beyond the locks of his green mane of hair.

The first three daemons died behind their shields, Spike's blade cleaving through iron and flesh like the Reaper's scythe. The next six died within seconds as his claw and blade lashed out, opening throats and chests. The rest died running, begging for help as the behemoth waded through them like a whirlwind of cutting steel and talons, reducing them to so much gristle and flesh carpeting the grass.

The battalion Celestia, Luna and the Royal Guard had been fighting for half an hour, had been reduced to nothing by Spike in half a minute. He made it look so easy, Celestia though again as she flew towards him.

"Spike, I..." she began only to stop as the sheer wrongness of Spike registered to her mind. His body twitched, veins bulged out like iron cables and muscles swelled until they looked about to burst. Froth bubbled from his jaws and he turned to her.

As they locked eyes, Celestia fell to the ground, her body rigid with fear. Spittle dribbled from the corner of her mouth and tears flowed from her eyes as for the first time she beheld Spike in the grip of the encroaching Madness.

In that eye she saw a creature that would drown the world in blood and still be left starving for battle. She saw one that would devour the Sun, the Moon, even the gods themselves.

"No. Not yet. NOT YET" Spike roared smashing his fist against his forehead.

When his hand came down, his eye was once again steel and control. His muscles relaxed and his veins shrunk as he wiped the froth from his mangled, lipless mouth.

Celestia continued to look as her body trembled and cold sweat dribbled down her spine. Slowly she calmed and rose from the ground. Spike waited respectfully for her to regain her regal composure, although his eye narrowed dangerously the more time passed.

"Casualties?" he asked brusquely.

"Uh...I...n-none... but more than a few wounded" Celestia stammered.

"Stabilize them, load them onto the wagons and carts. We leave in ten minutes"

With that Spike turned and set himself in front of the convoy, cutting short any attempt at protest.

Celestia looked on, still in shock until the sound of running steps and wheezing gasps of air made her turn. From the woods, their fur matted with sweat, their hair unruly from grasping branches, their eyes glazed over with exhaustion from the six hour long jog from the plateau, the Mane Six emerged.

"T...Twilight?" Celestia whispered slowly as the girls reached her and grasped their knees trying to catch their breath.

"Where is the Legion?"

Twilight lifted sorrowful eyes and slowly shook her head.

Celestia turned back to look at Spike. She could see only his back but the grief that permeated his form was as clear as day.

"Oh... no... Spike... why does the world wish for you to suffer so?"

Without the distraction of battle, memories flooded anew.

I wake up in my cot surrounded by the canvas of a tent. My body hurts as the bandages constrict and chafe at my fresh wounds. I twist in my cot and a piercing pain thrums through my entire body originating from the base of my neck to my lower abdomen.

The pain is good. It gives me clarity. It helps me remember. That fight. That glorious battle against the Avatar of the Abyss. In the over one thousand years I have been part of the Legion of the Damned, never have I had such a battle. Never have I felt so at peace. The pain from my neck to my lower abdomen must be where the abomination had split me open with it's flaming sword. It had been it's final mistake. The slash had not been enough to kill me and had been enough of an opening for me to slice him in two separate halves.

Two gentle hands rest against my chest and push me back down onto the cot. Shagga's wide smile greets me like a refreshing drink of spring water. She sits cross legged in her lacquered armor at the edge of my cot

"One who has defeated the Avatar of the Abyss in single combat deserves a bit more rest".

I look at her for a moment longer, the feeling of her comparatively small hands still warm upon my flesh. A thousand years ago when I had arrived upon Ginungagap as a new Legionnaire I had always seen her as a gigantic woman.

But I had grown a lot since then, battle and the hardship of Ginun feeding my body more than any food could. Now she seemed almost petite to me, a full head and a half shorter than me, just my arm almost as wide as her entire midsection. And as a thousand year old Draka, I am still growing.

"Still alive" I retort, trying as I always do to hide my deformed and mangled face from her. I know better than anyone how hideous I am.

Her hand touches my scarred cheek and turns me to her.

"Of course you are. You are Spike. You do not fall. You never do. For you is reserved a greater doom than a mere Avatar of the Abyss. Your death will be a blaze of glory". she chides me, her smile turning into a full fledged grin.

"And stop trying to hide your face from me".

Offering me her shoulder, she leads me out of the tent. I pull the flap to reveal a sight that warms my heart and heals more than a thousand ointments. The Legion is arrayed before me, their faces split by wide grins and honest smiles, their fists at their chests.

Sekeolath walks towards me. His hand falls on my shoulder and his eyes glint with pride for his former student.

"For over five hundred years I have said that you should be Darraor. Yet every time I have said that, you say you are unworthy. You, who is strongest of us all. You, who made us into a family bound by more than just shame. You ARE the most worthy of us all to be Darraor".

My shoulders begin to shudder and I can feel my eyes begin to moisten. How I hated them at the beginning. How I foolishly thought they despised me, when all they wanted to do was give me purpose and honor. How I have grown to love them over the past centuries.

"We know you have been ready for a long time. Now that you have killed the Avatar in single combat, have you finally proven to yourself that you deserve this honor?"

I still my shuddering and wipe the burgeoning tears from my eyes. They pretend not to notice. A Draka should not cry.

"What are you to do if I am to take your job, old friend?" I ask.

"Bah, I have my hands full trying to make sure you do not hog all the best fights, that alone is a full-time job by itself".

Smiling widely, he extends his arm.

"Lead us to glory, Darraor Spike".

Cheers and ululating howls of joy erupt from the Legion as I grab hold of his forearm and take the title of Darraor. As I become their elder brother.

This feels right.

It feels like... family.

Author's Note

I'm back baby.
Missed the lot of you, lads and lasses.

As always, leave a comment or a question, always happy to talk to you my friends.

Good to be back.

Suffer

Celestia reeled back, her hand to her jaw, where an apple red bruise, proof of the recent altercation with a fist, throbbed with malicious pain. She gazed through unbelieving eyes as her greatest student turned her back at her and resumed the exercise in futility she had been doing before the Princess of the Sun had tried to restrain her.

Twilight hit her fists against the translucent, mirror-like surface of the shield until they were bloody. Her mouth opened to scream again and again until her throat bled and she could utter no more than hoarse sound, once reminiscent of speech. Her horn flared only for the magic to sputter out and die as it was consumed by the Onyx Bastion Shield.
To her sides, similar scenes unfolded. Applejack and Rainbow Dash struck out uselessly at the shield, their hands bloody and eyes red with tears of sadness and impotent anger. Fluttershy and Rarity lay on the ground, rocking back and forth, and wailed, covering their ears and screwing their eyes shut, broken by despair and sorrow. Pinkie simply sat on her knees, her hair lank, her eyes vacant, her expression stuck in a rictus of terror.

Celestia, Luna and Cadence could do nothing more than watch as the Elements of Harmony suffered their loss. Celestia wanted to cry. She wanted to give way to despair, vent and strike out at the shield, add her own strength to their attempt at breaking through the shield, for all the good it would have done, but she could not afford such luxuries. She was a princess. And with such a title came the responsibility to never lose her composure, to never allow herself to fall to despair, to never allow her emotions to conflict with her duty. It was a painful existence, but it was her's nonetheless.
Reluctantly, the Princess of the Sun tore her eyes from the Elements of Harmony and looked beyond the shimmering translucency of the shield. What she saw once again brought the taste of bile to her mouth as her stomach railed against her, screaming oaths of desire to release it's meager contents.

Beyond the shield, at the base of the Onyx Bastion, a scene, as could only be conceived by a thousand diseased minds, played out with abhorrent clarity.

In the center of a sea of gibbering daemons and moaning dead, his massive frame painted in blood that was not in it's entirety his own, his body peppered with spears, axes and swords, clinging to him like barbaric ornaments, did what had once been Spike, rampage. He did not strike as much as he ripped and tore. He did not move as much as he pounced and charged. He did not speak as much as he roared and howled.
His eye, unfocused and bloodshot, rolled in it's socket. His lipless mouth, opened to unnatural size, edged with froth and blood, gaped only to bellow and closed only to rip into dead and daemonic flesh, tearing into them with the savage abandon of a starved animal. His tongue, stained a dark red, lolled outside of his mouth, as if it could taste the slaughter around it.
But, worst of all, was the laughter. The manic, hollow laughter that spewed forth from Spike, belching outward like a torrent of ignominy, a dark herald of the ultimate fate of this once great warrior. It was the laughter of one who had forsaken the last vestiges of sanity and been broken upon the altar of madness. It was the laughter of a creature that had found it's home among the butchering and battle. It was the sinister sound of one who must laugh, for he could no longer cry.

What had once been the savior of ponykind, the unbreakable bulwark against which the daemonic hordes could only break against, the unbending Draka, the Mountain Father, had been reduced to this. A ruthless animal, his mind shattered, his code and pride, nothing more than memories, faded behind the red curtain of the Blood Madness.
Celestia wanted to scream, to cry, to avert her eyes. Yet it was all she could do to watch in abject fear as Spike was lost to them.

Beyond the shield, beyond the Onyx Bastion, Spike laughed in violent, convulsive bursts, oblivious to the cries and horror of those who had loved him so.

THREE HOURS EARLIER.

Twilight could already see the Onyx Bastion in the distance, looming like a titanic gargoyle from the bleakest moments of the world's first night. A remnant from the dark days of Sombra's rule, the Bastion had been raised by the blackest of magic, as an unbreakable and all encompassing formation of pitch black Crystal, resembling Onyx, initially as a way to consolidate his rule and domain, later serving only as a prison for those unlucky enough to exist under the mad king's iron hand.
Yet those dark days had long since faded into memories best left forgotten. Under the patronage and rule of Cadence and Shining Armor, both the Crystal Empire and the Onyx Bastion had become symbols of sanctuary and protection, a haven for those deposed and harrowed. Under the gentle wing of their Alicorn Princess, those who had sought out respite in the Crystal Empire had found a home, the once baleful form of the Onyx Bastion, now a stalwart reminder that, while it stood, titanic and defiant, nowhere was it safer than the Crystal Empire.

Twilight knew that Cadence, her B.B.B.F.F., and their subjects were sure to be expecting them. Messages, sent by way of the telepathic bond she shared with her brother and Cadence had been answered, the closeness of sanctuary and rest, a balm upon her already weary heart. She turned her head and looked at the ragged convoy that followed in her footsteps. Pain, tragedy and exhaustion had taken their toll, rendering all, even the elite of the royal guard, to shambling, panting husks of the former residents of Ponyville and Canterlot, the promise of rest soon to come, the only thing still forcing them to trudge onward.
Well... almost the only thing.
The presence of Spike was both the catalyst of the continuing march and the cause of the eerie silence that permeated the convoy. Foals did not speak or play in juvenile innocence. Mothers and fathers kept their little ones at a perpetual arm's length. Even the Royal Guard issued orders mouth to mouth, in hushed whispers, rather than bellowed out by stern sergeants.

Twilight could hardly blame them. The surviving Equestrians, one and all, owed Spike their lives and gratitude. But the way he was now, any goodwill or kindness they would have otherwise gladly offered him had been buried deep under a pail of instinctual fear of the unpredictable warrior that now led them. The very air was clotted with the scent of danger. Pure, undiluted threat hung about the marching convoy like a shroud, it's focal point found in the massive shape that walked at the very forefront of the convoy. Spike felt like a volcano about to burst, every single movement and mannerism distorted by barely restrained anger and instability. His stride was erratic, slowing and rising at random intervals, as if he was chasing something just out of reach. His hands flexed opened into grasping claws, only to snap closed into bludgeoning fists spasmodically, all the while, an amalgam of whispers, chants and muffled dirges escaping his throat unconsciously. Whenever these whispers rose to a crescendo they degenerated into a deep guttural growl or a series of incoherent snarls. Spike would stop in those moments, bring his knuckles to his temple and begin to push. He would push until the growl died out and resume his stride.
Physically, he fared no better. His entire frame had been reduced to a patchwork of fresh wounds, burn marks and bandages. His once pristine, ornate armor now barely resembled a savage barbarian's war gear, the gauntlets, knee guards, greaves and the scale mail kilt of his lower body, the only things that remained. Even the sash around his waist had become naught but a flame scorched ruin, yet it still held his three swords in place.

As consequence of his aspect and mannerisms, the area twenty feet around him had become bare at all times, save for only six remarkably brave or remarkably foolish shapes that had made it a point to refuse to leave Spike to his solitude. The Mane Six walked in tandem with the grim warrior and had no apparent intention in abandoning him anytime soon.
In stark contrast with the grim and unstable Draka, they talked among themselves, acted normally, even dared the occasional half-joke or smarmy comment. To an outsider it would have seemed uncaring, even cruel, however, an outsider would have had no way of knowing of the plan which was being put to place. Unexpectedly, it had been Pinkie Pie who had instructed them on what do. Surprisingly knowledgeable about such things, the normally happy-go-lucky, pink pony had given them all exact and specific advice on how to act around Spike and how to better help him cope. Irrelevant of how he acted or what he claimed, there would be no leaving him to fall to solitude, no walking in sepulchral silence around him. The best they could do, the best way they could help him, was to be around him, act and speak normally. Their presence would chase away the ghosts of loneliness. Their voices would blot out unwanted memories. She had assured them that even if Spike did not respond, it would help him.

She had been right.

Spike was grimmer and more taciturn than ever, however that was to be expected. Yet, over the past few hours, slowly but surely Spike's bouts of self isolation as well as his episodes of macabre growling had lessened more and more. Twilight had even caught Spike gazing at one or another when he thought they were not looking, a barely perceptible glint of wholehearted gratitude in his tired green orb.

With a flutter of wings, Rainbow Dash made a slow descent next to Twilight. She looked tired, black rings hanging under her eyes, her azure coat as ruffled as her feathers, her mane unkempt, moreso than usual. For all that, her look never wavered from the optimistic determination all who had come to know her expected of the pegasus.

"What's the verdict?" asked Twilight.

"Well... I'd say we're about thirty minutes away from that Bastion place if we're lucky, buuuut the mist covering the woods... ummm... how should i put this?"

"Made ya as blind as a fruit bat during a fireworks festival?" chimed in a Applejack.

"Sounds about right... I think" added Rainbow, scratching her head quizzically at her friend's country-ism.

Twilight sighed "Well then... what about the good news?"

Rainbow simply shrugged in defeat and smiled sheepishly "Sorry Twi, didn't say I had any".

"Ooooh... perfect" the purple alicorn concluded with finality and set her sight back upon Spike's broad back.

"Ummm... anything?" came a tiny voice. Twilight turned to what she expected would be Fluttershy's downcast eyes, only to find herself looking at the small white shape of Sweetie Belle. The little filly had become uncharacteristically meek since Spike's return and had developed a habit of touching the still somewhat visible bite scar on her throat. She had tried to put a brave front for her sister but such trauma did not simply evaporate, especially in a child so young. Twilight smiled and leaned in to stroke her mane slightly. Front or no, she was still a brave little thing.

"All we can do for now sweetie is be by his side. He's... he's been through a lot... lately."

Sweetie Belle chewed on her lower lip for a few more moments only to suddenly draw in a large breath and set her face in a paroxysm of determination. Without another word she jogged the distance between her and Spike and began walking in tandem with the fearsome draconian.
Spike's whispered mutterings stopped suddenly and he turned his head to regard this new minute guest who had decided to intrude upon his introspection. For a few seconds, Sweetie looked as if she was about to bolt away in fear, but instead she flashed the gigantic Draka a warm, heart-melting smile of the utmost sincerity. Without a single word and to everyone's surprise, Spike slouched and with gentle motions, drew a clawed finger, brushing a lock of hair out of her face. He straightened again, stone faced and taciturn as always and they both continued to walk, taking comfort in each other's presence.

Twilight could not stifle her blooming smile. Amazing how sometimes the tiniest of creatures could make the largest differences.

"Ah still think y'all are worrying too much over the big guy" sounded Big Mac's gruff voice from behind them as he made his way to join the burgeoning group at the forefront. "Sometimes a man just needs to think things out by his lonesome".

"Hmph, you men" huffed Rarity, a slight scowl marring her beauteous features. "Always have to be the tough guys, always too bull-headed stubborn to ask for help, even when you need it".

Big Mac shrugged nonchalantly and maintained his hurried pace. Revisiting the tumultuous history between himself and the fashionista would be a worry for another day. Contrary to what he said, Big Mac kept his pace until he reached Spike's left side. Although he was tall for a pony, Big Mac still had to stretch out his hand as high as he could and jump in order to give Spike a friendly clap on his shoulder and an understanding nod. Spike reciprocated it and they continued on in silence.

"Sure has a way with words doesn't he?" questioned Twilight, her smile now a full-fledged grin.

"For mah brother, that's like callin' Spike a brother" added Applejack.

"Like I said, too bull-headed stubborn to ever admit to something" giggled Rarity.

Twilight shook her head as she laughed silently. She had missed this so much. The banter, the friendly jabs, the companionship. Her mood darkened slightly as she realized that these were things Spike must have had alongside his Legion. Now they were lost to him forever. She shook her head more violently than she had intended to and cleared her mind. Now was not the time to fall to such thoughts. Spike needed them more than ever and she could not allow her mood to foul.

"Just a bit more... right?" asked Pinkie. Her hair was slightly more deflated than usual and frazzled. She was as exhausted as the rest of them, yet she maintained her bubbly personality and good humor, goading the others into doing the same. Happiness had been an emotion in short supply the past few days, yet Pinkie never failed to do her best in rationing it to all around her.

"Yes darling, just a bit more and we will finally be able to rest, maybe even a much needed long shower... I really do hope we can shower soon" added Rarity staring with unabashed horror at her grime encrusted, once baby-blue dress.

"I still don't get how a wall of crystal can keep us safer than Canterlot Castle. It's a wall... nothing else. They can just... I dunno, break it or fly over it" began Rainbow Dash, ever as unable to read a mood as she had always been.

Twilight turned immediately, her eyes glinting with scholarly joy. It was the look she always wore when she was about to educate somepony or give a lecture. No matter the situation, no matter the danger, Twilight would never forsake a chance to further somepony's education. She drew a long breath and began her "lesson".
"Actually Rainbow, it's a lot more than just a wall of crystal. The Onyx Bastion is actually the greatest defense the world can offer. When Sombra had created it he had followed the exact flow of the world's strongest Ley Line. As such the Onyx Bastion continuously pulses with enormous geomantic energies since in and of itself it is nothing more than a gigantic medium for said geomantic energies, so much so in fact that it covers the whole Crystal Empire in a dome-like shield that is virtually unbreakable. The Crystal Empire is the safest place in the world because, metaphorically speaking of course, it is as if it's protected by the earth itself".

She ended her tirade with an expectant look to her friends only to be met by several pairs of confused eyes.

Her smile fell and in a deadpan face and tone she simplified "It's a big bucking magic shield".

A collective "ooooh" came from her friends and she began rubbing her temples in frustration. It was hard being herself sometimes.

"Wasn't that much easier" Rainbow chided, a cocky smirk plastered on her face.

"Also much more oxygen effective" added Pinkie, grinning ear to ear.

Twilight couldn't help herself as she blurted out a series of quick giggles. Infectious as it was, the giggle was soon taken up by the rest of the small group hovering around Spike, exhaustion and desire for reprieve from harsh reality goading the laughter rather than any inherent mirth. Laughter was the balm of the soul, and they welcomed it.

But, reality is a harsh and uncompromising companion, ever present and ever watchful for any moment of weakness, always ready to challenge dreams and test one's determination. As it was, it wasted no time in reminding those present of their position, and it heralded that fact with the unmistakable sound of a piercing scream, foreshadowing in it's edge of despair.
The entire group fell silent and threw their heads up, at the origin of the shriek. For a few moments all they could see were the huge forms of dark-grey clouds, ever the promises of rain, only to gape ajar as an orange, lightning like streak, thundered from within the cloud's depths, followed by what could only be described as a disgorging of the cumulonimbus's own contents.
The sound of dark, insect wings thundered and only grew in intensity as both the orange lightning bolt and the unnaturally sentient cloud of pitch black sped towards the haggard convoy.

"Spitfire" shrieked Rainbow Dash, her superior eyesight picking up the details of the orange bolt, before any other present. Spike's head turned to Rainbow for a moment, and then back to the cloud following the Wonderbolt. Closer now, the thousand pairs of empty green eyes that gazed upon them with mindless hunger became clear beacons of danger.

Changeling swarm.

"Behind me" bellowed Spike, as much for his grounded companions as for the fast approaching Spitfire.
Karasuma hissed mournfully as it was drawn from it's sheath and reflected the diffuse midday light evilly, like the hungry glint in a starving wolf's eye, as Spike held the weapon aloft in his right hand, the sturdy metal edged sheath in his left.

Moreso was the dramatic shift in Spike's demeanor. No longer did his muscles twitch, instead they relaxed then swelled in stilled martial readiness. His eye once more became a focused point of calculated ferocity and unbending discipline. His entire form went rigid with the perfection of his stance, a fifteen foot tall mass of muscle, as imposing as a steel statue, belying the speed and snake-like alacrity that hid beneath the bulk.
Combat left no time for memories or thoughts. No room for regret or self pity. It was the pure, instinctual act of kill or be killed, cut or be cut, survival of the fittest.
And Spike thrived within it.

Spitfire plummeted towards the ground, the forerunners of the swarm all but nipping at her heels, and with a perfect corkscrew turn, she sped gliding parallel to the unforgiving stone and right under and behind Spike.

The swarm leaders were neither as skilled or lucky and smashed against the stone into quivering gobbets of flesh. Those that followed were engulfed in a blaze of pale green cremation that turned even their bones to ash within moments. Fearlessness born of mindlessness made the surviving swarm pivot like a thing of a single mind and charge Spike. Hundreds of individual hisses coalesced into a deafening cacophony of sound, drowning out even the roar of Spike's flame as they surged and died by the dozens within the blazing maelstrom. The battle had yet to begin and already a fifth of the swarm had been reduced to ashes upon the wind.

The Draka warlord lashed out with both blade and sheath in a blur of motion, slashing and ripping changelings out of the air. His arms rippled with muscle as his sword and sheath flowed and ended lives with equal abandon, each blurring stroke leaving multiple cut and broken bodies on the ground before him as the speed and precision of his attacks made both his weapons look like a blur of crimson steel, ever present and merciless. The sentient spear point of charging changelings broke apart like a carbonized log, those that could not stop in time falling either to Spike's hailstorm of blows or breaking into mush and shattered bones against the iron of Spike's muscled body. Lobotomized changelings hissed and reformed into a swarm, attacking again only to be shattered and ripped into once more. Blazing pale flame billowed, blade tore meat and sheath splintered bone, as each surging charge of the swarm was battered back only to attack anew, like the angry waves of the sea, battering themselves uselessly against a mountain side.

Even through the lobotomized frenzy of the hollow eyed changelings, a small number recognized the danger Spike possessed and broke from the swarm, attempting to find other, weaker prey.
Amethyst lightning roared and leapt from changeling to changeling reducing half a dozen to charred husks, aethiric discharge leaking in jagged edges from their still twitching corpses.
Twilight Sparkle gritted her teeth angrily and drew more raw energy, plucking it from the aethyr the way a farmer might pluck overripe apples from a tree. She shrieked as she forced the raw stuff of magic to reluctant compliance and let it loose as another jagged bolt of cerulean amethyst. The lightning blew in existence from her horn and jumped and forked, rendering another seven changelings to smoking dead flesh.
Twilight closed her eyes and ignored her quivering body as she drew yet more magic and made to give it shape and purpose. It was gruelingly painful to use such amounts of magic, but she would no longer let Spike fight by himself. His Legion may have fallen but he still had companions and family he could count on and she would not let him stand alone any longer. Her eyes opened to select another target but she stopped barely able to keep her footing as what she saw resonated in her mind.

Spike was looking at her. Directly at her.
Even though his weapons blurred in savage, death giving arcs, he looked at her and his single eye blazed with pure, undiluted pride for her. Pride for her defiance. Pride for her unwillingness to simply stand by as naught but an observer. In his eye, she had been recognized as more than precious family. She had been recognized as a fellow warrior.

Suddenly her body no longer felt the pain as intensly and the raw magic submitted with more ease. Confidence and determination filled her heart and when she loosed the bolt it came with roar and blazing light unlike any that had preceded it. More than a dozen changelings fell in breaking ash, the amethyst lighting clearing a path before her.
The strangled hiss took her by surprise as she realized a few must have crept along the ground to her position. She turned, a burgeoning ball of force hovering at the tip of her horn. She needn't have bothered. As the first pounced, gnashing fangs and charnel breath, a multicolored streak rammed into it and smashed the creature into a tree. Rainbow sped away and turned, intent on sniping another. The second changeling found himself unable to escape, brawny red furred arms keeping it prone, it's shrieks and squirming ending with an audible crack as Big Mac snapped it's neck. All around her she could see her friends adding whatever strength they possessed to the battle.
Rainbow and Spitfire dashed in and out of reach, tackling stragglers with lethal accuracy. Big Mac and Applejack put work strengthened muscles to use, grappling and breaking spindly limbs and insectoid wings. Rarity, Pinkie and Fluttershy chucked rocks, distracting changelings and creating openings for those more suited for the raw physicality of combat.
Twilight smiled gratefully at her friends and, with a groan of effort, loosed another bolt into the heart of a cluster that had split from the main swarm. It was a larger one, easily fifty individuals strong.

"Together, back to back, don't let them isolate us" yelled Twilight, ever the tactician, no matter the situation. They formed up and made ready to defend themselves.
Whatever else the alicorn princess would have said was lost under the tumultuous drumming of heavy boots and the crackling laughter of lightning.
The golden armored forms of the Royal Guard surged past her and locked their shields in an unbreakable wall of gold plated steel. Jagged coruscation as blazing as the sun and as dark blue as the midnight sky fell into the cluster, the two alicorn sisters raining their wrath from above the advancing guard. Twilight flexed her wings and took her place aside the sisters, once more adding her own considerable strength to the battle.

What followed could be called a battle insofar as it could be called a massacre. The main swarm attacked Spike with the same efficiency and results one would have expect of a light breeze trying to topple a fortress. The few quick or lucky enough to escape death by his hands were blinded by cerulean blaze of amethyst, gold and azure as the three princesses smote them from the sky.
Those left alive were ground to grime by the boots and blades of the steadily advancing Royal Guard. Mindless ferocity struck against disciplined ruthlessness and lost pitifully.
Within minutes it had ended.

Twilight surveyed from above and took in the results. The ground was covered in a carpet of charred and broken bodies yet not one single pony had graced the ground with their final breath. Not one casualty. Her gaze moved to Spike. Around him so many changelings had died that a hillock of corpses had formed. Yet Spike stood still in the same spot he had made his stand. The entire swarm and their relentless attacks had been unsuccessful in making Spike take even a single step back.

She descended slowly, her exhausted body barely able to sustain her flight. Only when the massive purple scaled hand of Spike enclosed around her midsection and lay her gently on the ground did she allow herself to collapse in a heap. Spike crouched near her and waited as she drew breath after haggard breath and slowed her heartbeat. She was learning that exhaustion had a tendency to make itself much more apparent after the thrill and adrenaline of battle ended. She looked at Spike's grim visage with a tired smile.

"You did well, Twilight" he growled, his voice still resembling more a guttural, animal sound rather than coherent speech, but clearer than it had been before nonetheless.

She laughed sheepishly and offered her hand. As he grasped it and helped the tiny purple pony back on her feet she added "Thanks, I had a good teacher" and leaned softly on his leg for support.
"Where's Spitfire?".

Spike pointed to a small gathering a few ten-paces behind them and, without a word spoken and his expression unreadable, lifted her in his massive hands and set her comfortably in the crook of his left arm. She could feel her cheeks blush, however she let herself be carried. As tired as she was, she doubted she could have taken another step, even if her life would have depended on it. She had used to carry Spike on her back all the time back in the day, yet now here she was, being held with no more effort than it would have taken Spike to hold a feather. She could feel the play of his muscles under his scales and her nostrils were sweetly tickled by his musk that reminded of a forge. Iron, steel and embers. It was all she could do not to lay her head on his iron fleshed chest and fall to blissful sleep.
The small crowd composed of part of the Mane Six, Celestia and Luna, parted to let them through and in the middle sat Spitfire, bandages covering the few nips and bruises she had obtained at the hands of the changeling swarm. She was in the process of greedily emptying a flagon of honeyed mead from Princess Celestia's own supply.

"Sorry Princess, me and the other Wonderbolts've been housed by the Crystal Empire since this invasion's begun. This is the first time I've been out and seen how bad it is".

Celestia smiled kindly as she took the empty flagon and refilled it, offering it back to the grateful pegasus, who took it and drank greedily once more. The effort of evading the swarm for as long as she had been able to, coupled with the shock of seeing for the first time what Ginun had belched into existence, had all but shell shocked the pegasus, her nerves able to hold only due to them having been steeled by a career of daredevil flying.

"Princess Cadence sent me to deliver you a message..." she bagan, her face still buried in the flagon, only to sputter into it as she turned to Twilight. Spike had made his way into the small group, towering greatly over all present, the comparatively diminutive Twilight still cradled in the crook of his arm.
His lipless and scarred face nonetheless made his visage as frightening to behold as any daemon's and it stole the voice from Spitfire's throat.

"..." Spitfire stood mouth agape staring from Spike's face to Twilight, obviously unable to reconcile if he was friend or foe. Her eyes stuck on Twilight, silently asking for an answer.

"Oh... Don't worry, he doesn't bite" Twilight said smiling. It was odd how used she had gotten to his appearance, so much so that she could barely even notice his disfigurement. She had forgotten how impactfull his face was to those who did not know him.
Spitfire's frame relaxed somewhat as he was confirmed as an ally and the pegasus gave Spike another wary glance. "Sorry ... the message. Princess Cadence sent me to ask you to hurry as much as you can. The Obsidian Stair is being assaulted by daemons and if they take it, the only way you'll be able to enter the Crystal Empire will be by the Ice Pass to the north".

Twilight froze as she heard of the Ice Pass. One of the only four "doors" in the dome shield of the Crystal Empire along with the Obsidian Stair, the Ice Pass was over two months distance from where they were now. The convoy would never be able to make it. The Obsidian Stair was their one and only chance at safety.
Spike, who had been absent-mindedly and with blatant disinterest cleaning his blade on his breeches even during the pegasus's leering, suddenly came to attention as the word "Daemon" was spoken. A slow staccato growl began burgeoning from the depths of his chest, reverberating through his entire frame and a net of veins had begun forming on his forehead.

"Wait a second... why didn't Cadence tell me this telepathically? We've been in constant contact since the invasion's begun. Why did she put you in danger?" Twilight shot off question after question.

"She... I don't think she can ... when she gave me the order, she and the Crystal Council of Unicorns were doing their best to counter the enemy spell-casters. She was barely able to tell me what to say. They're managing at the moment, the Obsidian Stair is tight so they're funneling in daemons bits by bits and the whole Crystal Empire army is there" answered Spitfire.
"But i don't know how much they'll be able to keep it up. From the sky i saw that daemon army is enormous, almost numberless. They won't be able to hold the "door" open for much longer or the daemons will breach through".

Before she could say anything, Twilight felt herself being put down. She looked at Spike's visage and saw determination in his steel gaze. She feared what she was about to hear and could only speak one word.

"No".

"I'll go before you, break the hold they have and give the Crystal Army support. You, come as fast as you can" he rumbled deeply.

"N...No" cried out Rarity. "You're doing it again? You're going to fight alone again? W... We can help" she looked distraught, as did the other girls. Even Celestia's face was contorted in a grimace of growing despair. None wanted him to suffer more than he had done so already.

Such kind souls.

Spike looked at those kind, caring faces and, to his horror, he felt for the first time his will begin to waver. How he wanted to gaze more at those loving faces. How he wanted to pluck at the sands of time and force the world to stop only so that he could have but a few more seconds of time spent with his beloved girls. How he wanted to be alongside them, for time eternal. Every draconian had a hoard, and these six girls would ever be his. Their dreams were his diamonds, their smiles, his rubies and their hopes, his emeralds. They were the only ones he loved as much as he had loved his Legion, and for them, he would do anything and everything.

And so he did.

Spike did the one thing that he had been incapable of doing since he had become aware of his Draka nature and heritage. The one thing that came as hard for him to do as having slain his own Legion in order to save them and free their souls. As much as he had become a kinslayer, Spike would now become an oathbreaker. He lied to them.

"I will be right behind you and join you all into the Crystal Empire. We will finally be safe there. We can be a family... once more".

The words tasted rancid and abhorrent on his tongue as he said it. Even as the six girls' eyes lighted with affection at his mention of "family", he felt disgusted with himself. He was going to die this day. He knew it, for he had decided it to be his final battle. He would not join them into the Crystal Empire and he would die at the base of the Onyx Bastion, protecting it with his final breath. Alone and forgotten, it was better than he deserved as kinslayer and oathbreaker.

Twilight's eyes were wide and moist as she looked up at him.
"Do you promise?"

Spike's heart ached and the beast howled at the bars of his subconscious as he answered.
"Yes".

A hesitant nod from her head and Spike shot toward the Onyx Bastion with a speed that would have put even Rainbow Dash to shame. Trees splintered upon his chest and stones shattered beneath his boots as he tore through any obstacle that stood between him and this final battle. This final enemy he would break in order to keep his girls safe.
The blessed angels of mercy that they were. How they had tried to help him, to make him feel better, less alone. It had helped. It had helped to have them around him, to hear them talking, to see Sweetie Belle truly forgive him and trust him once more. It had helped. But not enough. Not anymore. His mind was too far gone, his thoughts clouded by hatred and howls of vengeance for what the daemons had forced him to do against his Legion. The beast snarled and tore at his shattered mind, howling, roaring, begging and demanding that he be let loose, that the wergild of blood the daemons of Ginun owed be paid.

"Soon" Spike whispered to himself, forcing himself to think clearly even as he ran. "Soon. Ensure the girls be safe first and then... then the daemons will pay... Shagga, Sekeolath, Goromandy, Mika'il, all of you... i will make the daemons pay for what they did to you... for what they made me do to you...".
A dirge escaped his mouth as he ran, a low, rumbling, chanting song in which the names and deeds of each Draka of his Legion, the names of the six ponies that loved him so, cold be heard. He took pleasure in the requiem and sang the guttural, growling dirge louder even as he ran towards his death all the harder.

Jalaman Hun roared as he swung his cudgel, a gruesome block of crimson stone, enormous and stronger than the best forged steel. The elaborate head of the weapon, embossed with leering daemonic faces and baleful, blaspheming runes, swung left and right with the ease and speed of a rapier, all but obliterating shields and breastplates, ending lives with uncompromising, crushing force. The phalanx of crystal tinged ponies buckled for a few moments, then pushed again, geomantic magic visibly drawing from the Bastion behind them, empowering the otherwise feeble creatures with the strength of enraged bulls.

His hideous face, all fangs and bony growths split into a mocking grin, two beady, abyss-black eyes, pools of darkness and despair, lighting up with barely restrained bloodlust. Silvery spears and swords glanced uselessly off his steel flesh, his mammoth body crushing bodies and caving in breastplates with every movement, doing as much damage as his cudgel. Crystal ponies clutched at their ears and tore at their heads as the innumerable mouth peppering the corrupted troll's body gibbered and whispered secrets so vile and abysmal they tore at the minds of those who listened to them.

The small opening at the top of Obsidian Stairs stood tantalizing to him, goading him to try and take it and, in equal measure, goading the defenders in trying to defend it. Jalaman gave it no import. Whether he took the "door" of the unbreakable shield or not it did not matter. If his army would be able to enter the Crystal Empire, it would be naught but an added bonus. The stair was too small for his army to properly fight, so small in fact that leading it was only Jalaman, the corrupted troll's bulk enough that he took it's entire width, his warriors behind him, launching hell-steel lances and javelins from his sides and under his tree-trunk sized legs. The entire Stair was covered in the hungry, blood crazed daemons of Ginun and like diseased ants they clutched, crawled and trampled each other in desperate attempts to fight alongside Jalaman and partake in the lion's share of glory and prey.

Jalaman drank deeply of the air around him, a squirming crystal pony's skull shattering audibly in his monstrous hand. How he loved this scent, this scent of war, of iron and steel, of sweat and fear, of raw red things and growing despair. It was the scent of violence in it's most pure and undiluted and it caressed the abyssal troll's nostrils like a mother's hand. It would have to end soon. He knew it and his mood darkened. Kilmaail was fast approaching and the worthless little rodent had "ordered" him to either await the convoy and ambush them or take the Obsidian Stair. He had chosen the latter, refusing to waste anymore time waiting when there was combat to be had. How dare the Half-born assume it had the right to order Jalaman Hun, Troll King of Mourning Pit, Vanquisher of the Everfall and Exalted Champion of the Abominable Arena. Jalaman had been second only to Ganbataar in rank and strength and that had been before the Gods has granted him more power through Kilmaiil. But the Prophet of the Abyssal Gods had overreached when he had dared to order Jalaman, and when his usefulness would be at an end, Jalaman would be there to educate the Half-born of his mistake.

Beyond the top of the Stair, beyond the rank upon rank of crystalline soldiers, he could see the shapely figure of a female pony, a lithe bodied and pink furred creature with hair striped of yellow, pink and violet. Her wings and the magic playing around her horn and outstretched hands marked her as an alicorn and the most likely leader of these weaklings that now had the audacity to face him. He could not stifle the smile splitting his horrendous face as he imagined her reduced to nothing more than blood and clumps of fur staining his cudgel. Jalaman reared back and struck out once again, shattering three soldiers, breaking armor as easily as he broke flesh.

"Jalaman comes for you, feeble princess" he roared, his basso voice carrying over the din of battle with ease. The distant pony turned her head and even from such a distance he could see the apprehension written clearly on her face. "Make piece with you weakling gods, and pray that I end you swiftly. Pray little princess, pray that I...".

