Children of the Blood Angel

by Son of Sanguinius

Rating: mature
Tags: Science Fiction, Adventure, Violence, Princess Celestia, Crossover, Human, Twilight Sparkle, Princess Luna, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Warhammer
Length: 125154

Chaos comes to Equestria, and the Blood Angels follow in its wake. Their arrival heralds the dawn of a new age, and as long-buried mysteries are uncovered, the fates of Equestria and the Imperium will become ever-more intertwined.

Driven by the promises of an ancient prophecy, the forces of Chaos descend on Equestria, bearing destruction and sacrilege in their wake. Yet hope follows in the wings: Blood Angels, the noble Sons of Sanguinius, race after the Chaos Marines, intent on foiling their diabolical schemes. Now stranded in Equestria after the destruction of their ship, Chaplain Alessandro and his team must find a way to survive in his strange new land.
As questions mount, can the Blood Angels and their new Equestrian allies find the answers before Chaos consumes them all?
Rated M for violence and battles. This is a Warhammer 40k crossover, so expect some gruesomeness.
_________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: made Featured list July 14, 2016. Hooray!
Featured again September 1, 2016!
Huge shout-out to the readers! Thanks a ton!

Published 2016-05-23 04:40:01 UTC
Last updated 2018-07-15 20:49:48 UTC

Chapter 2: The Coming of Chaos

Derpy Hooves, Ponyville’s own mailmare, stood at the counter in Sugarcube Corner, her crossed eyes pouring over the selection before her.

“Blueberry or cherry? Or maybe carrot?” Derpy wondered as she looked at the muffins arrayed before her. The store had a wide variety of muffin flavours, but Derpy had only enough bits on her for a single one. While she weighed her options, a small filly sat at her feet. The filly was the spitting image of her mother, save that in place of her mother’s wings young Dinky Doo had a unicorn’s horn.

“Mom, come on, I have to get back to school,” Dinky said, prodding the mailmare in the side. “Lunchtime’s almost over!”

“I know, Dinky,” Derpy said, her heartbeat picking up as her internal tension rose. “We’ll get there, don’t worry.”

It was just so hard a choice; so many flavours, so many kinds; how was a mare to choose?

Then a perpetually happy voice brought salvation. “Hiya, Derpy! Want to try out our new Supreme Muffins?”

Pinkie Pie, the Element of Laughter and Ponyville’s own premier party pony, appeared as though from nowhere, holding a tray of fresh-baked muffins. Derpy gave a great, open-mouthed smile as the warm, delicious smell of the muffins filtered into her nostrils.

“Oh, I’ll take one of those!” she said, hoofing over the bits. Already taking bites out of the muffin, Derpy turned to the door. “Come on Dinky, let’s get you back to school!”

Just as Derpy and Dinky left the building, Pinkie felt a strange but familiar sensation wash over her. It was well known in Ponyville that Pinkie Pie possessed a mysterious ability called the ‘Pinkie Sense,’ which gave her various, often oddly specific, premonitions. While this was most often used to avoid various instances of sudden slapstick, it also played a role in Pinkie’s ability to sense when she needed to prepare a party.

In this case, both uses rolled over her, though in a manner she had never experienced before.

“Well that was weird,” she said, shaking her head to dispel the momentary daze. “It’s like a lot of new people are about to be showing up, which means I need to get a really big party together really fast. But, it’s also like a bunch of really bad things are about to happen.”

For a moment Pinkie sat almost still, considering this strange premonition. Then the oven timer dinged, and she was back in action.

“Oh well!” she said, jumping back to her feet. “There’ll be time to worry about that later. Right now we’ve got a party to put together!”

With that she vanished just as she had appeared, her unique mind already alight with plans for a hasty party.
_____

On the edge of the Everfree Forest stood two ponies and a dragon, the trio taking a quick breather before venturing in.

Twilight sighed. It had been many moons since the Everfree had truly terrified her; regular visits to and from Zecora and the various adventures of the past couple years had seen to that. But there was still something about the Everfree that unnerved the alicorn whenever she had to travel through it. Maybe it was the plethora of monsters which called it home, or maybe it was the way that weather and plants seemed to be their own masters there. Whatever it was, however, it was not something that could keep her from completing the task at hoof.

“Alright, Starlight, Spike,” she said, shuffling her backpack into a slightly more comfortable position. “Let’s get going. We haven’t got all day.”

The trio entered the dark, foreboding forest, each in a slightly different condition. Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship and something of a veteran of adventure, trotted with her head held high, and her eyes warily watching the edges of her vision. Starlight Glimmer, an experienced unicorn mage and former, though now repentant, villain, was more nervous; she had done many things in her life, but the Everfree Forest was a place of dark legend and disturbing myth, enough to leave her wary and just a bit worried. For his part, Spike was, surprisingly enough, unfazed. He had passed through the forest several times over the years, usually in the company of others but once or twice on his own.

For somewhere around an hour they wandered, Twilight’s horn glowing intermittently as she tried to locate the source of the strange magic ripple. At times the trio bantered, though there were times when silence reigned. Thus it was until a small black cloud wafted into their view.

“So, you were all sucked into a comic book? How did that happen?” Starlight asked Spike.

Spike chuckled fondly at the memory. “Well, I bought the comic in Canterlot, and…”

“Quiet!” Twilight interrupted. She pointed with her hoof. “Look, smoke!”

Spike and Starlight followed Twilight’s hoof and gasped as they too saw the billowing smoke.

Starlight was the first to speak. “What do you think it means? Forest fire? Dragons?”

“Zecora!” Twilight shrieked as she realized the direction of the smoke. She vanished in a flash, teleporting several metres before leaping into flight.

“Wait, Twilight!” Starlight called out before teleporting herself. The moment she reappeared she teleported again, and so on, keeping pace just behind Twilight.

“Oh, come on!” Spike huffed while trying to catch up, running as fast as his short little legs could carry him.

Moments later Twilight arrived at the source of the smoke, followed closely by Starlight.

It was not a pretty sight.

The tree that had been Zecora’s home was little more than a smoking stump. Nothing remained of her possessions but ashes. The trees around were in poor condition as well; several were charred, as though they had been set on fire, and several looked dead and rotten.

“What happened here? Zecora! Where are you?” Twilight swooped down to the scorched ruins of the hut. “Zecora!”

“I don’t think she’s here anymore,” Starlight said, slowly approaching her mentor. She took a look around at the carnage. “Wow, what could do this? A dragon?”

“No, that isn’t right,” Twilight said as she prodded the ashes with her hoof. “This is too concentrated. A dragon would have destroyed a lot more than just the hut. Magic, maybe. But who would want to… Starlight? What?”

Twilight trailed off as Starlight prodded her with her hoof. The purple alicorn turned around and was struck silent at the sight.

Twilight had to fight the urge to vomit as she got a full look at the creature. It was tall, easily eight feet in height, and stood on its hind-legs like a minotaur. The general body type was, however, where those similarities ended. What stood before Twilight was an abomination, a monster right out of one of Spike’s comic books. The thing was bloated and misshapen, with putrid green flesh pushing through the many cracks and gaps in its stone-like skin. Its face bore a permanent expression of disturbing contentment, as though the creature were in some way happy to be in its unnatural condition. In its bloated hands the rotten thing carried the decaying remains of a strange box with a belt carrying strange cylindrical objects hanging from its bottom side.

Then it spoke, its voice wet and bubbly, as though a swamp had somehow gained a mouth. “Master! More creatures!”

The rotten thing began to slowly slop its way towards the ponies and Spike. It raised its box and then there was a flash of light. Twilight flinched as something screamed past her head. A second flash flared, and the tree just behind her exploded in a shower of splinters.

In that moment, two possibilities filtered through Twilight’s mind: first, the gut, instinctual response, to flee in the face of unknown danger; second, a response honed over her adventures and training, to respond to an attack with one of her own.

Just a year ago, when she was still just a unicorn, the former response would have won out every time. However, Twilight was now an alicorn princess, possessor of some of the mightiest magic in all Equestria, and an old hand at life-or-death adventures. She had faced monsters that could lay whole kingdoms to waste.

So she attacked. Her horn flared as she threw a bolt of magic at the rotten thing. The lavender beam struck the thing in the chest. The rotten thing grunted and stumbled back, stunned by the blast.

Starlight followed her mentor’s lead and fired off a blast of her own, driving the rotten thing back a step. The two ponies worked together, one firing after the other, driving the rotten thing back with every attack. It was slow and grueling, but it was working; the rotten thing had not been able to raise its box since the counterattack began. Chunks of the creature came loose and fell off, hitting the ground with wet smacks.

Starlight grew queasy as the barrage wore on, the rotten thing and its slow collapse sickening her to the core. It was utterly unnatural; nopony should have been able to survive in this condition. How is this possible?

Such questions were shelved, however, when two more monsters just like the first appeared, followed closely by a menagerie of similar, albeit less rotten, creatures.

Fear seized the hearts of Twilight and her pupil. One creature they could handle easily. Two could be a challenge but was still quite doable. The horde descending on them? This was beyond what either of them were prepared for. They both hesitated, their minds grasping for alternatives.

Somepony spoke, though neither would ever be sure who was the first to react. “Run!”

Starlight and Twilight turned and fled, both vanishing in separate flashes of light, only to reappear several metres away.

“Hey gals, wait up!” Spike called out as he rounded the bend. He stopped for a much-needed breather. “Hey, what’s…”

“Run now, explain later!” Twilight said quickly as she grabbed Spike and teleported again, narrowly avoiding another exploding flash.

The two ponies and their dragon cargo dashed away, their magic allowing them to keep ahead of their pursuers. Starlight sensed more of the strange projectiles flying towards her. Almost without thinking she threw up a magical shield. As the projectiles struck they shattered the shield in a great boom. Starlight cried out as she was flung forward.

“Starlight!” Twilight cried out, skidding to a stop and turning around.

The unicorn scrambled to her feet, a quick shake of her head shoving off the daze. “I’m fine! Keep running!”

Several more projectiles exploded around them as though to accentuate the statement. The mares resumed their flight.

“We have to warn Ponyville!” Twilight shouted. Starlight wasted no breath in responding, giving only a brief nod.

Running to conserve their magic, they both made a beeline for the edge of the Everfree, and Ponyville beyond. They ran with all their strength, not daring to look back for even a moment.
_________

Krev sighed as the ponies and their strange lizard escaped weapons range. As if that zebra escaping hadn’t been bad enough, now there were three more witnesses who might warn the locals of their impending doom. A cruel smile twisted across Krev’s disfigured lips as the next thought crossed his mind. Not that such pathetic creatures can do anything to stop it.

Iphotek walked up beside Krev, his crimson mage’s skirt brushing against his deep blue armour.

“What is it, Son of Magnus?” Krev asked without turning.

“The most fascinating of discoveries,” Iphotek answered. “These… creatures possess psychic powers in great abundance, but they do not draw much on the Great Ocean.”

Krev raised an eyebrow.

“It is a long explanation, and one you would not be able to appreciate,” Iphotek said. “But suffice it so say that I can sense when others are accessing the power of the Warp, and I sensed but a few ripples too weak to account for what we have witnessed here.”

“It is of no concern to us,” Krev said with a shrug. He gestured with his Power Claw, silently ordering his war-host forward. With his free hand he pointed towards the edge of the forest. “The village you sensed is there, is it not? Even if these creatures are psychic, their fear proves they are no match for us.”

The Chaos warband strode out of the forest, their destination at last in sight. Krev smiled as he caught sight of the ponies who had just escaped his grasp, running to the village, screaming warnings to any who would listen.

“Come now, my brothers!” Krev turned to his men. He raised his Power Claw to the sky. “Let us teach these fools the Truths of Chaos!”

An array of battle-cries resounded through the warband, but the strongest of them was the cry of the crimson-clad zealots. “For Lorgar and Chaos Undivided!”

“Now march!” Krev ordered, drawing his combi-plasma and pointing it at the town below. “Descend upon them and wreak havoc in the name of Chaos!”

Krev stood still for a few moments as thirty warriors of Chaos surged past him. Most of them were slow and steady in their advance, a testament to the faithful discipline of the Word Bearers and the cost of Nurgle’s blessings to his Plague Marines. The Berzerkers, however, had neither discipline nor rotten limbs, and so tore across the grassy fields with abandon, screaming to the skies.

“Blood for the Blood-God!” came the battle-cry. “Skulls for the Skull Throne!”

Close behind the Berzerkers were the two Noise Marines Krev had gathered to his cause, each carrying their signature sonic blasters. Both were shaking with anticipation; things would get loud soon, and their jaded senses would at last be able to know pleasure again, if only for a brief time.

