Gear in the Machine

Chapter 13
For the Blood God

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 5 – Arena 2, the Pit of Thorns

“LORD KHORNE, HEAR OUR PLEAS. OUR DEVOTIONS. OUR CRIES FOR ABSOLUTION.”

A procession of cultists in dark red robes plodded across the dirt, each one carrying an incense burner carved from a bleached skull. They were led by a masked, well-muscled man with the look of a gladiator, his upper torso bare to display numerous combat scars. In one hand, he held a jagged sword, but in the other he had a book from which he led the prayer.

“ACCEPT THIS OFFERING OF BLOOD AND SPORT. HEAR OUR PRAISE FOR YOU IN THE SONG OF BLADES STRIKING FLESH. DRINK DEEP OF OUR FURY, AND FEAST ON THE SOULS OF THE FALLEN.”

The large, ring-shaped arena grounds were surrounded by a high wall riddled with spikes, and above that point were ascending bench seats for spectators. There were several people and ponies already sitting down, and more still filing in. Although the crowd didn’t look like it would come close to filling the seating, it already had an impressive attendance for a single spur-of-the-moment personal challenge.

“SEE OUR DEVOTION. WITNESS OUR TRIBUTE. BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!”

At his prompt, the procession behind him roared “SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!”

Up in the coliseum seats, Dusk’s jaw cracked open in a yawn while his wing curled around to cover his mouth. “Would it kill these guys to hold their honor duels later in the day? The Lunar Guard would be way into this stuff if they would start after 6 PM!” the thestral complained.

Gear Works sat next to him, poking at a dataslate that his servo arm was holding overhead. “These events often last for some time, and there is a considerable clean-up period after the combat to sanctify the dead and see to the wounded. Sometimes they schedule a victory feast for the survivors, as well.”

“Bleagh. Diurnals,” Dusk Blade grumbled. He blinked sleepily, and then he frowned. “Why is the entire procession human?”

“An honor duel between a few Reavers isn’t likely to demand the attention of an Astartes,” Gears answered.

“No, I mean, why aren’t there any ponies with them?” Dusk clarified. “All the other temples have a good number of ponies by now. Hay, I think the Tzeentch one has more ponies than humans since we have a lot of unicorns and hardly any human psykers. Why is Khorne different?”

The tech-cultist paused to stare at the other stallion briefly, and then shrugged. “Khorne is… generally considered ‘worse’ than the other Chaos Gods. His ethos is more openly malicious and violent, so he has a much harder time attracting ponies to his cult.”

“The Reavers don’t seem to have a problem with it. You can be a bloodthirsty maniac, just make sure to aim at the bad guys, right?”

“That seems to be the compromise they’ve arrived at, but getting there isn’t exactly easy,” Gears explained. “There aren’t that many ponies seeking martial excellence to begin with, the violent philosophy is uniquely repulsive, and… well… the initiation rite is REALLY scary.”

“It’s one daemon! An unarmed daemon! You don’t even have to kill it!”

“Overcoming a single daemon is quite a trial for a pony, Lieutenant,” Gear Works warned.

“Pff. I could do it.”

“You probably could. It is my opinion you would make an excellent Blood Cultist.”

Dusk Blade shuddered, suddenly remembering that he very much didn’t want to do that. “Okay, I guess I can understand. But is Khorne really the WORST Chaos God for ponies? What about Nurgle? He’s all about disease and stuff!”

“There’s sort of a naturalist element to him that some ponies find… tolerable, I suppose. His power seems to extend to plants and insects, if not in tenuous and highly disturbing ways. Besides, converts usually worship him so that he’ll save them from crippling or fatal diseases, which he does. Saving pony lives is an excellent way for a god to stay in Equestrians’ good graces.”

“Okay, then what about Tzeentch?”

“What about Tzeentch?”

“I don’t know anything about Tzeentch, actually. I was hoping you’d tell me what his deal is.”

“He’s the Chaos god of sorcery, change, and deception.”

“Well that doesn’t sound so bad.”

“That’s the deception part at work,” Gear Works admitted. “Tzeentch is more popular among unicorns for obvious reasons, and it’s harder to discourage the curious from learning of him since the downsides aren’t obvious. The only thing really holding back Tzeentch’s cult is that Nurgle is favored among the Warsmith and his Vice-Commander and they’re deeply suspicious of Tzeentch.”

“Huh. Interesting.” Dusk scratched at his chin with his wingtip. “Is that all of them? I thought there was a fourth Chaos God.”

“There is. I found several entries on something referred to as ‘Slaanesh’ in the noosphere general library, all data-warded beyond my access registry.”

“Right, right… does anybody know WHY they’re so touchy about that one?” Dusk asked, lowering his voice a bit.

“I don’t know; I’ve never asked. Out of fear for my life.” Gear Works likewise lowered the volume, such that the sound through his mask was barely intelligible. “The bits and pieces I’ve gathered incidentally suggest that the grudge seems to be personal, rather than a theological objection.”

“Gathered incidentally? How did that happen?”

“The echo cannons used by the Lunar Guard have their origin in a faction called the ‘Emperor’s Children.’ A great deal of the documentation surrounding that faction carry references to the disfavored god. Also, the Iron Warriors fight them a LOT. That’s where all the spare sonic weaponry comes from.”

“Oh, I get it. So this god is aligned with that Imperium of Man that the Iron Warriors are at war with? That makes sense.”

“No. The Emperor’s Children are Chaos and are at war with the Imperium as well.”

“Huh. So, like, do they have their own Chaos Emperor or something?”

“No. Their name refers to the same Emperor that their enemies worship. It doesn’t really make sense, but from what notes and accounts the Iron Warriors have established, the Emperor’s Children are very stupid. But back on the topic of sonic weaponry-“

Dusk suddenly jumped up, badly startling the stallion next to him.

“Twitchy, aren’t we? Didn’t think I’d see you up this early, rodent.”

Stormy Ruin was standing on the bench seat a few rows behind the stallions. Her wing was in a sling and wrapped tight to her body, and she wore a rough wool cloak dyed red over her back. Her respirator mask hung loose under her chin along with the bronze amulet bearing the Mark of Khorne, exposing her hostile sneer.

Standing behind her was Morte Venin, the third (current) member of the Rozen Wings. She had her mask up, unlike Stormy, and was wearing her usual combat armor. The sleek, black material was very lightweight and flexible, consisting of a plasteel microweave vest with several molded flak armor pads attached in key places. The orange mare’s cutie mark was painted across the rear hip plate: a pair of sickles crossed in an X shape and joined with a chain.

Dusk Blade scowled, but said nothing. Gear Works turned around and then winced at Stormy’s expression, and likewise said nothing. The Pegasus glanced back and forth between the two, and then a growl escaped her throat.

“What, did somepony else tear out your throats before I got around to it? Can’t even say hi?” she demanded.

“Shut up and move along,” Dusk snapped, “you’re right that I don’t like being up at this hour, so lay off already.”

A vein popped up on Stormy’s head and she stepped down a row, a manic expression on her face. “Oh yeah? Or you’ll do WHAT?”

“Or I’ll finish what I started last night,” Dusk growled back, his wings lifting slightly off his back. “You don’t exactly look like you’ve recovered.”

“A little sore I guess, but I’m up for it if you are, little pony,” Stormy taunted, a manic, almost insane smile stretching across her face as she stepped even closer, “think you can keep up?”

“I swear to Luna,” Dusk Blade growled, almost nose-to-nose with the mare, “the things I am going to do to you…”

The two ponies stood in that position for several seconds, a fearsome energy surrounding the both of them while their eyes bored into each other. It was several seconds later that they realized all noise from the surrounding spectators had ceased. People and ponies had stopped walking to their seats, had stopped chatting, and even a few of the cultists from within the arena pit had turned around to watch silently.

Morte made a gesture with her hoof cutting across her throat. Gears coughed gently while pointedly looking away.

Dusk suddenly recoiled, his face darkening. “Fighting! I was talking about fighting! We weren’t… I wouldn’t ever…”

Stormy just laughed while the spectators slowly returned to what they were doing. “Simmer down, rodent! Nobody would think I’d have anything to do with YOU.”

Her smirk slowly faded, and then she clarified. “Well, actually… you’re definitely my type. But I’m dating Sergeant Folgore, so it’s out of the question.”

“I didn’t ask,” Dusk growled.

“Yeah, this thing where you respond to everything I say with boiling hostility? Super hot. But I’m taken,” the pegasus said with a tone of mild disappointment.

The bat pony turned around and seethed silently, refusing to engage further. Gear Works finally turned to look up at the pegasus himself, hoping that a less combative inquiry might get the mare to leave.

“Did you want something from us, Miss Ruin?” the Dark Acolyte asked.

“Yeah, I did,” Stormy frowned at him. “I just wanted to ask why you guys are so invested in helping Shrike, anyway. I get why you dragged her off the battlefield and patched her up, but then you actually stood up to the Sergeant to protect her and rebuilt her wings. Why?” She sat back on her haunches and flipped her hair over her shoulder with her good wing. “I actually meant to ask this last night when I confronted you, but I forgot and kicked you in the face instead.”

“Specifically, I was badgered into it by several others who simply have no respect for my time or the value of my labor,” Gears replied, “but more broadly, Miss Shrike warrants sympathy and assistance just because she’s a very kind and pleasant pony. And also rather pitiful.”

Stormy and Morte shared a glance. “Do you actually think she can win this battle?” the former asked.

“No,” Gears replied curtly. “I have only Sergeant Folgore’s written exploits and statistical record to judge by, but barring an instance of ATROCIOUS luck, he will prevail with ease.”

“Even with your upgrades?” the Reaver asked.

“It’s quite embarrassing to admit, but I cannot say with confidence that the bionics I crafted for her are ‘upgrades,’” Gear Works sighed.

“Oh, come on! I know the wings didn’t turn out the way you wanted, but what about her eye? You fixed her eye too!” Dusk insisted.

Stormy arched an eyebrow. “Well that’s his story, what about you? Why are you helping Shrike?”

“Because I hate you,” he replied blandly.

“I told you, there’s no use flirting,” she sniffed, turning her head away with a dark flush on her cheeks.

Dusk quivered angrily, but didn’t turn around or say anything further. After a few seconds, Stormy coughed into a hoof and then addressed Gear Works again.

“Well, I guess that’s that. You’re not under any delusions about what’s about to happen,” she started to turn around, and then hesitated, her mouth opening slowly as if she was struggling to organize the sentence. “And, uh… I think you… I mean, Shrike, she…”

Stormy spent a few more seconds fumbling over her words, and then Morte touched her leg. Stormy stopped and watched as the orange Pegasus stepped forward silently, her dead-eyed gaze firmly on Gears. The Dark Acolyte cringed slightly, his ears pinning back and his shoulders sinking as if he was being threatened.

Then Morte Venin bowed her head. Her wings spread as well, before tilting down so that the tips touched the ground. She held this pose for a few seconds, and then lifted her head and glanced at Stormy.

“… Thank you,” Stormy Ruin said at last, looking almost relieved to finally speak the words.

Gears blinked his eye-lights. “Pardon? For what?”

“For saving and taking care of Shrike,” Stormy said, visibly struggling not to snap at him.

Gears blinked again. “You’re… welcome? But I’m somewhat confused; when I saved her in the field you seemed entirely ambivalent, and when I assisted her further you attacked me. Why would you thank me for it now?”

Stormy’s expression soured. “Who cares, idiot?! Just take the-“ she suddenly stopped and took a deep breath, and then started over. “Okay, look: when you dragged her out of the rock pile you were just doing your job. When you showed up with her to beg the Sergeant to let her stay I didn’t know what you were doing, but it ticked me off. But now you’re here, about to honor her last day as Reaver, if not her last day alive. I still don’t get it, but you’re not here now because of any stupid regulations or something.” Her intact wing ruffled on her back for a few seconds, and then she stood up straighter. “You helped out Scarlet a lot and you even stood up to me and the Sergeant in the process. That took guts, and although I’m not GREAT at showing it, I respect it a lot. Even though I’m kind of mad about her still hanging around and trying to worm her way back into Sergeant Folgore’s company, that’s not your problem. You gave her the chance to get booted out of here on her own terms, and that matters. So thanks. You’re all right, for a fanatical nerd.”