Whatever else he would have said stopped as his ears filled with the sound of a hundred screams. Jalaman had partaken in enough battles to recognize the pitch and meaning of such screams. These were the screams of the dying and soon to die. He turned to their origin, his own army's left flank, at the very base of the Obsidian Stair and what he saw there did what a hundred lifetimes in Ginun had been unable to do. It froze him.
On the daemon infested plains at the base of the Obsidian Stair carnage and slaughter had taken physical forms and had manifested their ire in the shape of purple scaled behemoth, his head crowned in a wild mane of green hair, his face adorned with a lipless maw bearing dagger long fangs, his body a mass of muscles and scars. He moved with the ruthless accuracy of death itself and the incontestable power of an avalanche. Where his curved blade slashed daemons fell in their twos and threes, clutching at bleeding stumps and severed flesh. Where it thrust bodies fell twitching, grasping at ruptured arteries and pierced vitals. His clawed hand shot out breaking armor and bones or grasped, tearing heads from shoulder and ripping spines from backs. Already dozens of daemons had marked his path with broken flesh and torrents of blood and more fell with each passing moment.

The creature lifted his head and his single green orb crossed with the black eyes of Jalaman Hun. A shiver passed through the troll's spine. Even with the great distance that separated them, it felt as if this behemoth had grasped his taloned hands around Jalaman's throat and was slowly suffocating him. It was enough to make one think only of running. Of running to the ends of existence if one had to, only to escape that baleful gaze, that unspoken promise of awaiting doom. Jalaman however reacted differently. His mouth opened in a howling laughter, all thoughts of the soldier phalanxes and the pink furred alicorn all but forgotten, his mind consumed by only one thought. This newcomer was a gift from the Abyssal Gods. Not some pathetic weakling, not some average veteran, but a true epicure of battle, as much a gourmand of war as Jalaman himself, his palette perfected in the fire of a thousand times a thousand conflicts. Violence and disciplined hatred radiated off the behemoth and made itself felt even over the vast distance, hitting against Jalaman as a strong gale, fanning the abyssal troll's desire to clash weapons with the warrior, to revel in the dance of death that only a duel to the bitter end could offer. He turned his back to the desperate and now confused phalanax of crystal ponies and his cudgel struck out again, this time against his own warriors as he began making his way down the Stair to where the behemoth fought, killing any daemon that was foolish or unlucky enough to be in his way.

The sounds of combat grew in intensity the more the convoy neared the clearing in the woods. They spoke of lives being snuffed like candles in a snowstorm, of raw meat and flowing torrents of crimson. Every step was harder to take than the next, horror filling the hearts and staying the advance of the convoy. Twilight, Luna and Celestia did the only thing they could do. They did not hesitate, simply maintained the running pace they had set for the convoy. It was all they could do to be examples for those who followed. Yet even for them, the opening in the dense forest held not the promise of close sanctuary, rather it held the promise of another trial to be overcome.

The clearing opened before them as a portal to one of the many circles of hell itself. What should have been grass and moss covered flatland, bearing it's natural beauty before the might of the Onyx Bastion, had been reduced to a carpet of daemonic meat and broken bone. Once green grass now coated in a sheen of bright scarlet and the once welcomed fragrance of clean, untamed earthen succulence mutated in the throat clogging miasma of a butcher's shop. For all it's morbidity the flatland stood void of all obstacles, almost inviting before them, the Onyx Bastion looming both menacingly and protectively beyond it. By the base of the Obsidian Stair, they could see the reason for this. A circle had formed there, an area of such unfettered violence it almost beleaguered belief. Row upon row of daemons howled and bellowed, their throats ragged with overuse, their weapons breaking and armor sundering in droves as Spike's unmistakable form waded into them, a nightmare visage of gore covered muscles adorned with the crimson halo that his blade produced with every swipe. For all that, he was still but one warrior facing thousands and even though the flatland had been covered with the corpses of those who had faced him, more than enough still fought on.

"Oh... Celestia..." began Twilight, the horrific amount of decimation Spike had and was continuing to inflict on the daemonic forces freezing even her astute mind.

"Do not hesitate" came Celestia's clear voice, a clarion call rousing the spirits of those around her. " We must circle around and behind Spike while he holds off the daemons, we cannot waste his efforts".

Twilight snapped back to reality as the sound of her teacher calmed the storm of confusion growing in her mind, insight and calculated actions once again becamind second nature to her.
"Rainbow, Spitfire" she said as she turned to her friends "In the sky and keep an eye for stragglers from the main body of the army". The cyan pegasus nodded briskly and sped into the air, Spitfire close behind her.
"Rarity, Fluttershy and Pinkie, gather all unicorns and tell them to come at the forefront". The three girls turned at a breakneck pace to the convoy to do as instructed.
"Applejack, Big Mac, go to the Royal Guard sergeants, tell them to form a line in front of the convoy but not to engage". With that the two siblings sped off to bear the news.
Twilight turned to the expectant faces of Luna and Celestia, the sisters silently awaiting for her to explain her strategy to them.
"We bring all the remaining unicorns here, with their and our magic combined, we may just be able to cast a large enough glamour around the convoy to keep it hidden from the daemons. It will be less and less effective the closer we get to the daemons but at that point we should be close enough to Spike and the Obsidian Stair to be able to make it...".

Her voice stuck in her throat as she saw what Spike had clearly not noticed. From the top of the Obsidian Stair a monstrous thing wielding a cudgel encrusted with baleful runes was running straight at the Draka, ramming and killing his own warriors in his descent. The press of daemons was masking his approach and Spike's back was undefended. Even as she watched the gigantic thing took a massive leap, jumping the last dozen steps and plummeting straight for Spike, his cudgel poised for an overhead blow. Twilight extended her perception , her mind travelling the distance between them in that one heartbeat. It connected to Spike's and shrieked a single warning before fading.

"SPIKE ABOVE YOU!"

The massive Draka did not waste time looking, instead swiped up with his blade, catching the cudgel in mid swing. She could see the two warriors press against one another for a few more seconds until the cloud of dust and press of daemons obscured her view of their duel. Twilight cussed silently but made no attempt to get a better view. They were all on borrowed time and given Spike's current state both mental and physical they could not have him fighting for longer than he had to. Words of power escaped her mouth as she, Luna and Celestia began the incantation for the massive illusion they were about to cast.

Jalaman's muscles bulged and veins stood out against his neck as he pushed against the green maned Draka. His twenty foot tall bulk of knotted muscle and raw Abyssal vitality should have been able to overpower the warrior, yet there he stood, as immobile as a steel statue, his shoulders and back almost deformed with straining muscles as their two weapons scraped against one another. With a metallic screech they broke the stalemate and jumped back, sizing each other up. The warrior was two heads shorter than Jalaman and almost as wide at the shoulder, however, whereas Jalaman's body held the telltale signs of a comfortable warlord's life, bloated with muscle but also the blubbery fat of one accustomed to having their whims catered to by servants and sycophants, the Draka's body was an epitaph of hardship and unending cultivation, a virtual armor of muscle tissue unmarred by even the slightest tint of soft comfort. Jalaman's sneer grew into a manic grin as the mouths peppering his body spoke a thousand incoherent secrets and told a thousand rambling tales in the span of a heartbeat.
The Mouths of the Unborn had been his gift from the Abyssal Gods upon his apotheosis as one of the ten Lords of Ginun and they spoke incessantly, half-thrusts and cryptic advice marring their words eternally. But Jalaman had long ago deciphered their speech patterns and through them had gained a power unlike any other. The Mouths of the Unborn knew all that was, is and shall be, for they were the voice of the Abyssal Gods, and for those who knew when and where to listen, they offered the past, present and future. Knowledge was their power and for all Jalaman's bulk and brutish mannerisms, he had ever been a connoisseur of two things. Battle and the knowledge relevant to it.

A born tactician, Jalaman listened, as the Mouths spoke of Spike, Veshanesh of the Draka, Darraor of the Legion and Bane of Daemons. In but a single moment he heard the tale of a life of unending combat and undisputed conquest, of duels and victories against the strongest of enemies, the Avatar of the Abyss itself counted among them. Knowledge and insight made him truly see the warrior that stood before him, not a simple fool that had been gifted power by some quirk of the universe or the benign recipient of some pathetic destiny or prophecy. No. Before him stood one who had been born weak, foolish and worthy only of disdain, but through nothing more than stubborn determination had earned every morsel of power he had gained. Every muscle on his body was a steel slab grown and tempered through the heat of battle and relentless training. Every swipe of his blade was a veteran's measured stroke that spoke of innumerable campaigns and wisdom gained only through experience. Every breath he took was a warrior's composed and calculated action. Spike had been given nothing, not even a destiny, yet through nothing more substantial than pure unbridled effort Spike had taken everything and carved his name among the greatest.

Unable to help it, Jalaman broke into a howling laughter. Perfection. Utter perfection. It had ever been those like Spike, those that had gained everything they had through effort whom had always fought the best and hardest. For a gourmet of combat like Jalaman, Spike was the perfect duel. A shuffle behind him wiped the grin from his face and he spun, bringing his cudgel in a monstrous arc that shattered four daemonic heads into nothingness.

"HE IS MINE" the troll bellowed and turned back to his target, ignoring the mewling daemons behind him.

Spike stood and waited as Jalaman's gaze fell once again upon him. The troll smiled once more. Of course he waited. The Draka obviously had not come for the safety of the Crystal Empire, he was merely here to protect the passage of others, weaker things, inconsequential things. The Mouths told Jalaman of the Equestrian refugees hidden behind an illusionary glamour and at the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of the shimmering air in the distance where said convoy was. He licked his lips. How easy it could have been to simply order his army to go in that direction until the glamour held no more power and the convoy was butchered. But it had been Kilmaiil's interest to kill the refugees not Jalaman's and the little rodent had already overexerted his perceived authority. Moreover if the daemons were to go towards the convoy, Spike would most likely attempt to stop them, forsaking their duel. No, that was not to be allowed. Jalaman was not about to waste this opportunity for a true battle.

"None of you move" he bellowed to his army "Await my order. The first who disobeys will be the first who dies by my hand". He did not turn to see if they obeyed. Fear of him had been instilled into them a long time ago and they knew better than to test his authority.

"Now" Jalaman growled menacingly "Let us enjoy this" and he threw himself at Spike, his cudgel windmilling at the Draka in a brutal arc. It never connected as Spike charged into Jalaman's guard and smashed the pommel of his sword into the arching head of the cudgel, ramming it into the ground. His blade skidded loudly along the haft of the weapon, making to slice Jalaman's grip clean off. It glanced against hell-steel as Jalaman blocked it with his armored forearm. The rune-encrusted armor groaned dangerously but held nonetheless. Jalaman's grin could get no wider. What a testament to Spike's strength that the armor had almost sundered. Rune-carved hell-steel was nigh unbreakable and it had just barely held. Howling with mad laughter Jalaman pushed against the weapon and charged into Spike like an angry mastodon only to come skidding back as the Draka made his own charge and launched a two handed blow on the cudgel's haft. His arms almost paralyzed by the strength of the blow, Jalaman retreated a few hasty steps and dropped into a catlike crouch, the baleful sword slicing only a few tufts of hair rather than his neck as it cut the air where his head had been.

Spike's sword arched in a half-moon shape and without pause came down in a blistering two handed stroke. It was only by the skin of his teeth that Jalaman rolled under it in time and the blade sliced only stone, the pressured air it generated ripping a few of the reluctant spectating daemons to gory ribbons. Jalaman brought his cudgel in an up swipe trying to catch Spike on the chin only for his arms to flail wildly as Spike twisted along the blow and slammed the underside of the cudgel, propelling it upwards and breaking Jalaman's stance. Before the troll could recover, Spike had already begun a grinding arc towards his exposed stomach. But Jalaman had not survived for so long based only on his strength. His gifts had always helped him. The Mouths had whispered of this as a possible outcome before the duel had even begun and Jalaman had known of it.

"It strikes your weapon to the heavens and slices you in half" the cryptic warning had said.

As such, instead of fighting to regain his balance, Jalaman spun with the cudgel and somersaulted, the blade slicing harmlessly beneath him. It would not be that easy to evade the Draka however. The blade stopped mid swing and thrust up in a dazzling display of swordsmanship, aimed at Jalaman's spine. It was only due to the hastened warning of the Mouths that Jalaman knew to twist in midair and slam the blade aside. He ended his jump with a feint for Spike's collarbone with the haft, that turned into a swipe at the side of his knee with weapon's heavy head. A blow that wold have hamstrung a giant managed only to slightly break Spike's balance but it had been enough of an opening for Jalaman to land two quick blows with the pommel and the head of the cudgel to either side of Spike's temples. Suddenly the Mouths screeched.

"It slices your thigh".

Confusion turned into a rictus of pain as, even as he reeled back from the blows to his temples, Spike's sliced with his blade and carved a sizable chunk out of the troll's thigh. The advantage lost, Jalaman too reeled back, his thigh gushing blood.

"It carves your body to ruin".

The troll brought the haft of his cudgel barely fast enough to intercept the blade and it was all he could do to defend and retreat, battered back by a blizzard of blows from Spike. They came with such strength and speed that they almost seemed to coalesce into a single indomitable and continuous force. His retort came as his own flurry of attacks, the rune-carved head of cudgel slamming hard against the Draka's blade, unholy enchanted hell-steel straining against master forged blood-iron for dominance. It found none as Spike riposted with equal strength and ferocity, forcing the troll on the back foot once more.
Battle lust thundered in Jalaman's skull and he howled with almost childlike glee as he charged rabidly and rammed his shoulder into Spike. Instead of fighting the force, Spike let himself fly, his gauntleted hand grasping the troll's throat with the strength of a vice and pulling the monstrosity with him. Cartilage shattered and blood flowed as Spike's forehead impacted with Jalaman's face and turned it into a broken mess. Even through the haze of blood and pain, Jalaman's grin never faltered. It was amazing to him. The Mouths were shrieking their warnings incessantly, yet Jalaman had found himself unable to defend against all Spike's attacks even though he knew they were coming. They happened too quick and with such overwhelming force it was all but impossible for his body to keep up with all of them. The battle had taken the pattern of the "good old days" when he had not had the future-revealing powers of the Abyssal gifts, when battle was naught but instinct and raw reflex, when his perception would be reduced to nothing more than his own body and the weight of his weapon.

The cudgel's head impacted with Spike's side and ribs shattered, the sound in tandem with Jalaman's forehead as Spike rammed the pommel of his swords against the troll's skull. Blood flowed once more, the razor edge of his Odachi carving a red crater along Jalman's arm and the wicked point of the cudgel punching into Spike's left bicep digging into muscled flesh. All pretense of defense had all but been forgotten as the battle took on yet another form. It had become a battle of wills and endurance, a simple test of whose body could endure more pain until it failed.

And both Spike and Jalaman reveled in it.

Twilight's head felt as if it was about to split, strain written about her face like the words of a book. To either side of her, Celestia and Luna shared the same grimace of almost unbearable strain and behind her a procession of exhausted unicorns continuously fed what power they could pluck from the aethyr. Nonetheless, the glamour maintained, evidenced by the shimmering air undulating around the entire convoy. With a measured yet hurried pace, the convoy was making it's way towards the Obsidian Stair. Although she did not know exactly what they would do other than try to run for Cadence's forces when they closed in on it, Twilight still knew it was their only chance.

A familiar push to the side of her perception startled her and the illusion shimmered dangerously as it almost broke her concentration. Cadence was trying to reestablish the telepathic link between both of them. Straining like she never had before, Twilight relegated a small part of her consciousnesses and linked it to that of Cadence. Immediately the strain on the three alicorns eased as Cadence brought her own power to aid in the maintaining of the glamour illusion.

"Twilight... I knew I sensed your magic close" Cadence's soft voice caressed the purple alicorn's mind. "Listen... you need to tell me what to do, I don't know where you are and for the moment those monsters are occupied with... something... that's left the Stair safe for use... this is the only chance we may have...".

"That's Spike"

"What?".

"That something is Spike" Twilight clarified and, as Cadence's pause drew to unbearable length she added. "Is... is he...?". The words would not leave her mouth. She trusted Spike, had faith in his monstrous power, nonetheless she dreaded asking the question, fearing the chance of a response that would have her face his demise.

"He's still fighting" the answer came hastily and balmed her quivering heart. "I've never seen such a battle, he's matching that gigantic troll blow for blow. Twilight... what happened to him?"

"ARGH..." the purple alicorn gasped and clenched her teeth against the strain. Even with Cadence's help the illusion was becoming harder and harder to maintain.

"We'll do this later" Cadence's voice came hastily as the ruler of the Crystal Empire felt her friend's effort. "If you say it's Spike, that's all i need to know. That means he can be trusted. The Obsidian Stair is open for the moment, come as fast as you can, i'll have my army arrayed at the base of the Stair and give you cover while you help the old and wounded. Keep the glamour activated as long as you can. The closer you get to the Stair undetected, the easier it will be for us to defend you".

Twilight, her eyes screwed shut, her teeth grinding as she fed even more power into the illusion could manage only a small "Thank you".

"Don't thank me Twi" Cadence's soft voice came again, sisterly and comforting. "Just make it to us, no matter what".

Jalaman howled, pain and joy coalescing as madness in the depths of his mind an he let loose with another rampage of swipes. Like a rabid mastodon assaulting a stone wall, they connected with sonorous clangs against Spike's intercepting sword, sounding for all the world like two battalions of heavy cavalry smashing against each other. His last blow found him flying through the air as Spike slammed the flat of his blade against the cudgel's head launching both it and Jalaman into a thrashing heap. The troll rolled with the blow's inertia and as he rose put the haft of his cudgel before him, stopping a sword stroke that would have cloven his skull, mere inches from his forehead. He pushed against the blade exerting every ounce of muscle he had until the sound of Spike's boots sliding without purchase into the ground told of an opening and he heaved with a guttural bellowing. Spike was sent flying only for his boot to dig deep into the cold earth and reverse his flight into a silent charge. The troll bellowed once more and countered with a charge of his own, and the two warriors met in a flurry of clashing weapons, trading blows that would have felled entire battalions as both the blade and cudgel became blurs of motion and flying sparks.

Suddenly Jalaman's eyes widened and his grin fell. With a derisive snort he disengaged and, in a few quick jumps, was back among his own daemonic horde. The troll cursed himself for a fool. He had become so enamored with the fight, so concentrated on the circle of violence the two warriors had carved out for themselves, he had neither heard nor smelled the soldiery of the Crystal Empire descend the Obsidian Stair. Only when they had begun arraying themselves in row upon row of shield walls, hundreds strong, had he finally noticed. Spike's turned head told of a similar tale, the veteran Draka having just now found the area immediately behind him covered in the bright silver livery of the Crystal Empire.

A fairly tall pony emerged from the ranks, a strong looking colt in golden armor, his head adorned in a mane of blue and teal, a centurion helm held in the crook of his arm. Large, soldier's hands held on the pommel of his sword and his eyes gleamed with the commanding glare of a seasoned general. The pony never took his eyes off Jalaman as he strode towards Spike.

"Good to see you again, Spike" he greeted the large Draka. For all his size and commanding presence, the pony looked almost ridiculous when compared to the truly gigantic and fearsome Draka. He barely reached the low part of Spike's midriff and compared to the Draka's presence, the commander felt as barely more than a common footsoldier.

"Do not engage Shining Armor, maintain position" Spike said, his tone measured and to the point, clearly accustomed to leading a warhost. Shining Armor nodded, and put the helm back on his head.

"They are close, no more than a few tenpaces away. We will hold the line until they are safely atop the stair and beyond the shield".

Spike's head turned and Jalaman followed his gaze. No more than a few tenpaces distance a large clump of air shimmered unnaturally, marking the soon to fade illusion where the Equestrian refugees were fast approaching. Already they were close to the flank of the Crystal Army. This would have been the perfect moment to charge his horde had Jalaman had any desire to end the convoy. But that was not what he wanted. All he desired was to resume the duel against Spike. That was all that mattered.

"You and I still have unfinished business and if any of your insects attack, it shall remain unfinished" the deep basso of Spike declared and Jalaman grinned wildly. Clearly the Draka was trusting on the troll's battle craving to keep his forces in check. The threat had been clear. Should any daemon attack the poorly hidden convoy, there would be no chance of their duel coming to it's conclusion. Jalaman would have to settle for a fight within the press of both armies, where he could take no pleasure in the epicurean delight of single combat.
Spike had placed his bet, and had been correct.
Jalaman's mouth opened to order his daemons to maintain position, relegating them once more to the positions of mere spectators, but before any words could be said, a long and mournful sound filled the air, the song of a distorted clarion horn. With it, came a wind-like whisper of a high-pitched reedy voice.

"Charge them, kill them, use all you have at your disposal. Do not go against me Jalaman, for i am the voice of the Abyss and what power i have gifted you I may take away".

Jalaman ground his fangs and cursed loudly. Kilmaiil had arrived and with the deformed rodent all chances of a proper duel had vanished. As much as the troll despised Kilmaiil, the worthless insect was still in the favour of the Gods of the Abyss, and in such close proximity, the powers he had been gifted, Kilmaiil could indeed take away with relative ease. As much as Jalaman wanted to fight Spike, he was not yet ready to die, the most likely outcome should he attempt to fight Spike without the gifts of power he had been given. This Draka had killed both Nerg'Cathal and Wilhelmina when their powers and armies had been at their zenith of strength and Jalaman was not fool enough to underestimate him or let his damnable pride be his end.
The ground shook and he could sense rather than see Kilmaiil's army emerging from the depths of the forest. The time for deciding had passed and Jalaman swallowed his pride bitterly.

"What in the Abyss are you all waiting for? CHARGE"

The horde of daemons roared as one and charged. Shields rose and spears leveled as the Crystal army braced to receive the charge. The illusion broke into aethiric discharge as the Equestrian refugees forsook any pretense at subtlety and broke into a massed run behind the relative safety of the Crystal Ponies, the golden clad royal guard adding their own shields and spears to the defense. A daemonic horde of such size normally would have had no problem in trampling the shield wall into the dirt, however ponies were not as feeble as they appeared. Raw magic erupted from the geomantic lay line upon which the Onyx Bastion had been built, coalescing around Cadence, Shining Armor and the Crystal Unicorn Council. Muscles pulsed with energy and bodies took the hardness and density of stone as the raw magic was turned to purpose and flowed into the poised army, empowering them with a stalwart strength that would have made even the Legion of the Damned proud.
Daemons howled and roared as they spit upon silver and gold spears, as they skulls split under swords blows and their bones shattered against shields. Ponies shouted and cursed as ax blows rained among them, splitting helms and shields, as wounded daemons bore those ponies closest down in displays of utter brutality.
In the heart of the storm, daemonic faces and weapons leering from every side, Spike stood indomitable, his sword and clawed hand wreaking havoc among the press of daemonic bodies. Advantageous numbers became death sentences where Spike stood defiant, as those behind unwittingly pushed those upfront into the meat grinder that was the Draka. His head snapped to the sky and he bellowed, his rumbling deep basso drowning out the clangor of battle.

"Fight warriors of Equestria. Fight warriors of the Crystal Empire. These who would see your homes in ashes. These who would defile your lives and end those you love. Fight them, BREAK THEM. REND AND TEAR. REND AND TEAR. MAKE THEM HOWL"

Warcries that none would have believed could escape pony throats thundered into the skies as Equestrian and Crystal Empire soldiers took up Spike's warchant, galvanized by his words and inspired by his defiance.

REND AND TEAR.

Helms were taken off and used to shatter daemonic skulls.

REND AND TEAR.

Shield edges fell across collarbones and crushed windpipes.

REND AND TEAR.

Blazing coruscation of unicorn and alicorn magic and showers of pegasus arrows fell into the horde.

REND AND TEAR.

Spike tore and slashed, crushed and pummeled, breaking armored flesh and sundering weapons as effectively as he broke daemonic will to fight.

The battle had become one of attrition and slowly but surely the ponies had established an unbreakable foothold at the base of the Obsidian Stair. Behind them, women and children helped those too old or wounded to climb the stairs by themselves. Bit by bit the convoy dissipated atop the stairs and beyond the portcullis-sized shield opening until only Spike,soldiers, royalty and the Mane Six had remained at the Stair's base.

Spike ripped a horned head from it's shoulders with a fierce tug of his massive hand and took the moment-long pause to look behind him.

"Grab the wounded, make your way to the top, single file" his voice bellowed and those around him obeyed.

Gradually, the mass of soldiers began to funnel up the narrow stair in ordered, sure movements, those too wounded to walk unaided held aloft on backs and shoulders. Beyond the rows of daemons he could see Jalaman roaring his outrage impotently as he struggled against the press of his own warriors, trying to reach their position. He swung his blade left and right, carving up daemons, taking a measured back step with daemonic group he ended, until his heel clicked against the very bottom step of the Obsidian Stair. It was covered in retreating ponies, at it's base standing only himself, the Mane Six, Shining Armor and the Alicorn Princesses. Even in such a dangerous situation the girls had refused to leave him and run for the safety of the shield. He cursed inwardly and bellowed once more.

"Step by step, upward" he roared and in almost perfect unisonthey climbed the stair, each step punctuated by a flurry of his blade, a thrust from Shining's sword and a maelstrom of unleashed magic from the flying alicorns that kept the daemons at bay. Spike no longer fought with the finesse and almost artful sweeps of his blade, instead had relegated to ripping into the press of daemons with the brutish downstrokes of a butcher's cleaver. There was no room for finesse or swordsmanship, all that mattered was that he got the girls to safety. A hell forged lance ripped into his bicep and it's shaft broke as Spike tore it out and returned it, point first, into the owner's throat. Arrows and javelins flew from either side, as raging winds conjured by the magic of alicorns buffeted daemonic shafts away from their targets. Only a few more steps and they would be safe. Only a few more steps and he would finally be able to welcome his end, to release the rage within his mind and fight until his body would be broken and he would finally have his rest.

Four more steps.
A clump of daemons screamed as golden, blue and purple lightning cooked them inside their armor.

Three more steps.
Three daemons fell in pieces, hollow eyed and silent screams fixed on their faces as Spike ripped into them.

Two more steps.
Two died spitted on his blade and a third twitched shrieking as his head was crushed in Spike's massive hand. Two more died howling, one pushed into the empty air by Rainbow Dash, the second with Shining's sword lodged in it's throat.

One more step.
Spike howled mercilessly as he put his entire weight in his shoulder and rammed into a cluster of heavily armored daemons, sending them rolling downwards on the Obsidian Stair. Necks broke on unforgiving stone as the daemons barreled into those behind them, crushing the smaller ones and forcing others to dare the long distance to the ground and jump from the height rather than risk being crushed, effectively almost clearing a third of the stair in one fell swoop. Those that still remained were greeted by a blaze of pale green cremation that melted their armor and reduced their flesh and bones to ash.
Far below at the base of the stair, Jalaman smashed against his own reeling warriors, uselessly trying to clear a path through the morass of panicked daemons. He bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth, and ordered as a shower of arrows twanged from taut bows, rising straight for Spike and the other's position at the final step. Those that were not buffeted away by the conjured winds, either were smashed from the air by the Draka's blade or skidded useless against his muscled, scaly body. Few feathered shafts had found purchase upon his massive chest, barely piercing millimeters into the iron hard muscles and Spike broke them off with a swipe of his forearm.
He smelled rather than saw the closeness of the shield's opening. It was a smell unmarred by the fresh stains of war, a light, almost gentle breeze that blew from the Crystal Empire, funneled into pressure by the small opening in the unbreakable shield of magic. They had reached the top. He turned his head and roared.

"No more defending, behind the shield NOW".

He did not need repeat himself. The ponies surged into the opening, the Mane Six first, Cadence and Shining Armor after and the Equestrian sisters last. It was done. The convoy, the armies, the royalty and now the girls had all passed beyond the borders of the shield. Spike suddenly felt tired, so very very tired. All that remained was for the opening to be sealed shut once more and their safety would be assured. He had done it. His Legion's sacrifice had not been in vain. He had kept his oath and brought the girls to safety.
It had finally come time for him to let go. No more pain. No more shame. No more thoughts of his hands stained with the blood of his own Legion. He would at long last be able to release the beast and let his mind drown in the dark of madness. No more need to hold on to the last vestiges of sanity and self-control he had left. Mother Renrin's prophecy would be fulfilled and he would die in combat against an armada of daemons, alone and forgotten, nothing more than a maddened beast. She had been partially wrong though. She had said he would die in a blaze of glory, unlike any had ever seen before. There was no glory to be had for him.
Kinslayer, oathbreaker and soon to be Blood Mad, Spike had forsaken the chance for a honorable death in order to see to it that the girls would be safe. And he found he regretted almost none of it. If there was one thing he did regret, it would be that he would never get the chance to join his Legion in the Halls of the Ancestors. But even that regret was short lived. Whether or not he saw them was irrelevant, all that mattered was that he had been able to give them the final peace and honorable death they had deserved. Spike turned away from the shield and took his first step in his descent of the stair and into the maw of rabid fury.

"Toast loudly within the Halls of the Ancestors my brothers and sisters, and roar until the Endless Pillars shake. Toast in my stead, for where you are, I can not follow" he whispered as he felt the last threads of calm within his mind begin to unravel. The beast howled and tore at it's cage more than ever before. It felt the freedom about to be given to it and licked it's jowls in anticipation.

"Spike...?" the small sound came and he turned fearing what he knew he was about to see. Farewells had always been the hardest part when dealing with those you loved. Twilight stood right behind him, her eyes gateways to despair as she had realized his intentions. Why had they not closed the opening?
"You promised... you promised...we would enter the Crystal Empire together... that we would be a family again...p...please... I can't lose you... again". Further behind her and beyond the shield, the other girls and the royalty looked at him with begging eyes. None wanted to believe he was about to do what they feared he was going to and none had given the order to close the opening. They all waited for him. The five other girls most of all looked as if they were about to bolt towards him at a moment's notice.

Spike's heart tore as he saw the tears in her eyes and heard the pain in her voice. From the stairs came the heavy boot falls of daemons, however, by their sound they were still a slight distance away. There was still plenty enough time to say goodbye and send her back beyond the shield's protection.
"Twilight, go. It is too late for me. It was always too late. Don't worry... you'll forget me soon... you will all do" he said as he made to reach for her and gently push her back towards the opening. His hand froze as a bubble of purple magic suddenly took shape around Twilight.

"I WON'T LET YOU. I WON'T. IF YOU STAY, I STAY. IF YOU DIE, I DIE" she screamed, her eyes filled with regret and frustration but more than anything, determination. His blood froze and time seemed to slow to a snail's pace as he saw those eyes. Within those eyes he saw a stubborn willfulness akin to his own and knew she was not bluffing. She was willing to risk her life just for the minute chance that he would change his mind. Movement from the corner of his eye alerted him to the fact that the other girls had begun moving towards him, ignoring the warning screams and outstretched hands of those around them. They were all willing to risk their lives and for what?... for him?... FOR THIS ONE KINSLAYER?... FOR THIS ONE OATHBREKER?... FOR THIS ONE SHAMED DRAKA??

"NOOOO!" Spike screamed, mad hysteria edging his voice and he did what he thought he would never be able to willingly do. Something that came harder to him than breaking an oath. Something that came harder to him than killing his own kin. He laid hands on Twilight. The shield around her shattered like thin glass as his fist rammed into it and into her stomach. She screamed as she was lifted off her feet and thrown into the other five girls, the impact pushing them all back beyond the shield opening, back into the crowd of ponies that watched with unbelieving eyes.

Spike walked with heavy steps to the opening before the girls could get up and roared. A roar so animalistic and threatening it tore through the hearts of all those before him.
"CLOSE THE SHIELD"

Fear overpowered empathy and with an audible crump the Crystal Unicorns that had been maintaining the opening released their magic and the shield closed, separating Spike from those beyond it. He knelt to one knee and put his hand gently on the shimmering surface of the shield. He could see as Twilight got up and both she and the other girls banged their fists uselessly on the shield, tears of despair in their eyes, their voices muffled to almost complete incoherence by the magical shell. Celestia stood behind them, a deep sorrow in her eyes as he locked sights with her. Reluctantly she nodded and he loosed a relaxed breath. She would perform the Mandala and make them forget. It was as it should be. It was the end. Behind him, the sounds of hell-forged boots grew in intensity but he did not pay them any heed. He was finally at peace.

And with peace it came. Madness unlike any other. Rage, frustration and hatred bottled up over millennia. His fury that the daemons had forced his hand and made him break an oath. His hatred that they had made his Legion suffer and forced him to kill them. His rabid desire for retribution that they had forced him to lay hands on Twilight and hurt her once again. He welcomed it. He welcomed it all.
By his hand.

By his hand they will howl.
They will burn.
They will beg.
BY HIS HAND VENGEANCE WILL BE TAKEN AND THE WERGILD SHALL BE PAID IN BLOOD.

Spike's frame began to shudder, slowly at first, then harder and harder as a low chuckle came from him and gradually developed into a full fledged laugh. A laugh so devoid of mirth and feeling it was more horrific to hear than the sound of a thousand howling beasts. It was the laughter of insanity.

Jalaman approached his broad back, his cudgel ready to strike, taking no heed of the sounds coming from Spike, battle-lust overcoming even the shrieked warnings of the Mouths for him to flee.
"Let us continue our due..." his voice stuck in his throat and his battle-lust turned to utter, mind breaking terror as, in the moment it took one to blink, Spike rose and turned, ramming his blade into Jalaman's chest up to it's hilt. The troll's weapon holding hand shattered as Spike crushed it like a rotten twig and twisted the sword in Jalaman's chest, drowning his hand in the troll's gushing blood. He let go of Jalaman's hand and grabbed the back of his head, bringing the troll to eye level with him. Jalaman shrieked as he saw in Spike's hollow eye naught but the hunger of the most primordial beast.

"You... are... meat..." the Draka proclaimed in a beastly growl and his fang filled maw opened and closed in a welter of blood, ripping Jalaman's face to shredded meat and bone. The troll's thrashing ended with an upthrust from the blade in his chest, cleaving it in two, opening an eruption of crimson.

Daemons stood in paralyzed horror, silent screams contorting their faces as this blood-covered devil, this THING from beyond the void, walked towards them, their ears ringing with no other sound than his mad, frenzied, howling laughter.

The laughter of mindless violence.

The laughter of one who had to laugh for he could not cry.

Author's Note

Extra long chapter for you all, as gratitude for the wait and awesomeness from you lads and lasses.

The story sure as hell isn't over yet.
Next chapter coming as soon as possible.

To Shatter

The air shook with the raw, unfettered fury of sanity forsaken. It howled alongside the screams of the dying.It rang in tandem with battle cries of those who, like rats in a trap, too paralyzed to run, had chosen to fight. But no matter how much the air roared it's belicose fury, it never came close to outmatching the bellowed laughter of the primordial beast that had once been Spike.

He charged into the fray like a pack of rabid wolves in the midst of a flock of sheep and tore at them with such savagery and abandon that it would have made even the barskarn of the northern wastes void their stomachs in horror.
Blood and innards flew and sprayed terror whitened daemons as Spike struck out with both the edge and the side of his blade, cutting and pummeling flesh with equal effectiveness, claiming the reaper's toll with brutal ruthlessness.
Some fought, most tried to run, all before him died. Daemons who had withstood the relentless horrors of Ginungagap, who had gazed into the depths of the void itself, who had pledged themselves to the Abyssal Gods, screamed like children facing their nightmares and fell like withered trees under the tender mercies of a woodcutter's ax. All the while, the laughter never stopped, belching out from Spike's throat like the proclamation of a forgotten god.

Far away, at the top of the Onyx Bastion, beyond the sanctuary of the Crystal Ley Shield, ponies watched in stunned silence their savior become their greatest fear. Twilight, Applejack, Fluttershy, Pinkie, Rarity and even Rainbow had all but given up on trying to break through the shield and had collapsed in crying, broken masses.

"You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the monster" Luna said, tears streaming down her face.

Celestia could only stare in horrified silence, unable to mutter a single word. However, unlike the others, she was not looking at Spike. Instead she was staring impotently at the corpse of Jalaman Hun as the savaged mass of mangled meat putrefied with horrendous speed, her witch-sight catching the virtual torrent of raw energy that flowed from the rotting carcass and arched towards the furthest point of the soon-to-be-broken daemonic army.
There, a tiny, emaciated figure stood, arms outstretched, howling sepulchral syllables to the darkening sky, as mad aetheric laughter from beyond the realm of creation echoed just at the edge of her hearing.

"No" she croaked as she saw similar pillars of raw energy rise from the Mountains of Grey Crystal and the direction of Equestria.
The raw stuff of the Abyss arced and fell like torrential rain over the emanciated form, only to run deep into the crust of the world.

For a moment all stood still.

Then, the world screamed. It did not shudder, it did not quake, it simply screamed, a psychic screech from the living core of the world itself that reverberated through the minds of every magic user alive, a harrowing rattle of pain as a shard of the Abyss ran deep into the world's core and launched a flood of corruption through the geomantic lay lines, it's veins.
Mountains cracked, hills toppled and young forests wilted. Celestia fell to her knees and yelled, her skull pounding with the pain shriek of the world, her stomach churning, bile seeping from her cracked lips. Around her, unicorns fell, vomited, tore at their ears, throats and hair, and in the cases of the old or weak, simply died.
Luna thrashed on the ground in grips of a seizure. Cadence and Shining both screamed, holding one another. Twilight and Rarity howled, their friends fighting with them, trying to prevent them from tearing their own throats out.

It was all Celestia could do to scream and beg for it to stop.

An explosion of corrupted, geomantic energy erupted around Kilmaiil the Half Born, ripping into the daemons around him, evaporating flesh and bone.

