The Artificer's True Motive
The air was intimidatingly thick with the scents of ancient oils and raw meat. Strange lights cast alien shadows across the ground, shadows playing on the prairie floor as the forest shook and trembled with the resounding clatter of shapes that emerged like wolf spiders from their dens. The raucous, off-rhythm incantation of will-focus generators overpowering the silent terror of any who witnessed the emerging horrors.
As they advanced towards Old Bitmore, the shapes became nightmares.
They were more than ponies, strange machinations the squeaked and rattled over heavy breaths, each inhale a high-pitched rasp, the exhales moans. Metal was interwoven into flesh, aged scars on some, fresh wounds on others. Faces locked in salacious grins, eyes locked into lifeless haunts of the ponies they once were, each had an ear and eye replaced with strange metals glowing strange shades of wispy, enigmatic magics.
The once pegasi flew over the beast-machines, several feathers replaced with bladed spikes of pointed rust. The bony spines of their wings were covered in various steel designs that lead to an armored carapace around their bodies. Strange wires and juts protruded around their metallic wings and carapace, sizzling the air with a strange, illusionary heat. On their flanks hung strange boxes of fabrication that jutted with the hilts of blades, their legs entombed by coiled metals and cables.
The former earth breed were hulking, walking shields. Their carapace held two appendages in the same fashion as the pegasi, but much thicker. On ends of many were massive metal walls with weird, key-like sharp angles and splotches of rust and wear. On others, wiry gauntlets large enough to ensnare a good sized Hydra whipped and popped the air. They staggered when they walked, massive legs ending in taloned hooves that gripped the ground deeply as they walked.
The horned abominations if what once were unicorns were sleek in body, mostly showing flesh than metals, and not as interwoven. Their carapaces each held four, spidery appendages that held them above the ground, many of them drooling in a perversion of the disciplined demeanor they once had. Their half-helm extended to wear the horn was meant to be, replaced now with several cables that dug into the pale flesh and beyond. A strange energy hung around them, each seeming only barely able to hold themselves together and shuddering uncontrollably.
They marched in a mockery of the disciplined harmony of a professional soldier, arriving at the periphery of Old Bitmore's wall and falling into a staggered line several hundred yards long, many rows deep. Packs of metallic pegasi landed almost in unison with a deafening, dull thud that vibrated the ground and, as if practiced, struck an end to all movement. The silence was uniquely deafening.
Old Bitmore's Guards sent a Pegasus to relay the information and muster reinforcements. Requests came from the watch officer to "state your intentions" and, when no answer was given after several long minutes, to disperse as watch reinforcements came in. The new arrivals took the spectacle in with disciplined indifference. Inside, though, each felt a silent, nagging fear that made their coat stand on end. The Guard's number grew and, after about an hour, they outnumbered the horrors 5 to 1.
As General Strong Will arrived with Mayor Sure Sign, though, the general couldn't shake the feeling that those odds were not promising. Ever since The Equestrian Treaty was signed by the tribes, before Fair Luna's banishment, the population across Equestria had known peace. Even the Pegasi rebellion only lasted a week, and those extreme separatists were hardened war fighters. One look at these machinations showed they were designed for slaughter. His troops were at a significant disadvantage, and by the concentrated, practiced look of indifference on their faces, he knew they understood that.
Strong Will voiced his concerns to the Mayor privately and sent a unicorn to report to Celestia, another group of pegasi to alert Old Bitmore, swiftly but silently, to prepare for an attack and evacuate if the need be. The Mayor protested at first, but the stern look from his General quieted him. There were three battalions on site, two more interwoven in the city. The two in city were urban specialists, allowing the hope that should this group break ranks, or an attack cane from another district, they could hold until reinforced.
after a detailed, but short, sit-rep with his officers, he left a full battalion on the wall to handle any stragglers and took the other two towards the indeterminate foe. Their precision and discipline made him proud, none balking, none showing fear as they each marched, in unison, to what General Strong Will's gut instinct told him was certain death. The Mayor, and his retinue, stayed close to the general's squad towards the middle of the massive parade line. "In case they're here for diplomacy," he'd insisted as the general laughed internally.