Morte gently patted Stormy’s shoulder with her wing and the Stormy heaved a tired sigh, as if the admission had exhausted her. Then, without waiting for a reply, the mares turned away sharply and headed off to their seats.

“That… was strange. Rather nice, but strange,” Gear Works mumbled as the pegasi trotted out of earshot.

“I really wish there was a way to get Ruin sent into the arena too,” Dusk grumbled. “Maybe she’ll leap into the ring to try and save him?” After ruminating on that particular fantasy, he turned back to Gear Works. “By the way, you’re still up for this, right? That harpy didn’t actually manage to win you over with that spiel, did she?”

“Yes I am, and no she did not,” Gears replied. “It does surprise me that Miss Ruin holds any sort of concern for Shrike outside of jealous hostility, but it does not matter for our purposes. Besides, she’s still an utter psychopath and I suspect she’ll recant such lukewarm feelings were Shrike to emerge victorious and secure her place within the squad."

"Well, it’s time to find out,” Dusk whispered, surreptitiously glancing toward the cogitator closet at one end of the stands.

The bare-chested man with scars cut into his chest to form the Mark of Khorne was stepping out of the armored shack. He closed the door behind him, and then quickly punched a few numbers into a metal panel above the entry lever. Once the panel lumen blinked red, the brawler turned around and headed down the stairs into the arena.

“Follow me and keep your head down. Act normal,” Dusk whispered, hopping down off the bench.

Gears nodded and followed silently, and the two stallions made their way through the assembling crowd. The bleachers were filling up very near capacity by now, and some of the human spectators were taking up standing positions on the railing at the top because there wasn’t enough space lower down. The turnout was unusually high, which Dusk found surprising. These arenas were often used for brutal rituals and bloodsport, with dozens of humans and aliens pushed into combat and many of them perishing in the event. A duel between two ponies, not even necessarily to the death, seemed dull by comparison, but apparently a great many citizens were interested.

“Well, I hope they enjoy the twist ending,” Dusk mumbled under his breath, his lips twitching into a smirk.

“Lieutenant, how do you intend to achieve entry? The door has been mag-locked,” Gear Works asked.

Dusk nodded and slowed his pace, moving to walk alongside the cyborg and whispering in his ear. “I need you to walk up to the door and decipher the exact access type and how much time it would take to quietly get through it.”

Gear Works lifted his head, and a few of his optic lights started to pulse. “I can determine that from here. It is a Narex-pattern codex key. They are unlocked with a simple numerical combination. I do possess an emergency override authority to unlock it, but doing so will leave a very clear data trail to identify my presence. I could, alternatively, attempt to slice the internal data-warding. That would take more time, at least several minutes, and also confirm to any subsequent investigation that entry was forced. I suppose I could also just try to guess the combination. Do you have any ideas?”

Dusk Blade didn’t respond as Gears reached the door and stopped just a foot in front of the blinking red panel lumens. “Lieutenant? I need a decision,” he hissed, looking up at the panel.

After a few more seconds of silence, Gear Works turned his head to look behind him. There were several cultists and a cluster of menials sitting and standing in the bleachers around him, but no ponies. He looked back and forth, his ears flipping down as failed to find the Lunar Lieutenant among the nearby crowds.

Then there was a sharp click from the door and it swung open, smacking Gears in the nose (protected as it was by his respirator mask). A bat wing reached out of the shed, wrapped around the Acolyte’s servo arm, and then immediately dragged Gear Works inside.

Scarlet Shrike took a deep breath, feeling the muscles of her chest tighten.

“Blood God, watch over me. With every swing of my blade do I honor you. Every strike, every bullet, every spark, a prayer at the foot of your mighty throne. The bodies laid around me and the souls sent shrieking to the veil are my offering. And should that not be enough, I ask of you, oh great Lord of Chaos, to take mine as well.”

Eight men bearing metal censers stood around her, and the smell of ash filled the small cell where the mare waited and prayed.

“Bolster my heart against fear. Harden my bones against injury. Ward my mind against pain. Shield my soul against…” here her voice faltered for a second, “m-mercy.”

If the cultists around her noticed her hesitation, they didn’t show it. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” they bellowed, a nearly electric energy surging through the air.

“SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!” Scarlet replied, throwing her head back.

One of the men approached and planted a blue cylinder into the socket in her back. A buzzing sound issued forth, and then the capacitor sunk deeper into the battery well and locked into place. Track lumens within her flight pack lit up, flooding the crystal blades with light. Scarlet’s bionic eye expanded its tracking well, emitting a gentle green glow from the photon compensators.

A clanking noise came from the access shutters, and then the rattling of chains as they started to lift open. The cultists backed away as light spilled into the cell, and then Scarlet stepped forward into the glare of the hi-lumens shining around the arena.

“AND HERE COMES THE CHALLENGER! PUT YOUR HANDS, CLAWS, AND-OR HOOVES TOGETHER FOR SCARLET SHRIKE, THE FORSAKEN REAVERRRRRRR!!”

Scarlet flinched slightly at the unexpected announcement, and then again at the sudden cheering that erupted from the surrounding bleachers. Being that she had been mostly praying for the last few hours, she hadn’t known what sort of reception her match was going to get. Seeing the mobs of people and ponies in the stands left her a bit stunned.

She looked back and forth, and then spotted a booth suspended partially over the combat pit.

“THAT’S RIGHT FOLKS, THIS MONSTER OF METAL AND MUSCLE IS THE LEAST OF THE INFAMOUS REAVERS, AND TODAY SHE’S HERE TO CARVE OUT HER PLACE IN OUR FAIR FACTORY! IN BLOOD!!” cheered a cream-colored pegasus into the vox receiver in front of her. “AS ALWAYS, I’M YOUR HOST, SCOOPS, AND HERE WITH ME TO PROVIDE FIGHTER ANALYSIS IS MY CO-HOST, KILROY!!”

“PRAISE THE GODS FOR THIS FEAST OF PAIN AND CARNAGE! ALL HAIL LORD KHORNE!! ALL HAIL OUR DARK AND MERCILESS MASTERS!!” snarled a man wearing a fine-tailored suit with a burlap sack on his head.

Scoops chuckled. “THANK YOU KILROY, BUT DID YOU HAVE ANY COMMENTARY ON THE FIGHTERS?”

“Indeed I do, Scoops,” Kilroy replied, immediately toggling down the volume controls. “Scarlet Shrike is considered by her commanders as a mediocre warrior with a superior physique, but her physical capabilities are, if anything, understated by her impressive size.” He spent a moment to adjust the knot of his tie. “This mare has shrugged off countless Ork bullets and trampled armored Nobs to death. There is little question why so many have witnessed her and asked when we began producing equine Space Marines.”

Scarlet’s cheeks turned an even brighter red and her ears flipped down, and then she started scuffing at the ground of the arena. She was actually quite pleased with that description, but the way the audience’s cheers started building even higher was unexpected and quite embarrassing. Then the gate on the other end of the arena started to creak open.

“AND HERE HE IS, LADIES AND COLTS!! THE ACE OF AIRBROOK HIMSELF! THE SLAYER OF SEADDLE! THE… uh… MARAUDER OF… what town starts with an M? Drawing a blank here…”

“Mudvale. Anyway,” Kilroy coughed to clear his throat while a black pony walked leisurely out of the gate and into the arena, “the reigning champion Reaver, Folgore, stands as the mightiest duelist among the equine ranks and holds the rank of Gladiator Sergeant. Though he lacks the incredible psychic might and incomprehensible wargear of the Princesses, he is truly blessed by Lord Khorne in his skill and fury! Countless greenskins have met their end on the tip of his blades, and in his tireless sorties he has slain more Ork Warbosses than any other equine! MAY THEIR SKULLS ADORN KHORNE’S THRONE UNTO ETERNITY!! KNOW OUR DEVOTION, LORD OF SLAUGHTER!!”

Scoops arched an eyebrow. “… Didn’t Twilight Sparkle destroy a Space Hulk?”

“Well, yes. Not by herself, though.” Kilroy shrugged. “Kill scores are often ambiguous and difficult to determine at scale when part of a larger war effort. Besides: Sparkle doesn’t dedicate her victims to the gods, so who cares?”

Scarlet Shrike felt her heartbeat quicken as Folgore sauntered to the center of the arena, clearly in no hurry. Chants and cheers and whooping came from the crowd, although Scarlet was surprised that the noise wasn’t substantially louder than when she had emerged. The Reaver Sergeant stopped some 20 feet away from his opponent, and his eyes narrowed as he studied her face.

“… I see your eye has finally been replaced,” Folgore said, not bothering with any greeting or other formalities. “Was that the Acolyte’s work as well?”

“It was,” Scarlet confirmed. “I owe him a great deal. For this eye, these wings… and this battle.”

Folgore snorted. “I was as surprised as any when he demanded I hear out his offer, but make no mistake, Shrike: This is YOUR fight. YOU stand before me and it is YOU who will feel the bite of my blade.” He lifted his head. “I know I often speak to you with contempt, looking down on your abilities and contributions, but I am… gratified that you’re here today and that it has come to this, Shrike. This is a far better way to end your career than giving you a lecture while you’re strapped to a shipping bin.”

“Don’t celebrate your victory just yet, Sergeant,” Scarlet insisted, her voice firm. “I’m under no illusions about my chances, but I will fight for my place here if I must!”

“I… would prefer you were more enthusiastic about this, actually,” Folgore grumbled, heaving a sigh. “Fine. Enough chatter. Let it begin!”

Folgore lifted his bionic leg, and a mechanism triggered. The lower leg split apart, and a long, slightly curved blade like a katana slid out and fixed into place. A thick arc of plasma jumped from the tip, writhing over the edge, and the whooping from the crowd suddenly jumped in volume.

“In the name of Khorne, let battle be done!” Scarlet shouted, her wings spreading with the sound of metal sliding against metal. The capacitor in her back sparked, and the dim red crystal blades pulsed. The cheering from the crowd built even higher, and some people started standing up and pumping their fists into the air.

Folgore started to run on three legs, his wings slowly spreading as he accelerated. Scarlet angled her wings forward and very slightly upward. Her bionic eye narrowed its iris, zooming and highlighting the enemy target automatically.

Scarlet Shrike pulsed her wings with the very smallest acceleration burst possible, and she was immediately blasted off her hooves and sent flying at the charging stallion. Folgore was already ducking as her body sailed over his, either by virtue of superior reflexes or sheer combat instinct. He hopped and whipped around in the air, one leg touching down and skidding across the dirt to slow him. His eyes tracked the red streak shooting across the arena with surprise and not a little interest. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the strange mechanical wings, but it wasn’t that.

Scarlet spread the wings wider, slowing her movement roughly before she touched down. Her landing was clumsy; she was moving too fast and she barely managed to turn before she slammed into the spike-ridden arena wall. Folgore’s mind briefly strayed toward the violent possibilities of such augmetics. The ability to generate that degree of force so easily, attached to somepony of Scarlet’s mass, could be an incredible weapon on a bolder pony.

With a snort, his focus returned to the combat at hand. “So you can still fly after all.”

“Uh, y-yes. Yes, I can definitely fly. Obviously,” Scarlet said, her voice needlessly anxious. Then she firmed her stance and spread her wings, the crystal blades glowing a bright neon red. “That’s not all they’re good for, either! One slash of these will cut through any armor!”

Folgore blinked, and then his expression soured. “Show, don’t tell, Shrike.”