"Howl, howl, howl you wretches" the Half Born shrieked, his diminutive form slowly being enveloped by the sickly yellow energy, but, contrary to the daemons around him, never hurting him. Instead the energy began siphoning into the small frame.
"Howl and witness me in your final moments. Witness my aphoteosis".
He lifted his head, his hood falling to reveal his malformed face.
"Gods of the Abyss. Your most humble servant, your Prophet, your most devout follower has done your will.
The blood of the abyss spills in three.
The blood of innocence spills in two.
The blood of stone spills in one.
Shed from me this deformed, mortal shell. Oh ye four almighty gods. Grant me your promise and make me fifth".

Power converged and fell upon Kilmaiil. This time, it came with pain so complete, Kilmaiil's cheeks ripped as he screamed. It seeped into his body and flooded his bones, flesh and soul with the raw power of the Abyss.

Kilmaiil's shriek turned to a macabre laugh and he reveled in the pain of his apotheosis. At last. The plan had come to fruition.
The powers he had gifted Nerg'Cathal, Wilhelmina and Jalaman Hun had been not for their sake, but for his own and the plans of the Abyssal Gods. They had been mere vessels, carrying the power to the places they had to die.
The ritual of Ascension, whispered in his dreams by the Abyssal Gods was the most complex ritual ever performed. To even be attempted required the unanimous will of all four Gods and so much more.
"The blood of the abyss spills in three". Three greater daemons gifted with powers beyond all others, had to die in conflict, their blood to spill upon the three strongest lay lines of this world: Canterlot, The Mountains of Grey Crystal and the Onyx Bastion.
"The blood of innocence spills in two". The innocent blood of countless ponies had to fall upon Canterlot and the Onyx Bastion, weakening
the world's resistance to the blood of the three greater daemons.
"The blood of stone spills in one". Finally, the great catalyst, blood neither abyssal nor innocent, the blood of true neutrality, the blood of dragons had spilled as the Legion of the Damned had fallen upon the Mountains of Grey Crystal. It's raw power was that which would propel the shard of corruption to the world's very core.
But blood was not enough. It could not be offered for the ritual. It had to be taken, permeated with pain, despair and fear, matured in the furnace of hate, conflict and war.
The blood of innocence taken from fear stricken ponies as daemons had slaughtered them.
The blood of the abyss taken from pain tormented daemons as Draka blades had torn through them.
The blood of dragons taken by a despair filled Spike as he had given his Draka Legion the release of death.

It had all come to fruition. A decade of planning. The efforts he had made, the "alliance" with Chrysalis and her minions, the arrogance and insults suffered at the hands of other daemons, but, more importantly, the sheer magical power he had had to expend in order to deviate Celestia's letter from her student, Twilight, to reach Spike.
Spike, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, Vashanesh of the Draka, had been integral to his plans. The crucial piece. The only creature who had the power and will to kill the three strongest daemons to ever exist. Kilmaiil could only congratulate himself as the sheer enormity of the deception he had perpetrated upon Spike made itself felt.
It had been Kilmaiil who had interfered with the flow of magic within the Mouth of Madness, causing Spike and his Legion to arrive too late to save Ponyville.
It had been Kilmaiil who had convinced Wilhelmina and her Serpent Priestesses to corrupt the Draka Legion, knowing that Spike would be forced to slay his own.
It had been by his doing that the Mountain Eater had targeted Spike, giving Wilhelmina enough time to corrupt his warriors.
But Spike had well and truly surpassed all expectations. To slay three greater daemons, an undead Primordial and countless daemons in such a short time and without rest. Even Kilmaiil could not help but respect such monstrous strength and determination.

All these thoughts passed through Kilmaiil's mind in those eternally long seconds of metamorphosis. Corrupted geomantic energies, the raw power of creation, flowed from the ground and drowned into his blackened soul, a gaping void of abyssal non creation.
Creation and non creation flowed in one another, battling within the daemons tiny frame, endless cycles of birth and destruction taking place in the span of fractions of seconds, as infinity opened deep into his soul and collapsed in on itself to form Chaos.
Energy billowed like an explosion from Kilmaiil and he howled as his flesh, bones and soul became pure chaos and reshaped. He laughed with sadistic glee as all around him fell to the ground screaming, their bodies ripped to shreds or sprouting horrific mutations as chaotic energies punched through the air.

And then, with the same brusqueness it had begun, it stopped. The geomantic lay lines expunged the last of the corruption and the world stopped shrieking as it cleansed itself. It stood quivering, mountains cracked, ground broken and entire ecosystems reduced to withered husks, but it stood nonetheless.

Kilmaiil rose, gazing in awe at his new form. The form of a demigod. His skin was the ivory of pearl, smooth as the finest silk, not a single trace of his previous deformities left. He was tall, easily eleven feet, though he knew if he all but willed it he could grow larger than the greatest giant.
His pristine body cut an almost androgynous figure, tall and lithe, looking almost fragile but pulsating with raw, unrestrained power. His previously deformed skull now bore a face of such simultaneous beauty and monstrosity that it would have made angels weep in both gratitude and horror for seeing it. A mane of golden hair crowned his previously bald pate and shone with a celestial coruscation that seemed to devour light itself. Chaos, contradiction made flesh and bone, was what he had become.
Not some petty daemon, he had been reborn as the closest thing to a living god this world had ever seen. What were the Ten Lords of the Ginun, the Avatar of the Abyss, the Primordials themselves compared to him?

Nothing.

He could end the Ten Lords with but a word. Shatter the Avatar of the Abyss with a single blow. Even the Primordials united, had they still been alive, could not have hoped to challenge him.
Immortal. Demigod. Second only to the Gods of the Abyss, Kilmaiil the Half-Born had become a thing of incongruities, the bastard child of the unholy matrimony between creation and non-creation, raw chaos incarnate, as much a force of nature as the gods of the Abyss themselves.

All around him daemons howled in a tumultuous racket of ecstasy and fear at the sight of the newborn demigod, his visage simultaneously so angelically beauteous and monstrously hideous to behold, it shattered the minds of those who gazed upon it. The weaker daemons simply dropped to the ground, their hearts burst by the raw energy exuding from the entity while others fell, either clawing desperately into the meat and bone of their faces trying to physically tear the image of him out if their minds, or holding their insides in shaking, blood stained hands, presenting them as tribute to their nascent god.
The world descended into a cacophony of screams of terror and ecstasy, of howled curses and bellowed oaths, of requests for death and promises of loyalty.
Chaos.
And Kilmaiil revelled in it.

A sudden roar stopped it all. It held neither fear nor supplication just madness and defiance. It came as both challenge and proclamation, and it echoed throughout the area like a church's final bell.

Drawn like a moth to a flame by the living god's energy, drawn to the challenge, the scent of worthy enemy, Spike came like a cannon ball, surging from a curtain of blood as he cut the daemons before him.
His war cry, the laughter of a crazed beast, he sliced and ripped a path towards his target.

"Ah, now comes the Veshanesh." sneered Kilmaiil, raising his hands like a father waiting for an embrace. "Now comes he who has defeated the Three of the the Abyss. The slayer of the Mountain Eater. How grand a lieutenant you would have made. How i would have enjoyed breaking your iron will and corrupting you to the aim of the Abyss. Alas, now look at you..."

The only response came as an animalistic bellow.

"Nothing more than a beast, needing to be put down." he added and leveled a slender finger towards the fast approaching Spike. "Such a shame".

As the words left the ivory lipped mouth a small flame of every color in existence and even some who could not be fathomed sprung into timid life at the tip of his claw and took flight towards Spike. It was such a tiny speck, no more than an ember yet it pulsated with wrongness.
Spike took no heed of the small ember, nor did the daemons around him. Blood clouded his mind and fear of the Draka clouded the daemon's minds.
The Onyx Bastion shuddered and groaned as the ember contacted the back of a retreating daemon and suddenly expanded. The small ember blew out as a gigantic pillar of multi colored flame, it's shockwave felt even beyond the protection of the Grand Ley Shield.

The unnatural fire billowed like a spear towards the sky, an infinite number of faces shrieking like the damned, half-seen beyond the multi colored curtain of flame. Daemons screamed as their flesh turned to dust, the bones untouched, remaining in their last positions like macabre statues. Spike howled as the flame licked against his body, vaporizing meat and scales, opening old wounds and creating fresh ones. It was as if the fire was slicing, trying to flay him alive, but there was no pain in his roar. Just raw hatred.
He launched himself in a monstrous jump, pivoting out of the column of fire like a dervish and made a rabid charge towards Kilmaiil once more.
Those few daemons in his way fell in heaps as broken meat, Karasuma rending flesh and bone with all the efficacy of a meat cleaver, the howling laughter of insanity, their final eulogy, the blood covered warrior, their final image.
The Draka's legs swelled with muscle and he leaped towards Kilmaill, pivoting through the air and avoiding the many embers of corrupted flame that flew at him. He swooped in like a hawk sensing the closeness of prey and turned in mid flight bringing his blade down in an overhead chop that bore all the speed and fury of a lightning bolt, it's chosen target, the condescendingly calm face of the reborn Kilmaill.

Even Spike's madness addled mind stopped in shock as the blade froze, it's unstoppable trajectory cut short by two upraised fingers. Kilmaiil grinned menacingly, the edge of the sword hovering mere inches from his face, his thumb and finger holding the murderous metal at bay with barely even an ounce of effort.

"Oh... how pitiful" he hummed and snapped the blood iron blade in two.

Faster than it took a heart to beat, he brought the edge back, raking it across Spike's bare stomach and opening a shower of blood. Spike roared and lifted the bladeless hilt, his gruesome wound forgotten in the orchestra of painful wounds that already covered him, angling it to try and crush the disgustingly cherubic face in.

Kilmaiil let out a small breath, no more than a sigh and it all but lopped the Draka's hand at the wrist, a single strand of scale covered flesh holding it connected to his forearm. This time, Spike fell back, howling in pain, like a wolf caught in the steel bite of a forester's trap. He recovered almost immediately and rammed his skull against Kilmaiil's face. Kilmaiil did not move a single millimeter and Spike fell back once more, blood gushing from his cracked forehead. Barely the smallest trickle of black blood slithered from Kilmaiil's nose. He wiped it with his thumb and before Spike could even think, Kilmaiil stole both "Ildezgherdi" and "Tenchi Kaijin" from his sash and thrust them, sheaths and all, into his abdomen with such a force that they pierced out from his back and lifted him off his feet. The Draka shuddered and made to grab the demigod's neck and throttle him but his hand fell limp as his own throat opened in a deep slice, blood gushing bountifully from it.

Kilmaiil broke into a malicious laugh, his thumb covered in the crimson lifeblood, effortlessly holding the Draka in the air with a single hand.
"And thus he falls, the mighty Spike, bane of daemons, grand enemy of the Abyss, slayer of the Avatar.
Ahahahahaha... how pitiful a sight... once a great warlord, the ultimate warrior, the unbreakable Draka... now nothing more than a mad beast, spitted on his own weapons for all the world to bear witness to his weakness...".
His smile fell and voice fell as a gurgling mad laughter escaped Spike's bloodied mouth and the defiant Draka spat a blood flecked gob of phlegm into the demigod's conceited visage.

Blazing anger lit Kilmaiil's eyes and he wiped the crimson with his forearm.
"Defiant to the end... i see" he growled morbidly. The first strike came as a savage backhand that cracked Spike's skull even more and rammed him into the ground, shattering a crater of stone around the prone draconian's body. Spike continued to howl with mad laughter as a naked foot rammed against his elbows, wrists and kneecaps shattering each joint into splinters. It ended with the final strike as Kilmaiil rammed his foot down one last time and snapped the Draka's spine.

No more laughter.

No more howling.

Just the labored breathing of one at death's door. Kilmaiil bent and lifted the Draka by the head. Amazingly Spike was still alive. Beaten, shattered, bleeding from a hundred wounds, but not broken.
Never broken.
His eyes bore pain and madness but more than anything, they bore defiance. Spike would never beg for mercy, even if he still had the mental sanity and capacity to do it, he would never beg. Never surrender. Never break. It chafed on Kilmaiil's pride that this lowly Draka would never recognize him as the god he had become.

Kilmaiil snapped his fingers and two brawny daemons approached him timidly. He snapped again and a rift in reality opened next to them.
"This portal will take you back to the cave base" he began and threw Spike to the two who almost toppled under the unmoving Draka's weight.
"Take him and dump him down the same crevasse we have discarded the deposed queen".
Kilmaiil loomed over the Draka and grabbed a handful of his green mane, turning his head to face him.
"You will not die in combat. It will not be quick. You will be thrown and forgotten into the depths of a mountain and will starve to death. I know better than any what it means to starve. Pray to your impotent ancestors that you will bleed out first or at the very least the deposed queen is still alive down there and will slit your throat to feed on your carcass. That is the price you will pay for not acknowledging my ascension. A moment of defiance brings an eternity of pain".
With open disdain, Kilmaiil shoved Spike's head down and turned his back on him, sparing the paralyzed Draka not a second thought as the two brawny daemons carried him through the portal. It closed behind them with an audible snap.

Kilmaiil gazed across the battlefield. Barring the moans of the dying and gibbering of those driven mad by his presence, it was as silent as the grave. He walked slowly, elegantly, almost gliding across the ground, his feet always hovering a few inches above the dirt, as if earth itself refused to be touched by the newborn entity. Golden locks too bright to be looked upon flowed around an angelically hideous visage as he looked up at the dumbstruck figures gazing back at him with horror and disbelief. A long black tongue slithered out licking his lips and the demigod smiled.

Celestia was shivering. She was shivering in a wracking tremor that seemed to want nothing more than to rend her entire body.
When the entity spoke, it came in a hushed whisper that could be heard for leagues around and chilled the soul to frozen stillness.

"Kilmaill the Half-Born. Know my name and shatter mortal. I am the Abyss made manifest. I am it's will given voice. I am the bringer of your redemption in the eyes of the Abyssal Gods".
He paused for a moment, relishing in the fear that permeated all around him. The sheer and complete horror that filled the pony ruler's eyes. As he talked, he began walking towards the first step of the Obsidian Stair.
"Within the depths of what you claim as the Crystal Empire's capital lie the remains of what should have been another gateway into this world. It belongs to the Abyss. I come to reclaim what should have been ours long ago. What the weakling Sombra could not do".
Kilmaiil planted his naked foot on the step and extended his arms in the sick parody of an embrace.
"Rejoice insects. Your blood has already served in aiding my apotheosis and you shall be rewarded. You shall be the screaming tributes i shall offer the Abyss when i open the gateway within the bowels of your home. You and your world shall die a thousand deaths and assure my position and recognition as one of the eternal Abyssal Gods themselves. Is there no greater honor?"

Suddenly the Bastion began to shudder and squirm. The titanic bulwark, the unassailable monument that had stood defiant for over a thousand years, unmarred and unstained by neither the passage of time nor by the many sieges it had faced, buckled like a wounded animal at the sheer wrongness of Kilmaiil's being. Cracks flowed like pus filled veins from the spot where Kilmaiil's foot touched the black stone and sped across the length and height of the Bastion. With every passing moment the titanic structure shrieked and growled as parts of it began to shatter to dust and pebbles and the Grand Ley Shield began to flicker ominously.

Celestia's eyes widened in shock and she yelled.
"Twilight, Luna, Cadence, get everypony out of here. The Bastion is going to come apart".
The area around exploded into motion as Luna and Cadence began shouting orders and ponies began hurriedly descending the Bastion on the other side, the Crystal Steps, yet one voice was left unheard.

Twilight.

The Princess of the Sun turned to look for her student but her voice caught in her throat before anything could be said.
Twilight lay on her knees, an empty look in her eyes, tears streaming down her face and nose as she made not the slightest effort to wipe them.
Her knuckles had been shredded from hitting desperately against the shield and her mane and pelt were both a ragged, muddied mess.
She did not look at Kilmaiil, nor at the fast crumbling Bastion. Indeed she did not even seem to notice the danger. All she did was stare catatonically at the now empty spot where Spike had been defeated and where his shattered body had been taken through the portal.

Twilight had tethered on the breaking point for days and, having witnessed Spike's fate, had been pushed far beyond it. Now it was all she could do to lay there, oblivious to the danger she was in and her friends' attempts to snap her out of it. The other five girls lifted red, tear streaked faces at Celestia as another tumultuous groan shook the Bastion.

"No more time" she whispered and charged at Twilight, scooping the purple alicorn in her arms.
"EVERYONE RUN, NOW" she shrieked and joined the other ponies in the mad dash for the base. She half ran, half flew as bits and pieces of the Crystal Steps began disintegrating beneath her.
Her mane and tail flowed like a nest of snakes as, with a final heave, she launched herself into flight, the other five ponies alongside her, encased in the golden aura of her magic.

They all fell in a heap at the base of the Crystal Steps just as the Bastion sundered and finally fell with a world trembling shriek of stone and steel. The Crystal Ley shield flickered for a few more heartbeats and sputtered out like a candle in a storm. Celestia's perception became a roaring tumultum of stone and dust, the final death cry of the once unbreakable Onyx Bastion. In the distance she could hear the sounds of mountains breaking and did not need to look to know that the Crystal Empire encompassing Bastion was collapsing all around the Empire. She did not need to look, nor did she want to. Slowly the dust began to settle and through the debris filled gloom she called out.

"Is everypony alright?"

"Cough-cough- Princess... where are yah'?"

Celestia choked on the cloud of dust and drew into a coughing fit, squeezing the catatonic Twilight harder to her chest. A quick mental incantation and her horn flared up with the simplest of spells, an incandescent orb of light.

"Here... cough-cough... I am ... cough... here".

Grayish shadows began appearing through the cloud of debris and quickly coalesced into the recognizable forms of ponies. Luna, Cadence, Shining Armor, five of the elements of Harmony and a few Royal Guard were closest to her, many others still obstructed by the gloom.

"Repor... cough-cough... repo... cough-cough..." she attempted to address one of the Royal Guard.

" The majority have escaped unharmed... we had already descended the Onyx Bastion by the time it had begun collapsi... GAAAHH..." the guard began only to collapse in a screaming heap as a serrated spear tip exploded from his chest in a gush of warm blood. A howling daemon emerged from the cloud, it's mouth caked with froth, it's arm still extended from the javelin throw and, drawing a wicked fanged ax from it's belt charged straight at Celestia.
Four blazing bolts of light reduced it to a smoking husk as Celestia, Luna, Cadence and Shining Armor shot it down. More howls, more dying screams and more malformed shapes running through the gloom told Celestia this was not an isolated incident. The daemons were crossing into the Crystal Empire and her ponies were being cut down. She drew magic and amplified her voice.

"All of you, run towards the capital. Soldiers form a rearguard".

The few ponies around her looked at their princess with faces fixed in grimaces of worry. It was all she could do to squeeze Twilight closer to her chest and pray.
"We must at the very least try to save as many as possible. We cannot let his sacrifices up until this point be in vain".

The next few hours had been a confusing amalgam of yelled orders, panicked running and desperately trying to defend and advance in the same time. Celestia collapsed in an exhausted heap upon the cold ground, the sound of the crystal Empire capital's grand portcullis groaning shut behind her. Air hurt as it passed into her lungs and every inch of her body pulsated with aches and pain. Still, she pushed herself and looked around her. Almost two thousand ponies were laying across the courtyard in heaving heaps, soldiers of Equestria, the Crystal Empire and civilians, all equals in the face of adversity. Close to half of those who had been present at the Obsidian Bastion had died at the hands of daemons during the desperate retreat to the capital.

But the day was not over. Not for her at the very least. Cannon fire sang its staccato voice and the sound of armored boots coalesced with that of chanting unicorns as the reserve army of the Crystal Empire defended the walls of their capital and gave terrible sound to the orchestra of war.
Cannon balls and bolts of magic. Arrows and javelins. Spears, chunks of crystal and stones. All these and more fell across the parapets into a bellowing sea of daemonic flesh as the howling masses smashed uselessly against the walls of the capital, all semblance of strategy and siege warfare lost in a maddened frenzy driven on by the lone, pristine, angelic figure in their midst.
Kilmaiil sat atop a moving throne made by the knitted flesh of his own unwilling subjects and the demigod moved his hands as if he was the maestro guiding a concerto. With every motion daemons screamed and broke their fingers trying to scale the walls, shattered their heads and fists to mulch as they tried to pummel the unyielding stone down and killed one another as they tried to create a corpse mound tall enough to reach the parapets.

Anyone else would have rightfully wondered why it was that this entity who had obliterated the Onyx Bastion with but a touch did not join the fray. How easy it would have been for it to tear it's way into the depths beneath the capital. How casually it would have annihilated even the staunchest and strongest defenders with mere thoughts and broken any and all who would have attempted to bar it's way. Anyone else would have wondered, but Celestia did not. For the answer still rang into her mind like a thousand dying screams and would not leave her be, endlessly tearing at her will and soul with it's certainty.
"Three days" Kilmaiil had said into her mind, mere hours before "In three days, this world will be at it's zenith, furthest from the domain of creation and closest to that of the Abyss. It is then that i will wrench open the gates of the second portal and this world will be swallowed whole by the Abyss. Until those three days are over, Princess of the Sun ... amuse me."
Kilmaiil simply sat in the middle of his armies for there was nothing more he needed or wanted to do. All he had to do was wait those three days and he had chosen to pass the time by watching the endless legions of the Abyss clash with ponykind determination. And oh, how the daemons died. Carved, shot, charred, burned, speared, cut, pierced and pulverized. And yet, legions more came, emerging from the line of the horizon like a flood of ants, spilling unseen from the faraway Mouth of Madness.

Celestia would have wanted to simply lay there and await the end. Such had been the cold certainty in Kilmaiil's voice. But she could do no such thing, for there was, at the very least, a final oath she had to keep. A final promise to one who had given all for the ponies and for Equestria. The Princess of the Sun rose to her full height and looked to the five girls who even now still tried to rouse Twilight from her catatonic state.

"Luna, Cadence, go to the Royal Library and fetch the forbidden parchments... then go before me to the High Tower and begin the Mandala inscriptions" she said, her voice hoarse as Luna blanched and Cadence's face distorted into a horrified grimace.

"....Sister... are we truly going to...?..." Luna began, Cadence shaking visibly, not understanding why Celestia would want to invoke such vile magics.

Celestia looked at the trembling Cadence.
"We will need your help for this. I have given Spike my oath that once we have reached the Crystal Empire, we will perform the Mandala of Forsaken Memories and erase the very existence of Spike from the minds and hearts of the Elements of Harmony".

Cadence shook all the more violently
"N...No.. you can't ask me to..." she looked at Twilight and her friends "Not to them.., not to... her"

Celestia grabbed Cadence by the shoulders and drew her close, looking the ruler of the Crystal Empire in the eye.
"We must and we shall... After all Spike has given for us... after all he has sacrificed for us... this will be our final show of gratitude... we will do as he asked and we will make sure that these six girls' final days will be spent in blissful, innocent ignorance, rather than lamenting their loss once again... You must help us do this Cadence... for Spike".

Cadence chewed on her bottom lip and looked from Celestia to the girls and Twilight's prone form. In her eyes, Celestia could see the inner war taking place. Cadence knew as much as she did that there would be no chance of overcoming their present catastrophe and that this world's days were numbered. Finally, with a defeated whimper, Cadence nodded.

"We can't let them know what we plan to do... they'd never allow it... moreover, they'd never forgive us".

"They won't... i will lead them to the High Tower and we will perform the Mandala... I and Luna will personally make sure that until the end comes... they'll never have to worry about anything else... i swear it". Celestia added with finality, her head bowed in shame for her subterfuge towards the Elements of Harmony.

It had to be done. It WILL be done.

Music for the next part.

I fall. I feel myself fall. The beast stands before me freed of it's shackles and i am in it's place, bound by chains that belonged to it. Chains that i had set free myself. Yet the beast no longer roars, no longer howls, no longer rages. All it does is whimper.

But it does not return to it's chains. It can no longer do so. It has been out too long, too frequently and this time... too willingly.

I am... was... Spike. I am... was... sanity, control and discipline. I was everything that made me... myself. I have given it all up and released the beast... the Madness... the disease that plagues my very mind. It has been out too long... i can no longer return... never again... my mind is damaged beyond repair, my bones are shattered and my flesh is motionless.

There is nothing to return to... i am launched into the great crevice, further into the mountain's belly, further into the dark... so i fall.
I have failed... and i fall.

Cold stone embraces me as a forgiving mother and i slip into unconsciousness.

............................................................................................

Water drops caress my skin and i force broken jaws to part if only to sup on but a few droplets. I cannot move but those few drops land between barely parted fangs and i am tankful. They taste as ambrosia.

Above where i feel myself lay upon the cold stone, i smell someone, i hear their shuffling, i sense their hunger. Merciful Ancestors, can this finally be it? Will i finally be granted rest? Has some primordial beast from the mountain's innards come to free me? To finally grant me death?

I feel fragile hands rest against my head and chest and i feel my heart begin to empty as it feeds on my emotions. On the love i have for my precious Six girls. It nibbles only, no more, no less, taking enough to sustain itself, but not enough to make me forget why i fight. I fight for them. The Six beloved treasures. It is why i have always fought and it is why even now, shattered, starved and wounded beyond all measure, my own body will not allow me to give up. Have i gotten so accustomed to challenging adversity that my own body cannot realize the concept of surrendering? Am i doomed to forever border in this purgatory between life and death, entrapped by my own unyielding flesh?

It would be amusing, were it not so pathetic.

I fall into unconsciousness once more.

............................................................................................

I want to scream, i want to scream more than anything i have ever wanted before, but i cannot. My body is paralyzed, my bones are broken and my spine is shattered and i cannot scream. I want to scream as a fresh blossom of unbearable pain wracks my body and reverberates through my entire being. I can feel them. I can feel these things as they burrow into my flesh, into my bones, into my spine. I can feel them as they grab hold of strands of meat and knit them back together. I can feel them as they pull at splinters of bone and add chitinous cartilage and puzzle them back to their semblance. I can feel them in my bone marrow as they stitch my spine back and reattach nerve endings with ganglia.

Why. Why are these things helping me.

Those two slender hands caress my body and where they lay, the things burrow and knit, they burrow and repair, they burrow and heal.

I fall into unconsciousness once more.

............................................................................................

The beast yelps, screams and howls. It froths and thrashes as the chains release me and grab hold of it once more. I fall out of the cage and crawl away, opening the cage to regain it's reluctant guest once more. The beast trashes but the chains hold all the tighter as the things burrow into my brain.

They push blood and oxygen back to the areas the Madness had shut down. The parts dead by lack of oxygen are resurrected by way of base ganglia and impulse driven connections that force them to come alive once more. My sanity is being returned as sure as the beast is being shackled once more. A strand of ganglia forms at the base of my ocular nerve and for the first time in what feels like centuries i can see again.
A blurry image forms above me and i see a slender figure upon whose lap my head lay, green wisps floating around her and green eyes fixing my single one with concentrated scrutiny.

My brain jolts back to full life and with a final, defiant roar, the beast, the Madness, is caged in the depths of my consciousness once again.

I fall into unconsciousness for a final time.

............................................................................................

"Awaken" she says to me.

"Awaken" she says once more.

I stir and begin to rise. My body obeys and my mind is clear. I rise to my full height and I look around, greeted only by the desolate emptiness of crevice's bottom and a single, small, fragile looking pony, a hundred green wisps floating around her. Her body is slim and lanky, her hair is long and dirty-green and her eyes are two glowing green sits of anger. She looks at me with the interest of an artisan inspecting their work. I follow her gaze and look at my own body. Almost half of it has become devoid of scales, noting more than a deep dark-grey conglomerate of scarred flesh. Innumerable wounds are now innumerable scars. My joints are now masses of scar tissue, devoid of scales. Small pinpricks cover my body around my abdomen, to either side of my spine and around my joints, auguries left by the wisps' tender mercies.

She looks at me and says not a thing as she lifts herself up. She is so small, barely reaching my lower abdomen, barely wide enough to compare to my arm. Yet she looks at me with the defiance of born nobility.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because in your mind i have seen you challenge he who has betrayed me. Because you alone can defy he who has taken my changelings from me. Because you desire to protect your treasures and i desire my vengeance. Because our goals align. Because i will have vengeance for my children".

She is so slender, small and frail. The deposed queen. But her eyes blaze with determination akin to my own.

"You stand now, a queen without a without a kingdom, without her children, without claim to rule. Yet you stand as more of a colossus than ever before, Queen Chrysalis".

Author's Note

Guess who's back, back again.
Chrissie's back.
Tell a friend.

Also I'm back.
As always lads and lasses, give a comment or a shout-out if you can, more to come.

Rise

The tall and lanky changelings of the Athal'anel Forest Expanse and the contrasting short and stocky changelings of the Arctic Wastes marched in lockstep from the depths of the great tunnel. For all their faults, none could deny the changeling expertise in burrowing through even the most unyielding stone. The summons of Queen Chrysalis had been answered in mere hours and her two sisters, each accompanied by their hives had burrowed through the world's very crust in order to reach her. Now, row upon row of changelings marched in lockstep from the darkness of the tunnel, their numbers already surpassing the thousands, their bulk carpeting the crevice's base.

Spike lay, breathing calmly, upon the slab of granite that served as his bed while Chrysalis busied herself examining his body. She drew her slim fingers along his body, feeling every crease of his muscles, every indentation of the few scales that remained. They were regretfully rare, more often than not, her fingers feeling only cauterized flesh and scar tissue. Too many times she gasped as she touched a particularly deep scar. At this point, his body was being held together by his sheer stubbornness and the chitinous patches she herself had used to heal his most grievous of wounds. Twenty seven fist sized gauges along the chest, eighty four sword and ax carvings along his neck and sides, thirty two more along his legs, seventeen distinct places where his chest and stomach had been pierced clean through by either spear, rapier or blade.
Two enormous holes, clean through his gut where Kilmaiil had run him through with his own blades and a long, deep scar along his throat, now all three wounds similarly covered by chitinous plating. Each one of these would have killed a veteran warrior ten times over, more than half would have killed even the most elite of Draka. And these were but the largest and freshest of his wounds, now covered in chitinous plating instead of his usual flesh. All along his body, more than a hundred fresh nicks and slashes covered it, stitched closed by use of changeling web and over forty-five percent of his body was a mass of burn scars. This was not counting the number of broken bones she had mended or damaged internal organs she had helped stabilize in order for his Draka anatomy to heal.
What was worse was that these were only his freshest wounds. Beneath them she could see a thousand times a thousand battles worth of scar tissue. Chrysalis instinctively made the sign of the Spider Matron, her beloved deity, above her breast and returned to examining his body. Amazingly enough, for all the wounds and scars that covered him, the Draka's body was an epitome of vastness. Not a single ounce of fat lay underneath all that skin, scales and scar tissue, but pure muscle, almost to the point where it was deformed. If one looked at it, one could easily notice the definition of each individual muscle, brought upon by incessant training and unending battle, obvious even underneath the scars. Instinctively she couldn't help but wonder what kind of children this man could sire, what lineage of heroes and legends could spawn from him.

"You are leering" came Spike gravely voice.

Chrysalis snapped back to attention, realizing that she had been staring at his muscles for far more than it would have been polite, even for an examination. She coughed once to mask her embarrassment.
"You will have to excuse me. But it truly is a wonder that you are alive, moreso even after what you have endured even before reaching me".

Spike simply huffed a burst of green flame.
"Is that which i have requested complete?".

Chrysalis turned behind her and gazed at her two sisters, Queen Cicada, the ivory skinned hive mistress of the Athal'anel Forest Hive and Queen Arachne, the six armed warrior queen of the Arctic Wastes Hive.
Both oversaw an army of Silk Moth Changelings as they busied themselves spinning their web around strips of chainmail, creating what could only be described as chainmail bandages. Occasionally either one of them would reach out and coat the fresh bandages in a clear substance while murmuring incantations.

Arachne turned and looked at Chrysalis.
"Almost finished sister. As per the warrior's request, they will be as tough as steel plate, and completely inflammable and perfect isolators. Although i hesitate to ask of their purpose" she began as Spike rose to his full height and walked towards the sisters.

"Good. It is fortunate that you have come in aid of your sister".

"Fortune has nothing to do with it" came Queen Cicada's melodious voice. "If Kilmaiil manages to open the gate, the world is doomed. His proclamation has been heard around the world, on a fundamentally instinctive level. The tribes of Zebri'la, the warbands of Griffinstone, the hosts of the Dragon Kingdoms, even the warpacks of the Diamond Dog Dominion are marching on the Crystal Empire to try and stop them. We were simply the fastest to reach since we have been forewarned by our sister".

"Nonetheless we... I owe you much".

Chrysalis smiled a sad, tired grimace.
"Then kill Kilmaiil for us" she chided knowing the ridiculousness of so casually asking for the head of a god. Her mouth clamped shut as Spike answered simply.
"Yes".

Silence fell around those assembled.
"Spike... I healed you so that you may challenge Kilmaiil... I know you are capable of doing it... but after what he did to you... how can you be so sure that you can win".

Spike turned and shot the Queen a shamed look.
"You have yet to see me fight Kilmaiil" he answered simply.

"What are you...?"

"What you have seen was a beast. Simple. Mindless. Foolish. That THING fighting Kilmaiil, was not me".

"... But you were strong... stronger than ever before... faster... more ferocious that ever...".

Spike opened his arms as if to encompass the cavern.
"And what is strength without focus. What is power without the discipline to use it. Kilmaiil has yet to fight me. He has only fought a rabid dog, now it is time for him to fight a wolf. I will challenge Kilmaiil. I will kill him. And then I will die". He ended the statement with the finality of a headsman's ax, leaving the three Queens speechless. To speak so easily of challenging a god. To speak so casually of one's death. It would have been unbelievable had they not heard it with their own ears. There was no arrogance in his voice, none of the conceit so characteristic and detrimental to the strong. Spike was not boasting, he was making an oath.

Before another word could be spoken, the Silk Moths loosed a twirling sound, signalling the end of their work.

"Good. Armor is of no use to me now. I will need as much freedom of movement as possible" Spike said as he stepped forth and examined the bandages. Nodding satisfied, he began covering his arm with the bandage and when is entire arm was covered, he tightened it. The sound of skin tearing, scale cracking and fiber being pulled to it's breaking point filled the empty cavern.

"Have you lost your mind? Do you want your wounds to open again?" Chrysalis screeched, actual concern obvious in her voice. Spike said nothing, merely continued his operation.

Chrysalis made to say something else, but a hand on her shoulder silenced her. She turned to see Cicada's gentle face locked in a frightened grimace.
"That's not it. He is pulling so hard on the bandages because he wants to make sure that if... when the wounds open again, he will not bleed out... that is why he asked for chainmail reinforced bandages, he is too wounded to fight properly in armor. The bandages are not help his wounds heal. They're purpose is to keep his body together, for as long as possible".

Chrysalis suddenly felt sick as the gruesome reality of Spike's actions dawned on her. Spike still said nothing, merely continued his painful work, dealing with the agony of his actions in the only way the Draka knew how to.

He endured it.

Iron whistled it's mournful cry speeding through the air and shattered against hell-forged armor as the cannonball connected with it's target. Ground shook and daemons howled, but for every one that died two more took their place. They roared, screamed and cursed, but never did they falter, clambering like manic ants on the mountain of daemonic corpses, only to die spitted upon the blades and spears of the Crystal Ponies. Already the corpse mound had reached such a height it was almost level with the first ring of walls that protected the Crystal capital. Soon, the ponies would have to retreat, relinquish control of this ring of wall and fortify the next, higher section and defend it for as long as they were able.

Ponies ran from side to side, their arms always encumbered with arrows, gunpowder, water skins or bandages. All did their part, soldier or civilian, male or female, young or old, wounded or able, for death was the great equaliser and all were the same in the Reaper's hollow gaze.

Shining Armor stood on the tallest ramparts, launching bolt after bolt of magic, stopping only long enough to bellow another order and direct battalions of warriors to the areas which needed support.
Blocks of infantry, spear and shield, swordsmen, crissbowmen and battlemages stood ready in the courtyard, awaiting only the clarion horns and signal flags to be instructed upon their destinations. Further still the moaning wounded, too many to fit in the infirmeryes any more, cried out in pain as those still able, bandaged wounds with whatever cloth they could and ran with medicine or water from cot to cot.

The chaos of all out war was in full effect and the battle of attrition was being lost, slowly but surely.

Farthest from the battle, in what had once been the bustling, ever populated beauty of the Imperial Castle, only five pairs of feet hit the crystal floor, it's emptyness echoing them sonorously.
Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Rarity, Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy walked through the empty halls, the still comatose form of Twilight cradled gently in Applejack's strong arms.

They all looked haggard, their pelts encrusted with dust, their manes ragged and messy, their clothes torn and matted with sweat. But none of these things struck as much as did their eyes, downcast and emptied of most save sorrow. The loss they had suffered was fresh, much too fresh, and it stung the soul.
Only Rainbow Dash stood out as furious rather than sad. Although any who knew her as a person saw this as her way of coping with loss more than any form of indifference.

"I don't get it. Why are the princesses calling us to the Grand Library now? We're the elements of Harmony for buck's sake, we should be out there, helping... as should they".

She ended her tirade and looked around as noone answered. The other four girls just walked, eyes down, Rarity and Fluttershy looking as if they were about burst into crying at any moment.
Rainbow Dash shook her head and continued, her anger rising.

"The entire world's goin' to hell and this is the moment they've picked to go all mysterious and cryptic. They could've just told us what the reason was and we would've been done with it in ten seconds flat".

"Ah dunno Rainbow. At... at this point... ah'm gonna be grateful for any peace an' quiet we get. For as long as we still got a world to enjoy it in". answered Applejack, her voice a morose monotone. Rainbow Dash had never heard the usually tough as nails orange pony sound so defeated in her entire life.