Iphotek stood at Krev’s side, gripping his sorcerer’s staff tightly. He spoke, saying, “Lord Krev, a word.”

“What words matter now save the Holy Verses of Lorgar?” Krev said, taking a step forward to join his advancing host.

“These words,” Iphotek replied, grabbing Krev by the shoulder and pulling him around. “The Prophecy my Father wrote is coming to fruition. ‘To paradise they will descend, and Angels follow in their wake.’”

Krev’s features remained unmoved. “I know the Crimson King’s words well, sorcerer. What of it?”

“I have sensed a ripple in the Warp,” Iphotek said. “They have followed us here, through the hole we made in the Warp.”

“You mean…”

Iphotek nodded grimly. “The Blood Angels are here.”

Chapter 3: The Wrath of Angels

High above Equus, so far from the ground that to say they hung in the sky would be an understatement, a great vessel crossed the inky blackness of space. A title was painted onto the side of its red hull, the Wrath of Angels.

Three-and-a-half kilometres long, built from thousands of metric tonnes of metal and ceramite, this vessel was a giant. It was built to an aesthetic that the ponies below could not begin to describe, for nothing like it had ever been built on their world. It was a Gothic masterpiece, almost more a flying cathedral than a spaceship. A massive Bombardment Cannon ran along the underbelly of this monstrosity. Its starboard and port sides each bore a massive weapon battery; to starboard was a massive array of plasma weaponry, while to port rested the laser cannons. Towards the stern rose a massive tower, a command centre fit for a king, filled with all manner of mighty technologies, and manned by loyal Chapter serfs and mindless servitors. In its underbelly sat the technological heart of the vessel, the engines, overseen at all hours by a well-studied Techmarine. There were barracks able to house a full Company of mighty Space Marines. Armouries filled with weapons and ammunition lined the spine of the ship, joined by storage bays for all manner of vehicles, from light troop transports to massive super-heavy tanks. The bow of the ship was a five hundred-metre long launchbay, designed to hold hundreds of fighter-craft, dropships, and Drop Pods.

This day, however, these bays sat almost empty. It had only a handful of vehicles, even when lumping aircraft in with the tanks. The barracks held only a quarter their full complement. For a normal Imperial commander, the vessel’s load would be just short of an insult.

However, Chaplain Alessandro of the Blood Angels Space Marine Chapter was not in the mood for normalcy.

“How long has it been since we last saw the light of Imperial stars, Shipmaster?” Alessandro asked, not bothering to turn his head to the captain’s throne.

“Almost two years, Holy Chaplain,” answered Shipmaster Rodri.

Rodri, like all Imperial shipmasters, was as much a part of his ship as the engines. He had once been just a man, a Serf to the Blood Angels Chapter, a failed aspirant to the status of Space Marine. In service to those who had succeeded where he failed, he became one with his captain’s throne, connected directly to all systems and cameras across the Wrath of Angels.

Standing next to the shipmaster, Alessandro was a giant. Eight feet in height, and clad in armour as black as a heretic’s soul, the Chaplain was imposing even by the standards of the Space Marines. His head was concealed in black helmet with a white, skull-like face. An inferno pistol, one of the signature weapons of the Blood Angels Chapter, sat in its holster on his left leg. From his hip hung the symbol of his office, the Crozius Arcanum. It was a stylized mace, with a golden eagle, the Imperial Aquila, for a head. The weapon bore a special generator inside its haft which projected an energy field that allowed the weapon to tear through armour like paper.

Throughout the Imperium of Man, many were they who preached the Holy Word of the Emperor. For most, it was the Ecclesiarchy, with their priests and missionaries, who fed the people’s faith. Among the Adeptus Astartes, the Emperor’s Space Marines, that honour fell to the Chaplains. Men like Alessandro, veteran Space Marines with a skill for oration and an unshakeable faith.

They were not, however, known for making good small talk.

“How are our supplies?” Alessandro asked.

“Running low,” Rodri answered. “We have not resupplied in three years. Our stores will last us three more months, maybe four. Then your soldiers will have only empty bolters and toothless chainswords. And my crew will have only empty stomachs.”

“You suggest we turn from out appointed path?” Alessandro said, turning his gaze to catch the captain in the corner of his eye. “That we abandon the righteous pursuit of these heretics? Is that what you are saying?”

Before Rodri could respond, another voice intervened. “It matters not what he suggests, my old friend. We have no choice left but victory or death, except maybe both at once.”

Alessandro turned and smiled beneath his helmet. Amidst the whirring of ancient machinery and the clatter of heavy ceramite on the deck, Codicier Renato entered the bridge. Adorned in powerful Terminator Armour coloured in the traditional blue of his station, Renato was a sight to behold. He was a Librarian, a Space Marine with mastery over the psychic power of the Warp. His kind were as rare as they were powerful, and they were very rare indeed.

“Our last astropath just died,” Renato explained as he slowly trod towards Alessandro. “That leaves us with no Navigator, and no way to communicate with Baal. We are stranded in this system, and barring some miracle, there is no escape for us.”

“Miracles are the purview of the Emperor, Renato,” Alessandro replied. “And it is in him that we have faith. The loss of the astropathic choir is lamentable, but not at the moment important. Shipmaster, pull up the planetary scans.”

A large screen fizzled to life, revealing an image of the verdant world below. Alessandro pointed to a small dot on the map.

“There is the ship of the foul traitors we have been pursuing these past five years,” he said. “So much time lost, so many battle-brothers. But now we are rewarded for our faith and our diligence. The traitors are at last cornered, and none will save them from the Emperor’s wrath!”

Renato stepped forward, his armoured hand stroking his chin. “But why would they stop there? They know we are pursuing them.”

“An excellent question. Shipmaster?” Alessandro said.

The screen flickered for a moment before changing to a series of charts and scan reports, with a small map in the corner.

“Our sensors have revealed that Chaos forces have made landfall here,” the Shipmaster said. “They appear to be moving towards this village here.”

The map zoomed in on a gaggle of primitive houses.

“Tell me captain, what built these?” Renato asked. “They remind me of some Feudal Worlds, but we are beyond the Emperor’s Light here.”

“I cannot say,” Rodri said. When Renato and Alessandro both turned to look at him, he continued. “Our sensors are giving… confused readings. At one moment they say we have found humans, at others xenos or mutants. I advise caution when dealing with them, whatever they are.”

“Your advice is noted, shipmaster,” Alessandro said, turning back to the screen. “Whatever they may be, we have our mission. If the foul traitors are interested in this village, then we shall be also. Renato, what remains of our forces?”

Renato cleared his throat. “Aside from we two here, Sergeant Dabriel’s Tactical Squad is at full strength, as is Priam’s Assault Squad. As I’m sure you’re aware, Champion Orlando and the Priest Domenico are both ready for war. We have three Veterans left, as well as our old friend Paolo. Durante and Flavio also remain, and Castello’s chassis has just finished repairs.”

Alessandro considered the situation for a moment. “Excellent. Gather them in the hangar bay. I will be along shortly. Shipmaster, prepare a drop pod and one of our Stormravens.”

“As you will, Holy Chaplain,” Rodri said. Before he had even finished the words, he had sent out orders to the crew.

“Come, Aless. We have a Kill Team to assemble,” Renato said, gesturing to the bridge’s exit.

Alessandro shook his head. “Go in my stead. I have some business to handle before I join you.”

Renato’s expression fell. “You mourn his loss.”

“I mourn all who are lost,” Alessandro said. “He was no Astartes, but he was still a Man. The Emperor sheds a tear for every lost son of Terra, and so must I. Go, Renato. I will be there shortly.”

The Librarian nodded and quit the bridge, the echoes of his heavy steps carrying down the long halls of the vessel. Alessandro turned to Shipmaster Rodri one last time.

“Shipmaster, make ready the bombardment cannon. After we deploy, I want you to blow that affront to the Emperor out of the skies,” he said, gesturing to the picture of the Chaos starship on the screen.

Rodri smiled. “As the Holy Chaplain wills, it shall be done.”

Alessandro exited the bridge, leaving Rodri to his command.
_______

Several kilometres away, the frontal hangar bays of the Wrath of Angels were a-bustle with activity. Mindless Servitors performed the rituals of preparation for the drop pod and Stormraven Alessandro had ordered. Chapter Serfs and mere crew members dashed to and fro, carrying loads of ammunition and fuel for their Space Marine masters.

The Space Marines themselves were similarly at work, though they seemed to mortal eyes to be far less concerned.

Twenty of the Wrath of Angels Astartes complement were already in the hangar bays, making their final preparations for the battle ahead. Sergeant Priam and his Assault Squad were assembled near the Stormraven Honour of Meros, fitting fresh teeth to their chainswords and refilling the promethium tanks in their jump packs. Not far from them stood five of the most veteran warriors on the ship; led by Orlando, the Champion of the Fourth Company, they were Alessandro’s personal Command Squad. Three were warriors of the fabled First Company, the most elite cadre of warriors in the Blood Angels Chapter. The fifth was among the few figures who could claim a higher fame than they, Domenico, one of the Sanguinary Priests. He stood in the midst of legends, bearing in one hand a golden Blood Chalice, a mystical artifact which contained the essence of the great Primarch Sanguinius, and in the other, his personal Power Sword, the Crimson Knife. These five went about their preparations in the same manner as Priam’s squad, though with an ease and precision born of their long centuries of service. Their jump packs were already strapped on, having been refueled even before the orders had come down.

A full half of the Astartes in that bay, however, were gathered not near the Honour of Meros, but rather next to the drop pods which lined the edges of the bay. These were the warriors of Squad Murata, led by the noble Sergeant Dabriel. They were Tactical Marines, experienced warriors, skilled in the use of all Imperial weaponry, from the lowly combat knife to the mighty lascannon. Like their jump pack-wearing brothers, they were hard at work readying themselves for the battle to come, though they had a different focus; where Orlando and Priam would fall from the skies, Dabriel and his men were to stride across the ground.

Among these mighty warriors stood the newest addition to the squad, young Brother Marco.

Marco stood slightly away from the rest of his battle-brothers, quietly intoning the Liturgy of the Flamer as he poured the last few drops of Holy Promethium into the tank of his Heavy Flamer. He was as new to the weapon as he was to Dabriel’s squad, but he was determined to prove himself worthy. The loss of his last squad would not be in vain.

“Marco!” a voice intruded on Marco’s thoughts. He turned to see one of his new squad-mates, Brother Tonio, approaching. “Hail, brother. How are your preparations coming?”

“I was just finishing,” Marco replied as he sealed the fuel tank. He sighed, admiring the weapon. “It’s still strange. I just can’t get used to having a weapon so heavy, but not have to worry about stabilizing it before firing. We had nothing like that in the Devastators.”

Tonio chuckled. “Ah, I remember when I was first promoted to the tactical squads. I felt the same way. I think we all do. Or in the case of some brothers, we’re just so happy to be able to sate the Thirst that we don’t care.”

“I heard that!” Brother Severo said loudly. Marco and Tonio turned to see their battle-brother anointing his bolter with holy oils. A scowl sat on his angular features. Tonio laughed again.

“Why, Severo, have you something to admit? I do not recall saying your name.”

Severo’s scowl darkened. “You did not need to. You have heckled me over that incident for decades now. It was one time!”

“Beware, Brother Marco,” Tonio said with a grin. “That you do not become like our dear brother here. I’d hate to have to heckle you every day of your life too. Far too much work.”

“Tonio, are you bothering my best marksman again?” the gruff, weathered voice of Sergeant Dabriel intruded on the conversation. Marco snapped to attention, his hands crossing his chest in the sign of the Aquila. Dabriel chuckled, his gaze passing to Marco before shifting to Tonio. “Now, brother, tell me why you can’t be more like Marco here: dutiful, respectful, a model Astartes. Why he reminds me of myself when I was but a simple line Marine.”

“But sir, the scandal of it all!” Tonio said, flourishing his hand in a farce of offense. “Who would you pick for all the worst duties? Why, if I weren’t such a troublemaker, you’d have to assign hose by merit, and poor Severo would never get a chance to shoot again!”

“How dare you!” Severo leapt to his feet, a flicker of black flitting through his brown eyes. “I’ll…”

“Stow it, Severo!” Dabriel said, a laugh in his tone. “You know he means nothing by it. Come now, brothers, double-check your weapons! I’ll not have this turn out like Belatash!”

Marco turned to Tonio. “What happened at Belatash?”