“I SEE THE CHALLENGER HAS SOME IMPRESSIVE WARGEAR SMUGGLED INTO THE ARENA!” Scoops shouted gleefully, leaning up over her vox receiver. “AS IS TRADITION, EACH FIGHTER EXPOSES THEIR SPECIAL WEAPONS TO THE OTHER AND EXPLAINS THEIR CAPABILITIES!”

“That’s not a tradition, you just made that up,” Kilroy said flatly.

“ALL TRADITIONS HAVE TO START SOMEWHERE! NOW IT’S CHAMPION FOLGORE’S TURN TO EXPLAIN HIS NIFTY LEG-BLADE THINGY!”

“No, I will not,” the stallion snorted, craning his head up to address the commentators.

“COME ONNNNNNN,” Scoops prodded.

“REVEAL YOUR SECRETS, REAVER!!” Kilroy shouted, sympathetic to the stallion but deciding that badgering him was more fun. "SURELY THE MIGHTY CHAMPION DOES NOT REQUIRE SURPRISE TO BEST HIS SUBORDINATE!!”

Folgore grit his teeth. “Be SILENT! This is a sacred ritual, not a sports match for your petty entertainment!” he snapped up at the booth.

“IT LOOKS MORE LIKE THE SECOND THING FROM UP HERE.”

“After I dispense with Shrike, I’ll have to contemplate additional sacrifices,” Folgore grumbled, focusing on his opponent once again.

Scarlet Shrike was charging across the arena in a hard gallop, her wings trailing a bright crimson glow. Folgore really was quite annoyed that she had informed him of the threat they posed; the enormous mare was hardly in a position where she could give up the advantage of surprise, and it felt like she wasn’t taking this seriously. He angled his own cybernetic blade to meet her, and a plasma arc lashed across the weapon’s edge.

His ears suddenly pivoted, and the hair along his spine stood on end.

Folgore launched himself to the side, diving away just as a series of gleaming spikes punched up through the slots cut into the ground. One of them managed to graze his wing, tearing through feathers and flesh and spilling an arc of blood across the dirt. The stallion hit the dirt and rolled, using his injured wing to push against the ground and launch himself back upright. Scarlet’s charge stumbled immediately, and she stared at her opponent with wide eyes.

“S-Sergeant! Are you okay?” Scarlet gasped.

“AND SO THE PIT OF THORNS TASTES BLOOD!!” howled Kilroy gleefully while the audience roared its approval.

“Er…” Scoops frowned. “KILROY, IT WAS MY UNDERSTANDING THAT THE TRAP MACHINERY WAS DISABLED FOR THIS MATCH.”

“THAT IS WHAT THE SLAUGHTERPRIEST SAID, YES,” Kilroy confirmed, “HOWEVER: WHO CARES. FIGHT, COWARDLY EQUINES!!”

Folgore focused a sour gaze on Scarlet Shrike even as blood dripped from his wing wound. “Why did you stop, Shrike?” he demanded, his tone acidic.

Scarlet flinched. “Uh… well, we were told that the arena’s traps were-”

“It doesn’t matter!” Folgore cut her off, his eyes and voice burning. “Hesitation is failure! If you desire victory, fight like it matters! I am not some trainee plucked fresh from the streets of Manehattan, and I will not accept you treating me that way!” The stallion launched forward like a missile, lightning whipping along the ground behind him.

Scarlet stumbled backward and then swept one wing at him to meet the charge. The bright red crystals hummed as they cut the air, and as Folgore vaulted over the swing, that was all they cut. The stallion tucked his legs and wings in as his body spun in the air over the cybernetics, and then one rear leg lashed out to strike Scarlet in the head. She staggered to the side, and Folgore was flung away to land at a safe distance.

His ear twitched as he landed, hearing the rattling of chains above. He bolted forward, racing across the arena floor just before a plate of spikes crashed into the ground where he had stood. Scarlet Shrike’s eye bulged again at seeing the trap land, and she looked anxiously up at the ceiling to check which sections had spiked death traps on top of them.

All of them did, it turned out.

“What’s going on?! This match isn’t supposed to have the traps turned on!” she complained against the whooping cheers of the crowd.

“It doesn’t matter! They won’t stop me!” Folgore said, racing around the slowly lifting spike plate.

Two more floor sections suddenly erupted in front of him, creating a veritable forest of sharpened steel between the two ponies. Scarlet flinched, beads of sweat appearing around her head and neck, but Folgore simply jumped into the air.

“Come at me, Shrike! Let me see what those new wings of yours are truly capable of!” the Reaver Sergeant demanded.

“I really think we should get the trap problem fixed first!” Scarlet said, nervously stepping away from the nearest spike plate. “They don’t even seem to be using the normal timing mechanisms!”

Folgore released a furious whinny and curled in the air, narrowly avoiding another spike plate that was plummeting in front of him. “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!” he roared, flying up and then swooping directly at the other Reaver with blade extended.

Scarlet Shrike yelped, turning to throw her wing into the attack. The electrified blade struck the cooling crystals with a hollow snapping sound, and electricity lashed across Scarlet’s neck. Folgore touched ground with one hoof and pivoted hard on that leg, throwing a double kick into Scarlet’s chest. The larger Pegasus was lifted off her hooves by the impact and flung away, the wind knocked out of her.

Folgore pulled his legs back to a standing position, and then restrained a wince at the twinges of pain that ran through his legs. He had never kicked Scarlet full-on like that before, and it reminded him of the time he had tried to bludgeon his way through an Ork’s mega armor. No matter how little he thought of her combat skills, he could never help but be impressed by Scarlet Shrike’s sheer physical might.

Then he leapt into the air again as another bed of spikes nearly took his head off.

“Okay, look, I’m as big a fan of deathtraps as anyone but something weird is going on here,” Stormy Ruin insisted, her good wing curling around her shoulder to rub thoughtfully at her chin. “Why do the spikes keeping activating right around Sergeant Folgore?”

Morte tilted her head to the side and pointed a wing at Scarlet Shrike as the enormous Reaver stood up.

“Yeah, none of them seem to be coming close to Shrike. Which is fine, actually. I don’t think anyone would be happier if she got taken out by the arena. But like… what about the other random spots? Why are they mostly activating to get in the Sergeant’s way? That’s not a normal pattern at all.”

Stormy turned to her squadmate, looking into Morte’s silver eyes. Then she grimaced. “Right. Why am I asking YOU anything?” she grumbled, turning away. Morte seemed annoyed by the response, although as always much of her expression was hidden by her mask.

“You know who WOULD have a useful answer to that question? A Dark Techpriest!” Stormy mused, brightening and standing up in the bleachers. “Let’s go find those two nerds.”

She stood up from the seat, weaving through the whooping and roaring crowd to search for Gear Works and Dusk Blade. When she spotted the bench where she had encountered the two stallions before, she scowled. They weren’t there anymore, and a pair of exhausted-looking human menials were seated there instead. She turned left and right to scan the crowd, growing visibly agitated when she couldn’t find the Dark Acolyte.

“Why’d they leave?! Were they afraid that we’d double back and pick on them some more? Well… maybe I will, now!” Stormy griped.

Morte flew up over her, adding her own keen eyesight and a higher vantage point to the task. After about two more minutes of noisy fuming and four more falling spike platforms, the mute Pegasus swooped down and tapped Stormy’s leg. Her squadmate whipped around expectantly. Morte pointed her hoof over to the small, reinforced shed at the end of the bleachers. Stormy blinked, and then her eyes narrowed.

“What? I don’t see them over at that end either!”

Morte drew her foreleg back and pointed it again at the cogitator closet more urgently.

“Yes, I know that’s the place that controls all the arena machinery. So what? You want to fly in and try to fix the traps yourself? I don’t care, go for it,” Stormy said, waving her off with a hoof.

Morte’s eyes narrowed. Then she whipped around in the air, snapping a lightning-fast kick into Stormy Ruin’s forehead. The other mare reeled, shouting in surprise and anger, and then the masked pegasus zipped away, flying toward the shed. Stormy immediately jumped forward, galloping after her while loosing an inarticulate, enraged howl.

Pit of Thorns cogitator closet

Dusk Blade scowled as he stared out of a small slot-shaped armorglass window positioned above the bank of logic engines.

“Gears, the last two spike patches weren’t even close. You sure you’ve got a handle on these things?” he asked, clearly frustrated.

“Affirmative, Lieutenant. Those activations are deliberate. I don’t want it too look too obvious that the traps are targeting the Sergeant,” Gear Works replied. His tail was plugged into a data port on the other side of the shed, and his optical hood had filled with scrolling data screed that rushed by too quickly for anyone to possibly read it. The logic engines whirred and beeped noisily and occasionally shuddered, as if agitated by the intrusion of the two stallions.

“Okay, but you still haven’t gotten a good hit in! It’s hard to see from here but I’m not seeing a lot of blood!”

“That’s also correct. The Sergeant is a highly mobile, hyper-aware target and he can fly. These trap mechanisms are simply ineffective against him, although they do seem to have bought Miss Shrike some breathing room.”

“Guano,” the thestral cursed, backing away from the vision slit with a grimace. “I was expecting him to be at least seriously wounded by now so we could sneak out before anyone checks on the logic engines! Why won’t she END HIM?!”

“Her insufficient aggression and middling skill are mostly why things came to this to begin with,” Gears reminded him. “In any case, whenever you feel that we’ve been here too long, we can evacuate. If we’re caught it will be worse for us AND her.”

Dusk sat back on his haunches and scratched at his chin with a wingtip. “Well, maybe I can slip out and scout around for a bit. See if anyone-”

There was a sudden, loud banging noise against the wall, startling the two stallions.

“MORTE, WHAT THE HAY!! GET BACK HERE YOU SQUEAKY LITTLE-STOP IT!! I’M GOING TO JAM THAT STUPID MASK DOWN YOUR USELESS THROAT!!” screamed Stormy Ruin right outside the door.

Dusk’s ears flipped down, and he made a shushing noise to the cyborg. Gears ducked fearfully, his eye lights shrinking down in imitation of biological pupils. The shed trembled as another impact struck the wall and Stormy screamed another deranged threat at her teammate. A moment later there was a heavier impact against the door, and part of the metal folded inward as the hinges strained.

Dusk Blade winced. “Okay, look, I’m going to sneak out and try to draw them away,” he whispered to Gears, his voice barely intelligible with the escalating noise against the entrance. “When you hear me shout, you can make a break for it, okay?”

Gear Works started to nod, but then another impact against the door finally ripped off one of the hing panels. Dusk’s reflexes had him leaping backwards atop the cogitator bank to get clear, but the hefty metal plate slammed into Gears and wrenched his tail spike free of the dataport before smashing him into the far wall of the shed. Dusk hissed in aggravation, and then glared at the mare standing in the doorway.

Stormy Ruin was stumbling in front of the entrance with her jaw slack and one leg partially extended after bucking the door in. She stared at Dusk Blade in confusion, and then her expression slowly and silently shifted to absolute rage. Morte Venin – bleeding from one shoulder and with a wing visibly broken – stepped up behind her teammate, eyes narrowed. Dusk sneered and dropped down onto the floor.

“You’re so annoying,” he said flippantly, baring his fangs and approaching the mares.

“And you’re so DEAD,” Stormy Ruin retorted, nearly apoplectic with fury. “I’m going to rip out those fangs and shove-” She felt Morte poke her urgently in the side, and then she released an impatient growl. “WHAT, MORTE?! WHAT IS IT NOW?!”

Morte Venin pointed her good wing at the broken piece of the door, which was clearly lying on top of something. Dusk quickly stepped to the side to get in the way.

“Well, I don’t think there’s any point to explaining myself, so why don’t we get to the part where you attack me in a frenzy and I beat you into the deck?” Dusk asked, sweeping one wing forward and then slowly drawing the claw on the peak over his throat.

Stormy hesitated, her suspicions breaking through the haze of anger that had been threatening to consume her. The dented plate of metal suddenly lifted up, and a weak groan issued from the pony beneath it. Dusk’s eye twitched in aggravation, and he seriously considered stomping it back down to keep Gears from exposing his presence. The Dark Acolyte slowly pulled himself free and stood up, his head ringing and somewhat scrambled from the sudden and unexpected termination of the data link.