The cyan pegasus landed on the crystal floor in front of them and stopped their advance.

"Don't talk like that. We don't get to talk like that. We don't have the right to feel self pity anymore". She said through gritted teeth.

The four other girls looked at their friend with a mixture of fear and surprise. Rarity was first to recover.

"Dashie... darling... a-after what happened, we all need at least a bit of time to mourn. Y-you can't just expect us to simply get over it at a moment's notice..."

"THAT'S DAMN WELL WHAT I EXPECT YOU TO DO. YOU'LL SAVE THE TEARS, THAT DAMN DEFEATED TONE AND WHATEVER ELSE BUCKING BULLSHIT YOU WANT FOR LATER. WE HAVE A JOB TO DO NOW". Dash screamed her hands shaking with anger.

It was Rarity's turn to become indignant. "Not all of us have your ability to simply forget someone... you little ingrate... SOME OF US ACTUALLY CARED ABOUT SPI...".

Her voice got cut off as the cyan furred hand connected painfully with the unicorn's cheek.
"Don't you dare. Don't you FUCKING DARE even think i don't already miss him so much it hurts. Don't imagine, not even for a second, that i didn't care for that big guy as much as any of you".
Rarity fell back, not because of the throbbing pain on her cheek, but because she was horrified at what she had almost accused Dash of.
The pegasus was crying profusely and hugging herself at this point, as she continued.
"If-if we let ourselves talk like that, think and act like that... than it meant nothing. His sacrifices, all the pain he suffered for our sake. We can't let ourselves fall to despair. Not anymore. He sacrificed himself so that we'd have another chance at life and spending that borrowed time feeling sorry for ourselves, would be the absolute worst way we could ever insult him and his memory. And i won't. I refuse. It's the least i can do for him. Even if we were to thank him every day until we die, it still wouldn't be enough to repay him for all he's endured for us. ... Gods dammit..." she hiccuped, trying not to fall into a bawling mess "we can't insult his memory... in that way... we just can't".

Slender white arms embraced the trembling pegasus, only for three more pairs of arms to follow as the girls hugged their pained friend.
"... you're right... and i... i am sorry. Of course you are right". Rarity said as she drew am arm across her face, wiping away tears before they even had time to form and flashing the pegasus a wide smile.
"There will be time to mourn later, we got a job to do right now".

"Ah hell, when all this is over, ah'll get granny Smith to make us a batch of her strongest apple liqueur. We'll all toast in the big guy's name" added Applejack.

"Yeah, maybe by then even Twilight'll be done with her nap", chided in Pinkie, eliciting a few reserved chuckles from the other girls.

"Are you girls sure it's okay for us to let her stay... umm... sleeping like this? I mean... i'm sure the princesses would be able to wake her if they tried" asked Fluttershy.

Applejack sighed and smiled sadly to her friend. "Ah say we let her wake up on her own sugarcube. Out of all of us she was closest to Spike and... well... honestly the more time she doesn't have to face what happened, the better I'd say".

The other girls nodded in agreement, looking at the peaceful face of their passed out friend. They all knew it was a peace that would not last.

Changeling claws burrowed through hard stone like knives through butter, the fifty stag-beetle changelings cutting through it as if the ground did not even exist, whatever debris remained being devoured and reduced to nothingness in the stomachs of the five stone-larvae that followed them.

The changeling army followed in a constant trot, Spike walking in a hurried pace among them. He had to admit he was very impressed. Underground, the changelings were maintaining the same speed any other army would have had above ground, even more so, being able to go in a straight line, burrowing directly under both mountain and forest alike. At this rate, in a few more hours they would most likely be directly under the Crystal Empire itself.

His body hurt incessantly, every pore of his being screaming in pain as the overly tight bandages pushed and pulled at his wounds. Only near his joints had he left the bandages looser so that he may be able to move without encumbrance. No blood came from the wounds but neither did the pain subside. This was the plan's price.
Even as he had walked he had painted Draken Runes on many of the bandage strips. Normally these had to be painted on Draka flesh in order to work, but the badages were so close to his skin, so embalmed with his essence and pain, they would work just the same. Only his lower legs and forearms had been encased in chitinous armor, his midsection covered by the ringmail kilt he always wore and a deep purple cloth obscuring it. Everything beneath was the reinforced bandages. Even his face and head was covered, a forehead protector hidden under the bandages in the spot where he had cracked his skull open, trying to headbut Kilmaiil. From his waist sash hung his remaining weapons, Ildezgherdi and Tenchi Kaijin, Karasuma having been broken by Kilmaiil.

To his side the three changeling queens traveled in their palenquins, carried upon the shoulders of burly changelings. Chrysalis alone sat in a palenquin that did not belong to her, held aloft by changelings not of her hive, for she had none. Her empire had been stolen, her children reduced to mindless automata and her queenship had been trampled into dust, yet Spike could not help but look upon her with respect. Deposed and lacking the means to rule, she nonetheless refused to allow herself to break. Chrysalis had regained the regal posture of a true queen and her gaze held the practiced air of indifference inherent to one born to be nobility.
As one who had dedicated his life to the art of war, Spike could both understand and respect such dedication and drive to one's chosen lot in life. He was a warrior, she was a queen and neither would ever forget their duties. With her doubts out of the way, she no longer hoped only to fight against Kimaiil. She marched to win. Once again, Spike saw her as the colossus she was meant to be.

"We shall arrive shortly" began Queen Cicada, her long white hair flowing with every word, as if perpetually submerged in water.
"Our spies have told us of Kilmaiil's state. His army is currently besieging the Crystal Empire capital. This is almost the third day of the siege and from what they have told us, the defenders are at their very limit".

Spike hand snapped uncontrollably to the hilt of Ildezgherdi. He said nothing but his inquisitive glare posed the question for him.

"How do you know all this?" asked the grim Draka.

"Because knowledge is power, and we have plenty of such specific power. It is our job to know such things" answered Queen Arachne her six slender hands busily weaving a very small scale version of Spike's bulk from her own silk.

"You have a strategy?" Spiked asked.

"Our tacticians have already advised us to emerge from the daemon army's left flank and push them into a pincer hold, grinding them into the defenders" queen Arachne answered, pointing to three particularly old and corpulent changelings that sat in a communal palenquin slightly to her left. They puffed up their chests in pride and smiled condescendingly at Spike.
His eyes narrowed dangerously as he regarded the fine silks they wore and the prodigious bellies they held, proof of easy and hedonistic lives. These were neither warriors nor commanders, these were scholars and, although Spike had much respect for intellectual pursuits, war in theory and practice were two entirely different things. Their assessment and tactical advice had been amateurish at best. They had not considered the size of the daemon army, neither the state of the defenders spirits.
His eye caught another form, this one antithetical to those of the elder tacticians. He was a tall and lanky changeling, no older than twenty-six winters, yet he nonetheless bore the gaze and poise of a seasoned general. This changeling had not a single ounce of fat on him, only raw muscle, cultured in the forge of battle. His armor and weapon were perfectly and lovingly maintained, cleaned and oiled. He turned his head to the Draka as he felt Spike looking at him and the Draka saw a changeling green orb regarding him, the second eye, white, blind and empty, crossed by a scar that ran from forehead to cheek. The changeling looked for a few more moments at Spike and offered a short bow, returning his countenance to the road ahead. Spike almost smiled to himself for he had recognized the look. It was a look he had flashed Sekeolath many times during his training. No timidness or fear, just the respect and acknowledgement of a superior in both experience and might. This was the look the young general had given Spike.

Spike liked this one, he reminded the Draka of himself at that age, and decided to test him.
"And what is your council youngling?" he asked the changeling warrior in his deep baritone.
The white-eyed changeling made to answer only to be cut off by one of the fat tacticians.
"Good Draka pardon the interruption, but i am certain there is no need for you to ask a fledgling of his opinion, clearly not when you have access to our vast experience and..."

"You are excused, now be silent" growled Spike, unmistakable threat edging his voice, effectively shutting the tactician up. The Draka was already becoming bored of the tactician's smug self assurance. Those who held no field experience had no right to speak so casually regarding matters of war. The tall warrior fixed his gaze on the changeling officer once more.

The changeling stammered for a few seconds, as surprised by Spike's change from spectator to warlord as all others present.
"I believe a flank attack would be ill advised in present circumstances. From our gathered intel, the opposing army is enormous, much too large for us to properly attack their flank. We would succeed only in giving them an opening to envelop our comparatively smaller armies. Moreover the siege of the capital has been ongoing for the past two and a half days. I doubt the pony defenders are in any state fit to grind them down even if we were to somehow push against the daemons...".

The officer's input was cut short by a clearing of throats as the tacticians attempted to interject. Before any could say a word, Queen Cicada called.
"If any of you make another sound, i will have Arachne stitch your lips together" she ended then turned to the officer with her usual demure demeanor "Commander Yog'yhod if you would be so kind as to continue".

Commander Yog'yhod nodded curtly "My suggestion would be to burrow directly under the capital and emerge en masse. Not only will we have the element of surprise but our direct and immediate support would be a morale booster for what must already be harrowed and exhausted defenders. Moreover, our numbers are limited while the daemon's are endless. We will need their support as much as they need ours and the field advantage must be on our side if we are to have any chance of holding them at bay".

Although Spike's mangled face could form no smile, his eyes did just that. The youth had described his own assessment to the letter.
Looking at the young warrior, Spike concluded.
"Once we have emerged, you are to rally your soldiers and support the pony defenders. Find a certain commander named Shining Armor and work alongside him to form an impregnable defense. I trust that you will exceed expectations in the task i have set out for you, young one, you bear my trust and the fate of the world upon your shoulders" the large Draka ended with a friendly clap upon the youth's shoulders that almost launched the changeling into the ground. However Spike's words had succeeded in their intended purpose and Commander Yog'yhod no longer walked with the downcast gaze of a youth among elders but the gravitas of a warrior who been given a purpose and a chance to show the full extent of his abilities. He would not disappoint.

"My queens, surely you would not allow this... non-changeling to govern your armies..." began the eldest tactician only to be cut off again.

"This non-changeling as you have so eloquently put it, has fielded the greatest army in existence for far more than all three of your lifespans combined" started Queen Chrysalis "Entire kingdoms have risen and fallen without matching a single iota of what he and his Legion have accomplished, and i expect you to show him the appropriate respect".

The elder backed away, fear obvious in his eyes. A last strand of defiance in the face of being unheeded in favor of a youth and an outsider reared it's head and said it's peace.
"Then were is said great army now?"

All came to a standstill as Spike suddenly stopped and slowly lift his gaze. Threat, pure and palpable, permeated the air and every changeling in the area around Spike pushed and shoved in order to get as far away from him as possible, every pore in their bodies screaming of inconceivable and immediate danger. The foul and unmistakable stench of urine spoiled the breathable air as the elder wet himself, wilting like a flower under the burning sun that was Spike's gaze.

"Mongrels dogs have no right to talk of the fate of wolves, boy" Spike said and without a single more word began his road anew. The air relaxed and all breathed easily, the three queens no exception to this, the elder falling into his palenquin pillow like a wet rag. The meaning of Spike's words had not been lost on him, if he ever brought the subject of Spike's Legion again, he would die.

Queen Chrysalis shot the elder a glare that could pierce armor and ordered the palenquin bearers to hurry their steps and catch up to Spike.
"Once we have arrived, we will need to reach the portal before Kilmaiil" she began "i doubt any other than you, myself, my sisters and a scant few others have any chance of facing the creature but if we do not, there us no one other who could".

Spike ruminated on what he was about to say for a few moments as if he wanted to say anything else but in the end he spoke the words.
"We will need the Elements of Harmony".
Chrysalis looked at the gigantic Draka for a few more moments, thoroughly surprised. She had seen in Spike's heart just how much the warrior cared about those six girls and of the lengths Spike had gone and would go in order to keep them safe.
"It will be dangerous. Are you certain it is a wise course of action?".
A low rumbling growl emanated from the depths of Spike's throat.
"If the portal begins to open we will need overwhelming magical power in order to close it just in it's burgeoning stages. I will be occupied with Kilmaiil to add my own as such it falls upon you, your sisters and our allies. We will need as many such allies as we can find. It is true what you say, the danger will be great and the risk titanic, but this is not a battle we can afford to lose. And i will be thrice gods damned if i am going to let the Abyss take this world and my girls from me".
His heavy gauntlet sounded a metallic screech as Spike ground his fist in anger to such an extent that even the chitinous metal threatened to break apart.

"When we reach the portal I will be counting on you to make sure that the girls will focus on the process of keeping it closed. No matter what happens to me you will have to do whatever you must to keep them focused on it. I trust you understand" he added with finality.

Chrysalis nodded in recognition. Spike meant to put his life on the line a final time and assure their victory. As they walked she could not help but steal quick glances at this warrior that now walked beside her palenquin. For all his scars, his cold, foreboding eyes and his mangled face, she had to admit that Spike cut a very imposing figure, even handsome if one was to ignore his facial scar. Tall, massive, with a body possessed of such solidity and vastness, he reminded her of the personification of a mountain fortress, carved into the very face of unyielding granite. But it was not that which made her gawk, almost leer at the Draka. She had felt it as she had feed on his emotions. Queen Chrysalis had never once in her entire life met a creature possessed such unyielding will and undeniable determination. Here was one who would walk into the Abyss itself with a smile on his face and laughter in his heart and still emerge back alive and all the stronger for it. Supreme strength, speed and skill, all these had been gained by naught but pure effort. That was why she believed that Spike was the only creature with the ability to stand tall before even Kilmaiil. Because Spike could not even physically comprehend the meaning of the word "surrender".

The great double doors of the Grand Library opened with a long and mournful groan. Ancient dust billowed out in the long forgotten corners of the labyrinthine chamber, exposing dread tomes best left forsaken only to cover others.
The Grand Library, unopened since the time Dread King Sombra had last set foot in it. A room easily the size of Twilight's entire castle, it was a world of ceiling high bookshelves, the many tomes upon them radiating with almost sentient malevolent energies. It's bookshelf formed corridors seemed to stretch endlessly only to turn at odd angles and stop abruptly. One would find themselves suddenly surrounded by books and half filled shelves and backtrack only to realize they are lost in the maze of dark knowledge. The mad fury of Sombra's insanity still reverberated in the depths of this chamber and, in the dead of night, those few guards with the mettle to accept being stationed outside the large doors had sworn they heard the crazed ramblings of dead things or the sudden thuds of fists being slammed against the barred portcullis. It stood as the only dark spot, the only festering wound that blemished the paradise that was the Crystal Empire's castle, the Light-Embraced Palace, forbidden to all save those under direct orders from Cadence herself to enter.

The rushing air brought with it the raw pungency of mildew and the chill of the grave. It howled like a bedeviled oxen until the girls closed the two great doors as if the very prospect of an opening to the outside world stimulated it's unholy appetite to be set free of this forgotten place.

The six girls looked around and could only stifle a shiver. Normally not one of them would be caught dead in such a place, not even Twilight with all her love of knowledge, often bordering on obsession.
They gulped audibly, feeling more and more diminutive in the sepulchral chamber with each passing moment. Still, they did not stop and continued making their way through the maze-like walls of parchment that was the Black Library, towards their destination, the limp form of Twilight still draped across Applejack's back.

A dozen gigantic lit braziers shot their light across the area, the warm glow doing it's best to push away at the encroaching shadows and the unnatural chill permeating the library. Each brazier marked a spot in the great rotunda of the library, a magnificent manifestation of Sombra's megalomania, a chamber of such titanic proportions it made the library itself seem merely as a smaller sibling. Beneath each brazier ten tomes sat open, their dark pages moving in a wind that did not blow, sending dark whispers to those willing or fool enough to listen. Further still in the middle of the rotunda, a twelve pointed star was drawn in chalk, each edge pointing to it's adjacent brazier, the books underneath each one turning their pages under the delicate fingers of a gale that did not exist.

Anyone with the most rudimentary knowledge in advanced magics would have seen the chalked symbol on the ground and would have ran. They would have ran as if the very dogs of hell were chasing them. However, the only scholar among the six girl was comatose and, as such, the girls walked towards it and the three dour faced princesses that awaited them, heedless of the danger that they were in.
Memories are the first thing a sentient, self aware creature has. By way of memories does one garner traits and by traits does one garner a personality. As such it could easily be said that memories are the fundamental building blocks of the soul. To alter memories is something that cannot be done without altering the very nature of one's soul, an idea so intrinsically disgusting to any sentient creature, that not even those practiced in the art of necromancy, who deal in the trade of life force for minions and power, dare touch the soul. Indeed it is an idea which makes any magic caster want nothing more than to retch, spewing their guts upon the ground in disdain for such an atrocious action. Souls are the realm of gods, where mortals have no right to step.

The Mandala of Forsaken memories was just that. A gate into the soul, where one could enter and forcibly tear away memories and, implicitly, erase a part of the soul. It was what Celestia had to do and it made her sick. Her little ponies may revere her as Goddess of the Sun, but she had no right to do such a thing. No right and no desire. But she had to. If she was to show even the smallest amount of gratitude to Spike she would have to swallow her own love for the six ponies and fulfill his last wish.

The mane Six approached the center of the rotunda in silence, every emotion drained from them at the sight of the three somber princesses. Luna and Cadence both wore the dejected faces of those who had to do something monstrous, whilst Celestia bore the dour face and sad, empty smile of a mother that had to hurt her children in order to spare them more pain. It was such a pitiful expression that even Rainbow Dash's righteous anger at their inactivity dispersed like like a candle in a rainstorm.

"My little ponies, my kind, brave little ponies" she began with a quivering voice, her eyes stopping on Twilight's limp form more than once. "Thank you for granting my selfish request and coming to this sad place".

"Umm... not... not a problem princess, happy tah help" began Applejack, her entire frame quivering, the mane on the back of her neck standing up, her guts warning her in screaming tones that something was not right. "But shouldn't we all be out there... with all the rest 'o them ponies... helping with the fight".

Celestia smiled again as a tear rolled down her face.
"You need not worry about that. You need not worry about anything, ever again".

A shudder ran through the five girls as those ominous words were spoken. They had almost sounded like a death sentence.
"Princess... what's going on?... you're.... you're scaring us...".

Celestia's facade fell and now all could see the horrific sadness hidden behind the fake smile in all it's terrible clarity.
"That would be the last thing i would ever want to do... my sweet, kind-hearted little ones... please don't hate me for what i must do. It... has to be done... It was his last wish... that you be given another chance at happiness... that... that... you would forget... that you would not even remember him enough to mourn him."

The girls were fidgeting nervously, trading concerned glances at each other, their bodies ready to bolt at any given moment as they could almost sense the wrongness of what Celestia was saying.
"Princess?" muttered Rainbow Dash once more, uselessly, unheard by Celestia who was still lost in her tirade, trying desperately to give what she was about to do, proper justification.

"Even after all he did for us, we still failed. The world is to end soon enough..." she ended with painful finality.
"However..." she began anew, the smile on her regal face made all the more out of place by the tears flowing from her eyes " ... there is still a part of his request that we can fulfill. We shall make the six of you forget. All of it... the invasion... the loss... the pain... even Spike... as he requested. We will make your final hours upon this condemned world be filled with naught but bliss and joy... like the good days... when it as just the six of you on adventures... discovering the magic of friendship... and when the end will come... you will not even know it happens... it will be painless... that all this failure of a princess can offer you... and him... anymore.
I am truly sorry" she ended a took a deep bow before the dumbfounded girls.

Luna kept her head down unable to bear the judging eyes of the subjects they had failed and Cadence shook her head in resignation, disgust with what she was about to do, clear on her face.
"Let's just get this over with" she spat the words out as if they burned her mouth.

Before any of the girls could react, blazing coruscation was born to screaming life from the three alicorn horns and the braziers edging the rotunda hurled with brackish, dirtied white flame. The twenty pointed star glowed like a small sun and the five girls and their unconscious friend froze as every muscle in their body flexed as taught as if rope was binding them. Five pairs of eyes moved erratically as only now did the horrific implications of Celestia's speech became clear to them. There was no deception, no joke, no misunderstanding to be had. Celestia meant to erase the very existence of Spike from their minds.

"NOOOO!!!" Rainbows voice screamed within her own skull, her body unable to move enough to even scream aloud. Forget him? After all he had done for them? No. That could not be allowed to happen. Her eyes squeezed to pinpricks of despair as she realized that she was beginning to have a hard time in remembering Spike's features. All around her she heard the grunted wailing of her friends.

The ground shook as another wave if daemons slammed themselves against the waiting shields of the gathered pony armies. Already they had been pushed beyond the defense walls of the capital and were now arrayed before the Light-Embraced Palace, in blocks of infantry, five ranks deep with a row 3 ranks deep of archers and war spell unicorns. Pegasi danced upon the skies harassing the daemonic forces with crossbow fire and lance charges and war-chariots pulled by the fabled Jade Hounds imported from far Cathay, reaped a terrible harvest of daemon blood. Furthest back, the Great Cannons of the Crystal Empire sung with deadly tremolo and let loose with iron and fire, steel and spikes, even shards of priceless gemstones and crystals. The cannonballs had run out a long time ago, but the red-hot cannons still shot, it's ammo - anything that could be stuffed into a barrel and be shot hard enough to do damage.

The battle was being fought on the back foot with the Equestrian and Crystal armies being pushed further and further towards the Palace with every passing minute. Now finally they were holding but simply because the were at the very end of the line. The ranks were too close to allow daemonic charges and this last foothold was much easier to defend than the entirety of the capital. Moreover the fight was being fought with the manic despair and ferocity characterizing those caught in a corner with no way out. The ponies knew there would be no quarter given and they asked for none. They knew that this would be the end. There would be no prisoners, no mercy, no surrender.
And they asked for none of those things.

Shining bellowed hoarsely and uppercut the daemon before him, breaking teeth and fracturing bone. As the prone and pitiful creature fell, the blue maned unicorn raked the edge of his blade across the monster's throat, opening a second, crimson mouth beneath it's first one.
Spittle covered his chin and froth edged his lips giving the usually kind and gentle unicorn a brutal visage. At the edge of his mind he was glad Cadence and Twili were not there to witness the state he was in. But it could not be helped. Shining fought no longer as a soldier who had to do his duty, but as a father, a brother, a husband, a man who had to do anything and everything he could in order to buy the ones he loved if only a few more moments of life.
All around him came similar sounds and he looked to see familiar faces edged in despaired ferocity. Stallions and mares fought like the possessed and for however much it was worth, they gave to the daemons as much as they took. Blow for blow. Wound for wound. Death for death. But it was of no use. The sea of daemons was numberless and they pushed and shoved, hunger alight in their eyes and malicious insanity in their voices. It took five ponies to take down even the lowest of daemons and the only thing holding the lines together at this point was the close proximity they had with their comrades and the knowledge that they were the last line of defense. Beyond them lay the gates of the Crystal Palace, filled almost to refuse with those too old, weak, young or wounded to fight. Mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, husbands and wives, all put their faith in those at the forefront, for there was nowhere else to go. If they were to fall, the Crystal Palace would be bathed in the blood of innocents.

"Hold the line" sergeants bellowed "stand or die as you will but hold the line. Make them pay for every inch".

Shining armor turned as he heard a shriek from his left. A soldier shrieked and trashed as her throat was torn to shreds by a swine headed daemon, even as the ponies around it pierced the monstrosity to bloody chunks of shredded flesh. With a defiant roar he launched barrage of magical darts that reduced the porcine daemon's head to a smoldering mess. It did not even get to fall, the female pony's carving it up as it stumbled away.
Shining knelt and grabbed hold of the soldiers hand as she gagged, her ruined throat spurting lifeblood. He looked into her eyes and stayed with her until the light faded from her wet eyes. It was over, but at the very least she had not died alone.
He shuddered, knowing the she was one of the fortunate few, to die within the closeness of familiar faces. War is many things, considerate not among them. Everywhere he looked the lines were being pushed to the point of breaking and every time the ponies pushed the daemons back, the monsters took beloved comrades from their allies grasps to be rent to shreds in a sea of howling daemons. Only had had the fortune of dying close to their comrades.

Shining lifted himself as another wave of daemons surged and added his own shoulder to the shield wall. The impact came with all the mass and fury of a tidal wave and he could feel his feet skidding uselessly on the cobblestones, desperate for purchase. From all around him a cacophony of screams and howls, sergeants shouting encouragement and threats in equal measure, soldiers yelling, some begging, most cursing and instinctively he added his own voice.

"PUSH!!! PUSH!!! PUSH LIKE YOUR DAMNED MOTHERS PUSHED!!!".

It was all for naught. A billowing, tumultuous clatter arose from the left flank and when he looked, his blood froze in it's veins. Through the press of soldiers and the dust of combat he saw that a breach had formed in the line of the left flank. Ponies routed, too panicked to form any significant resistance while the sergeant's futile attempts at reordering them were silenced by the tip of a crude spear protruding from his neck. Daemons billowed like a malformed tide and soon the small breach began to grow terrifyingly quick as they charged the flanks and rears of the defending lines around them. Immediately the flow of battle changed as the press slackened around the right and center only to amplify significantly around the left flank, with every daemon around a 300 foot radius trying to reach the breach and add their own blade to the slaughter.

Shining cursed wildly.
"Reserves with me!" he roared and charged at the rapidly expanding breach with half a dozen soldiers those too wounded or exhausted to hold a shield wall, limping behind him as the pitiful excuse for a reserve.
This would be the end. He could deal with a daemon, maybe even three if he was lucky, but he had no chance of holding the avalanche of daemons that surged from the breach. No one could. There were no more reserves, no room to maneuver and no more strength to spare. The last line would fall.
Thoughts of his daughter and wife pierced his mind and he could feel his eyes begin to water. How he would have wanted to see them a final time before he died. But it was too late for regrets. All that remained to do was to end it as spitefully as possible and take as many daemons into the grave with him as he could.

"Goodbye Cadence" he whispered to himself and steeled his resolve. Shining Armor's drew in a monumental breath and roared as he made to charge.

Splash -

His war cry stopped short as his boot sunk a few inches into the suddenly soft and melting stone. Before his eyes a large area began to bubble. Granite tiles were BUBBLING. The unmistakable sound of simmering and the smell of molten stone assailed his ears and nose, almost drowning out the sound of the confused braying of daemons who had suddenly begun finding themselves slipping and falling into a molten mass of clinging, burning stone. The ground suddenly reddened then whitened at an accelerated rate.

The blue haired pegasus's eyes blood ran cold and he yelled as he dove back, away from the suddenly smoldering area. With a cataclysmic crump, like the roar of an avalanche, the ground disappeared, giving way to the pillar of pale green flame that had appeared in it's stead. It's blazing coruscation shot heavenwards, reducing the daemons caught in the inferno to nothing but ashen dust. It was all Shining Armor could do try and shield his face with his arms. The reek of overly heated flesh and smoldering fur attacked his nose and he realized with horror that, even though he was not close to the inferno, the sheer insane heat was enough to start cooking him from the inside out. Before he could think another moment, the blaze subsided. He opened eyes that felt much to dry and coughed, choking on the smoke and reek of ozone that permeated the air. Fortunately for him, he had been far enough to suffer only extreme discomfort and a few minor burns. A stark contrast with those unfortunate enough to have been at the heart of the inferno. A pack of almost two dozen daemons had been reduced to ashes within mere moments. Where before the breach had previously stood, now there lay an enormous hole, it's inner walls still smoldering and running with molten stone.
Suddenly understanding made it's way through his endorphin addled brain and he understood. Almost two dozen daemons had died and the flaming pillar had struck the breach at precisely the right moment to close it off to any other attackers. Not a single pony had been caught in the blaze, even if some had been close and now bore the same minor burns Shining had. This had not been a coincidence, some unknown type of daemonic artillery or a spell gone wrong in the chaos of battle. This had been a concentrated, deliberate attack.
As if to answer his question a rhythmic sound came from the depths of the newly formed hole. A sound like pickaxes striking deep into wet granite grew ever closer. Shining could see in his mind's eye gauntleted fingers finding purchase in raw stone as it climbed from the Stygian depths. He rose from the ground and grabbed hold of his sword once more, the freshly reddened skin of his forearms flaking and cracking as he squeezed the grip of the sword until his knuckles whitened.

A hand encased in midnight black armor, large enough to fully engulf a pony's head and almost the entirety of a pony's back, struck the edge of the hole, piercing the granite that lay beneath molten stone. Behind it came an enormous green maned head, atop monstrously wide shoulders. Like a leviathan rising from the sea, the giant creature rose from the smoldering crevice, his armored form bloated with barely restrained power, his gaze, steel and doom.

Her chest heaved and back arched as she struggled to contain and direct the flow of magical energies. Sweat cascaded off her brow and nose with the mental strain it took to erase each memory one by one. It should not have been this hard, Celestia thought to herself, the Mandala should have done most of the work for them. But here she, Luna and Cadence were, struggling to erase memories that refused to be let go. In the center of the painted star five of the six girls struggled against the spell's pull, their bodies shaking violently, their teeth gritted in effort against the magic trying to take precious memories away. Each and every one of them grunted as they desperately tried to remember, to keep their metaphorical eyes upon the mental form of the gigantic Draka. But it was hard, the outline had begun growing unclear and gradually, to their horror, the girls had found they were having difficulty in recalling his face, his eyes, his voice.

Rainbow Dash screamed as she realized this. What would happen if they forgot him? If they forgot his sacrifice? The princesses had said he had asked for this but why? Had he really thought they would be happier not remembering him? She mentally screamed once more as the sound of Spike deep baritone was erased from her mind, torn away like a rodent by the talons of a falcon. No. This was not right. They had to remember. They could not let it end like this.
For every memory the Mandala took, two more took it's place but they still fell nonetheless. No matter how much they squirmed and struggled, the Mandala would devour their memories like a ravenous wolf, leaving naught but emptiness behind. Tears burgeoned at the edge of her eyes as her strength began to wane and waver. It was the end.

Blazing coruscation like the eruption of a volcano came in the form of a purple light, warm upon the skin and devastation to the darkness around them. The braziers sputtered and died as if their flame was unraveled by the hand if an Ifrit.
Celestia staggered and drew back, amazed as she felt the spell being unraveled down to it's most basic components and dismantled as one would dismantle a piece of cloth, thread by thread. Never in her life had she seen such masterful dispelling. This was not an amateur fighting against the pull of magic, it was a savant, juggling the raw aether with the ease of drawing a breath. She opened a timid eye, squinting against the pressure of the counter spell, only to stop flabbergasted as she witnessed the form of her beloved former student, encased in a corona of raw, unyielding power. Twilight's eyes blazed with aethyric energies and the chalked star around her disintegrated, the many runes and sigils wrapped in the complicated invocation, layer upon layer of complex magical simulacra, disassembled as if by the hand of a magister of legend.
With a loud crump, the spell finally collapsed in on itself, deprived as it was of it's structural balance and, like lost souls finding their bodies once more, the wisps of memories charged back and into the girls from which they had been taken. Celestia stood, dumbfounded as she watched the levitating alicorn, her witchsight blinded by the radiant power that swirled around Twilight Sparkle, her body frozen in awe at the sheer energies swirling around her former student.
"...Sister..." she heard Luna shriek and, with a grunt, fell to the ground, bored to the cold stone by Luna's shoulder as she was tackled. No sooner did she fall that the energies around Twilight expanded like a broken dam, letting loose a torrent of raw power that ripped away at the last remnants of the Mandala of Forsaken Memories.

Her world reduced to nothing more substantial than a blur, all sound coagulating into a single high pitched sound, Celestia rose to her feet, unsteady and shaking, a white furred hand against her breast, struggling to breathe despite the residual magic of the spell's backlash. She could feel rather than see her sister and Cadence in the same situation as she herself was, but could spare not even a glance towards them. Instead she could only look forward where the six girls stood, reunited once again, the Elements of Harmony.
The raw power of Harmony once again blazed around them as it had so many times before the invasion, before the corruption, with Twilight as both it's focal point and catalyst. There was no trace of the wear and tear of the past few, horrible days. Their pelts shined, their manes flowed and their bruises healed as the purifying magic of Harmony flowed through the Elements, caressing them with it's gentle touch.

Celestia looked up and met the eyes of her most faithful student. The lavender orbs shone not with anger or hatred as she had expected, but sadness.

"He asked you to do this?" she began as Celestia looked to the ground in shame.

"Yes... He did not want you to suffer any more than you had... He did... He did not... want you to cry for him... anymore".

Twilight sat for a few more seconds, in complete silence, only the hum of residual magic in the rotonda witness to the quiet. A few small chuckles came, mirthless and interrupted by the hiccups that only crying can bring. The three alicorn princesses and five of the Elements looked to Twilight only to see her in a confusing display of laughing and crying. She smiled wide even as tear cascaded down her cheeks and nose.
"Spike... sniff*sniff... you always were... too kind... for your own good... always... too concerned with making sure we were safe and happy...".
Celestia bit her lip, unable and unwilling to speak. Twilight had to mourn. For whatever time they all had left, it would be better if she was allowedbto mourn her little brother.
"WHAT ABOUT YOU..." the lavender alicorn screamed and fell to her knees, her face in the palm of her hands " when is it your turn to be happy?".

The five friends huddled near Twilight, letting the poor girl cry on their shoulder. It would be okay. Even though Rainbow had said that they had to be strong and honor Spike's sacrifice, it would be okay to cry. If only for a little bit. If only to cement the memory of Spike in their hearts and minds. In order to properly honor him.

It lasted for a few minutes, the accursed library seeming to brighten, if only slightly by way of the sound of emotion being expressed. Drawing a few shuddering breaths, Twilight rose from the ground and the embrace of her friends, puffy-eyed and still slightly hiccuping with restrained tears, but determined nonetheless.
"Alright..." she gasped, more to herself than anyone else "i may have been out of it but I've seen and heard enough to know that the Empire is under attack and that... Thing... that killed my little Spike is outside, searching for the Gate".

Cadence shook her head.
"It's not searching. I think it knows where the gate is. The damned freak is just biding it's time, waiting for the right moment to open it. The monster's killing my subjects just for the fun of it" she spat the last few words with such hate and vitriol it seemed out of place for the usually calm princess.
"We've tried destroying the gate many times before to avoid just such a situation but it is indestructible. It's locked beneath the Imperial Dungeon, burried under twenty feet of granite, enforced with rune-spells of protection and anti-detection. Normally, i would have said it is impossible to find but considering that it managed to take Spike down, i won't put anything past Kilmaiil's capabilities."

Twilight nodded her understanding and turned. Enough time had been wasted on talking. There was a war unfolding beyond the walls of their sanctuary and it was time for those in whom the ponies placed their faith to make their presence known.
Before she could take even a step however, a shaking, white furred hand placed itself on her shoulder. Twilight turned and met with the shame filled face of Celestia.

"Please... before we go... you need to under... understand... why I tried...t-to...". Before she could explain herself, Celestia fell silent as the student embraced the teacher.

"There's nothing to explain... or forgive, Princess" began Twilight, her chin resting on the narrow, pearly-white furred shoulder of Celestia. "You wanted to grant Spike's last wish. i can't fault you for that". She drew back and came eye to eye with her former teacher.
"But i can't allow it either. I can not, will not, forget Spike, even if that's what he would've wanted. I want to fight. I want to stand before the darkness... and go down singing, if it comes to it... just like he did".

Celestia looked flabbergasted for a few more seconds then slowly drew her hand to her quivering lower lip. She had never been as proud of her student as she was this day.

The princess of the Sun, Moon and Love all rose before the Elements as power coarsed around them as determination shone in their eyes.

"We go then" Celestia declared.

It was slow, barely noticeable, at first. No more than five or six, then ten, then a hundred, then even more, but soon it became clear and obvious as the civilian packed rooms of the Light Embraced Palace began to empty. As the aura of despair and tumultum of fear was replaced with burgeoning hope and cries for vengeance. No one could explain what it was.

Was it the despaired ferocity that would force a cornered mouse to jump at the jugular of a linx?
Was it the way the Princesses and the Elements walked, purpose and determination as palpable as the power exuding from them. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that loved ones were dying beyond the walls, giving everything to buy them a few scant more minutes of life.

No, no one could have explained the reason as to why when the Princesses and the Elements of Harmony reached the Entrance Hall, in front of the main gates of the palace, a virtual armada had formed behind them. Civilians and refugees armed with tiles of marble stripped from the halls of the palace, legs of chairs and table, brooms with the handles sharpened to spears, gardening ustensils ready to cut into flesh instead of grass and leaves, stones, boulders and broken parts of stone statuettes.
Stallions and mares stood ready to go outside the walls and fight alongside their husbands and wives, elders ready to fight and die alongside their sons and daughters, children ready to aid their parents as best they could.
The armies were dying out there, in the name of love and survival, not their own but for those they named friend and family. It had cone time for the civilians to prove worthy of that sacrifice.

Celestia looked behind her, heart swollen with pride for her little ponies. She did not waste her breath trying to convince them to return, to stay behind the safety of the walls, for they would not have listened anyway. Instead she took heart from their bravery and silently thanked them inside

"This will be the final battle. With luck, I may have the chance to launch a Sunlight Spear straight into that smug "god's" face. I'd die happy if I'd get that chance" she thought grimly to herself as her horn began to glow and the grand doors began to open.

"Chaaarge" Celestia bellowed and her warcry was taken by all those present, adrenaline and anger as infectious as a plague. Ponies surged with the Princesses and the Elements at the forefront, only to stop fifteen paces out, stunned by the image before them.