At 100 yards, the Guard line stopped and enveloped the strange metal beasts, leaving their rear open as a way out. The tactic had worked on several occasions, opposing forces being outnumbered heavily not wanting to fight, and instead just walking out, lesson learned. Ornate armored ponies stood resolute, tens of rows deep while armored pegasi hovered overhead. The wind blew the noxious odor into the Guard line, unicorn's horns charged, pegasi lances and spears at the ready, earther bit-blades and morning stars held anxiously.
The general and his honor Guard moved confidently through the ranks towards the horrors, their scent overpowering. He stopped halfway in the old custom of honorable warfare. None of the abhorrent creatures moved or really acknowledged the existence of the group of professional soldiers. Strong Will mustered his command voice and spoke clearly and without resonating emotion, knowing his soldiers were watching. A calm leader was sometimes the key to a victory, a burden which required clear, resolute discipline.
“Unknown assembly,” he bellowed calmly, “I am General Strong Will of the Equestrian Guard, General of Bitmore's 5 battalions. I desire to speak to your leader to find out your intentions.”
It was a nightmarish mockery of his words, one of the groups near the left end began to recite his words, strangely and heavily accented. Their voices were high, rasping imitations of the common standard and the entire group spoke as one, if a little later on some. It gave the speech an echoing quality, and many of the Guard shuddered. The strange, elaborate chorus was much similar to hooves on a chalkboard.
Strong Will remained stoic, glancing at the group with polite indifference. “I will ask again,” he began. Another group interrupted from the right in discordant lockstep with the first, beating the general to the punch and adding this new sentence to the ones before it. Then another. Several more began this strange chorus until the entire group recited the phrase, sounding like a dull roar of screeching, whooping voices, unintelligible and indiscriminately harsh, rising in volume. The Guard quivered slightly, the strange false-ponies eyes glowing eerily, heads bobbing all different directions, bodies spasming randomly and in strange ways. Metal groaned as if doors of an old keep being pushed as they held back hordes of attackers, the sky darkening slightly as the ambiance of the group imposed itself on the environment, metallic hooves began stomping the ground.
The Guards began to visibly shake, the intimidation of these happenings beyond strange. Arcane magics coalesced through the air in wisps that intertwined between their ranks. The entourage in front was clouded in a strange, almost tangible mist of darkened miasma, the air cooling all around them. Strong Will bellowed orders of “Steady” and “Tricks and sorcery, stand your ground,” his voice calm and remarkably confident. His ponies followed his lead. Many of them closed their eyes and began reciting any litanies or creeds that came to them in attempts to drown out the noises and rushing wind.
And then it stopped.
The air slowly carried away the miasma, first letting those presents see only the silhouettes of the machinations. The cloud dissipated slowly, and there was now a new figure standing behind the glowing eyed beasts, a terrifying visage of metal and pain. The creature became a shocking form of disturbing as it became clear. For the first time in his life, General Strong Will, the Earth pony who quelled the Pegasi Rebellion and stood by Celestia during the New Lunar Republic's revolt, leader of five battalions and father of four foals, was afraid. And his fear shook his core.
It was a small pony, muscles atrophied slightly in an intricate carapace that was more elaborate than any of the others. The carapace was larger than the body of the pony inside it, dwarfing the creature from behind in metal and hose, weird, curiously placed lights casting shadows through the metal. In front, weird, insectoid like legs hung and fidgeted, a variety of strange, angled and sleek tools intermixed and whirred. Behind him, several multifaceted arms held strange lights and long tendrils of wires. From the breadth of his enclosure came six thick, spider like legs that held the massive form aloft, expertly crafted and shimmering with an energy that was discernible to even a non-magic user. But what sickened and frightened them all was the head.
The entire upper body was more machine than flesh, but the head protruded in a strange, short necked case of armored metals, both eyes and ears removed and replaced with strange imitations, slightly larger and covered in random bits of chaotic umber. The steel was burnt into the flesh, but waved as the thing swayed slightly. It was living metal. The left eye was a pale blue, a silver pupil that changed size as it wandered to and fro from the sights it beheld. The other eye, or what should have been an eye, had been replaced by many facets of red gems, their lights coalescing as a spotlight over the objects it fell on. Both eyes moved independently of each other, unisoned entrapment of the entire scene taken instantaneously. In the middle of the head lay a large, perfunctory line of cables and spines that trailed tightly to the neck, small arcs of lightning seeming to travel across them.