“You… You little…” Stormy was almost boiling now, her elegant face turning bright pink and quivering. Morte’s eyes were narrowed to slits, and she clashed her hoofblades together threateningly.

“Rejoice in the bedlam of battle! Feel the power surging within Khorne’s ever-burning fury!” Folgore sang as he and Scarlet charged headlong into each other.

Scarlet swiped a hoof at him, but Folgore darted to the side, avoiding it with ease. He kicked up off the ground, avoiding a sweeping arc of crystal blades with a single flap of his wings. Then he spun in the air, slicing into the massive mare’s back with his augmetic blade.

A lash of electricity trailed the blade’s tip, and it wrapped around the capacitor plugged into Scarlet’s back. Sparks blasted from the cylinder and steam started venting from the heat sinks below her wing panels, mixing with the blood spilling over her side. Scarlet pushed through the pain and the dangerous crackling noises and sliced through the air with her sword, missing the other pegasus completely.

Folgore flew backwards and landed, and Scarlet turned toward him and spread her wings, preparing to launch herself into an attack. A sharp fizzling noise came from her back as she triggered the boosters, followed by a pop, but she didn’t move at all. Folgore raised an eyebrow, watching as the cylinder lit on fire and the augmetic wings automatically folded up into standby mode. Scarlet looked quite alarmed, and she nervously took a step back.

“Second-rate bionics for a second-rate warrior. I should have known,” he sneered. “The Acolyte is bolder than you, but that is not enough. Are we done here, or do I have to break that eye as well?”

Scarlet hesitated, then twisted her head around to look at the wound on her back. After a few seconds, she turned back to her opponent. “Give up? When you’re still going so easy on me?” she snorted, her brow creasing. “You won’t get rid of me with a pinprick like that!” She started running forward, lowering her head into a charge.

Folgore scowled, but he didn’t bother replying as the mare came at him. He couldn’t really say that he was putting his best effort into this match, but he had not been holding back his strength. Scarlet was genuinely harder to wound than most Orks. He tapped his blade on the ground, shaking off some of the blood clinging to the edge.

A scream of fury and another of terror came from the edge of the arena, and Scarlet flinched and broke her charge. Folgore’s ears pivoted, although he didn’t turn his eyes from his opponent. Once he recognized some of the screaming coming from Stormy Ruin, however, even he couldn’t help but look.

“WHAT’S THIS?! IT LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE HAS BROKEN INTO THE COGITATOR SHED WHILE THE MATCH WAS GOING ON!” Scoops gasped, quickly aiming the vid-recorders toward the lower deck of the stands.

“YES SCOOPS, IT SEEMS THAT WE’VE DISCOVERED THE ROOT OF THE TRAP ‘MALFUNCTIONS’ THAT HAVE PLAGUED THIS DUEL,” Kilroy agreed with a snort, “HOWEVER, LET’S NOT DELAY THE BATTLE’S CONCLUSION ANY FURTHER! KHORNE WILL TASTE BLOOD THIS DAY!!”

“Uh… BUT… IF THE ARENA DEATHTRAPS HAVE BEEN SABOTAGED, SHOULDN’T THE DUEL BE CANCELED?”

“NO,” Kilroy replied firmly.

“BUT… THE INTERFERENCE FROM A THIRD PARTY MEANS THAT THE MATCH WASN’T FAIR, AND THAT A STARKLY INFERIOR COMBATANT COULD WIN!”

“THAT’S TRUE, SCOOPS, AND VERY UNFORTUNATE,” the cultist conceded, “BUT WHO CARES.”

A rousing cheer erupted from the crowd, followed by a crash.

“OH MY!! IT APPEARS A NEW CHALLENGER HAS ENTERED THE RING!! NO! TWO NEW CHALLENGERS!!”

Morte Venin gasped as she rolled across the dirt, and then quickly kicked herself upright. Dusk Blade was already on top of her, swooping through the air, and she barely avoided a savage kick to the head before he built altitude again for the next strike. She dashed away to try to gain some distance, but with her own wing injured and the thestral already airborne Morte didn’t expect she would last long.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Folgore howled, the hair on his back bristling in rapidly building anger. “Venin! Lieutenant Blade! Evacuate the arena THIS INSTANT!”

Presumably Morte would have obeyed if she had the chance, but Dusk didn’t acknowledge the order, much less stop. The bat pony landed an aerial kick into her side and sent the mute pony skidding across the ground. Scarlet flinched at the sight, gasping, and Folgore jumped into the air to stop the intruder personally.

Then yet another howl of rage came from the sidelines, and a dark blur sailed over his head before crashing and rolling across the ground.

“WHAT’S THIS?! YET ANOTHER PAIR OF DUELISTS HAVE ENTERED THE RING!! THIS RITUAL COMBAT IS TURNING INTO A BATTLE ROYALE!!”

“ALTHOUGH WE ALSO HAVE RITUALS FOR THOSE,” Kilroy assured the audience.

“GIVE US A MOMENT TO IDENTIFY THESE NEW CHALLENGERS, FOLKS! WHAT AN EXCITING AND UTTERLY DISQUALIFYING TURN OF EVENTS!!”

“Is that pony that just got thrown in a Dark Techpriest?” Kilroy mumbled. “I didn’t know we had pony Techpriests.”

Stormy Ruin leapt onto the arena floor, a visible aura of menace quivering around her. Like Morte, she couldn’t fly with a crippled wing, but unlike the silent Reaver her enemy was similarly grounded and far, far less capable. She moved into a gallop immediately, already in the throes of blood frenzy.

“RUIN!! Not you too!” Folgore growled. The mare didn’t flinch at his voice as she often did, bearing down on the Dark Acolyte while snarling in rage. In that moment Folgore had to choose between intercepting Dusk or Stormy, and he darted in the bat pony’s direction.

Scarlet Shrike glanced back and forth at the spreading bedlam, her heart pounding faster than ever. She had no idea what was happening, and with the immediate pressure off of her she easily recognized the cloaked pony. Gear Works was bleeding and quivering as he slowly stood back up, and it wasn’t clear that he even knew Stormy was racing toward him from behind. Not that he would be able to stop her anyway.

Stormy Ruin jumped, leaping over the Dark Acolyte and seizing his servo arm in her jaws. Her landing immediately pulled him over and threw him back onto the ground, and a resigned squeal came from Gear Works as he kicked up another light shroud of dirt. Then Stormy started to spin around in place while still holding onto the mechanical pincer.

“OH MY!! ONE OF THE NEW CHALLENGERS HAS ANOTHER IN A HELICOPTER THROW!! I’VE NEVER SEEN THIS IN A FORMAL COMBAT DUEL!!” Scoops gasped.

“EXTREMELY INEFFICIENT AND POINTLESSLY FLASHY,” Kilroy added, “AND AWESOME!! CRUSH THE FEEBLE TECH-CULTIST!! HA HA HA HA HAAA!!”

Gears wailed helplessly as he was swung in a wide circle, and after a few seconds Stormy let go. Gear Works flew across the arena, sailing toward the bed of large needles built onto the wall of the battle grounds. The crowd leapt to their feet, an ecstatic roar of approval already emerging from hundreds of throats.

Scarlet jumped into his path, and the cyborg slammed into a wall of steely red muscle instead. There was a metallic crunching noise as several internal parts broke, and Gears whimpered as he slumped onto the ground.

Scarlet Shrike turned her head, staring evenly at Stormy Ruin. Stormy stared back, looked down at Gear Works, and then looked back up at Scarlet.

“Did you just save him?” Stormy asked, snapping out of her berserk rage.

“This is not your fight, Stormy,” Scarlet replied firmly. “Withdraw, please.”

“… No, I was asking seriously. Did you just save him or did he get crushed in the impact and die anyway?” Stormy clarified, frowning. “If he’s dead then I don’t really care that you got in the way, so I need to know what happened so I know how mad to be.”

A cracking noise came off from the side, and the mares briefly glanced over to the other side of the arena. A pair of dark blurs zipped back and forth through the air, clashing and crashing over and over with explosions of sparks and the sound of ringing steel. The audience whooped and roared at each impact as Dusk and Folgore clashed, having already forgotten their disappointment that the earth pony hadn’t been impaled.

Scarlet set her jaw and took a step over Gear Works. “Stormy, this is the last time I’m going to ask you. Please, withdraw from the arena.”

The smaller pegasus arched an eyebrow. “Oh? And what are you going to do if I don’t?”

Scarlet lowered her head, her ears pinning back. Her expression remained firm, however. “Don’t make me do this, Stormy.”

“You’re not going to do anything,” Stormy Ruin sneered, pawing the dirt with her hoof in preparation to charge. “You’ll just stand there fretting and lecturing as I tear that metal fool’s bionic heart out. You’re nothing but a giant coward!”

“ALL RIGHT EVERYONE, WE’VE IDENTIFIED OUR COLISEUM INTERLOPERS!!” Scoops interrupted excitedly. “IN THE EAST CORNER, COWERING BETWEEN THE CLASHING TITANS IN THE SKY, IS MORTE VENIN, REAVER SECOND CLASS! THE AIRBORNE COMBATANT WHO, SHOCKINGLY, IS HOLDING HIS OWN AGAINST THE REAVER SERGEANT IS LUNAR LIEUTENANT DUSK BLADE!!”

Kilroy leaned in to his vox receiver. “LIEUTENANT BLADE IS A WARRIOR OF EXEMPLARY SKILL, BUT IS BETTER KNOWN FOR HIS INEXPLICABLE TALENT FOR DEFEATING BARRIERS AND SECURITY PROTOCOLS! THIS WOULD NORMALLY PROVE TO BE A SKILL OF SUPREME IMPORTANCE FOR INFILTRATION AND SABOTAGE, BUT IT TURNS OUT HE MOSTLY USES IT TO STALK MARES RATHER THAN SERVING THE DARK GODS. DISAPPOINTING!”

“Highly problematic,” Scoops mumbled before clearing her throat. “IN THE WEST CORNER, WE HAVE STORMY RUIN, ALSO A REAVER SECOND CLASS! WHAT HAVE YOU GOT FOR US, KILROY?”

“MISS RUIN – LOVE THE NAME, BY THE WAY – DOES NOT HAVE THE COMBAT RECORD OF HER SQUAD LEADER, BUT IF ANYTHING HER REPUTATION IS EVEN MORE FEARSOME AS THE MOST VOLATILE MEMBER OF THE ROZEN WINGS,” Kilroy chuckled.

“VOLATILE? IS THAT A GOOD THING?”

“NO, BUT WE ENJOY IT,” Kilroy admitted. “AND FINALLY, THE IDENT-CODE OF THE BLACK-ROBED CUR BEING SMACKED AROUND THE PLACE SAYS HIS NAME IS GEAR WORKS OF THE DARK MECHANICUS!”

“WOW! A REAL PONY TECHPRIEST!!” Scoops gushed.

“HE’S JUST A DARK ACOLYTE,” Kilroy corrected right before an explosion of red and black came from the center of the arena.

Folgore went spiraling through the air, wings tucked tight against his body, but hit the ground on his hooves. They dug divots in the ground as he skidded across the dirt, eventually sliding over one of the metal panels that held the spring-loaded spike traps. His hyper-aware senses did not warn him of a threat this time, and sure enough, the trap didn’t trigger; the devices were inactive once more.

Dusk Blade flew backward from the detonation as well, wisps of strange, inky… SOMETHING trailing from his hooves and wings. He did not land like Folgore did, his wings beating harder to bring him around. His eyes blazed orange like hot coals, and as he pushed forward again a fearsome howl seemed to encircle him even as he remained silent.