The ponies of the Equestrian and Crystal armies fought with berserk ferocity and mad bravery, breaking spines with shield, cracking daemonic heads with helmets, throttling them to death even as thousands of changelings of various shapes and sizes buzzed in and out of the fray like dark storms, their claws, hooked blades and spears reaped lives through the daemonic ranks.
Pony and changeling fought side by side, their usual animosity forgotten before the threat of Ginun, united in the furnace of war. Close to the middle, Chrysallis bellowed, her wickedly curved, chitinous scythe, slicing heads with each heavy motion, avenging her fallen children with every swing. To either side of her, two other changeling queen fought, one bearing the muscled physique of an amazoness, a scimitar in each of her six arms, a predatory, archnoidal smile emblazoned on her face, the second, a pale skinned beauty, with hair that flowed incessantly and lithe body that belied her monstrous strength as she pulled on the greatbow in her hands with terrifying ease, sending ballistae sized bolts into daemonic flesh.

But few saw the savage bravery of ponies and changelings, few saw the power and skill of the three Changeling Queens. Most stood transfixed, particularly the Princesses and the Elements at the sight of a monumental, bandage covered back. The titanic body, so bloated with muscle it was obvious even beneath the bandages, the arms, like elder tree trunks, swinging with barely restrained power, the eye, a green orb that shone like steel and promised only doom. It was the form that inspired allies to fight like the possessed and gave enemies the taste of the grave.
It was within that form that they saw a bastion, a mountain, ever enduring, never to fall, never to surrender. Like an revenant rising from the grave, there he stood, as he always did, as they had come to expect of him, not even death able to keep him from honoring his oath of always protecting them. With a monumental howl, a twenty foot tall abyss-corrupted Minotaur, a daemonic elite most likely, a zhanmadao in one hand, a claymore in the other, charged the bandage-covered leviathan, bellowing the name of the Abyssal Gods only to fall, a single backhand ripping the bull head clean off it's shoulders.
The leviathan bent down and retrieved the two weapons, adding the zhanmadao to his sash while hewing a monstrous harvest with the claymore.

Tears of joy fell down their faces and Twilight shouted the name of her brother, a wide smile adorning her face, no trace of sadness left in her eyes. Her shout was taken by all those present, changeling and pony, soldier and civilian, young and old, all shouted the name of their savior.
The Mountain Father. The Darraor of the Legion of the Damned. The Undying Draka. Spike.

Above all, a deep baritone shook the battlefield as Spike threw his head to the sky and let loose an ululating bellow.

"STAND. FOR EQUESTRIA. FOR THE EMPIRE. FOR THE WORLD. YOU SHALL STAND".

Author's Note

Been a long time coming but the saga continues.
Finally i got over the writer's block that's been killing me for the past few months.
New chapter coming much, much sooner.
Brutality is about to enter it's crescendo.

Never Broken

It sounded wrong. In the midst of an army of such magnitude the tumultum of iron shod boots upon the ground, the boasting and complaints of soldiers, both eager and reticent, the thunder of siege and artillery weapons, the flapping of house sized wings, all of it should have created the deafening roar of an army on the march. But throughout the assembled warhost of the Drconic Kingdoms not a single soul stirred. They all knew that no matter how hard they marched, they would never reach the Crystal Empire in time. To the east the warpacks of the Diamond Dogs stood in equal silence, to the north the Yak armies, much the same. The Minotaur Monarchy, the Saddle Arabian skirmishers, the Raiders of the northern oblast, the Draka in far Nippon, the troll clans of Frostedge, the Rok flocks of Everpeak, the warriors of Zevrica, the Leonic warprides of the Endless Savannah, the entire world stood in single minded awe, being fed the fate of Crystal Empire and thus the world, through the sadistic will of the abyssal gods. However what should have sent them to the depths of despair, gave them hope, what should have made them cry out in fear, made them bellow words of encouragement. The Abyssal Gods had wanted to make the world see the approaching end, instead all they had succeeded in doing was to show them that the Crystal Empire stood defiant, led at their forefront by a behemoth of purple scales, bandages and a disfigured face, his name carried by the winds of magic.

The Undying Draka, Spike the Veshanesh.

Not a single soul stirred as they played the witness to the battle raging within the Crystal Empire, knowing that the fate of all rested upon this tired mass of ponies, changelings and a single battle worn Draka.

Daemons screamed their final moments, bloodshot eyes bulging out of panicked faces, broken lips parted in horror as they were put face to face with the one simple fact of reality. Death. It did not care if you were mortal or daemon, slave or master, brave or cowardly, it simply took the lives arrayed before it, with the insatiability of glutton before a table of delicacies. These daemons, the utter elite of Ginun, monstrosities who had faced insurmountable odds and countless battles, killed thousands of both enemies and each other, if only to happen upon a single shred of their gods' favor, now found themselves before a foe that stood as an envoy, a harbinger, a giver of death, it's stride - the thump of hearts about to be silenced, it's eyes - glacial green dots of steel, as cold as the heart of frozen Jotunharr, it's body - a fortress carved out of the very granite of the mountain, it's bellow - the proclamation of the end to come.
Such did the daemons think and wail, shiver and die, hesitate and fall as Spike strode through them, now more than ever, a force of nature, screaming death given form.

The claymore's blade shrieked as the Draka ran the black metal through three bodies in one stroke, reducing three daemons to battered meat. He pushed on, silent and unflinching as doom, every stroke and thrust of his blade ending daemonic lives, breaking his composure only to bellow at the dark red sky, yelling his defiance at the half formed faces that had taken shape within, visages too horrific to countenance by those of weak hearts and minds, the barely seen faces of the Abyssal Gods peering from beyond the veil of time and reality, eagerly anticipating the meal that was to be this world. Visages that would have sent even the most hardened veteran into a swirling world of madness and horror, served only to anger Spike further and he bellowed again, calling for the pathetic gods to witness him as he butchered and ground their daemons to grime and gristle.

All around the stalwart warrior the ponies and changelings fought with almost matching abandon and savagery, galvanized by his presence, driven to unheard of heights of bravery by the brutality given form that was Spike. They matched him in sheer mad fury driving the daemon horde back step by blood soaked step. Blazing coruscation cascaded upon the hellish hordes as unicorns and the four alicorn princesses struck out with magical spears, balls of flame and shocks of raw power. To his left the three changeling queens struck out with their weapons, cutting, carving and impaling anything that bore the mark of the abyss. To his right, Yog'yhod and Shining Armor bellowed orders to their units even as their shields held among their own adding to the impregnable fortress that was the defender's shield wall. In the middle of it all, Spike hewed his claymore around himself, carving through flesh and hell-iron with equal ease. What had mere minutes before been a desperate last stand had become a tide of unflinching fury driving the daemonic hordes back, matching and even overcoming the abyssal monstrosities in sheer savagery and merciless anger.

"PUSH. MAKE THEM HOWL" Spike bellowed launching a barrage of cuts, reducing the daemons before to grime before launching himself in the sea of monsters, his blade licking out to remove heads from necks and arms from shoulders. The entire battalion soon became a rut of panicked daemons, all trying their best to run as far from the enraged leviathan as possible. Another battalion of daemons became smoking gobbets of flesh as the concentrated magic of a hundred unicorns and four alicorns tore through them.

Those few daemons that managed to slip beyond the bulwark of the shield wall rejoiced in their achievement for mere seconds, their arrogance proven to be their undoing as they were pummeled to death by a sea of angered civilians, daemonic strength and durability made inconsequential by weight of numbers and the stones they wielded. Thunder rumbled through the ground and with a great yawn of stone and earth a battalion disappeared as the ground opened beneath and swallowed them whole, only to be set upon by the stag-beetle changelings that had burrowed the trap, armor and flesh splitting underneath the ministrations of their powerful mandibles.
Swarms of changelings surged in and out of the fray, the din of thousands of wings all but deafening, eyes alight with fervor and spears wet with daemon blood. Again the cannons had been brought to bear, firing above the arrayed armies, cutting brutal swathes through the densely packed hordes.

Celestia and Luna rose above the din of combat and let loose with flame and shadow, gliding as the Valkyries of elder legends, their forms awe inspiring to the defenders and terrible to the attackers. Twilight and Cadence slammed bolt after bolt of raw power denting armor and crushing flesh, as they made the hordes of the Abyss privy to the fury of women scorned.

The symphony of war had thundered into it's crescendo and Spike stood in the eye of the storm, as the maestro of the concerto, directing the song with the flourishes of his weapon, moving in tune with the pull and sway of battle, immersed in the battle with all the passion of a master compositor immersed in his magnum opus, his blade, the pencil, daemonic blood his ink and the flesh of his enemies, his parchment.

The scent of nine figures behind him made itself known and Spike grabbed the claymore in a two handed grip, launching three savage arcs that reduced more than a dozen daemons before him to gobbets of broken meat. He then turned as the nine reached him, the Mane Six, Celestia, Cadence and Luna.

"Hold the line" the grim Draka bellowed and a regiment of ponies fell onto place, their sergeant roaring out orders, encouragement and threats in equal measure. Spike took a few steps towards the girls and stopped as he saw the light of recognition alight in Twilight's eyes. The Mandala of Forsaken Memories had not been done. They all still remembered him. Spike glanced to Celestia and she answered the unspoken question.

"I am sorry. I tried, but they were too strong... too stubborn to forget you".

"Damn right we are... " Rainbow began, fluttering into view. "Who the hell do you think you are... thinking you... get to decide... if we should... forget...". Her voice gradually trailed off as he walked towards them, eye as empty as the void, clearly not having heard the cyan pegasus start her ranting admonishment of his actions.

He towered over the shivering girls like a mountain before ants and it was all they could do to stand there shivering like lemmings facing a starving hawk. Suddenly Spike fell to his knees and scooped the girls in a strong but gentle hug.

"Gods above forgive my weakness, you did not forget me. Oh Ancestors, I am not yet forsaken". He said, his eye filled with what could only be described as resigned happiness.

Whatever words of admonishment the girls would have had for him for taking such a decision in spite of them were lost, stuck in their throats, as they gazed at that sad, ancient eye and saw with brutal clarity the pain such a decision had put Spike through. As they saw just how hard it must have been for him to rather have them forsake his very existence better than see them grieve.
It was all they could do to return the embrace with matching mix of joy and sorrow.

"Of course we didn't forget you, you big lug. You can't get rid of us that easily" Rainbow's voice came, rugged and distorted by her attempts to cover her encroaching cry. Nothing more was said as the girls and the titanic sized Draka sat in their embrace, drawing succor from the closeness of one another. But war will ever be an uncaring mistress and the embrace ended much to soon with the shriek of a warning cry.

"HE COMES" cried Chrysalis, her eyes glued beyond the defenders, beyond the smoking ruins, beyond even the hordes of the gibbering daemon hosts. A figure, as beautiful as it was monstrous, as glorious as it was terrible, a monstrosity of contradictions, the godly manifestation of chaos came into view as it rose from between the press of daemons, sat upon the depraved parody of a throne that bore him, a horrific conglomeration of daemonic writhing body parts. He rose to his feet, the opalescent robes it wore shimmering with a diseased, otherworldly light, it's skin a thing of ivory perfection that spoke both of the glittering smoothness of a pearl and the mortality of bleached bone.
Kilmaiil the Half-Born, so far away though he was, spoke in low, measured, even bemused tones as he addressed the crowd before him, his voice carrying through the aether to all present, as clear to those around the god as it was to those spectators in their far away countries.

"My, my, are you not persistent" it chided, voice as sweet as honey and as debased as a dying man's death rattle. "To think i shattered you, skewered you, left you to die, and instead of being reasonable and sparing me of your accursed existence, here you are, alive and fighting once again, and bringing with you the deposed queen no less, how quaint". He turned malevolent eyes to Chrysalis.
"Tell me my dear, how fare your beloved children?" he ended with a smirk.

"MONSTER" Chrysalis's voice came, magnified by her magic to carry to the abomination that glared bemusedly so far away "You'll pay for robbing me of my children and my kingdom. I'll see you suffer for it". She ended as her wings expanded, readying to make a beeline for the newborn god. To her sides she saw her sisters and her fellow changelings tense, ready to follow her into death's jaws.

"DO NOT BE PROVOKED!" the clarion call of Celestia's voice shouted and Chrysalis opened her eyes, realizing the poisonous compulsion that laced the abomination's voice. All around her, ponies and changelings shook their heads, breaking from the spell that would have had them charge into certain death. Chrysalis turned her head to the massive hand that had engulfed her shoulder and had held her in place. Spike's eye caught her own and reminded that the plan they had devised had to be kept. It was their only chance. The Draka and the alicorns had been the only ones to resist the compulsion and Celestia had been the one to break the spell. Chrysalis made a mental note to thank her if they survived what was to come.

Kilmaiil sighed with a grim smile and lifted his ivory hand.
"As you wish. I would have preferred if you had simply run like the meaningless rabble you are to your deaths and spared me of having to countenance your existence further. However, you stubbornly insist on aggravating me further. No matter then. Spectate, as your world becomes the grand tribute to the Abyss".
Even as he said the words, the cataclysmic sound of earth and stone groaning and ancient magical glyphs breaking roared from behind the defenders. With a shower of earth, stone and residual magic, the ground shook and split upwards as an object from deep within the bowels of the Light Embraced Castle shot from it's depths, tearing through soil, stone and masonry, bathed in the light of the outside world for the first time in millennia.

The Alicorn Princesses gazed in horror as the dormant Portal to Ginungagap hovered lazily, one hundred feet above the assembled ponies and changelings, a black stone circle of spiked protrusions, carved faces stuck in rictuses of pain and baleful runes that whispered of long forgotten secrets from the first night of the world. The Portal to Ginungagap, inactive though it still was, cast of dark shadow upon the world around it, it's aura as malevolent and oppressive as the gaze of an elder beast.
The very stuff of the chaos emerged shrieking into existence as a small, almost invisible vortex, in the middle of the baleful artefact-portal, howling it's maddening presence across the world. A new portal between creation and the oblivion of the Abyss had begun taking form. Slowly but surely, as if to draw out the horror of witnessing the object of their undoing, ponies and changelings watched as the portal morosely began to hover towards the far away Kilmaiil, the abominable god gliding closer with the same pattern and inevitability, the chaotic vortex inexorably growing with each passing foot.

"NOW" Spike roared, his deep baritone ripping away the entrancement that encroaching doom had caused among the defenders. Emerald magic burst into life around the artifact and, with a shriek like a wounded animal, it slowed to a crawl as the portal opening in it's depths began to slowly close again. As soon as it stopped, the twirling song of silk-moth changelings filled the air as a thousand of them emerged from a hidden tunnel covered by a superficial layer of earth and swarmed the portal. The slow grueling crawl it's trajectory had been reduced to, turned into a complete halt as a thousand times a thousand threads of changeling silk caught hold of the portal and whatever lay near it, each thread as strong as steel and pulsating emerald as it conducted the magic of the changeling queens, strengthening the trap to unbreakable resilience.

Kilmaiil's look of disbelief cascaded into itself, as he witnessed the defiance of the mortals, making a mockery of his divine will. The masque, feeble facade of ivory and cherubic beauty, fell in it's entirety revealing the abomination that lay beneath, as the newborn god launched itself into a flying plummet towards the portal, ready to rip both the magic and matter that held it in place. No more than a few passing breaths into it's plummet that the god was slammed full force by a wave like the impact of a charging titan, heralded by the defiant Draka's bellicose roar.

"BURNNN!!!" Spike bellowed, and the Word of Sovereignty flowed out, the world around it devoid of any choice save obeying. Daemons screamed as they burst into flames, even the stone beneath them cracking into fissures that bled fire. Kilmaiil, god though he may have been, roared in pain as the Word reverberated through his body, forcing blood, bone, meat and sinew to billow out in blazing coruscation, cooking the self branded god from the inside out.
He slammed into the ground, flight cut short by the blinding pain, and groaned as he rose, fatal wounds flowing and closing like wax, only to be met with an enormous fist that lifted him from his feet and threw Kilmaiil a good hundred feet, back to where the god had stood so self assured mere moments before, slamming into the diseased parody of a throne that had been his perch, reducing it to gobbets of rotting meat.

Kilmaiil struggled to his feet, coughing chunks of mushed, pulpy lung, his caved in chest already reforming to it's original position, his many wounds closing to once more form the ivory marble that made it's immortal body. Carbonized stone cracking underneath heavy boots grabbed hold of his attention and he looked to see Spike walk the mile long and hundred feet wide corridor of scorched earth that the Draka's Word of Sovereignty had created. The Draka set himself a scant few feet before the "god" and drew a line in the carbonized ground with the tip of the claymore.

"No further" he declared and drew the scavenged zhanmadao from his sash.

Kilmaiil rose to his full height and glared daggers at the defiant Draka. This man who made him feel as if he was still the weak, deformed Half-Born, not the god he had become. This man who stood before a god with all the petulant, infuriating self-assurance of a veteran standing before a child.
"You are slow to learn Draka" Kilmaiil snarled in a thousand voices, no two voices sounding alike. "I will have to educate you once more. Just as I have before".

Spike spat on the ground before him and glared at the angered god, disdain obvious in his eye.
"You have fought naught but a rabid beast, boy. Now you fight a wolf". He lifted the zhanmadao and pointed it at Kilmaiil.
"I WILL BREAK YOU UPON DISCIPLINE'S ALTAR, HALF-BORN" Spike bellowed, his body swelling with power, his muscles standing out against the bandages that covered him like effigies of strength. Kilmaiil drew himself in a ready stance, a bone sword protruding from the palm of his hand, an ivory edge that promised death, when suddenly his ears picked up the odd sound.

It was the sound of a heart beating faster and faster until it became an incoherent hum, like the wing beat of a dragonfly. It was the same sound he had heard when Spike had vanquished the Mountain Eater, the same technique. The familiar corona of red mist, evaporating blood, began to waft away from the raging Draka, enshrouding him in a crimson mantle.

The world seemed to stop, as daemons, changelings and ponies stood in awed silence, their own battles all but forgotten, eyes drawn solely to the small war that was about to unfold between the two adversaries. The battle between the god and the eternal warrior, between unholy divinity and raw brutality. Through the telepathic link Kilmaail had opened to force the world to witness it's demise, every creature no matter how big or small, stood in witness of the battle and silence gained dominion of the world.
In far Nippon, in one of the many mountain top villages of the Draka, a male and a female Draka gazed intently at the oddly familiar Spike. Their scales were purple and they crests were as green as their eyes. They were neither lords nor heroes, the female was the village blacksmith and the male was the village Lead Huntsman. The two had made peace long a go with the fact that their family would never exceed the number of two, when their egg had been lost to them, carried away in the talons of a Garuda. Yet, as they looked at the Darror through the emphatic link, they could not shake the feeling they knew him from somewhere. The male smiled and roared to the sky, despite knowing that the bandage-covered Draka could not hear him.

"Break him, lad".

The world exploded with roars of encouragement for Spike as the giant Draka shot out like a missile, covering the distance between him and Kilmaiil in a heartbeat. With a roar he brought the claymore down, chopping against the bone blade of the false god. Kilmaiil took the hit upon the unbreakable bone with a single hand and smirked when he saw the claymore stop against it. For all the Draka's bluster and oaths, this battle would be no different than the one before. His smirk turned to a pained grimace as he felt himself being pushed. In desperation Kilmaiil gabbed the tip of the bone blade and pushed against the force that threatened to crush him with all the might he could muster. Divine power strained against cultured strength as the world witnessed a mortal challenge and equal the impossible power of a god.

Veins bulged against Spike's forehead, and green flames erupted from his mangled mouth as he pushed against the ivory abomination.
"How can you hope to challenge me. You are nothing. An insect before a god. What could you do against me?" Kilmaiil screeched, his amber eyes glowing with hatred. "What can you ho..." his voice turned into a wet gargle as Spike's fanged mouth snapped shut and the abomination's throat disappeared in a welter of blood. Kilmaiil staggered back, shocked by the vicious attack, only to shudder as the claymore pierced his skull. Impossibly, the mortal Draka was matching the abominable god's speed. His massive frame, empowered by the technique he was using, twisted and shot out at ludicrous angles as Spike slammed into the unholy god again and again, ripping, tearing, slicing and pummeling every inch of ivory flesh he could reach. With an ululating bellow he twisted in the air, the claymore and zhanmadao shrieking as he impaled both blades through the god's skull. Snarling viciously he ripped at the weapons, breaking both hilts off and brought both in an overhead slam that buried the hilts deep into Kilmaiil's chest and crushed him into the ground, rupturing meat, stone and earth into a deep cauldron-like crater.

Spike's eye widened in surprise and he jumped back, just in time to avoid the geyser of black flame that erupted from the crater. The flame danced into the sky and Kilmaiil emerged from it, his skull and chest already healed, as if the fatal wounds he had received mere moments before had not even taken place.
Unlike before however, Kilmaiil smug self-assurance was now replaced with a hateful scowl.

Suddenly, Spike's muscles contracted insanely as his heart began to slow it's crazed beat and the side effects of the technique emerged. He shuddered and staggered back, his hand pressing against his chest.
"What is this? Already over?" began Kilmaiil, arrogance and conceit rising in his voice once more. "Good, then maybe now you will finally realize the futility of resisting the Abyssal Gods. Maybe you will realize their power, compared to the weakling gods you follow".

Spike rose an angry glare to the unholy god and drew back his clawed hand, resting the tips along the upper part of his spinal cord, close to the nape of his neck. With a grunt, four claws pierced scale and flesh to dig between the vertebrae and dig into his bone marrow. Grinding his fangs against the weakness that would have made him scream and stop, the Draka ripped into four specific nerve clusters.
As the pain subsided, he got back up, his heart beating once more like the wingbeat of a dragonfly, his frame once more bloated with muscle, the corona of crimson mist hovering about his body like an awaiting bird of prey. The nerve clusters that had been responsible for keeping his own body in a semblance of safety, the natural limiters any living organism had, were now naught but gristle upon his claws. Without them, his heart would beat faster and faster until it burst, his muscles would overflow with energy until they tore. This was the length of Spike's determination.
"And what do you know of my god, fledgeling? Your gods offer you gifts, power and boons, but my god offers obstacles and through the overcoming of those obstacles do i gain power. What would one such as you know of the god that is Perseverance".

The ground beneath Spike exploded as he pounced upon the false deity and engulfed it's skull in his massive fist. Steam and the sound of sizzling meat overcame Kilmaail's shrieks, desperate screams born of the realization of just how resolute the Draka was. Resolute ... or simply insane.
With his heart beating at the speed it did, his entire body functioning as if in overdrive, it was no wonder that Spike's body temperature had risen to such a level. To the point where his body felt like a blacksmith's forge. The crazed Draka was fighting even as his own body was being cooked from the inside out.
Bellowing a crazed shriek, Kilmaiil slammed a clawed hand, raking dirty-yellow talons across the Draka's chest. Bandages tore and flesh parted as a thousand contagions from those diseased claws entered Spike's body... and died. Kilmaiil's rapidly carbonizing face twisted in a grimace of disbelief as he saw the Draka's wound cauterize itself in a waft of steam and flecks of embers, and felt the pestilent diseases burn into non-existence the moment they entered Spike 's body. In a shock of horror he realized the true purpose behind the bandages that Spike had covered himself in.
Their purpose was not simply to keep his body from falling apart. Their main purpose was simply to keep all the heat his body was exuding from escaping his insides. Every wound he would receive would cauterize in moments. Any amount of pain Kilmaiil would manage to inflict on him would be virtually non-existent compared to what the Draka was already enduring. The Draka had emerged resolute in grinding his own body to dust in order to challenge the unholy god and the terrible lack of self-preservation inherent to that fact shook Kilmaiil to the core.

How? HOW? HOW? How can a mere mortal show such defiance in the face of overwhelming power? How can a mere mortal show such resolve and determination? He was Kilmaiil the Half-Born, he had fought and strived his entire life to achieve this moment, to gain his apotheosis and now, NOW, at the moment that should have been his greatest triumph he faced this single Draka that made all his efforts seem like the twaddling mewlings of a petulant little child. Compared to Spike, compared to his resolve, compared to the amount of pain Spike had willingly gone through, Kilmaiil could not help but feel that his efforts had been minimal at best.

"I HAVE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS FOOLISHNESS" Kilmaiil roared in frenzied anger, more to himself that anyone else "To the depths with your challenge, to the depths with your defiance. If i cannot offer this world to Ginun yet, than i will bring Ginun to the world" he shrieked and brought his hands above him. Without being close to the artefact-portal he could not fully open the rift, he could not plunge the world screaming into the grasp of Ginungagap, he knew that. But while Spike would still draw breath, he would never get close enough to the portal to enact the ritual. Still, even from so far away, he could still do something. He could force the portal to open partially and make it belch forth the innumerable legions of daemons that resided in Ginun. If he could not end the battle swiftly, than he would bring forth such numbers that they would drown the defenders and this defiant Draka in an ocean of daemonic enemies. What did it matter to him if the tribute was made now or later? He was immortal. Spike could grind him to dust for a thousand years to come and it would still not make a difference. Kilmaiil only needed to wait. He would wait until Spike's own body would burn itself to nothing. He would wait until the innumerable armies he commanded ground the defenders to nothing. A minute, a hour or a day more, the inevitable would still come to pass. He would win.

With a crackle of power, the artifact burst into life once more, unhealthy light billowing from the portal's face as the gate partially opened. It was not much, but enough, enough to allow a grey mist to billow out from it. Kilmaiil's call had been heard, and Ginun would answer. As the mist fell to the ground with unnatural speed, it billowed out, encompassing the battle ground, then surging out more and more until it past beyond the forest, beyond the highlands and further towards the horizon. Like horrific nightmares, the pony defenders watched as forms coalesced from the mist, forms of monsters, of beasts with heads of animals and bodies of ogres, raw red things that mewled and cried in hunger, the reek of daemon flesh engulfing all. The limitless armies of Ginun had begun making their way into their world and the half-seen, transparent figures were becoming more solid with each passing breath.

Pony and changeling defenders, so brave and determined mere moments before, began retreating, panicked screams merging with the laughter and the grim promises of daemons, as they found themselves facing not only the hordes that stood before them, but also the half-formed monstrosities that were forming in their midst. There was no more flank, no more line, the moment the summoning would be complete, the defenders would be overrun in moments.

"Hold the line! Hold the line!" Shining Armor bellowed trying to cull the panic before it took hold, but it was an exercise in futility. To have your enemies before you, comrades at your side was one thing, but to be surrounded by them, awaiting the moment for the slaughter to begin was another situation entirely. Already he noticed the furtive eyes of the soldiers that made the shield wall, the only obstacle that separated them from the sea of gibbering daemons. Now monstrosities were coalescing from the mists behind them and they did not know what to do. Soon the fear will turn into a rout and they would all be doomed. Shining looked to the alicorn sisters and his wife for any support but they were completely overwhelmed by the act of adding their strength to that of the changeling queens, keeping the portal from moving any closer to Kilmaiil.

A shout from the right flank alerted him and he turned to gaze in impotent frustration as a few soldiers abandoned their posts in the shield wall to run through the mist and coalescing figures to their families. They wanted to die embracing them.
"Sweetheart... where are you..." one yelled.
"My daughter... i want to hold my daughter one more time..." bellowed another, holding his sword menacingly, ready to cut down even his own comrades if only to be given another chance to see those he loved.
"Mother... Father... i need to see you... " shrieked a sergeant.
Like starving sharks smelling blood, the daemons beyond the shield wall began pushing against the defenders with bestial ferocity, rapidly bringing about the emergence of pandemonium.

Light blazed above the defenders, a star of hope formed of a thousand colored spectra. The glare hit the grey mist with the force of a cannon, and the mist cringed away from the painful blaze, until the entirety of the area occupied by the defenders, a circle almost two miles in diameter became free of mist, a point of calm in a sea of unholy mist and gibbering daemons. But the multicolored spectrum did more. Those daemons closest to the sanctified ring shrieked as they disintegrated into dark dust.

"HOLD FOR EQUESTRIA. FOR YOUR FAMILIES. FOR HARMONY" came a sixfold voice and the defenders looked up at the blazing light projected by the Six elements of Harmony, their manes long, their bodies surging with raw power. Far beyond the borders of the Crystal Empire, deep within the Everfree Forest, the Tree of Harmony blazed with a similar light, resonating with the Elements, pulsing more power than it ever had before in it's Avatars. The world had to be protected and it gave all it had, the ancient intelligence buried deep within the Tree holding nothing back.

Twilight yelled and the spectral light flowed around and out like a flaming serpent, ripping and tearing into the daemon horde, reducing the daemons it touched to naught but dust. Below, the changeling queens and the alicorn princesses howled as they maintained the overwhelming stream of magical power into the artifact, keeping it from bulging even a single inch. Shining Armor and Commander Yog'yhod shouted encouragements to the soldiers, bringing their considerable field experience into play as they capitalized on the show of power and raised the morale of the defenders. Deserters fell back into lines of pike and shield, tears of shame in their eyes and desire to make amends pulsing in their hearts as grateful comrades took them back into their midst without a second thought.

Kilmaiil clicked his tongue in annoyance as he saw the blazing light serpent reach him and disintegrated it with a single back hand. But the damage had been done, the mist had been pushed away from the defenders. No matter. Daemons would soon emerge from the mist and the limitless hordes would ensure his victory and the eternal gratitude of his Abyssal Masters. The Elements will not be able to sanctify the ground for much longer, the alicorns will soon expend all their power and the portal will come to him, the defenders will be suffocated under an avalanche of daemons and the defiant Draka before him will soon fall under the effects of his own technique. Their resistance, their efforts will all have been rendered useless. He turned a conceited glare upon Spike, ready to gloat and taunt, and he froze...

The Draka's mouth could form no smile but his eye shone with the vicious grin of a predator who had cornered it's prey.
"Sooner than i expected. You truly are just a petulant little greenhorn" the draconian behemoth grumbled, ember flecked mist exuding from his mouth with every word, his body heat so high now that the very air in his lungs was almost aflame.
"I had expected to have to fight you for a while longer until you would have become desperate enough to partially the Mouth of Madness, the gateway between worlds. Foolish of me, to expect so much of you. What could one such as you, a coward who has never braved the Mouth of Madness in solitude, know of the bridge between realms".

"You... dare... to insult me... insolent cur... i have open the portal Ginun... it's numbers will drown you. The daemons of Ginun are countles and they will come forth in waves of such magnitude not even all this pathetic world's armies can hope to hold it at bay... you will all fall... and when that is done, I will open the rift in it's entirety and this world will be given to the Abyss" Kilmaiil shrieked his voice a fever pitch of frustration.

Spike' spat on the ground and, when he spoke, his voice came filled to the brim with disdain.
"Exactly boy, you have partially opened the rift between realms, all realms, including the realm of the honored dead".

"W-What do you..." Kilmaiil began, as he slowly began to realize what Spike's words meant, but whatever he would have said was lost as Spike turned to regard the portal and bellowed, his voice a beacon of impending war.

"VOTIN. VESHANESH VOTIN. FATHER OF THE DRAKA, FIRST OF THE VESHANESH, HAVE MILLENNIA WITHIN THE HALLOWED HALLS ROBBED YOU OF YOUR SPINE? HAS THE MIGHTY ALLFATHER OF THE DRAKA FORSAKEN HIS OATH? DO YOU NOT SEE THAT RAGNAROK IS UPON THIS WORLD? DID YOU NOT SWEAR TO JOIN THE FINAL BATTLE? IF SO, THAN I, SPIKE, DARRAOR OF THE LEGION, THIRD NAMED AS VESHANESH, OATHBREAKER AND KINSLAYER, NAME THEE COWARD".

The mist pushed from every side and Twilight quivered under the pressure, only for it to flow out once more as a fresh surge of power came from the Tree of Harmony and empowered her. She and her friends could not move or speak, every ounce of concentration dedicated to holding the unholy mist back and attacking the daemonic hordes that littered the land. In the depths of her mind, behind the encouraging whispers of the intelligence hidden within Tree of Harmony, she could also hear the baleful groans and roars of the millions of daemons awaiting to escape the mists and devour her world whole. She could not allow it.
"Look child of Harmony, look upon your friend and draw succor from his strength" she heard the Tree say and knew the other five girls had heard it too, for they were all looking at the same point, hundreds of feet away, where Spike fought with Kilmaiil in a display of indomitable bravery and savage abandon. She saw it all, with dreadful clarity.

She watched as Kilmaiil screamed and charged at the turned Draka. In the last moment Spike twisted and drew Ildezgherdi, raking the wailing blade across the god's eyes in a single motion. Kilmaiil yelled in pain, blinded and shot out with both hands catching the Draka in the belly. Spike surged forward, driving the hands even deeper, his flesh burning them to carbonized husks even as he drew the straight sword in a downward thrust that took Kilmaiil through the neck, only to stagger back as the god twisted and ripped free of the blade, his hands, now healed and turned to bony bludgeons slamming against Spike's temples. Spike took a step back, staggered by the impact and bellowed out a Draka warcry pushing against the assault, ripping into the god with the straight sword, blow for blow, strike for strike. The assault dragged on for a few more seconds until Spike's foot collided with Kilmaiil's shin, reducing it to bony splinters, the distracting pain forcing Kilmaiil to stagger back. Spike ignored his own wounds and advanced again, launching a savage backhand against the prone god that snapped his neck and sliced the bony bludgeons at the elbows, sending the false god tumbling in a heap.
Even as he tumbled, Kilmaiil rose, wounds already healed and shot out a ray of green energy against the Draka only to jump away when Spike took the magic against Ildezgherdi, the wailing blade drinking it whole, and launched a blaze of pale green flame from his mouth. They stopped not even for a second and surged towards one another, Ildezgherdi wailing in Spike's grip, a shimmering green blade in Kilmaiil's, resuming their deathly dance.

"Damn it" she groaned. She wanted to help him, she wanted to be there for Spike, but leaving the spot would mean certain doom for the ponies and changelings and she could not do such an atrocious thing. Tears welled up in her eyes as she swallowed her own selfish desires and stood her ground for the greater good. If she had learned anything from Spike in the past few days, it was that she HAD to be strong. She HAD to protect her subjects. She was not a child anymore, she was a Princess and she had to do her duty.

"Fear not child of Harmony. Fear not and listen. The dead heed the call of your friend. They come. THEY COME. THE ROAD OF SKULLS HAS OPENED AND THE HALL COMES TO THIS WORLD" the voice of the Tree no longer whispered, but roared in her mind. She had heard Spike's bellowed speech but she had not known what to make of it. Now she was beginning to understand his actions.

It came with the clattering of spears and shields. The sound of armor hitting against armor and the staccato boom of war drums. A steady guttural chant howled with the winds and grew in strength until it boomed fully into existence. Half coalesced daemons that had emerged from the mists began to shriek and die, pierced, ripped and cut apart as different forms emerged, translucent and ethereal, armored forms of giants that dwarfed even ogres in size and bulk, ornate weapons held in gauntleted hands, tower shield aloft and unbreakable, scaled hides hiding knots of cultured muscles and fang filled mouths expelling war chants as often as they did flame.
Twilight watched dumbstruck as thousands upon thousands of the honored dead of the Draka emerged into semi-existence and pounced upon ethereal daemons as the war in between realms began in earnest. Above, the half seen faces in the clouds grimaced in disappointment and opened their mouths in silent screams of frustration. Wherever Twilight looked, she saw ethereal ranks form and cut down translucent hordes of daemons, blocks of infantry marching in perfect discipline, lines of arquebusiers let loose with wave of gromril shot and avalanches of cavalry boring down upon hapless hordes. The sounds rang hollow and echoed as if stuck in a large mausoleum, but the war was happening nonetheless. Between worlds, between the fabric of existence and non-existence, the long dead Draka residing within the Halls of the Ancestors had emerged to bring war upon the countless daemons that were trying to tear into her world.

A surge of power coming from a point in front of the defenders drew her attention and it was all she could do to stare as the mist coalesced into two pillars.
Twilight watched in stunned silence as two figures emerged, one from each pillar. The first was a female Draka, curved with muscle and undeniably powerful in build, easily fourteen feet in height, her body thick but preternaturally elegant, her savage beauty bearing a countenance reminding of an amazon queen. She wore only a golden chainmail kilt and a leather hauberk edged in silver lining and, in her hands, balanced the most ornate ax Twilight had ever seen, an edge of doom that radiated it's desire to cut and carve the world itself. Her face was still and stern but not unkindly, scaled flesh of bright red and a large spiked crest of deep black adorning her head. Slim, long eyes with the slanted pupils of a snake surveyed the battlefields with the cultured, calm gaze of a veteran that had passed through a thousand times a thousand battles. With sure and steady movement she rose the ax and brought it down in a strong diagonal slash, ripping into three ethereal daemons like a butcher cutting into venison. As if by signal, as her strike ended, the mists around her bloated and three score ghostly Draka cavalry emerged from it atop their Kirin mounts and charged into another horde of daemons, their lances ripping into the formation with terrifying ease. An ululating warcry came from the female Draka and was soon taken by the draconian army rising into a world-cracking tumultum, galvanizing them to greater depths of mad bravery. Twilight watched in awe, but not even this sight prepared her for what came next, when the second pillar of mist exploded upwards like a geyser.

The figure that emerged from the geyser of mist was unlike any Twilight had ever seen before. A giant of pure muscle and armor plating of such intricacy one could have spent millennia trying to read the odes and decipher the bas-reliefs sculpted on it. Upon the seventeen foot tall giant's wide shoulders lay the pelt of a monstrous wolf, it's many canine heads encrusted with gemstones in place of eyes. Beneath the vista of armored plate, the small bits of flesh that were noticeable were covered in scales of the darkest ebony, shimmering in the light like polished obsidian. A stag-horned helm encased a face covered in battle-scars, and the warrior displayed them with pride, markings of so many battles, the count of them had been lost long ago. Two blue eyes, shimmering like sapphires in the dark, looked beyond the armies of daemon and Draka and upon the broad back of Spike as the Darraor fought his own personal war against Kilmaiil. A smile twisted the horn-helmed warrior's face, a smile that held no enmity but pride and joy. Twilight though she could feel the earth shake as this warrior, possessed of a vastness that appeared almost all encompassing, began moving towards Spike.