Drool fell away in a river from the mouth, steaming as it hit the ground. There lay a single tube in both corners of the maw, the tongue randomly licking out to moisturize strange, cracked lips. The majority of the muzzle was flesh, stretched and pinned back in a wicked grimace to accommodate the tubes. They hissed and whined as the creature breathed. It's hulking form was several full bodies above the rest, and as it approached the General's entourage, it hissed rhythmically, wisps of energy blaring from the joints at random intervals.
The pony's legs were tucked silently under the body. They wavered slightly as the thing went forward, bouncing with the movement. It moved slowly, steadily, judging the scene as it's right eye wavered all around but left eye stared intently at the entourage. The minions groaned with anticipation and excitement, suddenly becoming very imposing as their leader approached. It cleared the distance in a controlled fashion, confident and unafraid, metallic clicks and rushing air hissing. It smelled of burnt umber and hot metals, and stopped right in front of the General. This was the emanation of power in it's purest form, the culmination of arcane sorcery long since forgotten.
“I am the leader of which you speak.” It's voice was three voices in one, accent thick. “As per the honored ways, you,” he lifted an appendage from the ground and pointed it at Strong Will. “... may address me.”
Strong Will gulped and resisted the innate urge to flee. He had to look almost directly up to see it's eyes, and the spike-tipped leg made him uneasy. “Might I inquire to know your name?”
The creature tilted his head. “My name is Ancient,” said the low tone of voice.
“My name is Destroyer,” said another tone.
“My name is Peace,” chimed the last and higher pitched.
The General stood resolute. “Per the old ways, and for the sake of history, I ask to at least know the title of your position.”
At that point, the thing began to laugh, or what was a sick mockery of a laugh, along with most of the things behind it. It bounced up and down, reared back and silenced itself, along with it's followers. “I,” he began quietly, “am The Artificer.” The creatures began to echo the name randomly, zealous fervor in their bodies and voice. They calmed after a time, the Guard on the verge of breaking ranks.
“If you are here with peaceful intentions,” he began, verbally regaining his confidence, “then on behalf of the Empire of the Two Sisters we welcome you.” He paused as the creature's head began to twitch, giving it time to process what was said. “If your intentions are ill-willed, then the Empire has designated me to use deadly force.”
The Artificer pondered this for a moment, both eyes focused intently on the General. It held no expression, only sucked on it's tubes occasionally as it stood, wavering slightly as if impatiently waiting for something.
“Warrrriiiiooooorrrrr,” the word came out in a long, drawn out fashion and echoed hollow against the General's skull.
“Slayer,” another tone of voice said crisp and sharp.
“Pacifist,” said the last as The Artificer's head neared the General, metal legs bending and leaning forward, only now, the right eye cast it's gaze to the Mayor.
Mayor Sure Sign had his eyes closed tightly, committing the battlefield crime of “The Ostrich Syndrome.” He'd opened them some time ago and had remained at a loss for words since. The red, focused spotlight from the right eye brought him back to the situation harshly as The Artificer's gaze changed to his. “The value of spilling blood,” said the higher of the tones from The Artificer's body, “has not been realized by you.”
The middle tone chimed in next. “This one causes damages on paper. An Empire of law.” The lower tone said nothing.
“Y-y-yes,” stammered the Mayor. “We a-a-are a nation b-based on laws.”
The lower tone groaned in a sick imitation of a sigh. “You think you know so much.” The Artificer moved to the Mayor, sharply, yet calm, focused. “Your laws are falsehood. Lies. Treacheryyyy-”
It broke off suddenly, the higher tone breaking in. “They value peace. We want unity.” The middle tone came in next. “We. Are Unity.” it said flatly, head twitching and darting randomly, sporadic shivers running through it's body.
The higher tone came in again, almost squealing. “Unity is peace!”
“Y-yes,” continued the Mayor, “Peace is always best.” He had let his guard down, relying on his words and trying to remain calm.
The creature cocked it's head to the side, a staunch hiss giving way to putrid odors. “Peace through unity,” all it's voices intoned in harmony. “Peace through collected resonance.”
The General gently inclined The Artificer's attention. “Peace is possible,” he stated with a bit of false joy. “Our terms are simple: we ask you and your men to break assembly here, and invite you and your council to the city.”
“No council,” the lower tone spat. “We,” it waved an appendage between itself and the group, “are council.”
The General was confused, and the Mayor stepped in. a portly diplomat with a soft face, his disarming demeanor may be useful after all. “Good,” he said in sincere happiness. “Then let us discuss peace, Artificer.”