“Fascinating technique,” Folgore mumbled, swinging his arc blade to the side. Whips of crimson plasma lashed around him, and a micro-engine in his bionic leg started to whir loudly as a magna-accelerating flywheel accelerated. “For the Blood God,” he whispered, his hushed pronouncement somehow rising above the crackling of his augments and the roar of the crowd.

Folgore backflipped, his wings spreading and his blade swinging. A ferocious buzz of power became a thundering thundercrack, and a bright red arc slashed through the air directly toward Dusk. The thestral’s body flickered, his image seeming to split in two and vanish among the streaks of darkness.

The blood-red slash ripped through the tide of shadow, boiling it away, and then went on to slam into the arena wall. The heavy armor was shredded on the point of contact, splitting apart and drooling molten slag down the breach. It was, however, not the intended target.

With an amber flash Dusk slid to a stop behind the Reaver, and then reared back a claw to attack. A back kick lashed out before he could strike, and he barely blocked it with his raised leg before Folgore launched upward again.

“Delightful tricks! More! Show me MORE, Lieutenant! What wonderful secrets of murder have your kind been keeping to themselves?!” Folgore was fully enraptured by his new duel now, a sincere – if insane – grin plastered across his face. He had completely forgotten his original challenge, as well as his other subordinates still in the ring with him. “Let me see your fury! Let me hear your pain! Khorne smiles upon us, thestral!! AH HA HA HA HA HAAH!!”

“Get out of my way so I can go save my friend, you fanging freak!” Dusk roared back, galloping forward while shadowy mist swirled around him again.

Across the arena, Scarlet and Stormy paid only occasional attention to the more energetic duel, as their attention was necessarily fixed on each other. Stormy Ruin slowly circled the larger mare, her eyes narrowed to slits. Gear Works quivered in a pile on the ground, his chest occasionally spitting sparks.

“So what’s the play here, Red?” Stormy asked, her voice sounding cheerful and casual despite her expression. “Are you just going to park your giant butt between me and the nerd and hope I won’t bother to get around you?”

Scarlet moved slightly to the side as Stormy walked, keeping herself between the Reaver and the tech-cultist. “He’s not an enemy, Stormy. He can’t defend himself. He is no worthy offering to Lord Khorne,” she lectured.

“That’s not the POINT, you worthless heap of muscle!” the smaller mare snapped. “You realize he was the one manipulating the traps, right? He was trying to kill Sergeant Folgore!”

Evidently Scarlet Shrike had not realized this at all, and she recoiled in shock. Stormy immediately bolted forward, hoping to reach Gear Works during her moment of diversion. The smaller pegasus curved sharply to zip around Scarlet, and the larger pegasus promptly spread her bionic wing and swung it down to block her path.

“Get back! Leave him alone!” Scarlet demanded, swinging around to face Stormy.

“Get out of my way!” Stormy barked, faltering for only a moment before surging ahead again. “I have had it up to HERE with you!”

Stormy struck Scarlet thrice in the chest, rearing up and hammering her front hooves in rapid sequence. Then she flipped around to face the other way, one rear leg already chambered for a punishing kick.

Scarlet grunted in pain as the last kick drove home, and she staggered backward. Stormy turned around again and prepared to descend on the unprotected Acolyte, but the massive red pony simply stepped forward again to block her.

“I won’t let you do this, Stormy,” Scarlet said firmly, lowering her head to be (more or less) level with her opponent.

“Yes you will,” Stormy snarled. She struck Scarlet in the cheek, her hoof impacting with a gut-wrenching crack. “You’re going to just stand there and bleed until I move you!” Another strike to the other cheek, even harder. “I’m sick of it! I’m sick of YOU!! FALL DOWN ALREADY!!” Another hoof hammered the underside of Scarlet’s jaw.

Each hit brought a pained flinch, and little else. Scarlet Shrike endured the blows like an iron statue, even as trickles of blood splashed across the dirt below her. She kept her legs rooted firmly in place, impeding any attack on Gear Works, and they didn’t budge a millimeter under the assault.

Four more blows to the face and another double-legged buck to the chest fell upon the crimson giant, and she responded to each with a pained grimace or steaming snort. By now Stormy’s attacks were lagging in their speed and ferocity. Not out of exhaustion; she could fight for hours on end with greater intensity. But against an unmoving target that would not retaliate, the smaller Reaver felt her fury stalling.

“Fight me, coward!” Stormy Ruin howled, rearing up while her eyes glowed with a wrath that she could not properly vent. She pressed her nose against Scarlet Shrike’s and snarled, “Don’t just stand there and frown about it! If this worthless scrap pile means anything at all to you, then DO SOMETHING!!”

Scarlet’s bionic eye pulsed, and then released a blinding flash.

Stormy yelped and recoiled from the photon beamer’s light pulse, jumping back while the hair on her back bristled. She squeezed her eyes shut and braced herself for an attack, shielding her face with a leg. Her wings twitched reflexively; normally she would have taken to the air to evade, but being grounded vexed her usual combat instincts.

Then a massive red hoof fell firmly onto her withers and pushed her down. Stormy’s eyes bulged as her legs buckled almost instantly, and she screamed as she was forced onto her belly and pinned.

“HEY!! GET OFF!!” Stormy shouted, scrambling to shift her legs so she could stand.

“Are you going to calm down?” Scarlet asked, her voice as cool and steady as ever.

“No, I’m going to RIP OFF THE TECHPRIEST’S HEAD AND BLUDGEON YOU WITH IT!!” Stormy Ruin tried to stand up, pushing hard against the hoof on her back, and the veins on her head and neck bulged from the effort. Scarlet’s leg budged, and the smaller pegasus slowly started to rise.

Scarlet Shrike very gently shifted her weight, and Stormy was immediately pinned to the dirt again. “I’m not going to fight you, Stormy. I won’t hurt you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t defend my other friends.”

“OTHER FRIENDS?! YOU THINK I’M YOUR FRIEND?!” Stormy snarled, twisting and flailing as much as she could to try to get free.

Scarlet stared down at the smaller mare, idly tasting the blood on her teeth. Then she slowly smiled. “Yes, Stormy. Of course you are.” There was nothing mocking or smug in her expression, although it looked slightly wistful.

Stormy Ruin released an incoherent growl of frustration and stopped trying to escape. “Why would I be your friend?! Have I ever been kind to you?!”

“Yes. Even though you complain, you’ve never tried to hurt me out of spite or idle frustration.”

“That’s your idea of kindness?! You’re enough of a burden as it is, what good would it do to cripple you?!”

Scarlet nodded. “You’ve always encouraged me to be a better warrior and take my training to the next level, even though it never worked. Many times you picked up the slack when I faltered on a mission.”

“As if I had a choice, you… you…” Stormy ground her teeth angrily. “I took your stallion! Is that something a friend would do?!”

“Sergeant Folgore left me. He ended our relationship clearly and directly face-to-face, and I have no claim to him. You two love each other completely and sincerely, and as much as that hurts, it is no slight against me,” Scarlet said somberly. Then she coughed gently and lowered her head. “… But I think we should leave that topic aside for now rather than discussing it in front of the audience.”

“Eh, they’re all watching the guys fight, it’s fine,” Stormy retorted.

Another thundercrack came from the middle of the stadium, and a shock wave blasted into the mares. Scarlet’s long, raven-black hair whipped about in the wind, while Stormy remained flat on the ground and mostly unbothered. Gear Works rolled limply across the dirt behind them, his servo arm creaking and clanking with every rotation.

Once the wave passed Scarlet looked up again, staring in awe at the only real battle happening in the Pit of Thorns. Streaks of red and black slashed through the air in rapid sequence, crashing into each other with a ring of steel striking steel and bright blue sparks of plasma. The colors mixed, swirled, and parted with equal speed, only to veer back around and clash again. The sky was a chaotic web of howling violence moving too fast for her natural eye to track, and her augmetic only managed to do any better by locking onto Folgore’s ident-code and tracing the signum vector.

The Reaver and the Lunar Lieutenant met again and again in the air, with broad, azure slashes sliding harmlessly through waves of inky darkness. The shadows morphed and twisted around the blazing red aura, and claws and wings emerged frequently to jab at every opening along with furious, high-pitched shrieks. The shadowy attacks mostly landed, but Folgore brushed them aside whether they scratched against his armor or bit deeply into his flesh.

Folgore surged upward and spun in a circle, a triumphant howl emerging from his throat. His arc blade whipped around him, washing away the clinging shadows with wide swathes of crackling energy. Dusk reappeared beneath the whirlwind of destruction and dropped to the ground, finally giving his wings a chance to rest.

As far as actual damage went, the thestral was almost unscathed. Folgore had not managed to land a single good hit on him. Dusk was obviously approaching his limit, however. His chest heaved and his coat was matted and sweaty, and his wings quivered slightly while he folded them against his back. Folgore looked completely energized in comparison, although he had numerous bleeding wounds. The pegasus cultist ignored his injuries completely, looking down on the other stallion with an expression of gleeful bloodlust.

“You’re not done yet, Lieutenant! You can’t tell me that’s all you’ve got!” Folgore hovered high above the center of the arena, his wings beating faster with every breath. “SHOW ME WHAT THE SLAYERS OF THE NIGHT ARE TRULY CAPABLE OF!!”

“Sergeant Folgore!”

Folgore’s ear twitched, and his exultant grin faded as he turned his head. Scarlet Shrike stood on the far side of the arena, her neck craned upward to watch him. Stormy Ruin was still pinned to the ground, Scarlet’s hoof pressed firmly onto her withers while she fumed helplessly.

“Don’t worry Shrike, I haven’t forgotten about you,” the stallion said, his tone impatient and patronizing, “this will be resolved quickly! Should I still stand, I will dispatch you too and this will be an afternoon well-spent!”

Without waiting for a response, Folgore turned back to his opponent and started building altitude in preparation for a dive. “NOW!! KHORNE’S WILL BE-oh blast, where did he go?”

Much to the Reaver’s frustration, Dusk Blade had vanished in the few seconds he had spent addressing his subordinate. He furtively glanced left and right, his narrowed eyes seeking any hint of movement or discolored patch of gray among the pit. Alas, the only motion he could find was Morte Venin, who was waving to him frantically while pointing her uninjured wing at the commentator booth hanging over the arena.

Folgore clicked his tongue in frustration. While he was at least Dusk’s equal in martial skill and arcane fighting techniques, they were not so evenly matched when it came to matters of stealth and infiltration. His attention had slipped away for a mere moment, and that was the only opportunity the Lunar Lieutenant needed. The arena’s audience, which had been absolutely ecstatic at the escalation thus far, quickly receded into murmurs at the sudden lull in the action.

“Tch! One disappointment after another,” the Reaver Sergeant grumbled, slowly lowering himself back down to the arena floor. His ears were perked and pivoting back and forth sharply, eagerly anticipating an ambush that would allow him to engage the blue-haired stallion again.

By the time he landed in front of Scarlet Shrike, however, no such assault had come and his danger sense was silent. He steeled himself and glared across the dirt at Scarlet, and then down at the smaller pegasus trapped under her hoof.

“Ruin, did you really lose to Shrike?” Folgore asked, his tone becoming even more aggravated.

“No! I didn’t lose! She wouldn’t even fight me!” Stormy protested, flailing helplessly in the dirt.

“Then am I to understand you ended up in this shameful position WILLINGLY? What do you think you’re doing?” the Reaver Sergeant retorted, a vein popping up above his ear.

“Sergeant Folgore, I am your opponent. We’ve spent enough time on interruptions and diversions,” Scarlet interrupted.

Folgore arched an eyebrow. “Hmph. True. All right then, let’s see if-”

“I surrender, Sergeant. You win,” Scarlet interrupted again.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” the stallion raged, stomping the ground in frustration. “You put everypony through all this only to quit at the final hour?! If you knew you couldn’t win you shouldn’t have shown up in the first place!” The arena’s crowd seemed to agree with the squad lead, and numerous boos and taunts started rising from the stands.