She could not move, could barely even breathe as this warrior's presence threatened to crush her. The female Draka which had appeared first was strong, immensely strong, almost as strong as Spike himself. But this one. This horn-helmed warrior was in an entirely different league, the aura that permeated his ethereal body reminding more of the god that Kilmaiil had become, rather than anything else. Twilight did not need to ask or wonder as the name of the warrior came to her, born aloft upon the winds of magic.

Votin Veshanesh, All Father of the Draka, First Of All, Master of the Hall, He who had first trod upon the Road of Skulls, First Named as Veshanesh.

Twilight watched in awe as the grinning giant began his stride towards Spike. Awe turned to stalwart courage and her mind filled with determination.
"Tree" she yelled in her mind, the call reverberating within the hearts and minds of her five friends, calling upon the ageless wisdom of the Tree of Harmony, "How does one kill a god?"

Spike spun against Kilmaiil's green blade and reversed Ildezgherdi, taking the god through the chest even as a surge of concussive force shattered three of his ribs, expelled from the unholy blade wielded by the abominable god. With a roar, he slammed the blade in a two handed strike that forced Kilmaiil to his knees, an enormous crater forming beneath the prone god, only to shoot back, the ground around him splintering and ripping as another wave of concussive force slammed into him. Spike shot Ildezgherdi into the ground and forced himself against the wave of power, the forest behind him flattening under it. He snarled and, taking Ildezgherdi in a two handed grip once more, sliced down with all his might, sending a massive burst of cutting wind roaring towards Kilmaiil. Blade, flesh and earth split as Kilmaiil and the ground beneath him were bisected, the cutting wind travelling beyond to the forest behind Kilmaiil, taking rows of trees down as if they were wheat.
The two halves began to fall, only to reconnect and heal, and Kilmaiil let loose with a banshee's scream that tore the ground around him. Spike likewise let loose his own roar, cracking and ripping the earth around him. The two concussive forces slammed against one another with a cataclysmic impact that threw stone and the few daemons foolish enough to stand too close, like rag dolls. The settling dust burst apart as the two creatures slammed into one another with the speed and fury of comets, ripping and tearing into each other with berserk fury, one an immortal who could never die, the second a mortal who's body had become so used to pain he paid it no heed.

His steely eyes focused like never before, Spike sliced and cut again and again, searching out and exploiting every momentary weakness, every small distraction and keeping Kilmaiil pinned under an onslaught of rending assaults. The entity before him may be immortal, but pain was a stranger to Kilmaiil, it made him wince, made him cry out, and every single distraction nothing more than an opening for Spike to inflict even more pain upon him. In comparison, Spike took even the strongest hits from Kilmaiil without flinching, wincing or intent to retreat. Pain was as much of a companion to the veteran Draka as his blades, and he accepted it all with silent endurance.
It was this and his technique that had allowed Spike to stand against Kilmaiil for as long as he had. With the technique that was slowly breaking and burning his body to nothing, Spike was just barely strong and fast enough to stand against Kilmaiil's godly power, his only advantages being his far greater experience and his monstrous tenacity that allowed him to fight on, irrelevant of the damage and torments his body was going through.

Kilmaiil screamed violently under a particularly strong blow that tore his arm and collarbone off, and in an explosion of chaotic energy, propelled himself away from the Draka's range, unable to stand against the rabid assault any further. As the dust cleared, Spike remained defiant, in the same spot, a dark, still smoldering patch of black on his chest, where he had taken the explosion point blank. The wound did not bleed, his body temperature cauterizing it closed as soon as it had been made.
Spike made to charge again, to not allow Kilmaiil even a moment of respite, but as he took the first step, his vision blurred and his leg gave way under him. Spike stared in disbelief forward for a few moments, only for his eye to roll back in it's socket and frothy blood and crimson steam explode from his mouth.

"Curse it... not yet... not yet" he growled. His body heat had risen too much, to the point where it was boiling his brain inside his own skull. "NOT YET" he roared and rammed his fist into his cranium, his outstretched thumb claw, digging a hole straight through his forehead. A stream of reddish steam poured out of the hole and Spike got back up, only to duck the green blade speeding towards his throat. Kilmaail had attempted to capitalize on the Draka's momentary diversion.
Spike twisted beneath the blow, avoiding it by the tips of his hair, raking Ildezgherdi against Kilmaiil's stomach in the same movement. The black blade bit deep enough to scrape against the unholy god's spine with a sonorous screech and Kilmaiil bent over against the pain. Spike pivoted, slamming the pommel of the blade against the monster's temple, caving in the skull and sending Kilmaiil flying like a cannon ball into a stony outcropping, more than thirty feet away. But this time there was no attempt to follow and continue attacking and Spike fell forward, propping himself up with Ildezgherdi and breathing heavily.

Even with the hole he had made in his forehead releasing some of the excess heat in his body, he would be unable to hold much longer. His heart and muscles were slowly tearing themselves to shreds under the effects of the same technique that was allowing him to fight. His lungs were beginning to collapse under the heat of the air in them. His bones and body were being burned from the inside and over a third of his blood had evaporated as red mist. He may have bought himself a few more minutes, but it would not be enough. No matter what he did, he could not kill Kilmaiil. As if to mock him, the stones shifted and Kilmaiil emerged from the debris, his wounds healing with dreadful quickness.

Any other would have surrendered to the pain and futility long ago, but Spike was Draka and the concept of surrender was alien to him. Drawing slow, laboured breaths he rose from the ground again and set himself in a ready stance prepared to weather another assault, another wave of torment.

A clap and jovial laughter to his left made both him and Kilmaiil look away from one another. They could only gaze as two figures had emerged into their personal battlefield, the first, a truly enormous Draka, larger even than Spike, the second, a fierce looking female Draka, cultured muscle flexing beneath scaly skin.
The large male Draka laughed and clapped as he walked towards them, every step seeming to echo across the world, his blue eyes alight with a warlord's battle-loving joy. He stopped a dozen steps away and extended his arms wide, as if to present himself.
"The coward has come then hasn't he? What say ye now Spike Veshanesh, Third of that Title?" Veshanesh Votin asked, but there was no challenge in his voice, no anger, and the smile had never left his face.

Spike drew a few more labored breaths and spoke.
"I am surprised you are here, old one. Did it take a shamed Draka to finally rouse you from your lethargy? Did you not see Ragnarok taking place? Did you not swear to be here on the Final Battle".

Votin laughed uproariously, his hands held to his sides.
"Ragnarok? This? This was never to be Ragnarok, young one. This is 'naught more than the tantrum of an overreaching insect that fancies itself a god" he spat as he glared at Kilmaiil.

Kilmaiil the Half-Born went livid with fury and made to say something but was cut off by the female Draka.
"DO NOT TALK, PUP. WARRIORS ARE SPEAKING NOW. TRASH NEEDS TO STAY QUIET AND WAIT TO DIE" she roared at Kilmaiil, disdain obvious in her eyes. She turned to Votin and balanced her ax in her hands.

Votin nodded.
"Go Skoghjolod, I want to speak with this youngling for a while longer" he answered and, bearing a manic grin, the female Draka charged away, slamming the ax into Kilmaiil's awaiting guard. The other summoned Draka may have been stuck in the realm between worlds, but these two were much too strong to be limited by the borders of reality and the female Draka made that painfully apparent as she slammed her first into Kilmaiil's throat.

Spike watched it all happen, and leaned on Ildezgherdi, taking advantage of the few moments of rest he would get before invariably having to fight again.

"Forgive her outburst" Votin chuckled "She has ever been impetuous, even for a Draka. Do you know who she is?"

"Skoghjolod Vala Veshanesh. Second of the Title of Veshanesh", Spike answered. "She is legend among the Draka". He may have only heard the sagas of her from Sekeolath and the Legion but there was no mistaking the warrior woman when one saw her.

Votin smiled. "Aye lad, that she is, that she is" he said, never taking his eyes off Spike. The wounded Draka expelled a deep, wheezing breath and rose back to his full height.

"If this is not Ragnarok, then why are you here? Have my sins been so great that Votin himself comes to reprimand me? Has the First Draka come in person to slay this one Oathbreaker and Kinslayer with his own hands? If so, then i ask that you wait your turn, there is still a god for me to slay. If not for Ragnarok, why did you answer my call? Why are you here?".

Votin kept looking, as if he had not heard Spike words.
"Look at you, lad. Your bones are breaking, your body is burning to nothing, your muscles are tearing, and yet here you stand, still fighting. By the Endless Pillars boy, even I would hesitate to name you adversary".

"Why are you here?" Spike asked again, ignoring his words. Kilmaiil was still alive, still a threat. There was no time for idle conversation, but he wanted the answer.

Votin began walking towards him once more, the smile never leaving his face.
"Do you know how much we in the Hall hated you when you were born lad? Do you know how much I despised you for your weakness? A Draka birthed by the magic of pony kind? How can anything be so small, so weak, so pathetic and be of Draka kin?""

"Why are you here?" Spike asked again, his ire rising with every spoken word.

"You even fell to the Blood Madness at such a young age, and so easily, wounding and betraying the ones who had loved you with such fervor that they had looked passed your weakness. That was the day i turned my back to you. Even when you took up the Oath of the Damned and joined the Legion, i refused to recognize your existence. I swore that even if you were to die in glory against the armies of Ginun you would NEVER have a place in my Hall".

By now Spike was shaking with fury. It was one thing to know one's shame, but to have thrown in your face, spoken of with such clear disdain.
"Why. Are. You. Here?" he growled this time, threat and hatred clear in his tone.

No more than three paces from him, Votin stopped and said.
"And then you proved us wrong"

Spike's eye went wide with surprise.

"You showed all who dwell within my Hall, myself included, how blind we were. As weak and as pathetic as you were you did not stop. It was as if you did it just to spite us. Bludgeoned, cut, battered, burned, it did not matter what happened, it did not matter how often you were shattered into the dirt, you simply got up and fought again." Votin smiled even wider as he gazed upon Spike's stunned face.
"With each battle you only got stronger. Every time you got up, you did so just that tiny little bit stronger, faster, more experienced, until there came a point where none could make you fall. A point where we found ourselves within my Hall, staring at a Draka as strong and enduring as the mountain. A Draka that could easily stand, head held high, amongst the great Draka heroes of the past that now reside within my halls. We found ourselves toasting for you, rarely, at first, then more and more often. We found ourselves singing songs about your deeds more and more. We found ourselves watching you grow into what you are today, not because of talent, not because of the favor of some divine entity, but by grim determination and the sweat of your brow" Votin closed his eyes, as if captured by nostalgia.
"You should have heard it, lad. By the time you had challenged and vanquished the Avatar of the Abyss, we were all chanting for you. When you had taken the mantle of Darraor, we were all toasting and singing our approval. When you had been deemed worthy of the title of Veshanesh, the Halls of the Ancestors had shaken with cheers of joy and oaths of approval".

Votin opened his blue eyes and looked at Spike once more.
"Once, a long time ago, none in the Halls, myself included, would have ever even countenanced your presence within our realm of honor. But you have proven us wrong, so very wrong, and for the past millennia we have ever stood ready, our gates open, to finally meet you, to finally have the honor of toasting with you, to praise you in person. Aye lad, long ago, i had said to the nine hells with my vow of never allowing you in my Hall, and for the past thousand years i have waited for you to finally meet your doom and take your place at my right as the Third Veshanesh, just as Skoghjolod sits to my left as the Second".

By now Spike stood stunned, barely able to process the information.
"But I am... Oathbreaker... Kinslayer... h-how can..."

Votin did not let him finish. He lifted his arms to the skies laughing.
"Oathbreaker? Kinslayer? What oath have you broken lad? You have protected your family no matter how much it hurt you, no matter how much you had to sacrifice. What kin have you slain? Have you not heard their praise and gratitude as you gave your Legion their freedom? As you allowed them to walk the Road of Skulls with their honor intact? Their bodies were already dead, boy, you simply liberated their souls. And if my words cannot reach you, then hear it from them once more" he said and turned as the mist billowed behind him in a mountainous form, dissipating only to reveal an armada of shapes, dressed in the regalia of the Heroes of the Hall, their eyes moist with tears of joy, smiles of gratitude adorning their faces. Those shapes, so familiar, so beautiful, so beloved by Spike.

Spike cried out, weeping as tears cascaded down his face, sizzling into vapor against his overheated flesh as he saw them all, his beloved Legion, all of them, as he saw Goromandy, his jovial smile ever present, Mika'il, his hawkish face covered in tears, Sekeolath, stoic and grinning, like the father he had never had,and Shagga.
Sweet, gentle, strong Shagga, her fist to her chest, tears running down her grey-scaled face, her red mane covering the left side of her face, as it always had, a gentle, loving smile on her face.

Votin looked to them and, raising a fist into the air, he asked.
"Former Legion of the Damned. Who is this Draka to you"

A thunderous tumult rose as hundreds of Draka answered.
"Spike Veshanesh. Third of the Name. Darraor of the Legion of the Damned. Elder Brother to us all. Our Savior".

"Is he Kinslayer, as he claims?"

"We say nay, we claim he is our Savior".

"Who could deny his right to walk the Road of Skulls? Who could deny his right to enter the Halls of the Ancestors?"

"NONE. NONE. NONE" they chanted, fists in the air, as Spike wailed, gratitude and joy warring for dominion over his heart.

Votin turned once more to Spike.
"This is NOT Ragnarok lad, for you are here to stop it. We did not come here for Ragnarok. We are here to witness your doom. We are here to witness you, Spike Veshanesh, Third of that Title, Darraor of the Legion. Dry your eyes, Spike, your final challenge awaits, show the world your strength. Show it your determination. RISE NOW AND FIGHT AS YOU ALWAYS HAVE" Votin bellowed and cried out an ululating roar, soon taken up by the former Legion and all other Draka present.

"UUUUOOOOOOOOOOHHHH" Spike bellowed himself, as he charged towards Kilmaiil. But the pain of his body, he no longer felt. The torment of his mind was a thing of the past. The scars upon his soul, faded, balmed by the medicine that was the love and respect of his kin.

Skoghjolod Vala Veshanesh jumped back, her side bleeding, her left arm numbed and awash in crimson, watching Kilmaiil walk towards her, anger disfigurating his cherubic face,
"You are a tough one little insect..." she spoke to Kilmaiil but stooped when she heard what could only be described as a charging mastodon behind her. She turned and her smirk turned into a manic grin as she jumped out of the way of Spike.

"HE'S MINE" he bellowed as he passed by in a shower of dust and splintered stone.

"Aye lad, that he is" Skoghjolod thought watching Spike collide with Kilmaiil in a cataclysmic impact.

Kilmaiil watched transfixed for a moment, awed by the sheer fury of the charge, then, howling with fury of his own, channeled his magics, raising a wall of granite between himself and the raging Draka. Spike made no attempt to stop, instead increased his speed, bulling through the dozen meters of granite as if they we naught but paper. With a deafening explosion of stone shards he emerged from the collapsing wall, right into the waiting blades of Kilmaiil.
The chaos "god" sliced against Spike again and again, but still found himself backpedaling, pushed back by the rabid onslaught the Draka laid upon him. Whatever wounds he could inflict upon the leviathan, gruesome though they were, barely seemed to have any effect. In a moment of desperation, Kilmaiil turned, drawing upon his magic once more, surrounding himself in a cocoon of raw magic. Like an ethereal octopus, strands of raw magic expanded, thrusting and slicing like blades at Spike, even as the cocoon rendered any attack against the god meaningless, even Ildezgherdi's bottomless thirst for the aether unable to drink the entirety of the cocoon, the magical shell replenishing itself as soon as it was absorbed.

Slamming his hands together, Kilmaiil worked his power once more, and the ground around Spike began to twist, turn and liquify, muddy dirt heaving as if struggling to draw in ragged breaths. Boils as those that plagued the flesh began appearing upon the ground and grow until they were almost as tall as Spike, only to burst in showers of blood and bile. Shapes, vaguely representing bipedal creatures, rose from the fleshy masses, taller and broader than minotaurs, filthy yellow clouds exuding from misshapen mouths, their empty fish-eyed faces slowly turning to glare at Spike. Plague-dead of Ginun, the abominations were walking contagions, their breath filled with such vile plagues they could kill a dragon within minutes, their bodies so bloated with diseased and unholy power they could readily overpower a Stone Troll, their minds and nerves so rotted and maggot-filled they could feel neither fear nor pain. It would have the taken the greatest magicians and alchemists of the world put together a decade in order to create even one such monstrosity, but Kilmaiil had created a hundred in moments, changing the surrounding land with the ease of snapping one's finger.

"So be it... So be it... if i cannot kill you with steel and strength... i will kill you with magic".

As if responding to an unspoken command, the hundred plague-dead surged towards Spike, empty idiot faces locked in hungry grimaces, slime covered claws outstretched and grasping, moving with terrible speed despite their bloated frames. Spike met the putrescent onslaught with the stoic endurance of the mountain and struck out with matching abandon. The world around him devolved in a swirling, hectic melee within seconds, Ildezgherdi licking out greedily to lope off heads, feet and arms, but the plague-dead did not hold nor hesitate, fighting on despite wounds that would have killed a living thing many times over. There was no room for finesse nor strategy, it was butcher's work and Spike put his monstrous muscles to such use carving through the sea of death like a stone cliff splitting the ocean's waves, reducing all before him to quivering lumps of flesh. His movements became methodical, almost automatic as Ildezgherdi rose, fell, killed and Spike advanced cutting, carving, killing and the bludgeoning blows and carving claws of the plague-dead turned from threat to momentary nuisance to him. Every blow that connected with Spike fell upon wall of unyielding muscle and smoldering flesh. Every strike served only to fuel his anger and empower his retaliation. The joy of combat thrummed in his chest and the peace of simplicity encased his every thought.

In such a mind, did the voice come, as clear and welcomed as a summer breeze, drawn upon telepathic links through the aethyr, straight into his mind.

"Spike, can you still fight? I have a way to take Kilmaiil down" Twilight's voice came, filled with concert and newfound hope.

"So it is done then... tell me the path to victory" he answered. Seconds passed and no answer came. Spike chuckled to himself.
"Are you so surprised that you can no longer speak? What do you think my entire plan hinged on? Since the beginning of this fight my whole strategy was to buy enough time for YOU to find our path to victory".

When her voice finally came, it was choked with gratitude for the trust he had placed in her. With each word of the plan presented to him, Spike's eye grew alight with feral joy.

"Do you think it will work?" Twilight asked, as she finished explaining her strategy "Do you think we have a chance?".

Spike closed his right hand upon the hilt of Tenchi Kaijin.
"A chance as close as death and as distant as hope. Witness me, Twilight. Witness me, my family. Witness me, Veshanesh Votin and Vala. TODAY I KILL A GOD".

With that proclamation, he drew Tenchi Kaijin, the many seals and talismans upon the hilt and scabbard tearing audibly. Flame exploded around the miasma covered blade, billowing out with all the strength of a small sun. The blazing coruscation licked out to crack scales and carbonize his flesh as Spike whirled the sword around, covering all around him in a blazing firestorm. But pain meant nothing to him and his wounds were mere inconsequential flies, flicked away by unyielding will and boundless tenacity. The plague-dead around him were not so lucky, and even their monstrous endurance counted for nothing as their bodies became ash under the tender mercies of the firestorm.

Howling oaths and promises of doom, Spike emerged from the blazing storm and charged the magical cocoon of Kilmaiil once more. Shrieking in impotent anger at the relentless Draka, Kilmaiil lifted his arms to the sky and called upon the entirety of his godly power. The sky darkened, red and lavender clouds burgeoning like tumors upon the plateau of grey, striking down with black lightning. It forked and arched like a malevolent serpent, striking in front of Spike peppering him and the land around him with dark, soundless explosions of pure Abyssal power. But the dark flames did not smolder out, instead they heaved and gibbered as things alive, daemon-"lights" so dark they seemed to devour the light around him. Inside the dark voids, Spike could see writhing shapes, horns, claws and slobbering mouths that whispered dark, unwanted secrets as red, bloodshot eyes gazed at him from the void with baleful hunger. The daemon-"lights" shrieked and surged towards him with monstrous, starving howls, only to be met with equal ferocity as Spike waded into them, Ildegherdi cutting and Tenchi Kaijin burning, their own shapeless, dark appendages carving deep furrows into Spike's flesh.

Within the safety of his cocoon, Kilmaiil fell to his hands and knees. God though he may have become, the act of summoning the Moroi, the ancient and corrupted essences of the Outer Ones, the enforcers of the Abyssal Gods themselves, had been a taxing effort. An effort that had angered the Abysaal Gods, whose ire Kilmaiil could feel like a burning rod. This would be their last gift to him. His last chance. The Abyssal Gods were growing restless in waiting for their tribute, angered at the fact that with all the power they had given him he could not end the life of this stubborn mortal fool, could not offer this world to them. His daemon hordes were being held at bay by ponies and ghostly Draka. The hundred plague-dead he had created, a force powerful to bring a country to it's knees, had been ended in blazing fire and his personal efforts to slay the Draka had resulted in naught but failure. The Moroi were to be his last chance.

He opened glazed eyes and smiled as the Moroi exploded into black embers under Spike's wilting strikes, only to reform moments later and strike again. The Moroi were undying and relentless and the only outcome for the Draka would be a slow death, devoured to nothing by their ethereal jaws.
Kilmaiil broke into a sadistic laugh as he saw one Moroi pierce a hole through Spike's abdomen and a scond carve off an entire section of his thigh with a swipe of his ethereal tentacle.

Spike fell back as ten appendages struck him in the chest impaling his flesh and lungs, devouring meat and scales at the merest touch. Blood-ridden froth bubbled from his mouth and he charged again, striking a powerful overhead with Tenchi Kaijin that reduced the Moroi to ribbons of dark smoke, only for the smoke to reform behind him and whip at his back, consuming a deep trench into his trapezius muscle. Another Moroi struck from his left and impaled him through the shin even as a third bulled into his side, knocking him off balance as it devoured his flesh.

"Move accursed body" Spike reprimanded himself, feeling his breath and heartbeat slow, his sight glazing, as his body, pushed beyond all limits, was finally beginning to shut down. "Move, damn you, Move, just a bit more, just a bit more. Let me do this, before i finally die, let me do this. Let me keep my family safe, let me rid the world of it's executioner".

Spike rose and surged forward, only to be pushed back again by a wall of dark flame, the Moroi in front of him billowing the Abyssal fire, shrieking like the possessed.
"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE DAMN YOU, MOVE" he roared and charged into the flaming wall, impacting the solid flames as if impacting a mountain side. Kilmaiil lay just behind the wall, just a mere few steps away. Flame billowing around him, scales, flesh and muscle sizzling, Spike took a step forward, then another.
"MOVE, MOVE, MOVE, ANOTHER STEP, ANOTHER STEP, MOVE DAMN YOU, MOVE" Spike repeated to himself like a mantra, punctuating each word with a step forward. "DON'T YOU DARE STOP. DON'T YOU DARE SURRENDER. TWO THOUSAND YEARS OF LIFE ARE ENOUGH FOR YOU, YOU'VE LIVED YOURS, IT'S TIME FOR THE YOUNG TO BE GIVEN A CHANCE TO LIVE THEIRS, NOW MOVE OLD MAN, MOVE".

Like a leviathan emerging from the ocean, Spike shot out from the flaming wall with a thunderous bellow. He stumbled, propping himself up with Ildezgherdi, desperately trying to draw breath. One of his lungs had finally collapsed, reduced to a charred husk by the heat of the flaming wall and his own smoldering body, the other lung teetering precariously on the edge of failure.
Bubbling blood edged his lipless mouth and he lifted his single green eye, red-rimmed and almost glazed over, fixing the stare upon the magical cocoon and the ivory shape of Kilmaiil.

With a dull crump the Moroi behind him ended their flaming assault and reformed into the nightmarish blobs of daemon-lights, spreading their ethereal appendages, ready to rip and tear into Spike's flesh once more, the triumphant laughter of Kilmaiil echoing troughout the battlefield.

"Stand"

Spike struggled to rise, the Moroi edging closer and closer.

" Stand"

With each laboured breath, his sight blurred further, darkness crawling at the edges of his vision.

"Stand up, damn you"

Kilmaiil stood no more than three paces away, his sadistic smile half seen beyond the protective cocoon, but no less mocking and infuriating. Yet, when Spike tried to rise and make for him, his feet betrayed him as did the rest of his body, too many muscles ripped to be able to sustain his massive frame. His heartbeat, like the thrumming of war drums mere seconds before, was now reduced to a quickly faltering echo, barely able to pump the remaining lifeblood through his body. The bandages upon his upper body had been reduced to a few forgotten scraps, the many wounds they had held closed or cauterized, now opened once more to join the fresh ones. So much of his blood had evaporated that the wounds barely even bled anymore.
The Moroi lifted their ethereal apendages and Kilmaiil's mocking laugh grew in intensity, but it was all Spike could do to lean against Ildezgherdi, his knees into the cold stone, doing all he could to at the very least not pass out, to witness his own end.

"Will ye stand, young one?" Time seemed to slow as the gravelly baritone of Votin spoke within his mind with dreadful clarity.
"Or has even Spike the Darraor, the third Veshanesh reached his limit. Is now the moment of your doom?" In his mind's eye he could see Votin stand before him.
"Even if you die this very moment, not a single entity in this world would be able to say that you have given anything less than your all. Even if you die this very moment, we would celebrate your doom and hail you as the hero who has challenged a god on equal footing, singing your saga as we escort you upon the Road of Skulls to take your rightful place within the halls". In his mind's eye Spike could see the smiling face of Votin, the pride gleaming in his azure eyes.
"But i ask you, young one, is this doom worthy of you? Is this doom worthy to be named the Death of Spike, Darraor of the Legion? Is this doom to your satisfaction?"

"No" Spike growled, his arms and legs shaking violently as he struggled to get up.

"Then why do you lay prostrate upon your knees? Why do you not rise and strike again? Have you given up? CAN YOU NOT HEAR THEM?"

As Votin asked those last few words, Spike suddenly became aware of the myriad of voices that lay just at the edge of his conciousness, half-heard before but clear as day now.

Six voices at first, his six beloved girls calling for him to get up, to not stop. Ten voices as the three alicorn princesses and Chrysalis shouted words of encouragement. Hundreds, the voices of Shagga, Sekeolath, Goromandy, Mika'il, the entirety of his Legion chanting war-songs for their Darraor. Thousands, the voices of the pony defenders calling for their savior to rise once again. Tens of thousands, the armada of ghostly Draka who had come to witness his doom and protect his family, howling for him to show the Abyss the strength of the Draka.
Hundreds of thousands, millions, tens of millions then so many more as the Tree of Harmony fed the emotions and words of the entire world directly into his consciousness, the world that was bearing witness to this battle through the emphatic link set up and forgotten by Kilmaiil.
He could hear and see Dragons, Griffons, Minotaurs, Diamond Dogs, Zebras, Ponies, Strigoi, Elk, so many more creatures who he had never seen, met or even known existed and who, in turn, had never known of Spike's existence but who nonetheless, now watched him and put the entire weight of their hopes and dreams upon his shoulders.

"Have you surrendered? Why do you not stand?" Votin asked again, his smile never fading, knowing full well how alien the very concept of surrender was to Spike.

"Be quiet old one. I'm just catching my breath" Spike growled grimly and Votin's face split into a wide, happy grin.

"Aye lad, thought as much".

The world seemed to shudderand Kilmaiil's face became a rictus of fear as the Draka, so close to death's door mere seconds before, suddenly rose, roaring like mad beast. It was a howling bellow, guttural and monstrous, filled with defiance. When the roar stopped and Spike looked back to Kilmaiil, the god felt the painfully familiar and mortal sensation of fear's grip grabbing hold of his heart.

"Nnno... No... NOOO" the god shrieked in abject terror and the Moroi, reacting to their master's fear, shot out with their appendages, impaling Spike through the arms, legs and back, only to latch on to the flesh which they had pierced. No sound escaped Spike, no sign of pain showed in his single blazing eye. Veins peppered his body, his muscles swelled with strength and his pupil contracted to an almost imperceptible pinprick of focused single-mindedness, the white of the sclera glaring at Kilmaiil as he took the first heavy, labored step towards his target, dragging the Moroi latched to his body with him.

Three steps away.

Shrieking as if caught in a waking nightmare, Kilmaiil pointed his hands to the advancing Draka, and ethereal blades launched from the cocoon, aethyric scythes that carved deep trenches into the Draka's body. The Draka took a second step.

Two steps away.

The Moroi howled and roared, pulling back on the hooked and barbed appendages they had latched to Spike's frame. His step did not slow, his eye did not falter and his determination did not waver. Even as his flesh shredded and bones shattered, Spike still took a final labored step towards his target.

One step away.

In that unmoving grimace of stoicism Kilmaiil could see the face of the mountain and in a single moment of despair, he realized the simple reality of his situation. That no matter how much he fought, no matter how much he struggled, no matter how many lifetimes he would waste, no matter how many times he would crush this one Draka into the dirt, he would simply rise again, every time. And that simple reality was more horrific to him than his own patron gods. Panic overwhelmed him and it was all he could do to look as Spike lifted his left hand, Ildezgherdi keening and wailing frightfully in his grip.

When the Draka spoke, his voice came as barely a raspy, wheezing whisper, blood bubbling from his mouth with every word.
"Drink your fill... Ildezgherdi" . The black blade's keening wail rose to a crescendo, the hungry daemonette within the steel finally allowed to fully awaken. With a grunt of effort, Spike slammed the blade, point first into the aetheric cocoon. The wail of the black blade rose to a fever pitch, the ever starving Ildezgherdi tasting of the titanic amount of magic pushed into the shield, howling her joy at the bounty she had been offered.
Shards of light and rampart shocks of magic ran from the cocoon as Ildezgherdi glutted herself, drinking the power faster than even the godly power of Kilmaiil could replenish it. Spike ground his teeth, knowing what was to come and held the hilt of Ildezgherdi with a death grip. Ildezgherdi would drink the magic only as long as it was held, but even then, whilst the daemonette's appetite knew no limit, the enchanted steel of the blade had reached it's breaking point, bloated to bursting by the power it devoured. The black blade was turning red, blazing like a miniature sun, veiny cracks spreading upon it's surface. Too late did Kilmaiil see the peril he was in, too concentrated on keeping the shield standing, too afraid of allowing Spike to close in on him. Only when the wail turned to desperate scream did he understand.

With a cataclysmic crump, the blade burst, releasing all the magic it had absorbed in a shock of raw, wild and compressed magic of such magnitude that it would have rivaled a thousand storms. Caught in it's blank point Kilmaiil shrieked in pain, his chest burst, his skin ripped, his bones shattered. Black, tar-like blood billowed from his body, ruined face and the remains of his mouth, the visible meat sizzling where the burst had charred it to the bone. Immediately it began mending itself together, his mortal form maintained by his godly power.
Darkness gave way to sight as his eyes regenerated first, only to be met with a sight as if plucked from Kilmaiil's darkest nightmares. In front of him, drenching the prone god in the darkness of his shadow, obscuring the sky with his monstrous frame, Spike stood. His torso was a ruin of ripped and singed flesh, muscle, red and raw, visible alongside bone. Where his left hand once was, a stump barely connected with the shoulder now spat a thin trickle of arterial blood. Red trenches, wounds that should have been fatal a dozen times over, lay raw and bleeding upon his body, the left side of his face obscured by his singed hair, but not enough to completely hide the ruin which it had become, further adding to his facial disfigurement.
Still, the Draka stood, gazing at the trembling god, with all the hate and disdain of a dragon looking at a particularly disgusting cockroach. In a slow, painful motion Spike drew his right arm back, Tenchi Kaijin billowing with flame more than it had ever had, the sound of the coruscation barely enough to mask the noise and scent of the Draka's hand burning upon the overheated hilt. Kilmaiil's fearful gaze turned to confusion when, instead of striking and granting further pain, Spike moved the flaming blade from side to side as if wielding a signal brazier.

A heavy, massive object slammed into the ground behind Kilmmail, sending waves of dirt into the god's torn back. Snarling like a cornered rat, Kilmaiil turned to see what fresh hell awaited him, only for his snarling visage to turn amazed as he found himself looking at the dark, rune-inscribed stone surface of the portal. Inside it's depths the chaotic vortex of the Mouth of Madness swirled morosely. All thoughts of the monstrous Draka fled his mind, any questions regarding his strange signal drowning beneath the incomparable waves of joy and gratitude at the appearance of the Portal. It did not matter to him how it had appeared. It did not matter why it had sounded as if the Portal, kept in place for so long by the alicorn and changeling rulers had appeared to be propelled so close to him. No, none of that mattered. Panic, fear and frustration had made certain that it would not matter. All that mattered was that all he had to do was touch the surface of the Portal, speak the words of power and it would open in it's entirety, swallowing the world whole, sending it plummeting into the Abyss, where all of Spike's determination would count for naught. Where his hurts would disappear. Where his victory would eternal and complete.

Desperate chuckles escaping his ravaged throat, Kilmaiil slapped his bloody hands upon the cold surface, the broken meat still in the process of regenerating. Scintillating syllables, words so abhorrent, not meant for the mortal ear to hear, the malefic sounds of the Dark Tongue belched out from his throat, the needed incantation to command the portal to fully open.

Kilmaiil's smirk froze upon his face as he heard the emptiness of the words. As he saw how grey the world had turned. As his head turned slow, hellishly slow and saw the pillar of light rising from the Six Elements of Harmony. As he felt them draw in and absorb this world's winds of magic like some wicked black hole. Without magic to empower them, the words of the incantation were naught but the incoherent ramblings of a dead man. The six mortal girls, avatars of Harmony though they were, could keep such a feat up for moments, seconds at best, but it would be enough. Heartbeats seemed to become entire lifetimes as realization hit him. This had all been a ploy. A strategy. Spike's signal with the flaming blade, the Portal thrust so close to him at such a convenient time, it had all been a ruse. The Portal had been the bait. Give him just enough hope to goad him into making a mistake and then, snatch it away, with the entirety of the world's magic. Kilmaiil cursed his own idiot inexperience as he had made his greatest mistake.

He had turned his back to his opponent. He had left himself defenseless against Spike.

Shrieking in fury, the god made to turn but his body went rigid as the flaming blade of Tenchi Kaijin pierced the small of his back, crawling up his spinal cord only to emerge from the crest of his head in a shower of blood, bone and flame. Entire new vistas of pain, torment impossible to conceive even by the most diseased mind opened before him, his immortal body entering a terrible cycle of regeneration followed by flaming oblivion, the volcanic fury of Tenchi Kaijin lodged into the length of his spine, burning him from the inside out as quickly as his body regenerated, with a blazing, furious pain that paralyzed his body and hollowed his mind. Dimly he could feel the world regain it's magic, the Six Avatars of Harmony faltering in the titanic effort they had made, but it would count for nothing. It was too late for him. The curtain of pain that had enveloped his mind and body was all consuming, robing him of the knowledge of even the most basic spells, reducing his limbs to quivering, twitching, worthless appendages.

Tears flowed freely from his eyes, his powerful voice reduced to yelping mass of pathetic sounds as the burned but still strong hand ripped free of Tenchi Kaijin's hilt and engulfed his head. Clawed fingers as strong as steel raked across Kilmaiil's skull, ignoring the flames that clung to it, maintaining a death grip upon the skull. Unlike Kilmaiil, Spike was well acquainted with pain. As the Draka lifted the paralyzed Kilmaiil off the ground and moved him closer to the swirling vortex of the Mouth of Madness, fresh despair and rabid fear engulfed the god's frame.
Any who had ever traversed the Mouth of Madness, the bridge between creation and the Abyss of nothingness knew that to tarry, to stop moving, even for a second within the Mouth of Madness was to invite damnation. Few however, knew why. There were things in the swirling vortex of chaos. Things as old and malevolent as the Abyss itself. Things with bones of ice and brass, with blood of molten steel and the empty eyes of the Outer Darkness. Things for whom mortal and god were the same. Meat. To tarry within the Mouth of Madness, to stop moving forward was to invite the attention of those abominations.

How does one kill a god? By feeding it to something worse.

Kilmaiil's mouth opened to scream but only a strangled yelping sound escaped his trembling frame, barely audible over the sound of Tenchi Kaijin burning his flesh.
"N-No... I... am...a god..." Kilmaiil croaked pathetically.

Spike's lipless, mangled mouth came close to his ear and his whisper was like the declaration of the Reaper himself, as merciless and vicious as the things that awaited within the Mouth of Madness.
"Yes... you are... now die a dog's death, oh mighty god"

With that and nothing but the strangled shriek of Kilmaiil to accompany the motion, Spike slammed the Paralyzed god face first into the depths of the swirling vortex. Kilmaiil and Tenchi Kaijin dissapeared in the depths of the vortex, but Spike did not retract his hand, keeping it there even as he felt icy claws dig into his forearm.

Kilmaill screamed as Tenchi Kaijin dissapeared from his spine, reduced to dust by the swirling magics. Liberated from the flaming blade, he trashed violently within the expanse of the Mouth of Madness, slamming clawed hands into Spike's forearm. But the Draka's grip was that of a vice and did not relent. Even though the rabid power of the Mouth of Madness had torn skin, scales and flesh from the hand, reducing it to muscle, raw and red, he did not let go.
And then, Kilmaiil stopped. He had not moved forward for too long, and the things had taken notice. Shadows bloomed at the edge of the god's sight and swirling vortex turned to a black void of boundless eternity. In that void he saw them. Mouths that could swallow galaxies and millions of eyes gazing at his flesh and soul, none of a similar color. A scream emerged from the eternity of the void, a scream formed by millions upon millions upon millions of entities, mortals, gods and worse still, for all their power, reduced to nothing more than the final death-cry before the things that lurked in the Outer Darkness.
Mad, crazed laughter escaped Kilmaiil's throat as a hand, simultaneously large enough to engulf a galaxy and small enough to engulf Kilmaiil, tore the god from Spike's grasp. He laughed as his world became pain, death and the disdain of his cruel masters. He laughed as he died and was born a thousand times in one moment. He laughed as he saw Spike's hand recede back beyond the boundaries of the gate and through the shimmering surface of the portal, only a green, glacial eye staring back at him, ruthless and unforgiving. He laughed as the thing snapped it's eternal maw shut and his death-cry became just one more within the infinite scream that was the song of the Outer Darkness.