The middle tone chimed out. “Peace through unity.”
“Peace through collective resonance.” The higher tone was crisper. The body of the creature began to twitch slightly.
“And what is collected resonance?” Strong Will asked.
The Artificer stopped moving. One mechanical leg swept the others behind him and hovered in the air. All at once, the entire group said in a loud voice, “We. Are. Resonance.” The creatures stirred and began to move restlessly. “Resonance. Is. Unity.” The creatures began to inch forward, straining at the bit and wild-eyed.
The Artificer stared assuredly at the group and nodded it's head. All three of the voices were in harmony now as it said eerily, “You are worthy of joining resonance. You will know peace.” It swung wide to fully impose on the group. “You will be unity.”
In an instant, it was uncontrolled chaos.
The General and his entourage began to move backwards and the eyes of the Artificer began to glow fervently.Orders were yelled to the surrounding Guardponies as the entourage retreated as fast as their hooves and wings could carry. Blasts of Will began to fire out in staggered bursts at the monstrous creature in the midst of the field, absorbed by the carapace that shrouded The Artificer's flesh body. Three squads moved quickly to intercept the entourage and attempt to head off a main assault, precision and training paying off as the sustained Will blasts and spears drove the Artificer away from the group in a mad dash of sparks and lights.
The Mayor, a bit portly and old in years, made it four strides. The Artificer grabbed him violently with a loud crack, pick him up and threw him back to where the ghastly army was moving. Alone near the midst of the group stood an artifice Earth pony, whipped appendage meeting him mid air and enveloping him. The machination of sinew and steel held the unconscious Mayor aloft and went to the back of the group, tying him as one of the strange whips detached, all four legs hogtied. The beast left him there and joined the others without a second glance, the diplomat not moving.
It was utter chaos, warfare that had long been forgotten. The ranks of the guard were shattered in moments, whirling metal slamming into armor and flesh. The hulks connected their shielded appendages and charged into the Guard ranks, destroying any semblance of a firing line. The haunting Pegasi jumped into the air, spat out their blades onto the ground below and landed to reload. The ranks the Guard held made for easy targets, and they fell in waves. The ghastly Unicorns were slamming left and right through the ranks, tossing Guardponies through the air, some injured, others dazed, and using a type of Will that Strong Will had not seen since The Founding. It was a massive kinetic blast, pressing the ground walkers into the dirt, and pulling the Pegasi that had lifted off out of the air. From there, the artificed Unicorns spun wildly, appendages a wide, whirling mesh of pain and lumps.
The Artificer was gone, at least to the General's point of view. He continued barking orders. Their mechanized carapaces seemed to absorb the Will that was used on them, so he made the Unicorns switch to physical attacks and force manipulations. Instantly, his troops pulled out their bit-blades, and finally one of the artificed unicorns fell.
A Guard Unicorn had jumped at it, bit-blade aloft, and before either he nor the creature made contact blasted a wave of force to the ground. The creature lost it's footing and a morning star came crashing down to it's carapace with a loud, metallic crunch. It instantly stopped moving, and an in-air pegasi launch a lance to finish it off. Strong Will began his death march, jumping into the fray after the last of his orders had been heard and a scout had been sent to report. If they weren't to survive, at least the Empire would know what happened.
As Guards fell, the whip hulks picked them up and hogtied them, throwing them to the side or simply leaving them where they fell. The Artificed Pegasi focused their attacks with brutal efficiency onto the legs of the Guards and the collectors did their job, The metal unicorns blasted the Guards down, finishing off the weaker ones that were, apparently, of no use to this resonant collective. They were being cut to ribbons. For every one artificed pony that fell, they lost five? Seven? Most of them weren't dead, but a rescue effort seemed hopeless. They were moving as one, and verbal communications were broken, the Guard's ranks destroyed. This was now a futile battle for survival.
He sounded the general retreat, the unicorns and lancers on the wall providing a staccato of cover fire. To their credit, the Pegasi on the wall had waited to assess the situation, realized the effectiveness of the artificed unicorn's shock wave and stayed out of range, dropping spears and lancing at higher speeds to pick off the stragglers. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a group of pegasi dropping some non-winged Guards near the large assortment of the captured, breaking the cables that held them down and picking up the wounded whilst the healthy gathered for a rear assault.