“OH DEAR! AFTER ALL THAT UNEXPECTED EXCITEMENT IT LOOKS LIKE WE’VE REACHED A RATHER UNSATISFACTORY CONCLUSION TO THE DUEL,” Scoops said sadly, her ears pinning back and her shoulder slumping. “NOT THAT I CAN EXACTLY BLAME MISS SHRIKE AFTER SEEING WHAT THE SERGEANT IS REALLY CAPABLE OF!”

“Are we all just pretending we don’t know where the bat pony went? I can see him from here,” Kilroy asked, looking back over his shoulder.

Scarlet Shrike shook her head solemnly as Folgore fumed. “This isn’t about whether I can win or not. I don’t want to fight you, Sergeant. Even if it means the end of my career. Because…” she gulped and stood a little straighter. “Because… I love you, Folgore.”

The noise from the crowd instantly hushed. Stormy groaned in exasperation. Folgore stared incredulously at the bright red mare, his jaw hanging open slightly.

“… So WHAT!?” the Reaver Sergeant demanded, almost trembling with anger. “Yes, I know you’re in love with me! I’ve known what this was all about since the beginning! Why did you agree to fight me only to give up now?!”

“Even for you, this was a pretty dumb plan,” Stormy Ruin sneered, even as she was still pinned under Scarlet’s hoof. “If you somehow beat the Sergeant and got to stay on the squad, you still would have never gotten back together with him. You should have demanded to fight ME instead!”

Scarlet Shrike shook her head somberly, looking down at Stormy with a sad smile. “I couldn’t bear to do such a thing, Stormy. I love you too.”

Intrigued gasps rolled through the arena’s crowd, the spectators hanging on every word. Stormy Ruin blinked repeatedly, completely dumbfounded. Folgore was no better, his jaw hanging fully open now and his rage abandoned. Up in the commentary booth, Scoops and Kilroy leaned over the vox array, barely daring to breath for fear of breaking the dramatic tension.

“I… I, uh… what?” Folgore asked, his eyes rising and falling from one mare to another. “What exactly do you mean by…”

“I mean that I love both of you, Sergeant!” Scarlet said, her voice sad but proud. “And I love Morte Venin, too!”

The masked Reaver had been slowly creeping along the periphery of the arena to sneak behind Scarlet, and she suddenly stumbled at the proclamation. Morte blushed deeply, and her uninjured wing shifted to scratch at the back of her head bashfully.

“I love all the Rozen Wings! And the rest of the Reaver flocks! And our Slaughterpriest, Reynal!”

Up in the stands, the shirtless man who had led the pre-combat prayers pounded a fist into his scar-crossed chest, a few tears trickling down his neck from under his rusty iron mask.

“It’s for love of you all that I fight, and the entire reason I’m here is to protect and help you! This is my calling, my reason for being a Reaver!” Scarlet said, a few tears of her own streaming down her cheeks. Her bionic eye wept too, although the fluid dribbling from that socket was a thick, dark oil. “When I was given the opportunity to fight for my place in honorable combat, I agreed. It seemed like the best option available, and a worthy tribute to the Blood God. But in this arena, facing you and then Stormy, Khorne’s anger fails me. To harm you for the sake of my status before the Company and our God… it’s impossible. My heart cannot withstand such cruelty.” She bowed her head. “This is a blasphemy before the Blood God and failure for me. Merely the last of many. For the sake of love, I am prepared to face the consequences.”

There was a long pause after she finished, and Scarlet awaited the judgement of her squad leader. Then her ear perked, hearing a rhythmic thumping sound coming from off to the side. One of the pony spectators was stamping a hoof on the bleacher repeatedly and sniffling, tears running freely down her cheeks. The stallion next to her quickly joined in, beating the metal with his leg. Other ponies nearby quickly joined in as well, and then some clapping slowly added to the cacophony as it built. Cultists, soldiers, and laborers alike stood up and applauded, and some started cheering again as the noise kept rising.

Scarlet Shrike looked bewildered as she looked around at the spectators, and she clumsily wiped her cheek with her leg that wasn’t still pinning Stormy down.

Stormy Ruin furrowed her brow, and then tapped the ground. “If you love me so much, can you let me up?”

“Will you be good?” the larger pegasus asked.

“If you really loved me you wouldn’t ask.”

“That’s not how this works, Stormy.”

“Silence, both of you,” Folgore said sharply. The mares obeyed, their ears pinning back. The Reaver Sergeant stared up at Scarlet Shrike silently, studying her. His expression was completely inscrutable, but it conspicuously lacked the simmering fury that normally characterized his behavior.

“… I must admit I’m somewhat… moved by your admission, Shrike,” Folgore said, sighing. “It certainly doesn’t feel like you’re fishing around for an excuse to avoid harm or embarrassment.” The blade in his bionic leg flipped around and then slid into the pocket on the bottom of the frame.

“I can endure almost anything, Sergeant,” Scarlet assured him, “I can brush off any wound, I can lose you, and I can suffer exile. But I can’t endure hurting my friends. You mean too much to me.”

Folgore grimaced, looking away to the side. “… This is quite unbecoming of a cultist of Khorne, you realize? Under the terms of our duel and the precepts of the Reaver’s charter, your surrender is a dishonor before the temple in addition to the established grounds for exile. Yet another embarrassment you’ve scarred my unit with.”

“I know, Sergeant,” Scarlet said sadly. “I will do as you ask this time. I regret that I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BLOODSPORT I’VE EVER SEEN,” Scoops sobbed, punctuating the sentence with a hiccup. "TO THINK WE CAME TO SEE SAVAGERY AND DEATH BUT INSTEAD WITNESSED SUCH HEARTFELT BENEFICENCE!”

“OKAY YES BUT WE DID GET A LOT OF VIOLENCE TOO,” Kilroy retorted. “SPEAKING OF DEATH, HAS ANYONE SEEN THE ACOLYTE MOVE AT ALL SINCE THE LITTLE ANGRY PONY THREW HIM?”

The audience in the arena was still clapping, although the noise was no longer rising. Several people had broken down into sobs, and there were some humans and ponies tearfully hugging each other and rocking back and forth. Even Stormy Ruin sniffled a little bit, although her tears may have been a result of her aggravated injuries or her legs cramping up.

Folgore nodded to his challenger, looking uncharacteristically subdued. “Well, then your fate is decided… This is quite an anti-climax, isn’t it?”

Then a black dagger of shadows punched up into his gut, and Dusk Blade emerged from the ground and launched him into the air.

“SURPRISE, MURDER TURKEY!!” the Lunar Lieutenant shrieked, rearing back his other hoofblade.

Folgore blocked the stab with his bionic leg, and the adamantium blades punched into the plasteel shell rather than his ribcage. Dusk kept flying higher, lifting the Reaver into the air above him while blood drizzled down his legs and face.

“Treacherous vermin,” Folgore hissed, his golden eyes glowing again as his anger was swiftly rekindled.

“You wanted to see what I can do, didn’t you?” the thestral retorted, his amber eyes pulsing with equal intensity. “What’s the matter?! Not having fun anymore?!” He twisted the blade lodged in Folgore’s bionic, tearing it open and tearing the internal mechanisms.

“SERGEANT!!” Scarlet and Stormy cried in shock, watching as the stallions shot into the air. A twisting shroud of inky darkness marked their ascent, trailing behind Dusk’s flapping wings. A rousing cheer and surprised whooping came from the crowd, suddenly shocked out of their sentimental mood by the surge of violence.

Scarlet’s wings spread open, but then she glanced back at the burnt-out capacitor on her back.

“Well?! What are you standing around for?! Go get them!” Stormy shouted, pounding her hoof impotently on the ground.

“I can’t fly!” the larger pegasus admitted, again staring up at the sky anxiously. “My bionics were damaged earlier!”

“Khorne’s beard, you are SO USELESS!!” Stormy raged.

Scarlet Shrike started to hang her head, but suddenly felt a tugging sensation on her back.

She almost kicked whatever was touching her, but when she glanced back again she did a double take. “Acolyte?! You’re okay?!”

Gear Works pried the burnt capacitor out of the socket between Scarlet’s shoulder blades. “Dthsss hah grrrk kthaaa?”

Scarlet blinked, totally unable to make out the sounds coming from the stallion’s ruptured mask. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Gears was in horrific shape, with his optical screen cracked and reduced to static, his throat hosing torn, and both legs on his right side clearly dislocated. His respirator mask was halfway torn from his face, with curious and disgusting fluid drooling from the breach. Nonetheless, his shuddering and sparking servo arm tossed aside the useless power capacitor, and then reached down to Gear’s chest.

“Hkkthk kshl ahn futhuth thuks,” the Dark Acolyte gasped as a small glowing cylinder was ejected from a chest compartment. His servo arm snapped it up, and then wound its way back up toward Scarlet’s back.

“Wait, what is that? Do you need that? You look like you’re very badly hurt!”

Gear Works mumbled some more incomprehensible gibberish in reply, and then stabbed the capacitor into the Scarlet’s back. The mare jolted upright and her wings sprung open, knocking Gear’s servo arm away and only missing his face due to her much greater height. The tech-cultist quickly backed away, his head bowed and a series of painful-sounding sucking noises coming from his mask.

Scarlet looked stunned at first, but then her eyes narrowed. “I understand. Thank you again.” She finally lifted her hoof off of Stormy Ruin, and the smaller pegasus immediately jumped upright.

“Stop yapping and HELP HIM!” Stormy snapped.

A shrill whine came from the Arclith shard thrusters, and the power cell quivered in its socket.

Dusk slammed two kicks into Folgore’s abdomen, ripping his hoofblade free. A quick flap of his wings sent him into a spin, and another kick struck the Reaver’s head, pitching him to the side.

Folgore’s vision spun, and by reflex he tried to activate the sword in his bionic hoof again. The augment sparked, and then the casing snapped apart at the hinge. The blade segments broke with a sharp crackle of electricity, and Dusk laughed before ascending upward again, slashing the Reaver in passing. Folgore tried to twist about to line up his own kick, but Dusk bit onto his wing to hold him level and then punched a claw into the joint between wing and back.

Dusk spat out his wing and grinned. “Your god is calling you, Sarge. Go say hi.” Then he kicked off of the pegasus again, launching upwards while sending Folgore into a death spiral.

A tremendous roar came from the crowd, and Dusk sucked in a deep breath as he hovered above the Pit of Thorns. Blood was splashed over his face and legs, and for that brief moment, with his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, Dusk Blade had to admit that he could see some of the appeal of the Blood Cult’s martial rituals. Granted, his own presence here was a plot to undermine it specifically, and he couldn’t really remember if this outcome was advantageous to his goal, but at that one moment, it just felt GOOD.

He glanced down at where he had sent Folgore, and a smirk crossed his lips as he watched Morte and Stormy dash across the arena floor to catch the fallen Reaver. They would make it easily… unless somepony swooped in and kicked the wounded stallion slightly off-course. He swiveled about in preparation for a dive.

His ear twitched, detecting sudden motion coming from the ground.

Dusk Blade curved sharply to one side, narrowly avoiding the blazing red edge of Scarlet’s wings while she blasted by him. Even having dodged her, the heat and air pressure of her passing buffeted him, and he took a moment to shield himself and get some distance before coming around to follow her.

“What, now YOU’RE on my tail too?! Fine! I’ll break every last one of you lunatics!” the thestral growled, speeding up to catch her.

“WHAT A TWIST!! HAVING DEFEATED THE CHAMPION, THE MEDDLING NEWCOMER IS NOW FACING DOWN THE CHALLENGER!! I’VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE IT!!”

“THIS COULD BE THE END OF THE ROZEN WINGS! AN ENTIRE SQUAD OF KHORNE’S CHOSEN PONIES, SINGLE-HANDEDLY DEFEATED BY A TREACHEROUS FLYING RODENT!! OR, I GUESS, SINGLE… HOOFEDLY? IS THAT A THING?”