Cracks burgeoned upon the stone surface of the Portal and it finally ruptured, the Mouth of Madness too bloated by this new meal to be contained by mere stone and enchanted masonry. The stones were sucked within the vortex and with a final moan, the portal collapsed in on itself, closing this one of many doorways into the Mouth of Madness.

With the closing of this portal, the daemons left howled as their corporeal forms began to fade and turn to mist, forcefully returned to Ginun without the portal's power to sustain their essences. A chorus of bellows exploded into being as the ghostly Draka, fists into the air roared the victorious cry, even as their own forms began to dissipate, returning to the Halls and their afterlife.

"Godslayer, Godlayer, Godslayer" the chant rumbled. Votin, Vala, Shagga, Goromandy, Sekeolath, Mika'il and all other Draka grinned as they roared, the sound of their chant fading long after they did, making the world shudder.

The pony defenders looked in awe at one another, amazed that they were still alive, the lingering and slow to fade emphatic link making them aware as the entire world celebrated the victory and the world's continued survival.
All around the world, king embraced peasant and warrior embraced weakling, equal in the face of gratitude for their salvation. Tears of joy, gratitude and lingering fright flowed in equal measure as they laughed, cried and cheered together.

The cheers of joy subsided quickly, when the Mane Six, the Alicorn and Changeling princesses, Shining Armor and Commander Yog'yhod emerged from the press of bodies, running like mad towards the cloud of dust where Spike had been.

"Spike, SPIKE" the Mane Six screamed.

"Gods, gods please let him still be here..." Celestia shouted.

"Curse it you overground lizard, answer us" Chrysalis shrieked.

"Medics, move gods dammit, MOVE" Shining Armor and Yog'yhod roared orders.

The world grew silent, suddenly reminded of their savior, wondering of his fate. The pony defenders charged after their leaders at once, medics, field surgeons and soldiers bearing stretchers and medical supplies at the forefront. Spike's name became an echo on their lips. With the fear of impending doom finally subsided, they feared the worst, they feared to witness the sacrifice that had been made to assure their survival.

Teary eyes and baited breath turned to cheers and howls of joy as the dust cloud dispersed and they could see the indomitable form of Spike, still standing as he always did. As they had come to expect of him.

Twilight ran and stumbled, fell and rose, but did not stop. They were too exhausted to fly, to teleport, to even speak, but still they ran. She laughed, her five friends laughing around her, every moment passed bringing them closer to embrace Spike. He was still here. Daemons, gods or death itself could not take Spike from them, he was still here.
The closer they got, the more they saw his wounds. His missing left arm, his shredded right arm, an entire side of his torso reduced to raw muscle, the plethora of wounds that covered his body. But they did not stop, did not cringe away from the sight, they ran all the harder, calling for medics and field surgeons. Wounds would heal, scars would fade, all that mattered was that he was still here. After believing that he had died, after having seen him suffer for so long, no amount of wounds could deter them or make them wince. All that mattered was that he had not left them.

The thrumming of feet grew around her, field surgeons, the least battle-weary of all the assembled forces overtaking and passing them, running like the possessed, rummaging through their satchels for the tools of their trade, scalpels, tourniquets, bandages even while they moved.
By the time the six girls had finally arrived before Spike, falling into exhausted, wheezing heaps, the field surgeons had already prepared themselves and were rummaging about Spike, trying to find what to begin first. There was so much blood it was hard to find the worst of the wounds. Poultices, surgery tools had been arrayed on leather strips for easy access and the Master Surgeon, an aged, bespectacled unicorn was hurriedly ordering for boiling water and disinfecting his hands with alcohol, calling for Spike to lay on the improvised bed of ramshackle pieces of cloth.

Twilight rose from the ground and looked at Spike, a worried smile on her face.
"I knew it" she said "I knew you could do it".

"He-Hell yea big guy. I didn't doubt ya' a second" Rainbow Dash chimed in.

"Damn kiddo', ya sure are somethin' else I tell you that" Applejack mused, her stetson on the back of her head as she took deep gulps of breath.

"Oh...Oh you are so hurt. So brave... but so hurt" Fluttershy spoke timidly, making straight for the surgeons ready to add her own hands to help.

Pinkie Pie on her hands and knees near them, trying and failing to say something, her lungs too devoid of air to manage speech. In the end she settled for a "Woo-hoo" and fell on her back, breathing heavily.

"You truly are magnificent Spikey" Rarity added, not even caring that her clothes had become mostly dirt and dust.

The rest of the defenders arrived, the alicorns and chagelings at their forefront, a mass of cheering, whooping, happy faces. Soldiers and civilians cheered, ponies and changelings hugged one another yipping with the happiness of survivors.

The Master Surgeon rose from his preparations.
"Alright everypony give us room. It's time for US to help HIM" he said smirking. The mass of ponies and changelings shouted their approval and moved back in a disorganized but effective mass. The surgeons turned to Spike and the Master Surgeon gestured to the improvised cot.

"Please lay on the bed. Leave it all to us. Once we stabilize you, we'll bring a stretcher and carry you to the palace's hospital wing".

Smiling ponies, alicorns and changelings waited, grinning and happy, waiting for the taciturn Draka to move.

He did not.

As the moments became drawn out, the surrounding mass became silent.

Twilight took a tentative step forward, stretching her comparatively tiny hand up to touch Spike's torso, paying no heed to the scalding heat that still came off the Draka.
"Spike, w-what's wrong... it's over, y-you can relax. Sit down, let us help you... Spike?" she asked, the smile never leaving her face.

As still no answer came, the Master Surgeon used the little magic he had left to levitate himself to eye level with the giant Spike. He remained there for long seconds, his hands moving across the bloodied neck and face, touching, pushing, prodding. Slowly he floated back to the ground, his hands stained crimson, in the waiting silence of all those who had amassed there. He rose downcast eyes but when he saw the expectant, hopeful faces of those surrounding him his mouth clamped shut, his bearded chin quivering. Previously hopeful, cheerful faces began to turn to worried and pained grimaces as the surgeon took off his spectacles and began rubbing at his eyes with his hands, ignoring the blood that was staining his face and fur. Scalpels, gauze and tourniquets fell from the limp arms of the field surgeons as they saw their superior's reaction and their shoulders began to shudder, eyes cast to the ground.

Understanding like a cold rain enveloped the mass of ponies and changelings. Shoulders slumped and faces turned wet as they wept. Some wept in silent contemplation, cementing the magnitude of Spike's sacrifice in their minds, others wailed, ripping at their manes and clothes screaming at the injustice of it all, all cried tears of regret and gratitude in equal measure.

"Nooo..." Celestia moaned softly, like a stricken, dying animal, only Luna's embrace preventing her from falling to her knees. The Princess of the Moon cried alongside her sister, concepts such as dignified nobility and appearance as irrelevant as dust.

"Damn you, you don't get to do this" Chrysalis shouted slapping her fists into the dirt in impotent frustration at her silent avenger, embraced by her two sisters.

Cadence wailed in Shining Armor's breastplate, the stallion's frame shaking with strangled cries of his own.

Yog'Yhod slapped the end of his spear into the dirt again and again, tears rolling down a stoic face. One by one soldiers, pony and changeling alike, mimicked his action either with spear or by slamming the hilts of their weapons against their battered, battle-worn shields.

Through the emphatic link, weak and fading as it was, the realization was born aloft upon the aether, presenting itself for all the world to see.
In far Nippon, the mountains shook with the songs bellowed by the Draka, honoring the name of Spike the Draka.
In the Draconic Kingdoms, dragons, balaur, wyverns and drakes roared to the sky, praising the name of Spike the Darraor.
In Griffinstone, flocks of griffons flew into the clows, bellowing for all to hear, the name of Spike the Warrior.
In Luparia, the mournful howls of Diamond Dogs overtook the land, yelling for all to bear witness, the name of Spike the Unyielding.
In the Minotaur Monarchy, burly minotaurs and cows slapped meaty fists against chests or shields, chanting the name of Spike the Mountain.
Around the world, many yelled in gratitude, more yelled praises and many more yelled in geniune sadness, crying for one who they had not even known mere hours ago.

Tears flowing freely down her face, the smile did not leave Twilight Sparkle, her hands still outstretched to touch Spike's torso.
"Spike... Spikey... c-c'mon wake up"
So soon after believing he had died, a familiar dread was gripping her spine, momentary denial the only thing stemming the coming sorrow.
The smile faded from her face and her eyes widened as tears cascaded down her cheeks and Twilight started towards Spike. Five pairs of hands grasped her gently and drew her slowly to kneel on the ground, her friends holding her in a tight embrace, weeping all the while.
Rainbow hiccuped with sobs, her frame shivering with each passing moment. Applejack mumbled through wails, her stetson forgotten in the dirt. Pinkie Pie cried, her face obscured by her lank hair. Fluttershy only shook, heartbroken to the extent she could no longer give voice to her sorrow, only shake and cry. Rarity wailed into Twilight's back, pulling at her own hair in grief. Twilight finally let her hand down, and opened her mouth to cry and mourn the loss. She sat there, surrounded by her friends crying to the sky.
Even though they knew Spike had earned his place in the Halls of his Ancestors, they accepted their own selfishness as they mourned. It was not fair the Draka of old would get to have him while those who had loved him for so long had to go on without him.

With a deafening roar, thunder and lightning rolled as the cloudy sky finally opened and fat drops of rain mingled with tear stricken faces and the bloodied flesh of Spike, as if the sky itself was sharing it's sorrow at the sacrifice. But none tried to move or find shelter. Nothing could have made the mass of gratitude filled mourners leave and they sat in the rain and cried.

In the middle of that weeping mass, Spike stood, imposing and indomitable as he always had. His green eye half opened but glazed and seeing nothing. His muscled chest, massive and mountainous but as still and quiet as stone. A small trickle of smoke wafting from his half-opened mouth, the last vestiges of the flaming inferno that had raged inside him, unperturbed by even the smallest breath. Rain fell upon the motionless and peaceful face of one who had no regrets.

Family, friends and strangers cried alongside the world, mourning and praising in equal measure the name of Spike, Darraor of the Legion of the Damned, Third Veshanesh of the Draka, the Mountain Father, the War-Mourner, the one who even now, stood before them, his body still refusing to fall.

The man who had challenged and overpowered a god.

The man whose doom had been a blaze of glory, unlike anything the world had ever seen.

Spike, the man who had died standing.

Author's Note

It's been a hell of a ride lads and lasses, and i goddamn loved every second of it.

In a week's time i'll publish the "Epilogue" (a post-war short chapter to give proper closure to all the characters and the setting) and the Saga of Spike the Veshanesh will draw to a close.
I seriously doubt i'll ever give this story a sequel or a spin-off since I think it works best as a single story.

As always,
Tell me what you think, give a like, or a follow but, most of all, just enjoy reading it as much as i did writing.

Torgaddon'll see ya' soon.

Epilogue

"In closing of what i fear may have sometimes been a meandering, overtly emotional book, i would surmise the pain of loss a such. Loss is a pain that can be likened to an unclosing wound. It hurts, always, and it takes small things, the right image in front if your eyes, the right sound or song popping in your head, or even something as simple as the wind bringing just the right kind of scent to your nose in order to remind you of the one you have lost and send new aches throbbing from that wound. But every time it happens, you find that the pain fades to subconciousness just that little bit quicker. Just that little bit easier.
Purple prose aside, while it may seem unbearable at first, in time, it becomes naught but a welcomed harbinger of beloved memories"

Twilight Sparkle,
Psychology of Loss.

Twilight Sparkle closed the manuscript and gave the hard leather cover a minute long look, playing with the pencil in between her fingers, a content smile on her face. Her editor, Word's Worth, was going to have his work cut out for him once again. Princess though she was, her fame as the foremost expert in psychology and mental heath in general had begun rivaling her fame as a ruler. Twilight smiled morosely, knwing that Word's Worth complained only because he was a complainer by nature. Her books had been the most well recieved and acclaimed manifestos on mental health in the past decade an a half, already to the point that many universities around the world centered entire curriculums around her studies and writings. This particular one, dealing with the pain of loss, had been an especially hard one to formulate since even now, twenty years after the fact, she still grieved for Spike.
Twilight huffed to herself. For the foremost expert on psychology and psychiatry that she was, she made a poor show of herself. The purple alicorn allowed herself a small smile again. It was not entirely true. She did grieve, some nights she would wake up screaming or crying, but it was nothing compared to the first three years after Spike had died. Only the knowledge of how she would hurt her family and friends and what an insult it would have been to everything Spike had stood for, had kept her from slitting her wrists or hanging herself.

Twilight shook her head and slapped her cheeks softly. It was close to time to go and she had to maintain appearances as the immoveable and unflinching ruling figure that she was.
Honestly how Luna and Celestia dealt with putting the "masque" on for so many years was almost beyond her. But she understood it's necessity nonetheless. Her subjects needed to see her strong, indomitable and regal, more simbol than flesh and blood. They needed that to feel safe and assured.

Donning her symbolic dress, a dark, deep purple suit of fine plate armor, over a midnight blue chainmail dress, she set herself before the mirror and preened her mane. She had to admit she cut a pretty imposing figure. As the last living relative of The Warrior and in perpetual symbolic mourning for him, Twilight had refused to wear any dress or gown in public, other than the suit of armor gifted to her by the Draka of Nippon after Spike's death. Irronically her subjects saw this as a sign of strength, tradition and pride and their adulation had made even the supremely conservative Luna relent in trying to convince her to wear something more "princess-like". Indeed the people had taken to calling her the Lady Ironheart.
Irronically enough, her title had much less to do with her choice of dress than with her way of being. The Lady Ironheart, the most complete and cunning stateswoman the world had known since Machialo Vello the Snake if Athenesa over half a millennium ago. Her name came from the simple reality that she was as kind, loving and benevolent to her subjects as she was ruthless and uncompromising to any who would threaten her country.

Yes Twilight had learned a lot from Spike in the short time they had had together.

Twilight wiped a tear forming at the edge of her eye and looked at the magnificent basorelief adorning the entire north wall of her room. She took a deep breath.

"Okay, buck up girl, the masque goes on, now" she set her face in an expression of practiced, smiling tranquility and self-assurance. "I'm off then" she smiled to the basorelief and left the room.

In the silent stillness if the chamber, the mangled, lipless face of the basorelief gazed at the door with a single, sightless emerald in place of an eye. Whether it was a play of scarlet blossoms of the setting sun or something else entirely, one would have sworn it had smiled back at the lavender alicorn.

Twilight descended the stairs of her tower and made for the garden that separated the four grand towers of the Light - Embraced Palace. As she walked she heard the guards emerge from hidden alcoves and concealed rooms to form her honor guard behind her. Twilight huffed. While she did appreciate their dedication, she sometimes missed the simpler days when she could just go for a walk, alone with her thoughts. Still she did not shoo them away though. They took pride in their job and she did not want to make them feel unneeded. Although they all knew the Lady Ironheart was the last pony who needed anyone else's protection.

The sun caressed her fur and melted her troubles away as she emerged from the tower, her escort in tow. Twilight drew a deep breath and set her eyes to the tower adjacent to her own, the tower of the Twin Sisters. Celestia would most likely be on the balcony, sipping her afternoon tea, enjoying her "retirement". Insofar as an immortal manifestation of the Sun could retire. Twilight preferred to think of it as an extended holiday.

It had been Twilight's ideea. After the nigh erradication of the entire Equestrian race nearly twenty years ago, Celestia had worked like a madwoman to forge the alliances and rebuild enough to ensure her ponies survival. At the end of a decade of monstrous effort, she had managed to bring stability back to her subjects. But it had left her drained and tired. Twilight could almost picture the disheveled Celestia, crouched above her desk and papers like some ancient gargoyle, looking for the first time ever as old as she truly was. She and Luna had barely been able to convince the Princess of the Sun to allow the others to take the reigns and finally allow herself to rest. It had taken time but in the end even Celestia had reached the point where she could no longer bear the effort and responsability by herself and had agreed to take a more supportive role as the voice of wisdom and experience behind the Great Council.

It had been for the better. After all, Celestia needn't have done it all by herself. Her friends and allies were manyfold and over the last decade they had proven their will and loyalty many times over.

"Hmm, speak of the devil" Twilight smirked as she ran into another member of the Grand Council.

"Watch yourself pup. I'm a queen not a devil" Chrysalis said with a wide smirk. Their banter had become the stuff of legend in the past twenty years, and at this point it was a game between the two of them, to see who would break first. There was no enmity however in the banter between them. On the contrary, in the past two decades they had come to regard one another as both the most bitter rivals but also the closest of friends, their competitive natures pushing one another to greater heights of excellence.
After all, the newborn Equis Empire was an amalgamation of Equestrian, Crystal Empire and Changelings all come together under a single ruling organ, the Great Council, comprised of Twilight and her Small Council of the other five Elements, Luna and Celestia, Chrysalis and Cadence, with Shining Armor and Yog'hod as the Field Marshalls of the multi-species Royal Army.

Twilight herself was godmother to some of the most prominent of the Changeling families, as Chrysalis was to many pony families. It had been harder on the general ponies and changelings to bond with each other as species who had warred for centuries, but the changeling's help during the Great Catastrophe had done a great deal to cement relationships in the beginning and now, two decades later, the two races made almost no distinction between one another. It also helped a lot that the changelings had discovered they could feed on general emotion, not just love. Frustration, anxiety, stress, these everyday emotions that would ruin one's day had become mere momentary distractions, the conglomerate of changelings eating up these emotions leaving people with calm and happy hearts.

Love merely tasted better, according to Chrysalis, but even that was in no short supply, Twilight mused as she watched a stallion guard kiss a changeling mare in what they must have hoped would be a hidden corner of the courtyard. Interspecies couples had only become more and more usual and, according to the changelings, the romantic love of a spouse or special someone was the sweetest ambrosia, far above any other emotion.

The sound of steps upon the paving stones sang as a calming staccato as the two walked together to their destination, their bodyguards in tow. Not that they needed any such guards, but formalities and code had to be maintained. It was proper for them to do so.
Twilight's "masque" fell for a brief moment and her face lightened with an honest smile as they emerged in the capital city proper. Ponies, changelings, minotaurs, diamond dogs and even a few wyverns, the capital was as much of a hub of trade and interspecies kinship as she had come to expect of it. Pony hospitality had rubbed off on their changeling countrymen and the Equis Empire had flourished due to it. Normally the presence of so many different species would have been a recipe for disaster but it had not been the case. In their case, the "non-ponies" who had eventually settled in the Empire had come to fall in love with the pony natural honesty and imediatelly affectionate natures and the changeling's habit of saying just the right thing at just the right moment had helped even more.

"Luna and Cadenza?" Chrysalis asked.

"They've decided to let us handle this particular one. Normally I would have held it against them but considering this... particular... character we need to meet with, i can understand their reticience."

Twilight shook her head.
"In thruth, I advised them not to come. Luna is too volatile, she would end up punching or outright killing him and Cadence is busy with Flurry Heart. No use for a mother to have to talk to him...".

"IT" Chysalis corrected "I refuse to acknowledge that bastard as a man. Let's be off and done with it then, tonight is Nightmare Night and we have much more pleasant things to do than talk to that insolent boy with pretensions of royalty."

"True" Twilight nodded pensively. "Luna and Cadence will be here for Nightmare Night as well".

"As they should be".

The two walked in silence for a bit more.

"Sometimes it feels like Nightmare Night comes slower every year" Chrysalis mused.

"..."

"I may not have known him for nearly enough time as you did... but i will gladly acknowledge that we owe Spike everything... I owe Spike everything... I want you to know that".

Twilight reached out and patted Chrysalis on the back.
"We already know that. You have proven yourself time and time again for the past twenty years. You don't need to say it".

Chrysalis smiled then proceeded to rub her eyes.
"Curses. Enough with the mushy stuff. It'll give me crow's feet. I already found two more greying hairs today".

Twilight laughed.
"Advantages of being an alicorn. I'll never have to worry about that".

"Oh you will pay for that" Chrysalis chuckled a grimace of feigned anger on her face.

"I'll be looking forward to it" the purple alicorn giggled.

The great gates of the fortress - capital city opened with a long cry. The procession walked in with all the swagger and self assurance of born conquerors but their eyes betrayed fear and the weariness of the defeated. Atop his maple wood carved throne born aloft by over twenty chained and wound covered male and female slaves, the Horned King of the caribou scanned his surroundings. His eyes held the disdain inherent to his race as he glared at the obviously flourishing and rich country.

He hated it.

What right had such inferior species to be so happy and safe without being under the yoke of the obviously rightful masters of the world, the caribou. Ponies, dragons, minotaurs, griffons, all of them, all of them were inferior and should have long ago taken their rightful place beneath the might of the caribou. What right had they to flourish? What right had they to surpass the might of the caribou?
The maple wood cracked beneath his iron gauntlet as the answer came unbidden and unwelcome to his mind. It was the right of the strong. The right of the victorious. The Horned King hawked a gob of phlegm at the mere thought of ponies and strength in the same concept, but reality did not agree with him.

Two decades ago, after the invasion of Kilmaiil, the Doom of the Darraor, Equestria had remained a broken shell, bereft of it's former political, economic and military might, it's numbers reduced greatly, most of the survivors being civilians. It should have been child's play to surge in and conquer these last vestiges of power and reduce Equestria to another slave state of the ever expanding country of Cariba.
It's resources and position would have made for the perfect location to launch the next invasion and the one after that, fulfilling his ancestor's dreams of enlightening the world to the truth of the Great Race, the rightful masters of existence, the Caribou.

Yes, it should have been child's play to invade and enlighten the Equestrians to their proper place, beneath them. But instead of finding a shell of a country, spent, broken and driven to nigh dissolution, his invading forces had found themselves facing a warhost beyond anything history had ever seen.
Draka, Dragons, Strigoi, minotaurs, griffons, saddle arabians, diamond dogs,ponies and even changeling hives, all stood between him and what was rightfully his.
Burning rage filled him as he remembered that day, the "Princess" - he spat at the proposteros ideea - Celestia, surrounded by the representatives of over thirty countries and races, all speaking with one voice, gave voice to one single proclamation.

"The debt the world owes the Darraor must be paid. As long as we draw breath, none shall lay a hand against the home of the Godslayer".

And for twenty years, Cariba had been reduced from the greatest power, it's empire spanning over a third of the entirety of the world, to a medium sized country, pushed from all sides by angry, vengeful armies, all calling for blood for the sin of attacking the home of the one who had saved all. Even then, his numberless armies would have been enough to challenge the allied warhost, but once again his plans had been hindered by the appearance of an "unforseen event".
None could have imagined such a thing would have happened. Not in such a civilised age. Yet it had nonetheless.

The warrior's way of life. That had been the "unforseen event". Spike's doom had come as a blaze of glory that reingnited the warrior's passion in the hearts of so many. Knight orders, Warrior lodges, Battle monasteries and mercenary guilds had seemingly sprung up overnight, training and producing a never before seen number of knights, mercenaries, duelists, adventurers, war priests and so many more. Even moreso, barbarian tribes from the most wild and untamed parts of the world had converged upon the Equis Empire wanting to see and pay tribute to the grave of the one who had showed them the true undistilled way of the warrior. Though many had returned some had remained, either joining or forming warrior lodges or offering themselves to fight for the Equis Empire.
Normally this would not have been enough to even warrant Dainn's attention, but many if not all, had developed an almost fanatical respect for Spike, to the point where they had come to regard him as some form of Patron Saint of the martial orientented and his actions and way of being as some form of code of honor and conduit. As such, Cariba's attempt to invade the Equis Empire, Spike's home, had been taken as a direct insult to Spike and his heritage by these fanatics and they had joined the warhost in their battle against the caribou. This would have normally mattered little, except that amongst these fanatics were some of the most accomplished warriors, knight orders, barbarian clans and mercenary guilds the world had ever seen. This had been the "unforseen event".

Dainn had tried to apply political pressure to have these guilds and fanatical orders dispanded but no other country had listened, moreso since the emergence of so many vigilantes and overtly honorable knights had made crime and danger virtually obsolete in so many countries. Where once were forests haunted by savage beasts and vengeful terrors were now peaceful representations of nature's beauty, it's dangers hunted to extinction. Where once were underways and dungeons haunted by undead, bands of marauders and crime lords and their retinues were now aqueducts and archeological sites, their "inhabitants" culled into oblivion.

In the end, his numberless Caribou hordes had been ground to barely a tenth of their original number, no more than three million warriors, all strong and stout, but outnumbered and outmatched against the force of so many that stood against them. Still the Horned King would not have stopped fighting. His numbers had been depleted, true, but now that there was less territory to defend, the numbers left had proven to be enough to halt the war effort to a standstill, to it's current state for the last four years.
All he had to do was wait for the gratitude of the other countries to finally run out and for Equestria to remain defenseless once more, as was the way of things, and he could begin rebuilding his Empire once more. The caribou were nothing if not tenacious.

At least... that had been the plan. But now, after the events of the previous year, the previous Nightmare Night to be exact, here he was, his plans, his strategies, his entire dream... ash and dust.

Two million, seven hundred thousand and seventy seven. That had been the number of military casualties in a single night. Every fort, every redoubt, every fortified town, fortress or slightly reinforced house. The caribou soldiers, commanders, conscripts or mercenaries stationed in these places had been found beheaded, their bodies still standing, having been impaled on their own spears and swords in front of their designated charges, like nightmarish parodies of forests. All in the space of a single night. Only the military within the capital and the civilians had been left alive in what the ponies called Nightmare Night, that night of the year which the caribou had taken up calling the Night of the Singing Dead. They called it such because even though there had been so many casualties, not a single sound of combat, not a single alarm had been heard. Throughout the night, the only sound had been a low gravelly chant, reminding of the death-dirges one would sing at funerals, the dreadfully few reports had been filed by civilians, speaking of a single warrior, titanic of size, it's single eye glowing with a sepulchrous green, walking and singing the sinister dirge through the gloom.

The Horned King had awoken that night to find the walls surrounding his fortress capital manned not by the guards posted but instead over two and half million heads, their glazed, empty eyes facing the capital or, more specifically, his castle. His armies reduced to ruin, the morale of his people virtually non existent, Dainn had feared the warhost would descend upon the carcass of his empire with monstrous fury and wipe them out. But instead, the warhost had surrounded his country, assuring that none would enter, nor exit it.

Dainn could still remember the missive given to him by a particularily angry looking griffon.

"By the will of the Equis Empire and it's allied countries, you shall cease all hostilities against our countries and people. You will be called upon in one year's time to come to the Empire capital to negotiate a peace treaty.
Refuse this order or resume any further hostilities and you shall test His patience once again.
Trust us when we say, what has happened this Nightmare Night is nothing more than a drop in the ocean that is his fury".

Froth began to appear at the corners of Dainn's mouth, his anger drowning out even the fear that had resurfaced when remembering the Night of the Singing Dead.
How DARE they. To even consider the audacity of an inferior species DARING to order a caribou was beyond Dainn's capabilities. Circumstances had forced him to abide by their rules, but Dainn knew that in the end, the caribou would win.
He would negotiate a peace treaty in Cariba's favour, pretend to abide by it's rules, and when his empire and people grew once more, the inferior will pay, if not by his hand then by the hand of his children or grandchildren. The caribou did not forget or forgive.

As he mulled on his failure he realized that they had reached the Warlord's Grove. As if to make a point, Dainn brought a handkerchief to his nose and forced himself to cough out the smell of flowers, tree and incense. When the Capital had been reconstructed it had been made in a way to encouragre any visitor to pass through the grove on the way to reach the castle proper. Mounds of tree covered hillocks separated by paved roadways, each pavestone and clan plaque inscribed with Draken Script, a marvel of architecture, a glorious representation of the respect the Draka who had built the Grove had offered the place. Of course they had asked for no charge from the Equestrians when they had built it, claiming it was their duty to honor the place where the Third Vashanesh had met his Doom. In the end, they had created both a grove that doubled as a mausoleum, a place of such beauty and serenity that the entirety of the world had taken to calling it the Eight Marvel of the world, a true testament to Draka ingenuity and skill.
But, as beautiful as it was, it did not come close to what lied at the very centre of the grove. Between a three mile wide copse of fortress sized oaken trees, grown by the Dryads of Athel'Varal, lay the island mausoleum of the Legion.
Titanic stone dragon heads continually spewed the clear water that had formed the lake around it, marvels of perpetual magic gifted by the great Dragon Sages. A grand obsidian bridge connected the shore to the island and the obsidian, Draken Rune inscribed paving plaques market the way to the jewel hidden deep within the Inner Grove.

Merely looking at such grandeur served only to further nip at Dainn's already frayed nerves. How disgusting that such riches would be wasted on a carcass. What debt, what gratitude? It was expected for an inferior species such as the Draka to sacrifice itself in order for the great caribou race to live on.
As much as this waste of riches served to irritate his already fallen mood it was nothing compared to the storm of hatred that filled his heart when he saw them. Skulking between the trees, meditating at the foot of the tower sized trunks, sparring in the odd clearings or praying at the obsidian tablets. There they were, the "unforseen event" which had cost him the war.

Dainn's already poor disposition fell even more as he saw a clear example of this specific problem pacing the rune enscribed cobbles, heading the way of his retinue.
The Crusaders of the Flaming Heart, the most ardent followers of the Darraor's Code. Their tradition of coming to meditate at the Grove before any great undertaking had become a known fact, as was the knowledge of their strength. These were but a small retinue of the Crusaders but Dainn had experienced their strength enough that they were the equal of an entire batallion of charging mounted knights.
The Crusaders held a special place of hatred in the Horned King's heart for their Order had been the cause of many lost battles and destroyed skirmishes for his armies. He puffed up his chest and took an air of practiced indiference as the two retinues approached each other. A huff of annoyance escaped him when he recognized the three in the lead.

Applebloom, Sweetie Belle and Scotaloo the creators and leaders of the Order and the most dangerous and complete warriors of this age. Their deeds and strength were legend although they were barely in their late twenties.
Their ember hued armors gleamed, pristine and well maintained but also well used, the banners at their backs holding the seven pages of the Darraor's Code embroided with embersilk on the cloth, the weapons at their well toned hips witheld in well oiled scabbards.

The three girls pulled their cloaks down revealing gorgeous visages and looked at Dainn with the eyes that should have belonged to generals of entire armadas. Dainn could not help but suddenly feel smaller.

"Away from my sight woman. Your presence ills my disposition".

Applebloom gave the horned king a warm smile, scratching at the inked tatoo on her lower face in the shape of a grinning, dagger-fanged mouth that each of the three girls wore.
"Ah, if it isn't the deposed king. Arrogant as always".

Dainn's eyes flared with red, as a bull before a crimson cape, and the caribou in his retinue, sensing their king's anger, made for their swords, a chorus of steel hissing giving voice to the fast approaching violence.
Applebloom did not stop smiling but, as she opened her eyes, a cold sweat enveloped Dainn. There was no fear in those eyes, no obeisance, just defiance.

"Look around you, oh mighty king" she said. As Dainn did just that he saw many eyes upon him from the depths of the grove, hands of the hilts of swords and maces, the unmistakable sense of danger permeating the air. To shed blood within the grove without just cause was forbidden, and with so many followers of the Darraor's Code, notorious for their adherence to said Code despite the presence of royalty, he was under no illusion that if the Crusaders did not kill him, the warriors all around would, irrelevant of his position.

"Take heed of where you are King Dainn" a voice came from behind. Dainn turned atop his throne to the speakers and he saw Twilight and Chrysalis walking towards his entourage. "Your position and kingdom mean nothing upon the cobblestones of this sanctuary, only your deeds, and those who hold this grove dear to their hearts, find you wanting".
Dainn's frame trembled with barely restrained fury. The implicit threat in those words were as thinly veiled as a slight mist upon a lake. It was simple, if his warriors attacked, if he disrespected the Grove in any way, he was a dead man. Those around were merely waiting for an excuse.

Breathing heavily he signaled his men to resheath their weapons and made the motions for them to be on their way, only to find the Crusaders standing in their way, their hands still on their weapons.

"In the face of death and adversity, a crown is worth as much as rags" Applebloom quoted of the Darraor's Code.

"What? What prattle is this?" Dainn asked incredulously as Chrysalis pointed to the slaves that bore his throne.

"Slavery and the owning of slaves is outlawed in the Equis Empire. You will dismount and their shackles shall be broken. After our business is concluded, should they wish to return to Cariba with you, they are free to do so, if not, you will not be allowed to force them". Twilight clarified, putting emphasis on the word allow, knowing it would irk the king. Nobility was unused to being denied their wishes.

"YOU DARE..." Dainn bellowed, his body trembling with hatred.

"AND WHO ARE YOU TO DARE RAISE YOUR VOICE IN THE PRESENCE OF THE LADY IRONHEART, PUP?" another voice roared, interrupting the king. Dainn turned and his blood froze as he found himself facing a truly extreme example of the "unforseen event". A conglomerate of figures, each dressed in plain dark-green robes, each bearing a sword in one hand and a barbed flail in the other. At their forefront was a pony of medium height, his cowl down to reveal one of the most heavily scarred faces Dainn had ever seen. The white and brown pony was young but his eyes betrayed an almost rabid fervor and determination beyond his years. Dainn's body began to shiver uncontrolably as he recognized the group. If the Crusaders were the strongest, this group was even more dangerous because of their sheer lack of self preservation. This group, the Church of Welcomed Pain and their leader, ironically named Pipsqueak but known as the Orator, were fanatics in every sense of the word, believing that Spike had been an Avatar of Justice and Sacrifice and the only way to properly honor his deeds was to follow his example and find a meaningful death in the service of many. They chose no armor, no money, no worldly posessions. All they needed was their sword, their flail and a fight that was impossible to win and they were happy. Upon their faces he saw a rabid hunger. If most hated the Caribou for attacking Spike's home, these zealots were far beyond hate, waiting only for an excuse to kill them.

"I... I am a king... I..." he stammered.

" You are nothing here, I am sorry to say. Please, do save your breath and realize that in this hallowed ground, it is our laws you shall follow". Sweetie Belle spoke in her melodious voice, her honeyed voice and polite speech making the sheer threat exuding within each spoken word all the more terrifying.

Dainn tried to say something but no sound escaped his throat. It took one of his caribou bodyguards to look to Twilight and Chrysalis and speak.
"The Horned King has come at your becon, how can you allow such insolence, have you no diplomacy?".

Chrysalis snorted.
"We have enough diplomacy to follow the laws of the country that has called upon us. It is your own idiocy at fault for bringing slaves here". Without giving the caribou anymore notice, she turned to the slaves bearing the throne. "You are free. Rid yourselves of the burden upon your shoulders, and join us as masters of your own lives".

The slaves looked at the two queens with saucer sized eyes, hardly able to believe what they were hearing. Freedom. Salvation. As one they pushed the oversized throne from their shoulders, sending Dainn sprawling on the ground and made for the two queens, like the faithful heading towards their godesses.

"K... Kill them..." Dainn screamed from the ground, his voice in a fever pitch. The caribou made to launch themselves at the slaves only to stop when the first three caribou suddenly froze, their bodies rigid as a sound, thin and trilling, like that of a bird of prey, sang out through the Grove. Dainn fell to his knees, his ears bleeding as the sound's pitch and frequency rumbled in his brain, scrambling his thoughts and turning his muscles to jelly.
It was all he could do to turn and witness Sweetie Belle, her mouth open as she produced the sound.
Scootaloo dashed in like an orange wraith and the three bodyguards fell within a heartbeat, their skulls split open. She stood among the unconscious bodies, the mace in her hand red.

"You really should abide by OUR laws"she smiled.

The other bodyguards backed away, taken by surprise by the sheer brutality and speed the deceptively petite pony was capable of and the terrifyingly beautiful and hypnotic sound that Sweetie Belle had sung. It came with the wail of whip and steel that another caribou's head disappeared in a welter of blood, a barbed flail in it's place. The Orator stood in the falling corpse's place, his face a masque of rage.
"HEATHEN, PAGAN ANIMALS" he bellowed, his voice of such magnitude and dreadful clarity that it seemed impossible to have come from such a short frame. "UPON THE HOLY GROUND OF THE GROVE YOU TREAD, YOU DARE DISRESPECT THE DARRAOR'S CODE. I WILL FEED YOUR INNARDS TO THE CROWS, IDIOT BEASTS".

As the Orator made to raise his flail again, Twilight's hand interposed itself between the prone king and the fuming fanatic.
"I am sure king Dainn meant no disrespect. We cannot punish his ignorance and idiocy now can we?".

The Crusaders and the battle monks mumbled a few coarse words adressed to the caribou under their breaths but nonetheless did as they were told. The shifting of branches alerted Dainn and his guards that many of the other "pilgrims" of the grove had formed a large circle around them and were only now beginning to return to their own activities and, for some, rituals.

"I am sure that king Dainn will be more than happy to atone with a sizable donation to your many charity drives after we have had our talk" Twilight added, eyeing the Orator, knowing that the war priest would be hardest to placate. The stallion was the textbook definition of a fanatic.

"There is no need for you to attempt to placate me, Lady Ironheart. Although I disagree with allowing this filth his life, I would not dream of going against the word of the Honored Sister" the Orator declared with a bow and turned to leave, his sinister coven behind him.