Before Tonio could give an answer, Dabriel himself appeared by Marco’s side, a grin on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. “Ah, what a day. We had been hunting a Tyrannid splinter fleet for several weeks, and had at last tracked them to the ice world of Belatash. It was a Death World, where the temperature never rose above seventy-three Kelvins and the hail could punch through Guardsmen armour.”

“Sarge, that doesn’t mean anything,” Tonio interrupted. “Anything can punch through-”

“Dabriel! There you are!” Heavy stomps echoed across the hangar bay. Walking towards Squad Murata came one of the oldest veterans on the Wrath of Angels, Brother Paolo. He was clad in a suit of ancient Terminator Armour, with a massive Power Fist on his left arm. In his right hand he held a strange device.

“Paolo, what brings you here?” Dabriel asked, distracted for now from his war story. “And bearing a teleport homer, no less?”

Paolo handed the homer to Dabriel. “Aside from dear Aless’s call to arms? This, of course. I was passing by the armoury and decided to save you a trip.”

“My thanks, honoured brother, but I was given no word that…” Dabriel began.

Paolo laid his free hand on Dabriel’s shoulder. “Aless and I are old friends. I know how he thinks, and I know that he’ll be ordering you to carry this. How else are Renato and I to get down? Now come on, we’ve wasted enough time talked. We have a battle to prepare for!”
______

Ponyville was in flames.

Though the town was no stranger to monster attacks and magical mishaps, none of the inhabitants had ever dreamed such a day as this might come. They had no walls, no town guard, nothing that could offer any defence against these alien invaders.

The first few moments had been among the worst; Princess Twilight soaring into town, screaming about monsters in the Everfree, followed closely by Starlight Glimmer and the young dragon Spike. Most onlookers had been surprised, but few gave any real credence to the threat; the Everfree was filled with monsters, after all, and with the Elements of Harmony in town, what did they have to fear?

That question had been horribly answered just a few moments later, at Pinkie Pie’s ‘Welcome to Ponyville’ Party.

Pinkie had spent the past hour hastily assembling a party for the visitors she had sensed coming. For a normal pony, this would have been an impossible task; less than a half-hour to prepare for an unknown number of unknown visitors? Madness. But for Pinkie Pie, it was as easy as the cake she had just finished baking. With a speed that would boggle the mind of any who tried to seriously examine it, she gathered food, banners, streamers, guests, and a great many balloons. She even found music, convincing Ponyville’s premiere musicians, Vinyl Scratch and her sister Octavia, to collaborate for the party.

The last preparation had, in fact, just been finished at the very moment Equestria changed forever.

Four minotaur-like creatures with skin the colour of dry blood tore into Ponyville with a fury never before seen in all Equestria. Every one of them carried two axes with strange whirring teeth. The ponies Pinkie had gathered for the party leapt out to greet the newcomers.

“Surprise!” the ponies shouted.

“Blood for the Blood-God!” the crimson monsters replied. Moments later they struck the crowd of ponies. The streets ran red with blood.

The survivors screamed and ran, dashing about in a desperate attempt to escape. Some did; others did not.

Two more monsters, these ones having pink skin and truly warped faces, ran up beside their berserk brethren, wielding strange devices somewhere between guitars and weapons.

“Feel the music!’ one of them shouted as he strummed his guitar-gun. A massive wave of sound blasted from the end of his weapon, destroying a nearby house with its force. He shivered with delight as the vibration reverberated through his body, senses long-since rendered worthless stirring at last. “Yes, yes!”

Moments later, twenty-three more of the monsters appeared. They too had red skin, just like the berserkers who had since dispersed throughout the town, but few would ever mistake one of these for the wild beasts which had been unleashed. They marched in orderly lines, an act far too disciplined for the berserkers. Their skin was engraved with all manner of profane symbols and words, as was the parchment which hung about them. Each carried in his hands a black box which spat fire to the beat of the chant they all sang. Among them, five did not carry these deadly boxes. Two bore strange barrels which spewed forth fire like a dragon’s maw, and a third carried a massive box which spat death at twice the speed of its lesser brothers. The last two were marked out from their kindred; their heads were smaller, and seemed almost out of place with their bodies. The heads of most of these chanters were almost frozen; their expressions never changed, and they were never anything but some variation of hate. These two, however, had softer faces of some shade of brownish-pink, which seemed capable of displaying a full array of emotions. They each wielded a sword and a smaller box in the strange appendages which sat on the ends of their forelegs.

They were joined by the most disgusting of the invaders, three of the rotten things which Twilight had encountered near Zecora’s hut. Two of them carried normal boxes, while the third wielded another of the massive boxes.

These invaders poured fire and death into Ponyville, slaughtering anypony who dared appear in their sight. None dared to fight back, so terrified were they; flight was the only option available to their horrified minds.

Not all, however, had the luxury of falling prey to fear.

On the edge of Ponyville, not far from the schoolhouse, two grey-coated mares, one but a young unicorn filly, the other her beloved if clumsy Pegasus mother, were nearing the end of their walk. Dinky Hooves had already been nervous, fearing that she would be late to school again, and the sudden cacophony had done nothing to calm her. Derpy did her best to help her child, but despite her enthusiasm, social skills had never been her strong suit.

“Come on, Dinky, don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Derpy said, doing her best to give Dinky an encouraging look. “Pinkie’s just having a party, I bet.”

“But mom,” Dinky said, her heart beating against her chest. “Pinkie’s parties never make ponies scream like that.”

“I’m, er, uh…” Derpy scrounged through her thoughts for anything she could say to help the poor filly cowering at her hooves. In that moment, she very much so wished her husband was there, instead of running the clock store in town.

Her attempts were then rendered moot by a sudden, furious shout. “Your skulls for his Throne!”

Mother and daughter spun around, their eyes shooting wide at the terror before them.

One of the crimson-skinned berserkers was charging at them, his twin axes screaming as the teeth whirred and whirred.

Before any thought could cross her mind, Derpy made her choice. “Run Dinky!”

Dinky barely had time to react before Derpy Hooves shot into the air. The ground where she had stood cracked under the pressure. The air parted before her. She slammed headlong into the berserker with the force of a thunderstorm.

The creature’s skin, however, was built to survive far harsher forces than that.

Derpy fell at the creature’s feet, sitting in a lump, dazed and addled by the blow. The berserker fell back a couple steps and shook its head. In the millennia it had fought in the name of Bloody Khorne, it had fought and killed many things, seen creatures that would drive mortal minds to madness at the mere mention of their names. Yet it had never encountered any creature as audacious as this. The mere thought of such an act boggled the berserker’s mind, driving back the bite of the Butcher’s Nails which ate at its brain.

But it was only for a moment. The berskerker recovered and raised it whirring axe above its head, screaming, “Blood for the Blood-God!”

As the axe reached the apex of its swing, all Dinky could do was scream for her mother. “Help! Somepony, help us!”
________

As Ponyville burned, the last two invaders strode into town. Both were massive even by the scale of their kindred. One, who had the crimson skin of the chanters, had the same manner of small, deformed face as the sword-bearers. His right foreleg was almost comically massive, ending in five golden talons, each sharpened to a killing point. In his other foreleg he bore a strange variation of the killing boxes of his brethren. It was as though someone had cut one of them in half and attached a strange, green-glowing coil in its place. The other had exotic blue skin, with strange pillars extending up from his frozen face. He carried a long, ornate staff, with a small killing box hanging from his belt.

Krev flexed his Power Claw as he strode into Ponyville, laughing at the carnage. “This is what I live for, Son of Magnus. The chance to worship Chaos with glorious battle? What better life is there for a warrior?”

Iphotek mumbled something under his breath as he calmly threw a bolt of psychic lightning at a pony trying to sneak past him. “For a warrior maybe. I would rather we stop wasting time and get on with our hunt. Killing these xenos gains us nothing but spent ammunition.”

“Hey, what happened to the party?” a pink-coated pony appeared as though out of thin air right next to the two servants of Chaos. Before either could react, the pony gasped, pointing with her hoof. “The cake! No! That was going to be delicious! Who would ever want to do something so horrible?”

Krev made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl and grabbed the pony with his Power Claw. She gasped for air, as the claw tightened around her throat. Krev laughed, a wild look in his eyes.

“Be silenced!” he said as he crushed the life out of the pony with a flick of his wrist. Without another thought, he dropped the corpse to the ground and walked away.

At that moment, the real Pinkie Pie walked around the corner, humming to herself as she carried a platter of fresh cupcakes to the party. As her eyes fell on the corpse of her doppelganger, she froze, her jaw falling silently open. Seeing what by all accounts should be her own corpse lying across the street, Pinkie chose the only sane option: she turned and ran, making sure to keep the cupcakes balanced the entire time.

Krev strode into town square and stood there for a moment, his weapons raised to the sky in praise. “Thank you, O Lords of Chaos, of today you have given unto me a great boon! Let this battlefield be a sacrifice to you, and may you be pleased with it!”

Krev leveled his killing box at the fountain and fired twice, reducing it to nothing but rubble. He grinned. “Nothing can stop me now.”
______

Deep in the bowels of the Wrath of Angels lay the infirmary. It was largely a place for mortal men, a haven for healing and the last home of many of the ship’s crew as they succumbed to the horrors which lay between the stars.

It was because of this latter purpose that Chaplain Alessandro now breached this sanctuary of mere men. With his skull-faced helmet hanging from his hip, he stood beside the bed of the latest casualty in his Crusade.

As a rule, Astartes were not known for crying, and much less the Chaplains to whom they looked for spiritual guidance. This rule held true here, but not for lack of emotion. Though only another Space Marine could have perceived it, Alessandro was saddened. He gently laid his hand on the forehead of the corpse on the bed.

“You served well, Astropath Dart,” he said. With eyes closed, he uttered a simple prayer. “O Holy Emperor of Mankind, look favourably on this noble son of Terra. Only in death does duty end, and he did his duty well. Welcome him to your holy breast, of Master of Mankind.”

Alessandro sighed as he looked over the dead astropath. Dart had been the last in all things; always the weakest of his choir, always the last chosen for any special task, always the last in line for food or bedding. But never once did he waver, and in the end, his faith proved stronger than that of his fellows, for he had been the last to die. He may have been a witchmind, tainted by the touch of the Warp, but in Dart there had been more courage than Alessandro had seen in many priests of the Ecclesiarchy.

“Chaplain!” a voice interrupted Alessandro’s brooding. He turned to see two Astartes clad in golden armour, with white-painted wings affixed to their backs. Durante and Flavio, two members of the Sanguinary Guard who had agreed to accompany Alessandro on his quest, all those years ago. It was the former who had spoken.

“Brothers. What brings you here?” Alessandro asked, already knowing the answer.

Durante grinned. “All is in readiness. The servitors just finished strapping Castello’s chassis into the Stormraven, and everyone else is just waiting on you.”

“Very well then,” Alessandro took one last look at poor, dead Dart. “Servitor, ensure his body is cremated with the utmost honours.”

The Servitor gave no acknowledgement of the command. It did not matter; they always heard, and always obeyed. That was their purpose. With that order given, Alessandro turned his attention back to his fellow Astartes.

“Let us away. This day we shall know battle, and these deaths will at last be vindicated,” Alessandro said, placing his skull-faced helmet back on his head. “For glory. For honour…”

As one, all three Space Marines shouted, “For Sanguinius and the Emperor!”

Author's Note

Well, that turned out longer than expected.
Also, bonus points to whoever understands the "Fear To Tread" reference.

Chapter 4: Glorious Intervention

High atop the ivory spires of Canterlot Castle, Celestia was supremely bored.

The brief moment of excitement in her day had been that strange ripple in the magical field, and that had quickly faded. Within the span of a single letter she had placed the matter firmly in the capable hooves of her former student, and thus been forced to put the matter out of mind as she returned to the tasks at hand.

“Remind me, ambassador,” she said, very grateful for the tea which was the hinge-point of her calm façade on days like this. “Why exactly is it that you believe you should be paying less tax on your grain imports? Your rate is the same as our other allies.”

The griffin puffed out his chest and Celestia silently groaned. Just what I needed. Another wordy speech on griffin…

A wave of cold washed over the Solar Alicorn. Her supernatural senses perceived screams of terror and pain. Her heart froze as she felt pony lives being snuffed out. No!

She leapt from her throne, her wings flaring as she took to the air. She gave the griffin ambassador one last look. “These negotiations are suspended pending my return. I will see to you later.”

With that she was gone in a flash of light.

Moments later she reappeared in shadow. It was the middle of the day, a time when most ponies would be up and about their daily work. Princess Luna was not most ponies. For her, day was a time to rest her mind from the rigours of her dreamscape patrols and the politics of the Night Court. Thus she chose to cloak herself in the shade and relax, alternating between sleeping and reading.