Dusk caught up to Scarlet Shrike and dove on top of her, kicking into her head and bouncing off to avoid the lethally hot blades of her wings. The pegasus flinched and adjusted course to follow, but Dusk proved to be much more agile in the air than she. He zipped upward and then dove in back down before she could evade, slashing across her shoulder and immediately dropping out of her line of sight.

“I don’t even know why you picked this fight. At least the other idiots could actually fly when they tried to beat me,” Dusk remarked as he circled around and struck her in the side of the head.

Scarlet’s head budged – slightly – to the side with the impact, and then she fixed a smoldering glare on the retreating thestral. “I can’t bear to hurt my friends. But you? I can endure that.”

“You’re breaking my heart, Shrike,” Dusk said sarcastically. Then he suddenly dove straight toward her at an angle that left him open to her wings.

Scarlet took the opportunity immediately, turning to swing her left wing in an arc that could have sliced a fighter craft entirely in half. Instead, Dusk’s body turned into a stream of churning darkness, and the red-hot crystal blades cut through nothing but air. Dusk materialized on the other side of the pegasus, stabbing her in the underside between her armor plates and then dropping down as she tried to kick him.

“What sorcery is this?! Face me, coward!” Scarlet Shrike demanded as she turned around to face the Lunar Lieutenant again.

“I guess that technique is a little much for somepony like you, but I can’t hold back a lot after the last fight; the crowd is rabid down there,” Dusk admitted, glancing at his hoofblade. It was slick with blood, but the massive mare was as mildly upset as before. “By the way, I know we covered this before, but are you SURE you’re not a Space Marine pony? 100% positive? You were this big and resilient a year ago?”

“HYAAAAAAAAAAH!!” as her Arclith thrusters cooled enough to allow for another burst of thrust, Scarlet blasted forward through the air again, a hoof aimed to crush the bat pony to powder.

Dusk flew straight toward the Reaver, meeting her head-on at full speed. Once again a bright streak of burning crimson clashed with a lance of writhing darkness, and the sound of steel striking steel rang through the arena as a hush fell over the crowd. Scarlet and Dusk passed each other, and then slowed.

“Too easy,” Dusk sniffed, swinging around in the air.

Scarlet convulsed, and a substantial wash of blood erupted from her chest and shoulder. The crowd stood up and roared in approval, whooping wildly while the pegasus struggled to remain aloft. Teeth clenched, Scarlet banked and once again turned to face her enemy.

“Okay, this is just getting embarrassing now,” Stormy Ruin grumbled as she craned her neck up to watch the encounter. “I know taking so much damage and staying in the fight is the only thing that really makes Shrike impressive, but it kinda just makes it worse if she can’t even touch the guy.”

Morte nodded somberly, feeling slightly more respectful of Scarlet’s endurance but agreeing with the conclusion. Underneath her was Folgore, who was looking rather worse for wear despite being saved from a fatal collision with the ground. One wing was ragged and bent at a bad angle, his bionic leg had been reduced to twisted scrap, and he was slowly bleeding from half a dozen cuts and gouges of varying intensity. Morte had found some cloth and was applying pressure to the worst of the damage, while Stormy was slicing up a roll of bandages to help.

Still, the Reaver Sergeant kept his eyes on the sky. The enemy had not been defeated, and Scarlet Shrike, despite her deteriorating condition, had not submitted or been rendered incapable. He could not – WOULD not – leave the arena under his own power until the victor was decided.

A sprinkle of blood splashed across the ground nearby, spattering across the hard-packed dirt in a bright crimson arc.

Suddenly inspired, Folgore lifted his head to the sky and closed his eyes. “Lord Khorne, accept this offering of your faithful and deliver to us the glory of the damned.”

Morte and Stormy were startled by the sudden prayer, and they stared at their Sergeant.

“Our pain is yours. Our souls are yours. As our blood feeds the soil, so your rage feeds our hearts. The blade falls, the bullet flies, again and forever, in a holy litany to the Blood God.”

Stormy Ruin and Morte Venin closed their eyes and bowed their heads, silently joining the prayer. A strange noise started to build in the back of their minds as he spoke, and each of them could feel their blood pressure rising. Folgore continued to chant, his voice building like a storm.

“Grant us strength, Lord Khorne. Let the weapons of the foe shatter upon our steel! Let the enemy’s sorceries fail, their engines falter, and their blades fall short! Grant us victory against the treacherous and the weak, and to you we grant our last breaths! War, eternal! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the skull throne!”

Scarlet Shrike flailed in the air as she was beaten back under a flurry of impacts. Quivering black arcs cut through the air around a pair of amber eyes, battering against her chest and head. Sometimes they touched with a hefty impact, other times with the kiss of a blade, but always at a speed she couldn’t hope to track.

Scarlet tried to twist about to slash at Dusk, but the red-hot crystals sliced through nothing and then another hoof smashed into her jaw. The impact didn’t unsteady her, but every attack she made had the same result; a clumsy swipe at the air followed by a punishing counter. Aside from the slowly accumulating injuries, it was extremely demoralizing. Scarlet felt far more hopeless facing Dusk and his bizarre shadow magic than she had facing down Folgore and his augmetic arc blade.

Dusk kicked her in the side of the head again, and then a second later she felt his hoofblade dig into her chest armor. She tried to kick back, and then her head snapped up from a somersault kick to the underside of her jaw.

“Okay Shrike, I think it’s about time we wrapped this up,” Dusk Blade said as he hovered above her and put some distance between them. “The crowd is starting to sound a little bored, and I don’t blame them. Fighting you is kinda like practicing on one of those spiked steel training dummies, except you keep making pitiful little pained noises every hit.”

Scarlet felt the spark of anger inside her burn a little bit hotter. “Come at me without that weird black stuff to help you and I’ll make it plenty exciting!” She demanded.

Dusk paused and tilted his head to the side. “Hmmm… no.” He reeled back one hoofblade, and then the swirling black mist emerged from nowhere and started to twist around it.

“As long as we have a moment, do you want to explain what the hay that shadow… THING is all about? How are you using this magic?! You’re not a unicorn!” Scarlet asked, sounding increasingly desperate.

“Instead of answering that, I think I’ll break your wings now,” Dusk mused. “You can survive a fall from this height, right? Sure you will.”

Dusk Blade rocketed forward, his entire body turning into a black, arrow-shaped shroud. There was a slight surge of noise from the crowd below, but it was noticeably muted compared to the excitement from earlier in the match. Cries of “come on!” and “finish her already!” bubbled up from the stands, even from those more sympathetic to Scarlet.

Time seemed to slow as Scarlet Shrike watched the tide of shadows drilling through the sky toward her. She could try to dodge, but Dusk was far more agile and had no difficulty adjusting his attacks before. The red Reaver raised a hoof feebly, well aware that it would simply sweep uselessly through the shadow-stuff. Still, she figured she had to make SOME attempt to defend herself.

The spark of anger pulsed, and Scarlet felt a strange, uncomfortable heat flow through her. It seemed to irritate her injuries rather than soothe them, and she felt no surge of strength or fresh vitality in her thick, iron-hard muscles. Instead, she felt an impulse building in her eye. Her bionic eye, specifically. With little idea what was happening, Scarlet submitted to the sensation.

Her bionic eye activated its photon beamer. The resulting flash was much weaker than the pulse that had stunned Stormy, as the capacitor had not had time to charge fully since its last use. The effects of the light were nonetheless quite dramatic.

The darkness around Dusk melted away in an instant, exposing a shocked expression as he dove toward Scarlet Shrike at full speed. Scarlet, given the perfect moment to strike down her opponent, flinched and missed it. She too was surprised by the outcome, and completely failed to react in time.

Dusk slammed face-first into Scarlet’s head, and she yelped at the impact. The two recoiled and immediately started falling, and Scarlet Shrike quickly swung the Arclith shards directly behind her and generated a very short pulse of thrust to control her descent. She jolted forward, breaking away from the flailing bat pony and heading toward the ground at a much more reasonable angle.

Dusk Blade’s descent was much more chaotic. His wings flapped and his legs flailed helplessly, and he had completely lost his sense of balance. His vision swam and his ears were ringing like he had just flown into a tower bell. Still, through sheer effort and willful panic, the Lunar Lieutenant managed to slow his fall enough so that when he did hit the ground, the collision was merely painful rather than lethal. Dusk struck his shoulder and rolled, bouncing across the hard-packed dirt.

Across the arena, Scarlet made a much better landing. Her hooves dug into the ground and she skidded across the dirt for a good three meters, kicking up a wave of dust behind her. Gasps rolled through the audience, and the crowd fell to silence.

The enormous mare turned to face her foe, her eyes narrowing dangerously. Dusk Blade was more sluggish in standing upright, but nonetheless he pushed himself to his hooves. His wings spread, scratched and bloodied but still intact. He clenched his teeth, fighting against the growing vertigo that threatened to consume his thoughts entirely.

“Hrrgghlnf.” Then he gave up. Dusk collapsed onto his side, passing out with an agonized whimper.

Scarlet Shrike blinked, then raised her head. She looked left, at the comatose body of Gear Works. She looked right, at where Stormy and Morte were carrying Folgore out of the arena before he perished of blood loss.

“UN… UNBELIEVABLE… AFTER ALL THAT, THE WINNER IS…” Scoops began, her voice trembling.

“TECHNICALLY,” Kilroy interjected.

“SCARLET SHRIKE!! THE MARE HAS DONE IT!!”

Once again, the crowd erupted into cheers.

Ferrous Dominus
Sector 9 – medicae ward 4S
(3 days later)

“So I have to admit I’m still not clear on what happened. Or… what’s happening now.”

Dusk Blade laid on an examination bed on his back, a thick and relatively clean burlap cloth laid over him. He had a cast around his head and neck, and bandaging on his wings and one of his legs. A monitor pict-screen detailed a diagnosis of cranial trauma, along with various less serious fractures and abrasions.

“Is it the concussion? It’s probably the concussion,” Scarlet Shrike fretted, looming over the foot of the bed. “I’m very sorry about that! I didn’t mean to hurt you that badly!” She sported numerous small bandages and patches over her body, many of them with little hearts, lipstick kiss marks, or marks of Khorne drawn on them. Despite the number of them, the mare was obviously quite healthy; she didn’t bear any signs of more serious treatment and the smaller cuts that had been inflicted had already healed completely.

“Shrike, don’t apologize for winning. It was a FIGHT,” lectured Folgore, who was standing next to the much larger pegasus. “You didn’t even hit him, anyway.”

The Reaver Sergeant had a simple metal pole inserted into the damaged socket of his bionic leg, apparently serving as a crutch until his replacement was complete. He otherwise bore no bandaging, exposing all of his recent and partially healed cuts. Dusk could see some of the stitching that had sealed the long wound on his belly, by far the most serious damage inflicted during the battle.

Stormy Ruin and Morte Venin stood behind the two, both of them bearing their own bandaging, especially around their wings. Finally, standing near the head of the bed, was Gear Works. The Dark Acolyte had undergone extensive repairs, with many of his components being new (although made from the same mediocre materials as before). His organic legs were wrapped up in bandaging, although the wrappings were already stained with machine oil and bore small contact burns. Clearly Gears had been working despite his recovery.

“No, I remember what happened in the duel, just not the part after I blacked out,” Dusk admitted, frowning. “But more to the point, are you here to kill me?”

Scarlet blinked. “What? No!”

“Not right now,” Stormy corrected. “Maybe later.”

“Right, I suppose you wouldn’t know the match outcome. I doubt they bothered to brief you after you regained consciousness,” Folgore explained before coughing lightly into a hoof. “Despite the unexpected interference, Shrike acquitted herself well and defeated you after you had felled me.”

“TECHNICALLY,” Stormy interjected.

“After the match was over and our more serious wounds were tended to, we met to discuss the matter at length.” Folgore looked up into Scarlet’s eyes, and she smiled sadly. “On the one hoof, Scarlet was victorious according to the rules of the arena, including the surprisingly extensive sections on sudden interventions and invasions of the duel arena by outside contenders. On the other hoof, she’d proven completely helpless before me, and her victory was definitely not in the spirit of the ritual. Especially given that she had surrendered already before facing you.” He sighed.