Scootaloo chuckled a little.
"He's never gonna stop calling you that is he?"

Twilight shook her head, her hands massaging her temples.
"I doubt it. Honestly if these cults that have sprung up, weren't so dedicated in their charity work and their obsession over protecting the Equis Empire i would have banned them long ago".

"You can't hold it against them though" Sweetie Belle chimed in.
Twilight nodded knowingly. Many children had been orphaned during Kilmaail's invasion, and with Spike's sacrifice and no other guiding figures in their roads to maturity, there were many who had taken to seeing him as some sort of All-Father figure. Some, like the Crusaders took to it more superficially by following the Darraor's Code, which incidentally was almost word for word the ancient Draka Code. Others on the other hand, had taken it to the extreme, forming entire cults and religions around the Darraor.
Well, as long as they all kept to the adages of protecting the weak, honor and self- sacrifice which were the main components around these cults, Twilight saw no reason to disband them.

A shift in the grass returned her attention to the still prone Dainn and a disgusted grimace returned to her face.
"Oh... Right".

"There will be a reckoning for this insult" he snarled, rising and trying to regain a measure of his lost dignity.

"Impotent threats aside" Chrysalis intervened, her characteristic snark making Dainn's eye twitch " We have matters of state to discuss. I for one would prefer we be over and done with it, as soon as possible".

The double doors of the Council Chamber opened without a sound, their well oiled hinges leaving not even a small hiss to mark their efforts. A grand rotunda that had once been the sepulchral center point of the Light Embraced Castle's haunted library, the same place where the Mane Six had been subjected, almost succesffully to to the Mandala of Forsaken Memories, now served as the Council Chamber.

Although it had been cleaned to the point of shining, refurbished and remade with incredible care, all that work had done nothing to cull completely the dark, cold and oppressive atmosphere the former library held. It was obvious to any that entered the chamber that the spirits were closer here than anywhere else in the world. As to why the council would hold this as their meeting chamber, none knew for certain.

Away from the Grove and it's terrible inhabitants, King Dainn finnaly found his voice anew.

"This is the council chamber? Honestly now, what a pathetic display. You may want to use some of this… country's wealth in order to built a better place for such important discussions, Twilight Sparkle".

Twilight turned with a smile.
"I will take your opinion under advisement. But we of the council much enjoy this - place - as you call it. The veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is thin here and the ghosts of the past have good advice to give if one has ears to listen" she said, refusing to rise to his bait.
Twilight went to the other side of the great circular table, joining Chrysalis, and sat, motioning to Dainn to do the same.
"Also, it is High Councillor Twilight, please refer to me as such" she added, her smile never fading.

Dainn watched the two for a few heartbeats as they waited in silence for him to sit. He would have given anything and everything for a chance to kill them, to wring their throats himself.
But even through the fog of his ego and anger, he knew better than to try.
The Lady Ironheart was as much a master mage as she was a genius stateswoman. Then there was also the former changeling queen to consider.
Grumbling angrily, he finally took his seat, drawing his red cape around himself in order to try and keep the sepulchral chill of the ancient library at bay.

Twilight nodded and her smile widened.
"Very well, shall we begin, "King" Dainn?".

The way she had lingered on the word King had not been lost in Dainn and he could feel the vein pulsing at his temple. What was worse was that she was right.
Defeated, bereft of any army to speak of and with almost every country at his throat crying out for retribution, he was King of very little, to say the least.

Swallowing his frustration for what felt like the hundred time on this accursed day, he produced the impossibly thick wad of papers that was the peace treaty. He may have been defeated, but he was not going to offer his sovereignty on a silver platter.
"Yes, let us begin" he said, pushing the book sized treaty across the obsidian surface of the large table.
"You will find all of our demands in these documents. Sign it and you will have your peace treaty".

Twilight looked to the documents, then to Dainn, the smile never leaving her face. She made a small nod and Chrysalis snapped her fingers lazily. Green flashed across the table, edging it's occupants in fresh shadows that seemed to gibber excitedly as the documents became ash under the tender caress of the fire which had engulfed them.

"I am so very sorry King Dainn, but tonight is Nightmare Night, and I would prefer to waste no more time than necessary on this matter. If we could avoid this frivolous back and forth, I would be very thankful". Twilight said, her smile having finally faded into a stony, stern expression.

Dainn looked in disbelief at the ashes as they drifted away upon a wind he did not feel. His frame began to shake and froth formed at the edge of his mouth.

"HOW DARE YOU… INSOLENT… WORTHLESS…"

"Finish that at your own peril, King of nothing". Chrysalis growled, interrupting the burgeoning tirade.
"Nightmare Night draws close, and you may risk the ire of the Singing Dead once again".

The utterance of that dreaded event froze Dainn's blood.

"…How…"

"How do we know?" Twilight asked and rise from her chair. As she rose, her shadow moved with her, growing larger. Much larger than it should have been.
The air grew cold. Colder than the heart of Jotunharr and Dainn's breath came as white misty ghosts, dancing mockingly before his eyes. They took shapes. Dark, malicious shapes. Crying children his decrees had doomed to starvation, bellowing slaves his dominion had sentenced to torment, shrieking wives he had become bored with and put to death. They all called for the blood of their tormentor, for the life of the crown bearing beast.
But Dainn saw none of it. All he could see, as he fouled the seat with the contents of his now voided bladder, was that singular shadow which hovered behind Twilight, possessed of a vastness that promised to swallow the world, the horned king's eyes locked upon the glacial stare of a single green dot which peered from the stygian depth of the shadow.

"Remember what Nightmare Night is, arrogant boy" Twilight continued, her voice as strong as Stone and as sharp as the blade. "To your kind it might seem a trifling joke but to us, it is the night when the veil between the living and the dead thins the most. It is the single night of the year when HE stands, a foot in the afterlife and the other in our world. He has visited you once already, and the only reason why your "superior race" was not driven to extinction, was because I begged him to show you mercy. This night, his patience is at an end, as is mine.
Now …" she concluded, walking around the council table and slamming their own version of the peace treaty that had sat forgotten on the dark wood, into Dainn's chest as the terrified king kept staring at the shadow that had not moved with her but simply kept staring at him with that singular, fearsome green light " SIGN THE DAMNED PAPER AND GET OUT OF MY SIGHT".

Fat tears slithered down Dainn's face as he signed the treaty that effectively rendered Cariba a toothless dog, vassal to the Equis Empire but sign it he did. He knew, if he chose not to, there would be no Cariba come tomorrow and the Equestrians and their allies would not have to lift a finger. HE would see to the massacre personally. Fouled and defeated, Dainn rose bowed deeply to the Lady Ironheart, turned and left in complete silence.

"Harsh" Chrysalis said as the great oaken doors closed.

"But necessary" Twilight said, not even looking at Chrysalis, instead staring at the wall behind her where now only her own shadow gazed back at her.
"Do you think HE would have approved of my actions?"

Chrysalis looked at the now diminutive shadow on the bare stone of the wall. It danced as the light of the flickering flame hit Twilight and seemed almost to want to leap out and embrace it's forlorn mistress. Twilight had a habit of falling into melancholy whenever she had to assume the role of ruthless stateswoman. Chrysalis sighed.

"You ask me if he approves?" She began lifting Twilight's head and looking deep into her eyes.
"We do whatever it takes in order to keep those we love safe. In our case, it is an entire country.
Even if we have to step on our own hearts, we set our jaws and do what must be done. Does it not seem familiar?"

Twilight smiled. Chrysalis had described Spike's mentality to the last detail. It was a hard job but she had the entire Council who understood what it took and supported one another. How Spike had been able to take such decisions by himself and for over two millennia, she knew she would never be able to fully comprehend.

"Now" Chrysalis began, waving away the "mushy stuff" as she called any display of doubt or sentimentalism "the hour is almost upon us and we should go".

Twilight looked at the dwarf made clock on her wrist and she could not help but smile widely. Dainn be damned, politics be damned and masks be damned. All of it be damned when this single night of the year came.

Nightmare Night was about to begin.

The courtyard of the castle stood as a display of joy and jubilation as thousands of celebrants came and went, danced and laughed, talked and whooped, their merrymaking punctuated by the booms and lights of goblin-made fireworks.
Twilight could not help but smile as a herd of foals played and ran before her entourage, a veritable chaotic mass of laughter, colorful costumes and ribbons. The stern Royal Guards did nothing to shoo the children out of the way. They knew that doing something like that would earn them an earful from Twilight.

The alicorn smiled and nooded left and right, her masque of "according to plan" that she displayed in public visibly putting any who looked upon her at ease. It helped for the people to know that those they had chosen to rule had everything under control.

To her left, Chrysalis walked alongside her, chin up and eyes closed as she drank in the love and adulation her subjects were showing her. From villain to one of the most respected and beloved individuals in Equestrian history, the former changeling queen had exceeded all expectations.

"Heyo there" a voice cut through the sounds of merrymaking, it's thick country accent making no mistake of it's owner.
Applejack, Pinkie Pie, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash and Rarity stood at the foot of the courtyard portcullis, waiting for the others. Everyone of them had changed into mourning clothes, the strong whites and golds of the Council Vestments being much too gaudy for such a solemn occasion.
For the most part, simple knee length black dresses, though of course each with their unique quirks. Rainbow's was more of a dress suit, Pinkie wore a black two piece of shirt and skirt and Rarity's reminded more of a gown than anything else.

Still, personal touches aside, the clothing all wore was solemn with the barest hint of informality hidden here and there.

"Hello there bumpkin" Chrysalis began, looking at the orange pony.

"Oh now don't yah start BUGGIN' me yah old buzzard" Applejack retaliated.

One would have been excused to mistake their quips for outright hostility, if not for their smirks and informality which showed it for what it really was. The banter between close friends.

"Yes, yes, insect pun aside" Chrysalis waved her hand nonchalantly " Now where are my sweet little fluffballs?"

As if on que, three foals jumped out from behind the girl, their faces locked into grimaces that were meant to be scary, if not for their heart-melting cuteness.

"Did we scare yah auntie Chrissy?" The oldest one, a dark grey colored five year old filly with fiery orange hair and green eyes asked.

"No my dear. But i may be on the onset of diabetes from your adorable attempt" Chrysalis answered, bending down to pinch Appleseed's cheeks. Applejack laughed at her daughter's feeble attempts to escape her godmother's affection.

"Ooooh" the twin filly, Honey Apple, and colt, Big Mac Jr, butter colored and pale red haired children of Fluttershy and Big Mac puffed up their cheeks as they looked enviously at Appleseed.

"Pouty? Did you think I forgot about you little munchkins?" Chrysalis smirked and hauled all three foals into a bear hug, nuzzling her face into their coats, occasionally squeaking out a small "so fluffy" as the three children giggled.

The Mane Six looked on, Chrysalis's complete personality change whenever she was near the three children always fun to watch. But, then again, Celestia and Luna, their other two godmothers, did the exact same thing. Royal dignity could only hold out so long against such unbridled cuteness.

"Where are the others?" Twilight asked.

"They said they'd be waiting at the edge of the Grove"
Rainbow answered. "Something about not wanting to risk even seeing Dainn or they'd most likely try to murder him".

"Ahem" Fluttershy interjected motioning at the children. Futily, as they were to engrossed in their godmother's affection to hear the word.

"Don't worry. I made sure Dainn will never threaten the Equis Empire again" Twilight waved her hand, her eyes as cold as steel for a moment.

"Oho, the Lady Ironheart strikes again?" Rarity asked, playfully tapping her immaculate, slender fingers against Twilight's chest plate.

"Pff, hardly" Twilight scoffed. "The little pissant thinks himself a king, but has the political acumen of a shi..."

"AHEM" Fluttershy interjected again, much louder this time. "Language please Twilight" she said with a deadpan look.

"Ehehehe… sorry" the alicorn said, sounding more like the teenager she had been rather than the political powerhouse she was. The shy and meek friend though she may still be, Fluttershy had developed quite the assertive, some would say overprotective, streak when it came to her children.
And no one in their right mind would willingly make themselves the Chief Surgeon's enemy. None who didn't want to feel her proficiency with a scalpel that is.

"Apology accepted" Fluttershy answered, her warm nature returning with a kind smile as she clapped her hands.
" Alright you three., it's time to go. You may walk with auntie but promise to hold hands".

"Kaaay" the three answered and grabbed hold of Chrysalis's hands ( and a leg) as the former chanqeling queen mouthed a silent "thank you" to Fluttershy.

Twilight looked up and drank in the shimmering pale beauty of the moon. It had been over twenty years since the entirety of their existence had been threatened with oblivion. Twenty years since their salvation. But even today, the purple alicorn could still recall the feeling. They had been saved. Given another chance. And as such she owed it to him to live her life with gusto and appreciate all that which others took for granted. Such as the friends… the family that even now talked, walked and bantered around her.

A pair of hands gingerly grabbed her arm and pulled her out of her reverie. She looked to her left and Rarity's gentle smile greeted her.
"You're doing it again darling" she snubbed teasingly, referring to Twilight's occasional moments of introspection. "Come, let's walk together".

Yes, it was good to be surrounded by those you loved and who loved you in turn. Twilight walked arm in arm with Rarity, drinking in the peace of the moment, even as they reached the edge of the Grove where the three Alicorn Princesses, Shining Armor, Big Mac, Yog'yhod and the three Crusaders waited.

Between the hellos, the embraces, the smiles, Twilight's mind began to drift again into blissful gratitude as she was want to do this time of year.

The groups and couples formed as the entire gathering travelled the rune carved pavement of the road.

The Crusaders made the rear of the diminutive column, their armors shining beautiously in the translucent glow of the moonlight.

Elegant and proud, their every movement, every breaths radiating the nobility of their station, Luna and Celestia walked, a midnight black and snow white rose in their hands.

Shining and Cadence, hand in hand, with gazes that spoke of unending gratitude strode the steps of the mourning road.

Chrysalis half walked and half played with the three young, her content smile like a shining star, belying the edged fury that would emerge should anyone ever try to harm her family ever again.

Applejack and Yog'yhod, the married couple so odd, yet so endearing in how opposite to one another they were. The always open, honest and beaming Applejack edged in slyly and pecked her eternally disciplined and stoic husband on the cheek.

Pinkie Pie and Rainbow Jack, the two decades having done nothing to reduce the two eternal pranksters, nor their love for one another.

Fluttershy and Big Mac silent as they were want to be, experiencing this yearly ritual with joy and sorrow in equal measure, taking solace in each other's presence.

And, at the very front, Twilight and Rarity, the only two of the Mane Six who had chosen to forego either marriage or relationships. Rarity, the most coveted bachelorette in the Equis Empire had revoked the affection of both males and quite a surprising number of females as, in her own words: "the only man for me is waiting in the afterlife. Can't let Shagga have him all to herself now can I?" And Twilight had simply resolved herself that as an immortal alicorn she did not want to have to witness the one she would fall in love with, waste in the years before her eyes while she would remain eternally young. She had chosen not be romantically involved, at least for the time being. She had her subjects, her purpose and her memories.

Twilight was content.

But now, under the full Moon of Nightmare Night, she was more than just content. Twilight was happy.
Even as the group entered the now empty inner Grove, circled by the men and women of the knightly orders, warrior lodges and mercenary guilds that had made it their own ritual to encircle the inner Grove during Nightmare Night and let none except this group pass, Twilight was happy.

Even as they passed the obsidian carved bridge over the cascading falls that flanked the Inner Grove and her eyes began to blur with tears, Twilight was happy.

Even as the sound of birds and critters, even the wind itself stopped and was replaced with the half heard, ethereal tumult of deep chanting voices, Draka dirges and the sounds of weapons rhythmically slamming against shields, Twilight was happy.

Upon seventeen brass steps the obsidian casket had been built around the body that even dead had refused to fall, it's laquered, impecable surface notched only by Draka Runescript of such perfect beauty it would have made angels weep. Each brass step held within it urns containing the ashes of his Legion. Flanking the casket, the fortress sized Ironwood trees, masterworks of dryad magic stood tall, like eternal guardians looking over the mausoleum.

It was these steps which the group climbed, crying , smiling and paying their respects. It was under these trees that the group stopped and sat, their faces stained with tears but their eyes glowing with joy.

It was to that casket that they looked as Twilight, her voice breaking and quivering but nonetheless filled with happiness and gratitude, finally spoke.

"Twenty years, twenty Nightmare Nights. And you have returned every single time. As you promised".

He stood in front of the obsidian casket, unchanced as the day he had returned from Ginun and become their salvation, his form more felt than seen but nonetheless, possessed of a vastness that dwarfed the mausoleum itself.
Armor as black as the darkest night and ornate as the most elaborate basorelief covered muscles so developed that the body itself would have seemed deformed. Atop impossibly wide shoulders a green maned head sat, a lipless mouth with a fanged slab of steel in place of a lower jaw smiled at them through the strands of emerald hair.

A single eye, glacial emerald orb, bearing within it a disciplined rtuhlesness that felt like a cold steel edge pressed upon the throat, gazed at the assembled group. For those present, they could see what others would never be gifted within that gaze.
Beyond that unwavering discipline and iron will was the love that had given all for them. The love that not even death itself could stand against. The love that made him protect them beyond the grave.

"Welcome back, my number one assistant" Twilight laughed, tears streaming uncontrollably down her face.

Spike, Darraor of the Legion, Third Veshanesh of the Draka spoke, with a voice that was the basso of a cracking world and the thunder of a malestrom. His single word, a declaration, a statement of fact that not the gods above nor the devils below, not even the reaper himself could challenge.

"Always".

Author's Note

I make no excuse for how long this chapter took me to write.
All i'm saying is that I've written and rewritten it about ten times in the past year, different each time.

I can only thank each and every one of you for indulging this twisted metalhead's attempt at writing and having offered me your support.

To you my friends, I give my thanks and the most solemn of salutes.

I leave you for the moment with a teaser for what is to come:
"The Shadow over Equestria"

Fall of the Mountain

Celestia and Luna, exhausted and covered in bruises, their ankles and wrists chafed from the hell-forged iron shackles, jogged rather than walked, their comparatively small bodies unable to keep up with the massive Draka's stride otherwise. The warrior's legs alone were as tall as either of the Princesses, themselves barely reaching the lowest part of Spike's midsection.

Spike had retrieved his massive armor and was now walking towards his assembled troops. The many Draka awaiting him had finished the remaining daemons and undead.
The siege of Canterlot had been broken.

Celestia found herself huffing with effort, her feet stumbling slightly as she tried to keep pace with Spike. She did not want to lose Spike out of her sight. Too many questions burned in her mind right now for her to allow that. Once Spike got some proper care, she would gain as much information as possible.

Her eyes fell to her sister, Luna, who jogged slightly in order to keep up with the gigantic Draka and, much like herself, kept her eyes to Spike. Unlike Celestia however, Luna's eyes were not alight with questions or inquiry, but rather it was the wary look a bird of prey gives a lurking serpent.

Celestia knew better than to reprimand her.

Luna knew full well what anger and madness can do to somepony. Nightmare Moon had not been a fluke, and Luna still struggled sometimes to extinguish that side of her. However much they owed Spike now, Luna did not trust that Spike would not go berserk anew, as the incident one year ago.

Celestia had to admit that she harbored such feelings too. As much as she wanted to stifle them, as much as she wanted to be wholeheartedly happy that Spike was alive and that he had saved her, her sister and her subjects, she could not help but shudder at the sight of him.

His massive body, painted in scars, both ancient and new. His lipless, fanged face. His cold, ancient eyes, eyes that had seen the Abyss itself and the worst the world has to offer.

What was even worse was the almost casual acceptance and resignation with which Spike had forced his own body to walk, even though his entire frame was covered, head to toe, in horrific wounds. A hundred wounds and deep cuts flowed with blood, even as parts of his flesh and scales still sizzled and smoldered, in the aftermath of his battle with the greater daemon Nerg'Cathal and his Flesh Giver cannon. Yet, with all those wounds, Spike walked forward without a single whisper of pain. Her body trembling slightly, Celestia could understand that Spike was no stranger to pain and the torments of the body.

Just how much must have this poor child suffered in order to become so accustomed to pain?

With a slight shrug, she pushed it out of her mind. Questions must wait. She needed to reach Canterlot Castle and see to the preparations for the journey to the Crystal Empire. A part of her mind also constantly nagged at her to find Twilight as soon as possible and check if she was alright.

Twilight stumbled forward, her arm across Applejack strong shoulders. The magically induced seizure she had suffered had taken quite the toll on her, such that she could barely even walk without support.

The concerned look of her friends surrounded her as they all walked into the great courtyard of the Castle. The refugees and the Royal Guard had assembled before the portcullis of the castle, everypony wanting nothing more than to look upon the reassuring sight of their beloved Princesses.

The sound of hurried footsteps announced the arrival of one of the Royal Guard captains and a few of the castle medics.

"Move it already, Princess Twilight is wounded" berated the Captain to the slow moving medics.

"Captain" said Twilight, trying to put as much dignity and authority in her exhausted voice as she could. "I am fine, I don't need the medics, all I need is rest".

"Nonsense your highness, I cannot allow..." began the Captain, even as he reached out to take Twilight from Applejack's supporting shoulders.

"Whoah there buddy" interrupted Rainbow Dash as she flew in front of the Captain. "If Twilight said that she needs no help, then she needs no help. Trust me, if there's anyone here who knows what's what, it's her".

"But..." began the Captain again, only to be interrupted by the rumbling of the great gates beginning to open.

"Yah sure ya'll be okay sugarcube?" asked a concerned Applejack even as she set Twilight down on the grass to lean on a tree. "Ahm' sure the Princesses won't mind if ya' take a breather before ya' meet 'em an' all".

Twilight smiled meekly at the girls and the Captain, appreciating their concern.

"Thanks, but I really will be okay. My magical reserves have been exhausted and the magical backlash of that freaky cannon did a number on me but I just need to rest and I'll be okay. It can wait until I've spoken to Princess Celestia, though".

With a thunderous groan that signaled the complete opening of the gates of Canterlot Castle, the Princesses began walking through, followed by Spike and his Legion of the Damned.

A cheer went up at the sight of the two Princesses, safe and sound, only to die out almost as quickly, as Spike and the Legion came closer to the assembled ponies.

What joy there had been, died off, smothered by the sight of the horribly wounded Spike and the Legion of the Damned, a large number of them carrying the still bodies of their fellow Legionnaires.

"SPIKE" yelled Twilight, her exhaustion all but forgotten as she began half-running, half-stumbling towards the horribly wounded form of Spike. "Oh my goodness, are you alright? Medics, MEDICS OVER HERE".

Spike stopped dead in his tracks as Twilight came running at him and extended a hand larger than her entire upper body to catch her as she stumbled and fell, her already exhausted body unable to cope with the sudden effort.

"Twilight, stop, you are hurt enough as it is".

"What in the hay are yah talkin' about? YOU'RE the one who's hurt" said Applejack exasperated, trying to peel Twilight off Spike's arm. "How in Tartarus did ya' get like that? You gotta get to the medics right now".

"Sweet Celestia, how are you even standing right now? MEDICS GET OVER HERE, WHAT THE BUCK ARE YOU WAITING FOR" yelled Rarity, taking everypony aback with the complete shift in her demeanor. Rarity had never cussed before.

Spike looked to his battered body and, with a slow shake of his head, added.

"My warriors come first. Shagga!".

At the Darraor's call, Shagga quickly came, her right hand nursing a particularly deep wound on her left shoulder. Even wounded so, Shagga maintained the dignity and poise that was required of a Draka of her station.

"Elder Brother?"

"Report"

"…." Shagga's mouth opened and closed, as if she did not want to speak.

Spike's normally steely eye began to soften. Iron resolve and unbending discipline began to meld with grief and sorrow.

"How many?" he whispered.

"Fifty seven … including Goromandy" said Shagga, her voice steady, yet suddenly hoarse. "They all died with honor, as true Draka of the Legion must".

"Oh sweet Celestia" whimpered Fluttershy, her hand clasped to her mouth in shock.

Spike's massive shoulders slumped and his large head turned to look to the ground. For a moment the air around him seemed to become heavy and his breathing seemed to stop. Yet it was only for a moment. His head slowly came back up and his back straightened, his remaining eye, once again, a pinnacle of immovable determination.

"Tonight we sing for them. They deserve nothing less. Our voices shall accompany them upon the Road of Skulls when they meet their ancestors, absolved of their sins".

A slight, almost imperceptible sniff came from Shagga. Her face was impassive, yet her eyes were filled with gratitude and affection. Spike, the Veshanesh of the Draka, Darraor of the Legion, slaughterer of untold millions of daemons, vanquisher of the Avatar of the Abyssal Gods, the unbreakable Draka, a creature that had seen the worst existence had to offer, still had enough love in his heart to react with such sorrow at the inevitable loss of his Legionnaires.

"Shagga, call upon our medic and requisition the service of any pony medic to heal yourself and our Battle-Siblings. After that, your order is to rest. We will begin the march to the pony sanctuary of the Crystal Empire at the daybreak of tomorrow".

"...but...my lord … Spike...you are the most wounded here" she began, her eyes suddenly alight with concern. It had always been Spike's way to see to his warriors safety before his own. But the only time she had seen him so wounded had been after his battle with the Avatar of the Abyss.

Spike drew himself to his full height, towering above Shagga and put a massive, yet gentle hand on her unwounded shoulder.

"Your concern is appreciated, however, you have your orders. You and the rest of my warriors will be healed first. I shall wait".

With that, he offered a nod to a dismayed Twilight, and turned his back to her, beginning to walk away. He had spent to much time close to her already. If Twilight and the other girls were to forget him, he could not allow himself to rekindle their memories and affections towards him. He had to make sure they would not see him as a friend anymore.

A quick flutter of wings and a small voice made him stop in his tracks.

"NO YOU DON'T, MISTER"

Spike turned to regard the tiny, pink-maned and yellow-furred pegasus that hovered inches from his face, a large first-aid bag clutched in her fists. His lipless mouth opened but clamped shut as soon as he saw her eyes. She was not using the Stare. It would not have worked on him anyway. And yet, he found himself unable to look away from those large, concern filled eyes.

"Big warlord of the Draka or no, If you're not gonna let the doctor see you, you will sit down and at least let me bandage your wounds" began Fluttershy, more assertive than she had ever been before.

Try as he might, Spike could not walk away. As much as he wanted to make them forget him, he could not simply leave without offering an explanation. It would be too harsh, he would wound them too much. He knew his heart would shatter if he did so. Looking to Shagga for support, all he found were the concerned faces of Shagga and the other five girls.

Cursing himself for a fool and a weakling, Spike sat cross-legged on the cold, hard stone of the ground, allowing a grumbling Fluttershy to damp a cotton swab in alcohol and begin cleaning his many wounds.

He did not notice the grateful smile plastered on Shagga's face as she turned to walk away and do his bidding. Nor did he notice her mime the words "thank you" to Twilight and her friends.

Twilight and the rest of the girls nodded to her and closed in on Spike.

"We're going to need something to stop the bleeding before you bandage his wounds" began Twilight, her mind already racing to remember a healing spell strong enough to have any effect on a draconian's high magical resistance.

Spike's arm extended toward the Captain of the Royal Guard.

"Your spare sword".

Without a moment's hesitation, unable to even attempt to deny Spike's commanding presence, the Captain obliged. His large, wide bladed sword, was barely more than a dagger in Spike's hand and, with a gout of pale green flame, the blade turned white-hot.

Meticulously, with steady movements, Spike put the white-hot metal to his flesh, cauterizing the first wound Fluttershy had cleaned, closing it and staunching the flow of blood. Flesh sizzled and burned, yet Spike did not even wince, even as the other girls grimaced at the sight and sound.

"Uhh, Spike?" started Applejack "Can..uh..can we talk?"

Spike, still cauterizing wound after wound, turned his lipless face to her and nodded slightly.

"Yeah...umm...the thing is..." she began only to be cut short by the usual atmosphere-ignoring voice of Pinkie.

"Why are you fighting so hard for us if you're just going to do your best to avoid us afterwards?"

A strong silence filled the area around the former companions, every girl looking worried and expectantly awaiting answers. Spike's remaining good eye however, blazed with restrained anger and his metallic jaw worked as if he was forcing himself not to say something he wanted desperately to.

Finally, drawing in a deep breath, he calmed himself.

"I have already explained it have I not? I am now of the Legion of the Damned, I am not here as your friend, I am here because it is my duty to protect you, as recompense for the kindness you have shown me when I was nothing more than a runtling".

With a shrug, he rose from the ground and gently pushed Fluttershy away from him.

"I humbly thank you for that, Elements of Harmony, I ask that you ready yourself for the long march to the Crystal Empire". Ending it with a formal bow, he turned and began walking away, leaving the dismayed ponies behind him.

Fluttershy, Rarity and Pinkie Pie looked as if they were about to burst into tears, while Applejack and Rainbow Dash were simply dumbfounded. Spike had never spoken in such a formal and cold tone with them. Twilight, however, crossed her arms before her chest and called out.

"You're lying".

Spike's stride stopped abruptly. For a few seconds he stood there, his fists balling up and veins begining to swell on his neck and arms. Without another word he started walking again and did not look back.

"Wha...Wha... WHAT THE HAY WAS THAT ABOUT?" cried Applejack turning to Twilight.

"Have ya' lost your marbles, why did ya' say that? He's already angry at us for Celestia-knows what reason, don't add ta' the fire".

"No, Princess Twilight is right" a melodious voice came from behind them. They turned to see an open-armed Celestia walk towards them, Luna not far behind her.

"Princess Celestia, Princess Luna" cried the six girls, dog-piling on them in a whirlwind of hugs.

"Wait, what do you mean Twilight's right?" asked Pinkie, in the middle of giving Luna a bone-crunching hug.

Celestia looked at the girls and nodded.

"Exactly what I said my little ponies, Twilight is right when she says that Spike is lying. He is being distant but he will not share with us the reason why. One thing I can say for sure is that it is not for the reason he has given to you just now".

The girls looked at Celestia quizzically, trying their best to figure out why Spike would act this way.

"You think it's because of the "accident""? asked Rainbow.

"No" said Twilight, her hand stroking her chin, her brow furrowed in concentration. "At least, not entirely. It has a lot to do with his rampage one year ago, that's for sure, but that's not the main reason he's being so distant right now".

Twilight remained, clearly trying to solve the puzzle for a few moments more, then, shrugging, added.

"Doesn't matter, he'll tell us the truth when he's ready. However, if he thinks we'll just going to let him distance himself from us, he's got another thing coming. I've already lost him once, I'm not going to let that happen again".

Wide smiles appeared on the six girls faces, even Celestia allowing herself a slight smirk. It was good to see the girls in high spirits once again. Too much sadness had been allowed recently.

Spike strode forwards, his eye looking ahead, yet unable to register anything other than the stone slabs of the courtyard, his ears unable to hear anything other than his own thoughts.

As much as his wounded body hurt, his heart hurt a thousand times worse.

It was not going well, he would not be able to keep up the charade for too long anymore. He could not stand acting or talking with the girls who had been nothing less than foster mothers to him, in such a manner. Even if Twilight was beginning to see through the act, he had clearly seen the hurt in her eyes.

But he had to keep doing this. No matter how much it hurt him, he had to play the role of the ungrateful bastard and distance himself from the girls. He could not allow them to feel close enough to him again to shed tears for him.

Yes, he had to get the girls to the Crystal Empire as soon as possible and return to his world of death and battle. Things were much simpler there.

In the depths of the mountain's stone belly, daemons shrieked and howled in an orgy of death and blood, as another hundred changelings were sacrificed in the great cult's pentagram.

As the green blood flowed, the pentagram blazed an ugly red, and Kilmaaiil the Half-Born shrieked to the cold stone ceiling. His eyes rolled in his sockets, even as his tiny, disfigured form shivered, gripped in a magically induced frenzy. His already emanciated form seemed to become even more disfigured, as leathery skin clung to bones and bloody froth burst from his broken-toothed mouth.

Yet, no daemon came to his aid. All knew that to speak to the Abyssal Gods had it's costs, and none wanted to pay that price. The Prophet of the Abyss alone had the power to speak to the Abyssal Gods and retain his sanity.

Kilmaaiil's twitching hand rose again and, as one, another hundred changeling's throats were sliced and their lifeblood spilled upon the pentagram.

Yes, to speak with the Gods of the Abyss had it's price.

With a final bellow, Kilmaaiil's shuddering body fell to the ground and the blazing pentagram extinguished it's eldritch glow, disappearing in a waft of acrid smoke.

Quivering and coughing blood, Kilmaaiil rose from the ground, his mismatched eyes blazing with fervor and knowledge. Through the sight of the Abyssal Gods he had seen it all. The gigantic Draka emerging from beyond the great portal of the Mouth of Madness. He and his army butchering daemons by the thousands in a relentless march. Nerg'Cathal prostrate and crying before the behemoth draconian, only to disappear in a blaze of fire. He had seen them make ready to march from the Castle that was sanctuary for hundreds of Equestrians and he had seen their destination.

The Crystal Empire.

Kilmaaiil had seen the warrior's power and the blood of millions that stained the creature's hands. Yet, he had also seen the shadow of doom hovering above the gigantic Draka and his Legion. Yes, their doom was close, he only needed hasten it.

"Summon Jalaman Hun and Wilhelmina to my tent" he bellowed in his reedy voice.

Without awaiting a response, he turned and started walking to his tent. There was work to be done. Already, the plan took shape in his malevolent mind. Jalaman Hun and his armies would go through the underbelly of the world and intercept the Legion and refugee convoy before they would reach the Crystal Empire, while Wilhelmina and their newest ally would attack the convoy on the journey towards it.

He doubted there would be any need for Jalaman to intercept the convoy, as most likely nothing would remain after Wilhelmina's army and the new ally would attack, however, a contingency plan was never a bad thing. He would not take any chances. The Elements of Harmony were integral to the plans of the Abyssal Gods.

Speaking of the new ally, it was about time it got fresh orders.

The Mouth of Madness blazed in unholy flames. Dragons, drakes and wyverns fell to the ground as black, rotten flame tore at their flesh and reduced them to charred husks. Howling Draka of the Legion of Damned laughed as they were consumed by the flames, continuing to throw themselves at the mountainous creature that had attacked the Mouth of Madness, even though it was nothing more than an exercise in futility.

Bal'Valar the Stormfang, Archdrake of DrakenHall, bellowed another incantation as he unleashed barrage after barrage of white fireballs at the single gigantic enemy that had destroyed the assembled forces that defended the Mouth of Madness.

White purifying flame sizzled and compressed before the might of the creature and, with a final boom, exploded into nothingness. Within the blinding light of the exploding fireballs, Bel'Valar was able to see clearly for the first time the form of the monstrosity that had attacked them in the dead of night.

Three times the size of an elder dragon, the creature was larger than the Bastion fortress itself. Shredded leathery wings blew whirlwinds with every movement while bony claws raked through stone and steel with equal ease. A massive body of rotten flesh and yellowed bone stared back at Bel'Valar, what few wounds had been made upon it, healing in mere moments.

Atop a long, bony neck lay a massive skull, half covered in rotten flesh, a single, massive horn of bone, a still twitching Draka impaled upon it, adorning it's skeletal snout.

Bel'Valar's final sound was a shriek of dismay as he recognized the corpse of one of the Primordial Dragons, one the progenitors of the Draconian race, the Mountain Eater himself.

Inside the undead corpse of the Mountain Eater, the once noble Primordial Dragon's soul howled in impotent rage and sorrow as he butchered draconian after draconian. He could recognize dragons, drakes and Draka alike, yet he was unable to stop himself from slaughtering the poor children.

The creature his body now recognized as master, the one called Kilmaaill the Half-Born had been truly insidious in his actions. It had resurrected his body as a perpetually decaying and regenerating abomination, and bound his soul to the carcass, forcing him to watch the carnage, all the while allowing his carcass to have the same strength in death as it had had in life.

The Mountain Eater's soul cried out again as his body spewed black, corrupted flame at the small dragon that had launched purifying flame at his body before, and burned him to a flaming pile of bones.

He was slave to someone else's will. He, the Mountain Eater. He, once one of the Primordial Dragons. He, once protector of the draconian race. He was nothing more than a puppet now. The Mountain Eater had believed his death at the hands of Ganbataar Ghiula Khan and his innumerable armies had been the final act in his life. But nothing was ever so simple when concerning the Abyssal Gods and their daemonic lackeys.

The Mountain Eater howled in frustrated rage again, as his body, independent of his will, butchered the last few remaining draconians. He cursed himself for being too strong. He cursed the Abyssal Gods for their very presence. But, most of all, he cursed Kilmaaiil for having desecrated his body and robbed him of his rest in the afterlife.

As if called upon by the mere thought of his name, the reedy voice of Kilmaaiil blew within his mind.

"Upon the peaks of the Mountains of Grey Crystals, a convoy of Equestrian Ponies shall emerge, led by a small contingent of Draka. Butcher them and the Draka alike, but leave the Elements of Harmony alive. Obey".

His soul screaming and howling with despair, the Mountain Eater's body rose to the skies, powerful wings splitting clouds apart, leaving the charnel house that had once been the over ten thousand draconic forces, to be consumed by the flames he had unleashed upon them.

For the thousand time, he cursed the name Kilmaaiil the Half-Born, for the Mountain Eater knew his own strength too well, and he knew, that whomever the Equestrians and the Draka he had been set upon to hunt were, they were all already dead.

Author's Note

Hello lads and lasses, Battle-Brothers and Battle-Sisters alike.

Latest chapter here, the begining of the new ark in the story of Spike, Darraor of the Legion.

As always, feel free to offer up some input and/or criticism.

P.S. Thank you all so much for your support up to this point.
Hell, over 900 views, 100 likes and some of the most awesome comments possible .... you glorious bastards truly humble me.