Sea

"This is the place?"

Cross nodded, panting. "I'd recognize it immediately."

Thirty soldiers - as well as Cross, Hendrick, and Somerset - stood in front of a small wooden door nestled in the side of an average building. They'd spent the better part of twenty minutes running through a number of confusing, angular alleyways that seemed to loop onto each other but somehow never did, and had been following Cross' sprint most of the way. Most were nearly exhausted of energy, but were able to return to at least usable states shortly. Hendrick nodded at the soldiers. They split into three groups of ten; one for each side of the door, and one to form a semi-circle around the breaching ponies with muskets bared, making sure no cultist reinforcements could make their way into the building.

"What kind of defenses do they have on this level?" Hendrick asked as he drew his pistol, making sure the shot and powder was loaded.

"Not much that I could see," Cross said. "Usually, I could only see what was around Janiss; he'd always come right up to the door, and we'd do our business either at the door or in the alleyway." She sighed. "Is there anything else I can do to help?"

Hendrick nodded to his troops. They readied their muskets and tensed up. "Somerset, give the girl your flintlock. She wants to help, so we may as well let her." Cross flinched as the pistol flew through the air with surprising speed, stopping just inches from her face. She sighed in relief as she took it in her magic and held it low, muzzle towards the ground.

Hendrick made another subtle nod. He then charged shoulder-first at the door, knocking it down with his sheer size and weight. A startled yelp sounded, quickly overpowered by the sound of a flintlock firing. White smoke filled the air as Hendrick quickly opened up another paper cartridge and, moving out of the way of the door, reloaded his pistol. A cultist lay in the center of the room, panicking as a few drops of blood fell out of a tiny cut on his leg.

"Hey! Get away from me! I'm not a bad guy! I haven't done anything wrong! I just do the accounting!" The cultist yelled from his spot on the ground, his voice betraying the fact he was grossly over-exaggerating the extent of his injury. "I'm going to lose a hoof because of you trigger-happy bastards!"

Somerset walked past the troops and into the building. He picked up the cultist in his magic, sweating from the effort. Cross walked up next to him. "Shut it," he said as he slowly, carefully showed his sabre resting in its sheath. "You're going to open the door for us."

The cultist gulped. "And if I refuse?"

Cross nodded to Hendrick.

"You will be summarily executed on-site for hindering soldiers in an important military operation. I suggest you comply."

The cultist gulped again. Sweat rolled down his face, pooling at the floor a few feet below. Finally, Somerset dropped him unceremoniously.

"Careful, man!" Hendrick said in a mocking tone. "You might damage the key."

The cultist got to his hooves and stood still for a few seconds, before being poked by a bayoneted musket. "Hurry up, cultist," one of the soldiers said. "We haven't got all morning." The cultist yelped again, before running to the door. He put his hoof in and closed his eyes, a look of deep concentration on his face. The door slowly began to open, and the cultist motioned for them to enter.

Somerset, Cross, and Hendrick were the first to go through. They were closely followed by most of the soldiers; another pair guarded the cultist to make sure he didn't escape. The sound of their hooves echoed throughout the stairway in the dim light of Somerset's horn. The stairway was clamped, claustrophobic, with so many ponies. The walls seemed to be closing in, and the ceiling seemed to be getting lower as they marched down. They soon reached the bottom, however, with only a few uncomfortable, sweating, cursing soldiers worse off for it. They all readied their muskets as Somerset walked up to the door, with Cross right behind.

Then, they kicked open the door. With battle cries and muskets high, the soldiers charged into the room.