“Okay, let’s get to the point here,” Dusk said, moving his hoof in a circle, “I’m not sure if you guys picked up on this, but I’m not really involved here for Shrike’s sake. What’s the upshot?”

“She is being formally discharged from the Rozen Wings, but will be allowed to remain in Ferrous Dominus as she wishes,” Folgore said, sounding strangely content. “She may retain her rank as a Reaver, and may one day be allowed to rejoin our ranks if she should develop sufficient skill and ruthlessness to fly with us once more.” He shook his head. “It occurred to me after the battle that in trying to exile her, I was again making an error based on my personal feelings. Once I determined that she was an incapable fighter, I feared that her presence here would simply lead to a pointless and dishonorable death. This prospect… displeased me. At least as much as the prospect of having to deal with a laggard Reaver having jealous squabbles with my lover. So I sought to use my authority to force her to safety, whatever her own feelings.” He grimaced. “But I was wrong. I had no right to indulge my petty feelings to infringe upon the service of another soldier of the 38th Company and scion of the Blood God. Even a really bad one.”

Scarlet’s lip trembled, and a tear crawled from her organic eye. “Th… Thank you, Sergeant! I can’t express how much it means to me to hear that from you!”

“Stop crying, Shrike. It’s unseemly,” Folgore demanded firmly.

“Okay!” she agreed as she sniffled, not stopping at all.

Dusk Blade’s eyes narrowed. “So she’s all set. Great. That all worked out, somehow. But what about us?” he asked, gesturing to Gear Works with his wing. “I’m a little surprised to wake up and see that Gears hadn’t been turned into ration tins while I was unconscious.”

“We were gonna do that,” Stormy admitted, “but Shrike just would NOT stop moaning about leaving him alone! And after you guys screwed up her duel, too!”

“I unfortunately had little to offer in my defense,” Gear Works said, being careful not to interrupt the pony cultists. “However, the ultimate results of the match seem to be strangely… satisfactory to them.”

Dusk narrowed his eyes at the Reavers standing at the foot of his bed. “Really? You guys aren’t mad about the traps nearly skewering Folgore? That was all my idea.”

“I’m quite upset about it, personally,” Scarlet said, giving the thestral a stern frown. “But you’re already in the medicae because of it, so what’s the point in still being angry?”

“By Luna, you’re dense,” Dusk spat.

“You have the skull fractures to prove it,” Gears noted.

“As for me, well, I can’t say I’m pleased at such an underhanded attempt on my life,” Folgore said. His tone was bizarrely sanguine, without a hint of the casual hostility and subtle threat with which he normally spoke. “But aside from that, the battle was thrilling.”

“Thrilling,” Dusk deadpanned. “I tried to murder you. First with the traps, then directly, and then with a surprise attack. I broke your wing!”

“Indeed you did. You are a magnificent fighter, Lieutenant Blade, and it was an honor to taste your steel. Unfortunately, Shrike intervened in our fight - twice - so it was not an honest contest of strength and wits, but that does not change that it was my loss,” Folgore said, a pleased smile crossing his severe face. “I had little idea how badly you wished to slay me, but if you should wish to attempt it again in the future you need only ask.”

“I don’t WANT you to cooperate, I want you to disappear!” the Lunar Lieutenant snarled. “Stop being so happy about getting your flanks kicked! It’s CREEPY!”

Folgore chuckled calmly, which sounded utterly alien coming from the Sergeant. “Forgive me my contentment, Lieutenant. It is rare for me to meet a true equal in the arts of combat. The Astartes are far above us, far as we’ve come, and very few ponies and humans can measure up.” He gently cleared his throat. “But aside from my personal gratification, you two have helped Scarlet Shrike a great deal, both in restoring her body, and in bringing about this compromise on her service. It would not have been possible without either of you. She can and has thanked you herself, but you also have my deepest gratitude. Because I feared to show weakness and refused to lay my feelings bare, and because I would not accept her own, I hurt her in a way much more grievous than a mere wound. Such neglect was unacceptable as the leader of the squad. And… also as a friend.”

Scarlet sniffled again, but held her head up high.

“I despise ALL of you,” Dusk Blade replied venomously, clearly unmoved by the heartfelt show of gratitude.

Scarlet and Folgore laughed lightly at the response. Morte rolled her eyes. Stormy quivered and bit her lower lip.

“I think we’ve said enough,” Folgore said, turning away. “I’m sure we’ll see you both again. Much to your distress! Ha!” the mares moved to follow him out.

“Wait,” Dusk said, shifting higher in his bed. “I have another question that’s been bugging me.”

The Reavers stopped, all of them looking back at the Lunar Lieutenant.

“You have a real problem with Shrike’s skill as a fighter, and I get it. But you also actually care about her and have some basic respect for her as a pony, apparently. And she's totally into you, obviously.” Dusk furrowed his brow, looking up at the enormous red pegasus. “So I’ve gotta know: why did you two split up? Did you dump her just because she was a bad Reaver?”

Scarlet’s eyes went wide, and she quickly replied, “Yes! Yes, that’s exactly why! I’m just terrible at, you know, fighting! And it’s really embarrassing so let’s not talk about it more!” Sweat started trickling down her neck, and her eyes kept darting over to Folgore, pleading with him silently.

The stallion was unmoved. “No, that’s not why. I can tolerate a partner who is an inferior warrior. It was because she’s too big,” he said flatly, causing Scarlet to flinch. “Every time we made love I had to set up the furniture like scaffolding and prepare safety gear. It was like painting a roof.” Scarlet looked absolutely mortified, and the other mares cringed in sympathy. “Once she was marked by Khorne her strength increased even further and it became intolerable. That is why we separated.”

Dusk and Gears looked up at Scarlet, but she turned her head away, refusing to meet their eyes (or bionic equivalents) as her cheeks glowed almost to a hot orange. Then they turned back to Folgore, staring at the metal socket that had been grafted onto his shoulder.

“I didn’t break his leg! That’s not my fault!” Scarlet cried once she realized what they were looking at.

“You didn’t break THIS leg,” Folgore muttered.

“It was a hairline fracture, not something you would have to replace with an augment!”

“Quite fortunate, since that was before we’d ever heard of Chaos…”

Scarlet Shrike sobbed and whirled around, rushing toward the exit. The door started to open at her approach, but apparently not fast enough for the crimson mare, and she charged into the gap to force her way through. It creaked loudly in resistance against her mass, but then something in the inner mechanism snapped. The door was forced open in a burst of sparks and shrapnel, and Scarlet broke through into the hall, still wailing in embarrassment.

Folgore stared at the broken doorway, looking decisively unimpressed. “Anyway, I have to go. Dark Acolyte, I will have the schemata for the arc blade delivered to your residence for a replacement bionic. Register an appointment for my installation once it is complete.”

Gear Worked recoiled. “What? Me? Why me?!”

“I am impressed by the quality of Shrike’s augments. The arc blade is an advanced design, but it should be fully within your abilities,” the Reaver Sergeant explained.

“I am not a metasurgeon! Enhanced prosthetics is not a specialty of mine! There’s no reason at all for your bionics to be my responsibility!” Gear Works protested, his optic lights narrowing.

“Do it or I’ll break your face again,” Stormy Ruin said blandly.

“In that case, I’ll have you up and running within 100 hours,” Gear said, his ears flipping down.

“Splendid. Until we meet again,” Folgore nodded and followed Scarlet’s path out the door. The access lumen sparked and blew out as he passed through, blasting another jet of sparks across the floor.

Morte Venin followed the stallion out of the room but Stormy Ruin hesitated, stopping just outside the doorway. She glanced outside, and then stepped closer to the medicae bed.

Stormy leaned in further toward Dusk, who looked more irritated by the second. “So, listen… I don’t think it’s gonna happen but… IF by some insane turn of fate Sergeant Folgore and Shrike get back together, would you wanna-”

“GET OUT OF HERE YOU FREAK,” Dusk snarled through clenched teeth.

“Okay! Just thought I’d ask,” she replied, shrugging, “but just so you know, the nerd can get all my contact info on demand. Toodles!” She trotted out of the room, still looking obnoxiously upbeat.

Dusk Blade fumed silently after the pegasi left, falling back into the (extremely inadequate) pillow. Gear Works remained for a few minutes, quietly waiting for the thestral to speak or at least calm down enough that he felt he could hold a conversation, but eventually the Dark Acolyte turned away and started heading for the door himself.

“I’m sorry,” Dusk grunted.

Gear Works halted. “… About what, specifically?”

“Come on Gears, don’t make this difficult,” the other stallion said, clenching his teeth. “I made a lot of mistakes and I’m apologizing for all of them, okay?”

“If you’re having difficulty recounting all the distinct errors in judgement you made, I’ve been keeping track,” Gear Works replied. “This particular incident – designated K113 – begins with your casual belligerence toward Miss Shrike, extends through to your emotional manipulation of me to assist in an assassination, the attempt itself - which was entirely inadequate and unsuccessful - and then concludes with your unnecessary combat against the Rozen Wings in which your inexplicable magic techniques failed and you knocked yourself out. All while I was in critical condition on the ground, in case that makes any difference to you.”

Dusk frowned. “Why does this misadventure have a case number?”

“I recommend against pursuing further tangents, Lieutenant.”

“Fine! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I keep picking fights with the dumb blood cultists! I’m sorry I talked you into trying to murder one of them! I'm sorry I didn’t keep you safe when we got caught, and I’m sorry I went all out and tried to take down all the psychos myself! I’m sorry I let the head psycho divert me while the psycho mare was tearing into you! I’m also sorry that I ultimately lost, although I guess that part worked out for everyone,” the bat pony ranted, steam blasting from his nostrils. “This should have been Shrike’s problem, but I had to stick my dumb snout into it for petty, selfish reasons! And even though it was all because they were picking on you, you just got hurt more! Does that cover everything?!”

Gears looked fairly surprised at the outburst. “Yes, that is sufficient. Thank you. You sound very sincere. Honestly.”

“Yeah, well, I have a lot of regrets what with the Khorne freaks all ending up happy and me ending up with a concussion,” the bat pony fumed, “but I guess it doesn’t matter now. Shrike gets to stay, all the Rozens are alive, and they mostly lost interest in bullying you.”

“I do broadly prefer that ponies extort me for services rather than assault me, so this is categorically an improvement,” Gear Works agreed. “That largely covers your misconduct, but there’s still one other effect of our interference that you may wish to address.”

“What? The Reavers’ injuries? Is it a problem that they’re going to be out of action for a little while?” Dusk asked. “I don’t see how that’s my fault. Folgore knew the risks when he agreed to the ritual duel and the others attacked me first.”

“Not that. There have been a few inquiries into your… techniques. You countered the Sergeant’s daemonic aura with some manner of dark magic. You appeared to dematerialize repeatedly over the course of the battle, and slipped through solid ground in your surprise attack on the Sergeant. It was all captured on the vid-stream. Several officers are analyzing it. The tactical applications of such capabilities are very intriguing to them.”

“Oh. Oh, yeah. That.” Dusk Blade furrowed his brow. “That’s… gonna be a problem. There was no way I was gonna survive against Folgore without using that stuff, but I really let things get out of control there. Shoot.”

“Would you like to explain how you can disincorporate your body and consciousness into what appears to be fluid darkness?”

“No.”

“I can accept that answer, but the Iron Warriors may not.”

“Guano.”

“Rest well, Lieutenant. You’ll need it.”

Author's Note

For the purposes of the timeline of Nightwatch and explaining why the Elements of Destruction still haven't had their powers discovered, this chapter takes place at a completely ambiguous and confusing point in time. Thank you.

Chapter art is by Blazing Stred, and this other piece was done by Mantequiademani (but I think they go by Mimi for short)