At this moment, she was quite happily engaged in the former.

“Luna! Wake up!” Celestia shouted, her horn glowing gold as she telekinetically tore the blanket from her sister’s bed.

“Wha… sister? What is wrong?” Within four words Luna was awake, magically sensing Celestia’s distress. “What has happened?”

Celestia turned to the window, throwing it open with her magic. As both alicorns stepped onto the balcony, their wings spread for flight, the Solar Alicorn answered.

“I made a mistake.”
_____

Chaos reigned across Ponyville, and the streets ran with the blood of the innocent. Fire roared across the town, consuming homes and townsponies alike. For a moment, the ground itself shook as though it recoiled from the horrors unleashed upon it. The nearest military aid was at least four hours by Pegasus flight, and only a dozen ponies in the entire town had even the slightest ability to fight back.

But fight they did.

It was a haphazard and utterly disorganized resistance, but it was resistance nonetheless. Across the burning town, ponies made their stands. Some fell quickly, their names lost forever to history. Others showed the servants of Chaos just how a sleepy town like Ponyville had survived the Everfree Forest for so long.

The first act of resistance was also the most audacious. While Krev Gorudon and the rest of the warband swept deeper into the town in search of fresh blood, the two Noise Marines remained behind. They had not come for battle, but rather the chance to ply their sound-craft before an audience. Thus they had joined their Khornate brethren in the charge, but while the Berzerkers had yet to cease their charge, the Noise Marines had slowed as soon as they came within weapon’s range. Powering their Sonic Blasters with the wild strumming of the drugged-up rock stars of an ancient age, these pleasure-addicted servants of Slaanesh performed their concert of death. Houses shook and fell, their very foundations pulverized by the vibrations of the Sonic Blasters. Those poor ponies caught in the blasts died horribly, their bones reduced to powder and their insides to mulch.

In that instant, with ponies dying all around her and Ponyville itself collapsing into rubble and dust, Vinyl Scratch made her decision. With a steely look hidden behind her goggles, she pulled out a fresh record, spun on her hoof, and dropped it onto the turntable. With a grin, she pumped the bass and turned it on.

The blast from Vinyl’s amps proved almost as deadly as the Noise Marines’ Sonic Blasters; sound struck the invaders like a tidal wave. The ground shook. Glass shattered. Almost any creature would have fallen in an instant and died from massive sensory overload.

The Noise Marines simply turned their heads, their wild eyes now locked on Vinyl. For a moment they stood, dazzled by the sensation; centuries of unhindered hedonism had left their sensory systems jaded and worn, leaving sound and vibration as the only path to the ecstasy they so worshiped and craved. In all their centuries of debauchery, they could only find sufficient sound in the vibrations of their beloved sonic weaponry, and in the thunderous fire of the largest of Titan walkers. Now, at long last, they had found another source, here, in the most unlikely of places. A new source of pleasure, and a new rival.

As pleased as they were to find a fellow in the quest for ever-louder music, the Noise Marines were, as was the character of the Sons of Fulgrim, prideful and obsessed with perfection. Thus, to their addled minds, there was only one sensible response: a duel.

“In the name of the Dark Prince, we challenge you!” one of the Noise Marines shouted.

“Yes, yes! A duel!” the other said, his voice quavering with delight. “Things shall get loud now!”

As one the Noise Marines raised their guitar-guns and wailed on the strings, the chaos of their cacophony spewing forth colour from their chords. The few surviving ponies in the area fell to ground screaming, blood gushing from their tortured ears.

Vinyl Scratch simply dropped a second record on the turntable and started mixing.

Back and forth they dueled, each escalating the volume and absurdity in response to the escalation of the other. One of the Noise Marines pulled out a microphone and started singing in a voice somewhere between a death rasp and a tobacco-addicted lion roaring. Vinyl activated her emergency sub-woofers. The other Noise Marine activated back-mounted speakers. Octavia Melody joined the fray with her cello.

On and on it went, all four locked in an endless duel. This was the most absurd act of resistance in the battle for Ponyville.

It was not, however, the most pivotal.

That honour went to the Defence of Carousel Boutique.

It was a surprising turn of events, for both Krev’s warband and the ponies, an occurrence that only the most astute of seers could have anticipated. Ten of the crimson chanters had turned south, chanting profane prayers with every step, seeking fresh blood to sacrifice to the Chaos Gods. They had soon come upon a strange construction, a small tower built in the style of a pavilion or county fair carousel. At the moment of their arrival, several things happened in rapid sequence.

A white-coated mare stepped out the front door of the building, a bag of garbage suspended carefully in the air by a field of violet energy. She turned to dump the offending bag into the trash when she took notice of the crimson-skinned chanters, and chose that moment to scream.

At the same moment, three other mares walked into view. Rainbow Dash and Applejack had just finished repairing Fluttershy’s fence, and all three were returning to town for a well-deserved round of milkshakes. The three ponies flinched when they heard Rarity’s scream, and then their fight-or-flight instincts took over. Each reacted in a way which was distinctly them

Sensing a friend under attack, Rainbow Dash soared into the attack, the air screaming around her as she flew slammed into the ranks of the chanters at just subsonic speed.

Sensing a friend in need, Applejack galloped to Rarity’s side, tackling the fashionista back through the doors of Carousel Boutique just as the killing boxes flashed, iron death tearing through the air.

Seeing the terrifying invaders, Fluttershy squealed and fled, flying as fast as she could back to her home, which she promptly locked and barricaded.

The chanters stumbled at the impact of Rainbow’s attack, but they quickly recovered. The foremost of the ten growled.

“Accursed whelp! Brothers, slay it and bring me its skull. I would make a sacrifice to Bloody Khorne,” it said, raising its small killing box to the sky. It flashed and a metal slug flew through the air towards the blue-coated Pegasus.

Before the shot could even leave the barrel, Rainbow Dash was already gone.

She dashed back and forth in the skies, effortlessly dodging the chanters’ volleys.

“Hey, lame-brains, you’re gonna have to do better than that!” Rainbow taunted, unable to help herself; she was furious with these invaders for attacking her friends, but the ease with which she was confounding them simply lent itself too much to some ego-tripping.

The chanters responded with words which seemed torn right out of a piece of unholy scripture. “This is the Truth upon which all else is built: that innocence is a lie, born of ignorance; order is a myth, born of fear; and life is an illusion, born of desperation. Only in Chaos is enlightenment found, myth dispelled, and all illusions torn down.”

The chanters then split their fire; five continued to wield their killing boxes at Rainbow while the foremost and the rest of the chanters turned their attention to the boutique.

The foremost leveled its small killing box. “In the Name of Holy Lorgar and Our Dark Lords, I decree death unto you.”

The foremost’s was the first shot in that volley; it was far from the last. Two killing boxes barked out their exploding shells, accompanied by the flurry from a truly massive killing box and the roar of flame from a strange metal pipe.

Carousel Boutique died in flame, its foundations turned to splinters by the explosions. Rarity’s fabrics caught fire and quickly became an inferno.

“Rarity, move!” Applejack shouted as she leapt out of the shop, narrowly escaping the fusillade.

“No! My boutique! My fabrics! My home!” Rarity wailed as she skidded to a halt just outside the fiery deathtrap that had been her beloved store. She turned to the strange, crimson-skinned chanters, her eyes wide with fury. “You, you brutes! How dare you come here and destroy my home!”

A light blue beam shot from Rarity’s home, slamming into the chest of a Word Bearer. The warrior-brother stumbled back, his armour smoking. Another beam soon followed, driving him back another step.

“Sugarcube, wait! We have ta get outta here!” Applejack called. Rarity paid her friend no heed, choosing instead to continue her magical barrage. Applejack groaned. “Consarnit, Rarity!”

Seeing no other option, Applejack charged. “Fer Ponyville!”

The orange-coated earth pony struck the chanters hoof-first, spinning just before she reached their line to buck the nearest of them in the knee. As luck would have it, she found the chanter carrying the massive killing box. Throwing the entirety of her strength, formidable from years of hard work and further enhanced by the nature of her earth pony magic, she cracked the chanter’s stony skin. It cried out in pain as its knee cracked, then in rage as it turned its full attention to winded pony at its feet. He dropped the killing box and drew a combat knife.

“We are the Sons of Lorgar, and in our Words is Borne the…” The chanter’s words were interrupted by a sudden blue blur.

“Lay off, jerk,” Rainbow Dash said as she hoofed the monster in the back of its head.

The foremost spun on its heels, fury in its unarmoured face. It raised a silver-bladed sword to the sky. “Incompetent fools! They are half your height! Just kill these-”

Its words were muffled by a sudden application of cream pie to its face. For a moment the foremost could do nothing but sputter incomprehensibly.

“That’s for burning down Carousel Boutique, meanie!” Pinkie Pie said as she dove into the fray.

At that moment, any semblance of discipline disappeared from the chanter ranks. Not because of any particular failing on their part, but rather as the simple consequence of the manner in which they were forced to fight. Applejack darted between their legs, bucking their legs and stomping on their feet as she passed. Rainbow Dash continued to dive-bomb them from above, dodging fusillades of metal death as she flew. Rarity continued to blast them with magic, leaving smoking stone-skin and dazed chanters in her wake. Pinkie Pie bounced across the battlefield, alternating between throwing pies and hoofing the chanters. Much to the very vocal frustration of the foremost, the chanters simply could not land a hit; Rainbow was too fast for their killing boxes, and Pinkie and Applejack were too close for such tools, forcing them to resort to their combat knives. The chanters were fast, far faster than they should have been with stony skin such as they had, but they were still simply not fast enough to keep up with these infuriating ponies.

But speed was not the only factor at play in the battle, and soon the advantage of endurance was made apparent. With each passing moment, Rainbow’s escapes were just a bit narrower, Applejack’s bucks just a little weaker. The defenders of Ponyville were fast and strong, but even at their best they could not crack the profane skin of the chanters, and so the battle came down to an attrition of will. Though the ponies had fire in their hearts, they were facing an implacable foe from beyond the stars. Though the slow progress infuriated the chanters, it did not in the long run matter; these monsters could fight for weeks without rest, while the ponies would be lucky to last through the next few minutes.

Rarity was the first to wear out; of the four she was the least athletic, and thus had the least stamina. Not helping matters was the manner in which she fought, a furious barrage of magic. It was impressive and flashy, and against many foes of Equestria would have been overwhelming. But her magic was unfocused, and she herself unwilling to actually kill, and so she could do little but spend her precious strength battering the chanters, hoping that they would simply submit and slink away.

Such hopes were quite dashed as the foremost strode towards the weary unicorn, its twisted lips turned up in a cruel grin. The white-coated mare threw several magical bolts at the death which approached her, but they were to no avail; she had grown too weak, and his armour was too strong.

“You have caused me enough trouble for one day, witch,” he said as he raised his sword. “Now I will have my satisfaction!”

Rarity could do nothing but scream as death itself looked her in the eyes. Her gaze flailed about, desperately searching for some sign of salvation. There was none to be found here. Rainbow Dash was trapped in the air, too busy dodging the metal slugs of the chanters to rescue Rarity, though the despair on her face revealed that she knew well what was about to happen. Applejack simply could not notice; she was blocked from Rarity’s sight, obscured by a mass of crimson legs as she fought on the far side of the monsters. Rarity’s last hope rested in Pinkie Pie, but to the fashionista’s horror, the pink-coated pony was nowhere to be found, cream pie-covered armour the only evidence she had ever been there.

In her final moments, Rarity found that the world itself seemed to mourn; a great screech tore through the air, and the world around her seemed to darken. Rarity closed her eyes and awaited death.

“Is that… No!” the foremost shouted. Rarity cautiously opened her eyes to see the Aspiring Champion staring up into the sky. For a moment, there was no sound but the battle across the river and a strange roar above; the Fourth Coterie had fallen still and silent, allowing the ponies a brief respite.

Rarity followed the gaze of the foremost and found herself astonished by the sight. However, it was Applejack who best described the ponies’ thoughts at that moment.

“What in tarnation is that thing?”
________

Across town, just a short walk from the local schoolhouse, a prayer was answered.

Derpy Hooves lay, dazed, at the foot of a frothing berserker. Its axes were raised, their whirring teeth screaming, ready to descend and reduce the poor mailmare to a hunk of gore. Just a few metres away, Derpy’s young daughter, Dinky Hooves, cried out.

“Help! Somepony, help!”

As the last word left her mouth, a miracle played out before the young filly’s eyes.