One of the collectors noticed the group and rushed them, whipped appendages crackling in strange energies, popping the atmosphere and tinging the air with an acrid taste. At once he was dropped, carapace blown apart from the sheer impact of blows, trapped unicorns shifting the Earth whilst spears and lances hit in a wave. The group dispatched the collector, grouped up and attacked from the rear, picking up weapons as they went and tossing them carefully into the fray, picking targets as they went. The unicorns of the Guard had learned quickly, focusing on blasting up bits of ground or destabilizing terrain to prevent a sure footing for the spidered legs of the artificed unicorns.
That tactic worked extremely well, opening up weak points in the armor of the artificed hulks, their Earth pony counterparts sliding their bit-blades home. The numbers began to thin, and the Guards made ground, pushing the initial assault back and into the counterattack. The wounded fought, sweat and steel grinding, blasts of Will deafening the air and artificed appendages beginning to line the field amidst the fray. Above them, pegasi fought, bladed wings from both sides scraping armor from each other, but the lances inevitably gave the advantage of reach. The projectile blades were heavy and fell quick. Through numbers, quick wit and discipline, they were winning this.
The Artificer army hadn't calculated that the singular will would override personal safety. Grouping them together was their downfall, as a small group of observant EUP were able to get in quickly and change the tide, enveloping them in crossfire. The acutely trained EUP knew their roles, and each subscribed to it with terrible burden. They fought harder, faster. They began to make major headway, taking down several for every loss, and the losses weren't losses, the resonant collective preferring to take them alive. Some of the collectors through Guards behind them unwittingly, not aware of the group freeing the ones that became entangled.
Then the wall exploded, and the ground shuddered, a pulse of energy that made the ground wave like the ocean.
Towards the end of the fray stood The Artificer, two of it's appendages glowing and collapsing, the other four appendages being pulled from the ground. The blast was a concentrated burst of Will, impossibly large and devastating. The blast was strong enough to dismantle a 30 foot gap in the peripheral wall of Old Bitmore, destabilizing another 20 feet on each direction as it collapsed. The air super-heated, making the Pegasi in the air, natural and artificed, fall hard to the ground. Their wall was destroyed, their support was gone, their momentum was lost. The dazed were hogtied and thrown clear of the battle, Hulks working first to grab the Pegasi, then the Earthers. The Guard was broken, Strong Will in a daze.
The Artificer approached him, top two appendages still glowing with energy while he could hear the battle fall silent. Many lay trapped underneath the rubble, relying on the wall to provide at least one safe direction – and now it had been used to stop them. “The collective resonance has learned much from your resistance.” A searing pain hit the General's neck, heat searing the flesh through his armor and making him feel cold almost instantly. “But as with the last,” he began as he lifted him up by the neck, “it was simply a waste of good stock.”
His armored body gave Strong Will enough room to breath, air filling him in desperate, choking gasps. “Why,” he gagged a bit and coughed, a metal taste in his mouth. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because you are chaos,” The Artificer held him aloft, Strong Will watching the last bit of his Guard fall in desperate battles for survival. Most of his soldiers were captured, hurt but alive. Many lay dead and dying. The pain was leaving him, his vision making light have a tracer, the entire world spinning. His hearing was a dull roar, left intangible as the distance increased. The Artificer turned him around, bringing his head level with his own. Each of his three voices responded in kind.
“We.”
“Are.”
“Unity.”
The city of Old Bitmore fell in the 33rd year of The Empire of the Two Sisters, A.B. (After banishment). Of the 175,000 inhabitants, only 2.300 made it to Phillydelphia several days later. When the rescue mission was mounted, they found no survivors, only disturbed ground and demolished buildings. There were signs of struggle all over, and after the Royal Guard was finished with their excavation, it was believed that 75,000 (estimated) were collected into the “collected resonance.”
Celestia made a decree that the arcane magics were to be outlawed, and construct magic was to be banned. As soon as The Artificer's position is found, all evidence, research and criminal conduct is to be eliminated from the annals of history, physically and magically. The rogue know as Artificer was placed on the first Equestrian Most Wanted list, and all cohorts were to be treated with extreme prejudice, eliminated on sight. None were to be captured.
When the news of his old teacher, Bennouette Ferancik, AKA The Artificer, reached Silverline, the rage he placed at Fair Luna's banishment was then directed at his mentor. 33 years after the fall of the New Lunar Uprising, he had once again been enstilled with a terrible purpose.