Two thunderous bangs echoed across the schoolyard as explosions broke out on the berserker’s chest, driving it back. Its stony chest seemed to burst open, revealing a fleshy mass within. Blood gushed from this wound, which would have killed any sane creature. However, the berserker still stood, as though it could not feel the pain which should have on its own struck him dead on the spot.

Dinky spun around to see a sight at that once both terrified and encouraged her.

There stood another of the strange minotaur-like monsters. Like the invaders which now ravaged Ponyville, it had strange, stony red skin, and wore a frozen face. It was, however, quite different. Its skin was smooth, save for a few scratches and notches here and there. Its chest sported a raised tattoo of an eagle rampant. Golden cords ran about its body, and it seemed to have strange, unmoving wings on its left shoulder. In his hands he carried a strange black box with a smoking end.

Most importantly of all, this creature was more focused on fighting the berserker than harming ponies.

“I know you Khornates take blood wherever you find it, but is it really necessary to kill animals?” the newcomer said in such a tone that one could hear its smirk. “I mean, it’s not very sporting is all I’m saying.”

The berserker made a sound somewhere between a growl and a roar. “Your blood, prissy angel, for the Blood-God!”

“My, my, how unoriginal,” the newcomer said as it aimed its box. “Can’t seem to find a decent thought in your heads, it seems. Always with the blood and the skulls. Dear Throne, can’t any of you say anything else? Or does Khorne take away your vocabularies when you sign up?”

The berserker roared and charged, its massive legs passing right over Derpy, who had at last recovered. Her crossed eyes fell on Dinky, who stood right between the berserker and the newcomer.

“Dinky! Run!” she cried, stumbling to her feet. She lunged into the air, but knew she could never reach her daughter in time. Tears formed in her eyes.

The newcomer laughed. “World Eater! I think I have a medicine to manage your anger!”

With those words, the newcomer’s killing box flashed twice. Twice, Dinky saw explosions; one on the berserker’s shoulder, where it did nothing to even slow the monster, and another on its exposed chest. Blood sprayed as the blast blew its spine out its back. The berserker’s momentum carried its corpse several steps further, until it fell dead where the newcomer stood.

The newcomer stepped aside, allowing the berserker to hit the ground with a thud. It chuckled and fiddled with something on its killing box.

Derpy crashed into her daughter with a hug. “Dinky! Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe!”

“Mommy!” Dinky wrapped her forelegs around her mother and cried into her chest.

Derpy then turned her attention to the crimson giant standing just a few feet away. She did her best to eye it warily. The thing chuckled.

“Don’t worry about me. Always happy to go about saving… horses,” it said, its tone dropping as though it had come upon some unwelcome realization. It sighed. “What even is my life?”

Dinky squirmed around in her mother’s grip. She looked right up at the stranger who had rescued her. “Thank you, mister, for saving mommy.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” her rescuer said, a smile in its very words. “Now, you’d best get…”

His words were cut short by three howling voices.

“Blood for the Blood-God!”

“Skulls for the Skull Throne!”

“Death for Death’s Sake!”

The rescuer forced a laugh. “Well, at least one of them can say something new.”

It turned to the two grey-coated mares and froze for a moment in thought.

Then it sighed and slapped replaced the strange curved box on the bottom of its killing box. “You two had better run. This is going to get messy.”

“Mister?” Dinky said as the rescuer walked past.

“Of all the days I have to go first,” it mumbled as it leveled its killing box at the three berserkers which had just come around the corner. It allowed itself a small laugh. “Well, I suppose that’s what I get for talking back to sarge. Ah well. I’ve had a good run.”

Its killing box flashed three times as it slowly walked towards the berserkers. Derpy leapt to her hooves and grabbed Dinky by the scruff of her neck.

“We’re going,” the mailmare mumbled as she took to the air, flying to the door of the schoolhouse.

Dinky kept her eyes on her rescuer, hearing one last sentence before hit passed out of earshot.

“O Holy Emperor, life is your currency. Let me spend mine well,” it prayed.

Then all Dinky could do was watch.

The rescuer’s killing box flashed one last time, its projectiles all either missing their targets or failing to do any real harm. The rescuer then tossed its killing box aside and drew a smaller box and a large knife. With a mighty cry, the rescuer charged, its every step filled with righteous fury. It jammed its small killing box into the face of the first berserker. There was a flash of light which blew the box out of the rescuer’s grasp and shattered the berserker’s frozen face.

It did not, however, kill the berserker. Acting as though an explosion had not just flayed the skin from its face, the crimson-skinned monster roared and slammed its whirring tooth-axes into the rescuer’s sides. Dinky covered her ears to try and block out the screeching as metal teeth met stony skin. It sounded like when that one substitute teacher had dragged her hoof across the chalkboard, only a hundred times worse.

Dinky missed the next part of the battle, as Derpy had finally gotten the door open and thrust her daughter inside the schoolhouse. Dinky hit the ground roughly, dropped so that Derpy could barricade the door.

“Derpy! Here, let us help!” Cheerilee rushed over, followed closely by Big Mac. They quickly pushed several desks against the door.

“What’s going on out there?” one of the students asked. “Why is Ponyville on fire?”

Derpy opened her mouth, but Cheerilee jammed her hoof in before the mailmare could speak.

“We don’t want them to panic,” she hissed. “Come on, we need to keep them safe and calm.”

Derpy nodded agreement and followed Cheerilee back to the students, who had been gathered on the far side of the school house. For a moment, Dinky slipped Derpy’s notice.

Seizing her advantage, Dinky rushed to the window, desperate to see what was happening outside.

The moment she found out, she regretted it.

All three berserkers had reached the rescuer, each screaming and railing away with their tooth-axes. Dinky saw her rescuer strike back, punching and slashing for all it was worth. For a moment, it fought as though possessed, roaring in rage. Then, it cried out in pain.

Its knife-leg was the first to go; one of the tooth-axes found a weak point in its skin and chewed threw it. A moment later, another tooth-axe tore into the rescuer’s back, cutting its spine in twain. Then came that final, horrible blow, as two tooth-axes found the rescuer’s head at the same time, tearing through its frozen face helmet and splattering blood and gore all across the berserkers.

What remained of the rescuer fell to the ground with a thud. Before it could even fall halfway, however, the berserkers had lost interest. Blood had been shed, but now they still hungered for more. The three turned to the schoolhouse.

One pointed its tooth-axe in such a way that Dinky was sure it was pointed directly at her. She squeaked in fear and fell back.

“Dinky! Get over here before they see you!” Cheerilee ordered, her eyes wide and wary. In that moment, Dinky was too frightened to correct her teacher’s appraisal of the situation as she scurried over to the rest of the students.

“Blood! Kill! Destroy!” the berserkers chanted, their voices growing louder and closer every second, until it sound like they were at the very door.

Big Mac stepped to the forefront, his nostrils flaring as he readied himself to charge. Derpy and Cheerilee took up positions on his flanks.

“Big brother, what’s gonna happen to us?” Applebloom asked with an innocence only a child could display. “Are we gonna be okay?”

Big Mac looked down at his youngest sister and gave her as good a smile as he could muster. “Eeyup.”

Just a moment later, the front door exploded in a shower of splinters. The berserkers had arrived.

“Fresh blood!” one of them shouted. “Fresh skulls!”

Big Mac tensed for his charge. The berserkers stepped forward, their tooth-axes screaming as though in anticipation. Derpy and Cheerilee braced themselves for what was to come. The children cowered, struck all but silent in terror.

Then for the second time that day, Dinky was witness to what, as far as she was concerned, was a miracle.

“Heretics! Submit to judgement for your crimes!” a deep voice boomed. All eyes turned to the west, and beheld a strange and wonderful sight.

Nine more creatures like Dinky’s rescuer strode into sight. Of them, eight had the same crimson skin as the rescuer, though of them had black shoulders and a tall banner rising from his back. The ninth, however, was unique. Its skin was as black as coal, and its frozen face had all the appearance of an alien skull. It wielded a mace with a black haft and a golden eagle for a head.

“Blood Angels…” the Berzerkers said. “Servants of the False Emperor. Kill! Maim! Destroy!”

“Sons of Sanguinius!” the skull-faced one cried. “Purge the traitors!”

As one, all nine shouted, “For Baal!”

Dinky and her classmates fell to the ground, screaming, as the world exploded around them. Seven killing boxes flashed. Massive metal slugs tore through the schoolhouse; some flew on into the distance, their targets missed, while others struck true. The berserkers roared as their skin blew apart, leaving their fleshy insides exposed. One died screaming, blood pouring from a dozen fatal gashes.

“Kill! Maim! Destroy!” the surviving berserkers roared. They charged, running and swinging their tooth-axes.

The nine newcomers stood their ground; for a moment, they were as statues. Then the berserkers crossed an invisible line, and the skull-face spoke.

“Burn the heretics!”

Two red-skinned creatures stepped forward, carrying strange devices in their alien forelegs. One was holding what looked like a pipe with a cider bottle strapped to the bottom, while the other had a massive box with two pipes sticking out the front, ending in a second, smaller box. As the berserkers came within a few steps of the newcomers, these pipes spat fire.

Roaring flame engulfed the berserkers, scorching their fleshy insides and charring what remained of their stony skin. One berserker fell, overwhelmed at last by its wounds. The last one leapt through the fire, roaring with raw fury.

The banner-bearing red-skin stepped forwards, a bronze-sheening sword flashing through the air. The berserker died in an instant as the sword tore through its chest. The banner-bearer dropped the corpse toe the ground, pointed its small killing box and fired once, destroying the berserker’s head.

“It is done, Holy Chaplain,” the banner bearer said. It turned to the ponies, who stood stock still and silent in awe and confusion. “What of them?”

The skull-face remained silent for a moment, as though thinking. An explosion from further within Ponyville drew its attention.

“Save your ammunition for now, Sergeant,” skull-face said. “The battle is yet to be won.”

“Alright,” the banner bearer said. “Squad Murata! Form up and move out! There is yet more heretic blood to spill today! For Terra and Baal!”

“For Sanguinius and the Emperor!” the others shouted as one. Then the nine turned and strode away, marching towards Ponyville.

Dinky let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She looked up at her mother, who seemed to have done the same. Then Derpy seized up.

“The Doctor!” she shrieked. “He’s still in town! We have to get him!”

“Nope,” Big Mac said, taking a single step to block Derpy’s path. “Not you. Ah’ll go. Ah have ta find AJ anyway.”

“But Doc…” Derpy started. Big Mac cut her off with a snort.

“Will be fine. You and Cheerilee need ta get the foals to safety. Take ‘em to Sweet Apple Acres, they’ll be safe there.”

Derpy’s crossed gaze snapped back and forth between Big Mac and Ponyville. Then she sighed in defeat. She turned to Dinky. “Come on, Dinky, we gotta go.”

“But Dad!” Dinky said, fear seizing her poor young heart.

“Doc’ll be fine,” Derpy said, doing her best to mask her own fear. “Come on, we’ve gotta go to Sweet Apple Acres now.”

Dinky mumbled acceptance and followed as Cheerilee and Derpy ushered the students out of school house. She took one look back, watching as Big Mac galloped off to the east, and as the strange red-skinned rescuers advanced into Ponyville.

For a moment, her spirits rose. Whatever those aliens were, they had saved her. Ponies who saved other ponies were heroes, and heroes always saved the day. She smiled, assured by the power of childhood logic and faith that all would be well. After all, what need was there for fear when heroes were on the job?

Author's Note

Well, I'm ending this chapter here before it gets too big. The conclusion to the Battle of Ponyville soon to follow.

Chapter 5: Sweeping Advance

Hope descended on wings of flame.

Rarity could do nothing but stare in awe at the massive metal… thing in the sky above her. It was as if somepony had cut a train car in half, then strapped inflexible wings to the sides. It was bright red, somewhere just short of scarlet. All manner of strange pipes and tubes jutted out from it, all facing forwards. It hovered in the air for a moment before what seemed to Rarity to be the thing’s mouth opened wide.

Out of it leapt five strange creatures. They had the same basic body shape as the chanters, and their stony skin was of a similar shade. However, that was where the similarities ended. Each of the five had a massive growth on its back with two cylinders which spewed flame. They bore strange, winged tattoos on their chests, and were covered in all manner of ornate decoration; golden cords, wax seals, rubies cut in the shape of tears, and so on. Three of them carried small killing boxes, and two wielded long, metal sticks that seemed to have teeth on one edge. The other one bore what seemed to be a solid slab of metal on its right foreleg, and in its left, it carried something akin to a builder’s hammer. This hammer, however, was to Applejack’s tool as Celestia was to a newborn foal; it was massive, with a haft that could easily stretch from the creature’s hooves to its huge shoulders, and with a head the as long as a teenage mare and wreathed in crackling blue energy. The last two of these strange fire-winged creatures carried long tubes. The first three had similar frozen faces to the chanters, though the tube-bearers seemed to have been a different tribe, or possibly different species, as their faces were elongated, coming to a point and looking for all the world like the heads of ravens.

Before these five could descend even halfway to the ground, more followed. The first four of this second wave were similar to the first in colour and shape, but still distinct. Their frozen faces were a bright gold. One of them carried a sword akin to that of the foremost of the chanters, though it was a brilliant bronze in colour. Like the hammerer, this creature carried a massive slab of metal on its right foreleg. The other three were largely identical to each other, though more distinct than their red-faced brothers. Each of these three had a different face, one with a sort of snout, another with laurels sitting above the standard frozen face, and the third with a series of spikes running from ear-to-ear over the crown of its head. They each carried a different device in their hands: the first carried another bronze sword, and had in its right foreleg what seemed to be a smaller version of the tubes the first five carried; the second had what seemed to be a killing box if one were to cut the top half off and replace it with one of those fire-spitting pipes the chanters had; and the last of them simply carried one of the tubes its red-faced brothers wielded.

All this Rarity saw and processed in but an instant, filtering the information away for later consideration. For at that moment, her attention as firmly fixed on the last three to soar from the metal bird. Where their forebears fell on gouts of flame which were only metaphorically wings, these magnificent specimens were possessed of true wings. Two of them were bright gold in colour, with snow-white wings on their backs. Fire roared from their backs as they soared to battle. One had a small killing box mounted on its left foreleg, while its right foreleg seemed to grow into a massive hoof with strange, talon-like appendages on the end. The other carried a massive, blue-bladed sword and had mounted on its left foreleg a strange device with a glowing green coil on its top. The last of the winged three had skin as white as Rarity’s coat. Its wings were the colour of blood, as was the blade of its sword. A strange, complicated device sat on its right foreleg, which carried a jewel-encrusted golden cup.

The twelve creatures struck the ground with the force of a thunderstorm, throwing the chanters off balance and causing the last few pillars in the former boutique to collapse. One chanter cried out in pain, its body crushed beneath two landing creatures. The rest of the chanters turned their attention to the new interlopers, knives and fists at the ready.

What followed was as swift as it was brutal.

The gold-faced sword-bearer thrust its blade at the foremost of the chanters and shouted. “Ho, heretic! When your rotten soul faces your masters in the Warp, tell them it was Orlando who sent you!”

The sword-bearer, this ‘Orlando,’ lunged at the foremost. Behind it followed rest of the dozen.

Rarity watched in awe as these gleaming warriors leapt into battle, like heroes out of ancient myth. The toothed sticks began to whir, the teeth moving too quickly for the eye to catch. They and the sword-bearers rushed past Orlando, charging headlong into the fray. Rarity flinched as whirring metal teeth caught on the stony skin of the chanters.

A chanter fell, its skin torn open by the whirring teeth, blood spraying from its wound like rain. Another died half a moment later, a combat knife driven deep into its neck. One of the gold-faced creatures slung its tube over its chest and grasped the head of a chanter, twisting it as the gold-face continued its charge. A wet snap signalled the end of that chanter. Then the sword-bearing gold-skin made its kill, impaling a chanter on the end of its glowing blade.

The white-skin was next, its crimson sword flashing as it cleaved through the chanters’ skin like high-quality scissors through thin fabric. Two chanters died beneath the white-skin’s blade, their chests torn open and their blood cauterized by some strange force Rarity could not perceive.

The last two chanters struck back as fast as they could, slashing at the interlopers with their cruel knives. The short blades scratched the stony skin of their new foes, leaving deep gashes in their wake. However, if such wounds mattered to the interlopers, they did not show it.

The gold-skin with the massive hoof punched a chanter. The upper half of the chanter exploded in a shower of gore, crimson blood and hunks of flesh splattering across the field.

At the same moment, the hammerer struck. A flash of light and a ground-shaking ka-boom, and then there was nothing left of the unfortunate chanter.

The centrepiece of the battle, however, was the duel between the one called Orlando and the foremost. Their swords clashed with a great shriek. The foremost was vicious and brutal in its attacks, each blow swung with the might of a hydra’s bite. Yet it was to no avail, for the foremost had only strength on its side. Orlando matched it in brute power, and was an artist with the blade. Orlando moved as though dancing, deftly avoiding every one of the foremost’s wild swings, until at last the time for conclusion came. The one called Orlando raised the slab of metal on its foreleg and swung outwards, slamming away the foremost’s latest strike. Orlando then lunged forward. The first slash missed its mark.

The next did not.

The foremost died screaming, two deep gashes like an ‘x’ running across its chest. Its sword and small killing box fell to the ground, soon followed by its corpse.

The interlopers regrouped. Overhead, the metal bird roared and soared away, heading towards the centre of town.

Rarity gawked at the interlopers, her heart pounding in her chest. Now that she could truly consider them, she realized the true extent of their magnificence. Their bodies may have been strange, but they clearly had a refined aesthetic. It was not, however, perfect, and Rarity’s mind was already at work, designing improvements that would make them look exquisite.

“Rarity!” Applejack’s voice broke through the fashionista’s thoughts. Rarity turned to see Applejack standing over her, a worried look plastered on her face. “Ya alright, sugarcube?”

“Oh, Applejack?” Rarity mumbled, her eyes never leaving Orlando. Such mastery… wielding a sword like a needle and thread… “Aren’t they just magnificent?”

“Rares, yer bleeding,” Applejack said. The farmpony started poking Rarity’s head, checking the wounds. “Rarity, listen, yer bleeding from yer ears. I think ya might have a concussion. Rarity! Listen ta me!”

While Applejack groaned in annoyance and Rarity kept staring dumbly, the one called Orlando spoke. “Brothers! Rejoice! We have won a swift victory here. But be wary! Our battle is not done yet.”

Orlando leveled its sword in the same direction the metal bird had flown off in. “The vile servants of Chaos still infest this place, and it is our privilege to wreak upon them the Emperor’s Holy Vengeance! To the skies, brothers, and fly with the speed of angels to battle!”

“Just y’all wait a minute!” Applejack shouted, turning to face the twelve stone-skinned giants before her. “Just what’s goin’ on here? Who are y’all? Who are these?”

It was at this moment that Pinkie Pie chose to re-enter Rarity’s vision. “Yeah, and why did these meanies want to ruin my party? I had enough cake for everyone!”

Orlando and the white-skin looked at each other. The former cleared its throat.

“Greetings, strange, colourful xenos,” it said. It paused, as though it could not find any words. Then it sighed. “Brothers, let us depart. The battle is to the west, and I’ll not have us found dawdling.”

“But Champion,” one of the tube-bearers said as it stepped forward. “They are xenos. Does not the Codex say…”

“Still your tongue, Brother Severin,” Orlando said calmly. “You are young, brother, and have many lessons to learn. The Codex is wise, but it has its place and its limitations. The Chaplain advised caution, and caution I shall exercise.”

The white-skin chuckled. “Well said. Come on, brothers. Chaos is afoot, and my blade is still hungry.”

With that, Orlando turned to leave, and the rest of the interlopers followed. A blue streak, however, blocked their path.

“AJ asked you a question,” Rainbow Dash said, glaring at the interlopers. “Just who the hay are you? And why is Ponyville on fire?”

Orlando sighed. “Please get out of my way, tiny blue xenos. I have more important matters at hand than answering petty questions.”

Rainbow opened her mouth to speak, only to be shoved out of the way by Orlando. Before Rainbow could react, the interlopers’ strange back growths roared with flame, propelling the twelve across the river and towards the centre of town.

“Hey! Get back here! We’re not done with you yet!” Rainbow yelled, shaking her hoof in aggravation.

“Rainbow, get over here, now!” Applejack called. “Rarity’s hurt, and we gotta get her somewhere safe. Right now, Ah think that’s Fluttershy’s cottage.”

“AJ, we don’t have time for that!” Rainbow flitted about anxiously. “In case you haven’t noticed, Ponyville is burning! We’ve gotta do something!”

Applejack sighed as she considered the situation. “Fine. Here’s the plan. Rainbow, you an’ Pinkie head over there, see if’n ya can find Twi. She’ll know what ta do. Ah’ll take Rarity to Fluttershy’s, then catch up with ya.”

“Alright,” Rainbow said. Pinkie nodded and raised a fresh pie.

“Sounds good,” she said with a strange, almost psychotic glint in her eye. “I have a special pie I need to deliver.”

As Applejack left her friends, carrying a still-dazed Rarity on her back and leaving her other two friends to save the day, she reflected on Pinkie’s expression. The farmpony shivered as she realized that had been the scariest thing she’d seen all day.
______

As far as days went, it had not been a good one for Twilight Sparkle.

Her admittedly fruitless research project had been interrupted first by a strange ripple in the magical field, and then by a mission from Celestia. That mission had turned sour, leading to a desperate escape from terrifying alien invaders. Then, horribly, she, Starlight, and Spike had arrived too late to save the guests at Pinkie’s party. And now they were trapped in a hopeless battle against alien invaders in the middle of Ponyville.

“Lyra! On your right, watch out!” Twilight called. The mint-green mare jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a volley from several of the alien killing boxes. Twilight aimed her horn at the crimson-skinned chanters and unleashed a volley of her own, driving them back a few steps. She turned to a trio of unicorns currently struggling to keep an increasingly fractured shield intact. “Come on, girls, hold on!”

Twilight poured some of her own magic into the shield, repairing the fractures and giving the trio a momentary respite. However, she could not spend more than a couple seconds on it, as she was needed elsewhere.

She took to the skies for a moment, throwing up last-minute shields for what amounted to Ponyville’s aerial defenders: half a dozen of the local pegasi, dropping debris on the heads of the invaders. If Twilight still had room in her mind to consider the matter, she would have wept; just a short while earlier, there had been twice that number in the skies. Back then, in the frantic early minutes of the battle, the pegasi had thrown themselves at the invaders, trying to pummel them into submission with their bare hooves. The invaders had proven to be faster than their slow advance and heavy stone skin had implied, and the remaining pegasi quickly found other avenues of attack.

“Twilight! Over here!” a voice cut through Twilight’s thoughts. She looked down to see Starlight calling up to her. Twilight landed next to her pupil.

Words were not needed; Twilight could see perfectly well what Starlight needed. The two leveled their horns at a quartet of advancing chanters. A flurry of magical bolts ground them to a halt, but neither put them down nor drove them back. If Twilight had been a more worldly mare, she would have cursed. It was the same with all the chanters; they could be stopped, but they simply refused to give up even one step.

Starlight breathed heavily next to her. “I don’t know how long we can keep this up.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Twilight said, her own breathing growing ragged with each minute. “If we don’t hold them, they’ll kill us all.”

“I know,” Starlight sighed. “I really hope Spike got that letter sent.”

The moment they returned to Ponyville, Twilight had sent her beloved assistant back to her castle to send a letter to Celestia. That was the last time she’d seen him.

“So do I,” Twilight said.

“Say, Miss Twilight, could I request some assistance?” Twilight turned to see Doctor Whooves motioning for her.

Twilight gave Starlight one last look. “Gotta go. Keep up the good work.”

Whatever response Starlight gave was lost as Twilight burst through the air. She kept low to the ground, using the ruins that had been Ponyville as cover against the endless fusillade from the invaders’ killing boxes.

“What is it, Doctor?” Twilight asked as she arrived.

“The Wall is collapsing, and I need somepony to shore up the bindings,” he answered. “I’d do it myself, but the sonic screwdriver won’t work on wood, and anyway I’m needed for the catapults.”

Twilight nodded and turned to the makeshift Wall the defenders had put together. Constructed from whatever could be found, from furniture to debris from buildings destroyed by the invaders, it was their last redoubt. Held together by chewing gum, magic, and the Doctor’s strange screwdriver, the Wall was surprisingly a sign of hope for what remained of Ponyville’s defenders. It had been hastily constructed after the initial counterattack had so horribly failed, and as the battle wore on it came to represent the ponies’ determination. As long as the Wall stood, so did Ponyville.

The obvious problem with this was, of course, that the Wall was structurally unsound and made of materials that stood little chance against the invaders’ killing boxes.

Sweat forming on her brow from the endless exertion, Twilight reinforced the wards on the Wall. It was not much, but it would keep it together just a few minutes longer, and that was all they could hope for now. Unless they got a miracle, Twilight doubted Ponyville would last another hour, if even that.

Twilight took a moment to look over at the last earth ponies in town. Almost twenty, all hard at work gathering chunks of debris for the makeshift catapults some local architects and carpenters had thrown together. So far, these were, after the unicorn’s magic, the most effective weapons the ponies had been able to muster. While the pegasi were good at harrying the invaders, it was the catapults that could actually stop them.

However, it was still not enough. Whatever stone the invaders’ skin was made from, it was beyond anything Twilight had ever seen. Hunks of rock shattered on impact, doing nothing more than delaying the invaders’ advance. Had it not been for the battle, the scientist in her would have been ecstatic at the idea. Today, it was infuriating.

A scream stole Twilight’s attention. A pegasus stallion fell from the sky. He hit the ground with a thud, still screaming. Twilight had to fight a wave of nausea as she saw what had brought the poor stallion low. Half his body was burned, and there were still flames on some of his fur.

“Starlight, cover me!” Twilight yelled as she dashed towards the Pegasus. She would not lose him; too many were gone already. Bolts of teal light told Twilight her student had heard. The lavender alicorn reached out with her magic and lifted the fallen pegasus. She skidded to a stop, spun around, and dashed back behind the Wall, killing box blasts exploding all around her. “Nurse Redheart!”

The beleaguered earth pony silently welcomed Twilight into the remains of town hall, which had been converted in a field hospital. Twilight placed the screaming pegasus next to a unicorn mare who had fallen unconscious from overexertion.

On any other day, Twilight would have stayed and tried to help. Today, she had more pressing matters at hoof. She exited town hall and turned her furious gaze on the source of this latest atrocity: the blue-skinned wizard.

Of all the invaders, from the red-skinned chanters to the rotten things slowly slopping their way to that one red-skin with the talons, it was the wizard who Twilight most feared.

The alien wizard’s spells themselves were nothing special, academically speaking: various methods of delivering fire from its hands to its foes. Dangerous, but nothing that a trained unicorn wouldn’t be able to handle. What frightened Twilight was not the spells themselves, but how the wizard was wielding them. Somehow, it was doing the impossible: casting spells without tapping into the local magic field. For all her well-honed and alicorn-magic-enhanced senses, even Twilight could only just sense a tiny disturbance before that wizard threw another spell. Even worse, Twilight had a poor time trying to block them; her shields could deflect volleys from killing boxes, but the wizard’s flames somehow passed through them.

Just another thing that made the part of Twilight’s brain that loved learning resented about this day where learning had to take a backseat to basic survival.

Nonetheless, even if she couldn’t block the wizard’s attacks, she had to do something. She was the only one who stood even a chance against that wizard. If somepony didn’t at least distract it, then there would only be more ponies covered in burns.

“Starlight!” she called.

“Yes, Twilight?” was her student’s response.

“Keep an eye on the Wall. If it looks bad, fix it,” Twilight said as her wings flared out.

“Wait, isn’t that…” Starlight tried to say, her words interrupted by Twilight blasting into the air. “Your job? Great.”

Twilight soared through the air, dodging killing box projectiles as she homed in on her target. Magic gathered at the tip of her horn. She may not be able to block the wizard’s spells, but she could still hit him.

The wizard was busy gathering another cone of flame when the first beam struck. It stumbled back, stunned. Twilight followed up with a barrage, beam after beam striking the wizard, every ounce of her magical might poured into the attacks. Slowly, the wizard fell back.

Then it looked up, a fire in its viridian eyes.

“So you come at last,” it said. “Good. I wish this embarrassment ended.”

The wizard raised its staff. Flames spewed from its tip, hurling an inferno into the air at Twilight.

She deftly dodged the fire and threw a few more beams at wizard.

So it continued; flames spurted into the air, and violet beams rained down from above. The two were locked in stalemate. The flames were too slow and too obvious to catch Twilight, who soared with the speed and endurance inherent in her alicorn body. The beams were incapable of breaching the wizard’s skin, and it seemed, like its brethren, to be utterly untiring. It was a battle that could last forever.

Then the balance changed.

A screech tore through the air, stealing the attention of every pony and invader in the field. All turned to see a massive, crimson metal bird soar over the town. The talon-hoofed invader roared with fury.

“Curses! The Angels come! Sons of Lorgar, servants of the Dark Gods, turn to the skies! Strike them down!” it commanded.

The chanters and rotten things turned their killing boxes to the skies, ignoring the ponies to concentrate their fire on the metal bird. Most of their attacks missed, flying off into the air. A handful of explosions littered the bird’s carapace, but nothing seemed able to pierce its protection.

Then the bird opened fire.

Killing boxes all over the bird pointed at the invaders and spat death. Explosions rocked the battlefield. Three chanters fell to the ground, torn apart by the fusillade.

The bird swooped between the Wall and the invaders, and without even slowing, dropped off its cargo. Then it flew off into the distance.

The thing that had dropped from the bird was like a massive metal box with legs and three long, sharp talons on each of its minotaur-like forelegs. A long metal pipe was affixed to the bottom of one of these forelegs, and a strange box with two pipes hung under the other. The metal box took a single step forward, and spoke, in a deep, booming voice.

“Even in death, I still serve!”

The metal box raised its talons. From the twin pipes burst a gout of flame that consume two of the chanters. The tube fired a strange orange-glowing dart that melted right through another chanter.

“Kill it!” the talon-hoofed invader ordered, its talons pointed at the metal box. “Get around it and destroy it!”

The chanters began intoning a deep, rumbling song as they steadily marched towards the metal box.

While Twilight was still processing this information, Starlight Glimmer made an executive decision.

“Ponies of Ponyville! Keep the invaders from getting past that thing!” she shouted. She thrust her hoof into the air. “For Ponyville!”

“For Ponyville!” the remaining defenders cried, their spirits restored by the arrival of this strange protector.

Out of the corner of her eye, Twilight saw the blue-skinned wizard gathering magic and aiming at the metal box.

“No you don’t!” she said as she dive-bombed the wizard with another barrage of magic beams. The wizard snarled and unleashed a flurry of flame after her.

The duel was back on, with renewed purpose; Twilight was still just delaying the wizard, but now, now there was a chance they could actually win this.

As long as they kept the invaders at bay just a bit longer.

So Twilight dueled the wizard, while Starlight led the other defenders in a last, desperate stand. Makeshift catapults hurled heavy chunks of debris. Pegasi dropped whatever they could find on the chanters. The last few unicorns pushed the last of their strength into a barrage of magic, slowing the chanter advance.

All the while, the metal box went to work.

“For Terra and Baal!” it roared as it stomped forward, its talons flexing. It sped up in its last few steps, slamming into the chanter advance with the force of a runaway train. The chanters sang, the killing boxes flashed, and some invaders threw strange exploding cylinders. It was all to no avail, simple annoyances as the box tore them apart one at a time.
________

Krev Gorudon was absolutely furious.

It should have been easy. The locals were weak cowards, unable to even muster a single warrior. They could not kill, and they fled at the first sight of his Chaos Marines. A simple attack should have left them slaughtered, sacrificed on the altar of the Dark Gods, while Krev himself could look for the mysterious power the Great Sorcerer Magnus had foretold.

So why was it taking so long to kill them?

After the initial attack, resistance had stiffened, grinding his assault to a stop. Warp bolts, too weak to even scratch the armour of his corrupted Astartes, somehow kept his forces from advancing. Winged ponies, so easily slain when they came in reach, now flew too high for his men to accurately hit, and so harried his advance further with rocks and logs snatched from the very buildings his forces were destroying. Then there were those plain ponies, the ones who should have been the easiest to slay! Through some sorcery they had assembled a full set of primitive artillery, and so furthered delayed his warrior-brothers!

Of all his warriors, only Iphotek was making any real progress anymore. His sorcery was able to bypass the ponies’ shields, and his warp-fire was quite capable of bringing the winged ponies down. At that moment, Krev was, in fact, taking no small pleasure in seeing just that, thanking Slaanesh for the sight of a half-charred pony.

Such pleasure dissipated just a few minutes later, when the lavender pony, the flying psyker, came soaring out of the tower to duel Iphotek. The Thousand Sons Sorcerer fell for the bait, and turned his psychic prowess from the battle to the flyer.

“How can you all be so incompetent!” Krev roared, firing two boltshells at a psyker-pony. To his irritation, one shot outright missed, and the other exploded pointlessly on that Warp-cursed wall.

His fury had only grown when the Stormraven arrived.

It had the oversized troop bay that he had seen all too often over the last year. Under other circumstances, he would have enjoyed a good laugh at the thought of the servants of the False Emperor committing what the ignorant Martians would call ‘tech-heresy.’ Today, however, it was simply another log on the fuel of his anger.

He mumbled a prayer of thanks to Tzeentch, the Architect of Fate, that only three of his warband fell to the Stormraven. He almost revoked that prayer when the Stormraven dropped a Dreadnought. Krev ground his jagged teeth as he issued his orders.

“Kill it! Get behind it and destroy it!” he roared. It was no use.

The Dreadnought seemed to have inspired the ponies for some reason Krev could not fathom. What hope could filthy xenos scum like them find in the Imperium? Truly, Krev thought briefly. These creatures are naïve.

But whatever mad reason the ponies had for rejoicing at the coming of the Blood Angels, rejoice they did, with battle. They redoubled their efforts, keeping Krev’s warriors from outflanking the Dreadnought. Growling with rage, Krev strode towards the Dreadnought, his ancient Terminator armour groaning with every step. When he was close enough he leveled his weapon and switched to the combi-plasma.

“Only through pain is truth discovered!” Krev quoted with a shout as he fired twice. The first shot struck true, but aggravatingly did nothing more than scratch the Dreadnought’s paint. The second shot misfired, overheating the weapon. Krev snarled at his weapon. “Useless trash!”

Then, as though Tzeentch himself had decided to screw Krev over, a voice he knew too well and hated just enough, entered his hearing.

“Battle-Brothers! Today we wreak our vengeance! Today Chaos fails!” Orlando, Champion of the Blood Angels IV Company, called. Though his head was hidden by his helmet, his smirk could be heard in his very words. “For Sanguinius and the Emperor, charge!”

Twelve Blood Angels slammed into the Word Bearers flank, destroying whatever semblance of order had remained. For a moment, Krev simply watched, frozen with rage, as his warriors died beneath Power Weapons and chainswords. Then he recovered.

“Very well,” he growled as he strode towards the new Blood Angels. He flexed his Power Claw. “If my warriors are so worthless, I will simply handle matters myself!”

Krev slammed into the Blood Angels like a thunderstorm of metal and death. Busied as they were by their battle with his warriors-brothers, none of them noticed Krev’s coming until it was too late. He chose as his first victim an Assault Marine carrying a meltagun. The hapless Astartes barely had time to turn before Krev’s claws had punched through his chest and crushed both his hearts. Krev laughed as the Space Marine fell dead to the ground.

“In the end, there is only Chaos!” Krev roared the quote from his gene-father’s unholy writings. “And all who deny that truth will burn!”

“Face me, traitor!” Orlando shouted. “Leave the Line Marines to their battle. Your death will be at my hand!”

Krev growled as Orlando charged, Power Sword raised above his head. Krev blocked the first strike with his Power Claw, then lunged for Orlando’s chest. The Company Champion fended off the blow with his shield. Both took a step back, readied themselves, then charged against.

For Krev, it was a refreshing experience. Nothing Orlando carried stood much chance of piercing Terminator Armour, and Krev’s only vulnerability was the slow speed imposed by his Claw. Orlando could land all the blows he wished, and would never do Krev any serious harm. Krev, on the other hand, simply needed to make one hit connect.

While these two masters of war struggled, the battle around them raged. In a way, the Battle of Ponyville had already ended; the ponies were for the moment doing little, afraid to attack lest they harm their mysterious new allies. Only Twilight still fought in earnest, dedicated as she was to distracting Iphotek. Her efforts were soon bolstered as Starlight leapt into the fray, adding her own considerable magical prowess to the duel.

Beyond that, however, it was now a battle of Astartes, a new front in the never-ending war between Chaos and the Imperium of Man.

Space Marines, Imperial and Chaos alike, struggled against one another in glorious melee combat. Chainswords whirred and combat knives flashed in the light of burning promethium. Priest Domenico tore through the depleting ranks of Chaos, his Crimson Knife drinking deeply of their corrupted blood. The Sanguinary Guards Durante and Flavio fought almost as one, the speed of the latter’s Sword Encarmine accentuated by the raw power of the former’s Power Fist. Sergeant Priam roared with delight as his Thunder Hammer crushed a Chaos Marine. The great Dreadnought Castello killed his fair share, his Blood Talons tearing through the armour of the Chaos Marines.

Not all, however, was uncontested victory for the Blood Angels.

One of their veteran warriors, Brother Cornelio, activated his Jump Pack and leapt over the ranks of the Word Bearers, landing right in front of the three Plague Marines. He thumbed his combi-flamer and unleashed a stream of fire. The Plague Marines grunted as the tongues of burning promethium licked their rotten flesh, but not a one fell. They leveled their weapons and returned fire. Cornelio’s armour brushed off the first few boltshells, but proved insufficient to stave off the heavy bolter’s fusillade. Cornelio died in pieces.

As for himself, Krev was doing quite well. Orlando still had not struck a single meaningful blow, and his strikes were becoming ever more desperate. Soon he would make a final, fatal mistake, and then Krev would have his victory. With his full strength behind the blow, Krev slammed his Power Claw into Orlando’s shield, sending him flying back. Krev laughed, savouring the moment as he slowly advanced on the dazed Champion.

For all its losses, Chaos was starting to turn the tide back. They were outnumbered and outflanked, but far from defeated. Given time, they still had a chance.

That chance, however, was firmly dashed just a few moments later.

“Sons of the Angel!” Chaplain Alessandro boomed across the battlefield. “Today we make praise to our Holy Emperor with the highest of prayers, battle in his Name! For blood! For vengeance! For Sanguinius and the Emperor!”

Krev made a sound somewhere between a snarl and a scream as he watched his accursed nemesis leading more Space Marines into the battle. Though none of the Chaos marines would admit it, their last chance was all but vanished. Over half his force was dead or missing, and now he was both sorely outnumbered and utterly outflanked. Victory was no longer an option.

Vengeance, however, was still on the table.

Krev abandoned Orlando where he lay. The Champion no longer mattered; he was annoying, but not the true object of Krev’s hatred. That dishonour was reserved solely for Alessandro.

“Five years!” Krev roared as he charged into the Tactical Squad. His Power Claw tore through the nearest Space Marine as he surged towards his target “Five years you have hunted me, interfered with my plans. No more! I am sick of your meddling, and today I will end it!”

“No, you accursed Son of Lorgar!” Alessandro answered, leveling his Crozius Arcanum at Krev. “Today will not be my end! The Emperor’s Wrath is upon you, and I am his Holy Instrument!”

Krev and Alessandro met in fury. Krev slashed through the Chaplain’s coal-black armour, his swift victory denied solely by the Chaplain’s Rosarius and its accursed energy shield. Alessandro answered with several swift and brutal strikes from his Crozius, battering Krev’s armour. The Terminator armour saved Krev from death, but even its might could not prevent the Crozius from leaving dents.

Alessandro retreated a few steps and shouted a swift order. “Dabriel! Activate the teleport homer!”

“As you will!” the Sergeant answered. He pulled out a small pillar and slammed it into the ground. “Homer active!”

To Krev’s already-volcanic fury, two new warriors materialized out of the Warp. One wore his Terminator armour in the same crimson hue as the other Blood Angels, a massive assault cannon underslung on his arm. The other wore armour of a blue colouration, with a deadly Force Sword in his hand.

“Took you long enough, Aless,” the Librarian Renato said with a chuckle. “Marco, Aurelio! Turn your flamers on the spawn of Nurgle. Dabriel, take the rest of your men with Paolo and reinforce Orlando!”

Dabriel gave a chuckle of his own. “Just like Farheld. Brothers, as the Codicier says! For Baal!”

Krev barely noticed these developments beyond the initial rage, however. His focus instead fell back on Alessandro. The both of them roared battle-cries and rejoined the battle, Crozius against Power Claw. A crash and a slash, a swift dodge and the creaking of ancient armour under a mighty blow. Back and forth they struggled, neither able to outdo the other. Somewhere deep in the miniscule part of Krev that still somewhat resembled the human he had once been, there was a flicker of fear. Alessandro was as much a master of war as Krev himself, and with the weight of a Crozius in his hands, he could be a threat even to the durability of Terminator armour. If Krev did not find a way to end this battle swiftly, he stood a good chance of losing, leaving his vengeance unfulfilled.

Such thoughts were banished in a flare of light, the sound of a mighty voice ringing in his ears.

“Enough!”
_____

As Celestia and Luna soared south, the Solar Alicorn’s mind was hard at work, trapped between trying to concoct a plan with almost no information on what was happening and struggling to rein in her powerful and wild imagination, which was creating fanciful and horrible scenarios that chilled her to the bone.

Images of dragons infused with dark magic played threw her mind, followed by a returned, somehow enhanced Tirek. Every horror she could imagine danced before her eyes in sequence, each image worse than the last.

Celestia shook her head. She was the Princess of Equestria, the longest-living ruler in history. She would not be broken by a bad night's sleep and a few unknowns. With an exertion of willpower she had not needed in years, Celestia turned her attention elsewhere. Her gaze fell on Luna.

Celestia felt a tinge of guilt. She was not the only one who cared about the ponies of Equestria, not the only one who suffered to see them hurt. Luna's pain and worry were plain on her face, as was the rage slowly building inside her.

"Be calm, Lulu," Celestia said, choosing her sister's nickname in the hopes it would lighten her mood. "Don't let the rage control you again."

Luna glared at Celestia. "I had a thousand years to learn that lesson, sister. I will be fine."

Celestia was quite sure Luna knew that she knew she was lying.

Before any conversation could carry further, they reached Ponyville.

It was far worse than Celestia had feared. Ponyville was not just in danger, it was devastated. Few were the times she had seen worse damage, and none save for Discord’s first return had been more recent than a millennium ago.

Half the town was on fire, and no more than a hoofful of buildings remained intact. The streets were soaked red with blood, and the bodies of ponies littered them. Roaring and screaming filled the air, terror and rage overflowing in every sound.

A fury rose inside Celestia’s breast that she had not felt in centuries, a thirst for vengeance, for battle, for b-

No! Celestia mentally screamed. She would not fall to that again. She was better, knew how to control it. I will not fall!

At that moment, Celestia wished dearly for a nice cup of calming tea.

But it was nothing more than a wish; tea and calming meditation would have to wait. For now, Celestia had a crisis to avert.

It had been almost six hundred years since she had last used the Royal Canterlot Voice, but the Solar Alicorn could find no alternative.

“Enough!” Celestia shouted. Her wings stretched to their full length, and she shone with the full glory of the sun as she spoke. The world itself trembled before her power. The battle ceased in an instant as every living thing in Ponyville turned its gaze to the skies. The ponies quickly shielded their eyes from the glare of a sun unleashed. The strange invaders left their eyes unguarded, but shook at the knees. Many of them seemed to almost fall to the ground, their strange, stony bodies shaking with the effort of resistance.

Celestia paused a moment, taking a closer look at these creatures, so alien, and yet so familiar. She froze as a dreaded memory rose up, of a Monster that haunted her…

Its body was clad in armour as dark as the space between the stars… Its left arm was better proportioned, and in its armoured hand the giant carried a mace which in length stretched from the thing’s hooves to its shoulders…

The mace rose in the air, and time froze for all but the poor little filly. Her body frozen in place, all she could do was watch as the mace slowly climbed higher and higher, as it inched its way towards the apex of its arc…

The clash of metal broke the dream, and to Celestia’s horror, when her senses returned, the battle was joined once again.
________

Krev’s gaze flickered for a moment, leaving this white version of the lavender psyker to take stock of the Blood Angels. His eyes widened as he saw them struggling to remain upright, their knees shaking and their legs almost demanding to bow. He knew not what could have caused such weakness, but he was never one to let an opportunity pass. With a smile, he raised his Power Claw and swung at the accursed Chaplain.
______

Chaplain Alessandro could not understand what was happening.

Like all the rest, his attention had been stolen by the arrival of the strange flying creature. That was no mystery; while he was Astartes, he, like all the mighty Space Marines, was still at his core human, and there was no human in all the Imperium who would not have turned at to see that sight.

The mystery was why his knees were trying to buckle beneath him.

It took all his superhuman strength just to remain on his feet, let alone stand tall. He felt dizzy, as though something in his brain were misfiring. His vision blurred and his grip began to loosen.

Then, a sound: the whirring of ancient mechanics, and the quiet scraping of metal fingers stretching wide. In the corner of his eye, Alessandro saw a crimson Power Claw rising into the air.

Whatever force had been compelling him to bow dissipated in the face of centuries of battle experience. In a single action, the Chaplain tensed, turned, and swung.

Crozius and Power Claw clashed, the sound reverberating across the town. A half-second later, any echo it may have caused was drowned amidst the barks of exploding boltshells and the whirring of chainswords. The sound had snapped the Astartes, Imperial and Chaos alike, out of their reverie. With nothing restraining them, they turned to the very purpose for which they were made: war.

Alessandro slipped back a step, bent his knees, then lunged at the Word Bearer with a roar.

“Warp take you, traitor!” the Chaplain roared. “I’ll not lose another man to you!”

Their duel raged, both combatants too lost in the haze of battle to recall their xenos audience.

The rest of the battle, lopsided as it was, resolved quickly. Orlando, restored to the battle by the quick prodding of the Priest Domenico, had seized victory over the Word Bearers. What few of them had remained were no match for sixteen Blood Angels. Fists and chainswords and Power Weapons battered and tore and hewed the life from the Chaos Marines. One Word Bearer fell back a few steps, a grenade in each hand. He took aim.

He never threw them. Luna, though initially hesitant to join the fray in the face of her sister’s hesitation, could no longer deny the fury inside her. Eyes gleaming like a hunter’s moon, she fell on the last Word Bearer, crushing his skull with her hooves. Raising her head she half-howled her victory to the sky before she regained control, stifling the rage beneath her will. Though it was only noticed by one, a look of terror flitted across her face as she forced her breathing to slow.

The Plague Marines died in fire, their fetid bodies consumed by the combined fury of Marco, Aurelio, and the Dreadnought Castello. They were relentless to the end, returning fire until their very fingers melted away. The Blood Angels continued to scour their corpses with flame until the very last trace of their foul corruption was nothing but ash.

Even the Noise Marines soon fell. Having spent the entire battle locked in their ever-escalating music duel with Vinyl Scratch and her sister Octavia, they were utterly unprepared when Dabriel and Paolo led the Tactical Squad against them. One Noise Marine noticed the charging Blood Angels and turned his Sonic Blaster on them, slaying a Tactical marine with the barrage. Dabriel took vengeance immediately, severing the Noise Marine’s head with his Power Sword. The other Noise Marine remained oblivious, distracted as he was by the climax of his duel with Vinyl. Sick beats and rad chords streamed together in a concert of two. It ended suddenly, the Noise Marine’s chest obliterated by the roar of Paolo’s assault cannon.

Thus the battle came down to Krev and Iphotek against all comers. Krev had not yet noticed, however, distracted as he was by his all-consuming desire to slay Alessandro. Iphotek faced similar problems.

Iphotek scowled as he raised a wall of flame, buying himself a few precious seconds. The lavender pony had been bad enough; though she could not hurt him, her attacks were enough to ruin his aim, thus requiring him to waste time trying to burn her from the skies. Matters had only grown more sour when that blasted pony psyker had joined the fray, forcing him to split his efforts.

That, of course, was nothing compared to the arrival of Renato.

Iphotek and Renato had clashed several times before, with neither ever able to claim a proper victory. They were equals in their mastery of the Warp, and their Terminator armour left martial competition unproductive. Today, however, Iphotek was spent and distracted, while Renato was fresh to the battle and in the company of psychic allies.

“Curse you, Renato!” he spat. “Why could you never just die?”

“Come now, heretic,” Renato said with a tone of camaraderie that simply infuriated Iphotek. “If I died, who would there be to thwart you? The Emperor has only so any Librarians.”

Iphotek stumbled as he accidentally backed into Krev. Without a word exchanged between them, the two took up positions to protect each other’s backs; if they were to die this day, they would take as many of the accursed Blood Angels with them as they could.

“I said enough!” the white flyer shouted again. It landed in between Alessandro and Krev, snorting in anger. “You will be still, and you will answer my questions. Is that understood?”

Iphotek whispered to Krev. “Do you have a plan?”

“Yes. Kill Alessandro,” Krev answered.

As one, Iphotek and Krev raised their weapons, taking aim at Alessandro. They cared not for the white flyer, not for their fates afterwards. They cared only for one last chance at revenge.

Before anyone could react, a tear opened. Strange, maddening colours spewed out of it. Krev and Iphotek fell into, screaming, and they knew only darkness.

Author's Note

“Conclusion coming soon.” Whoops. Sorry about the delay. I hope the longer chapter makes up for it.

Also, for a few of the battles here, I actually rolled for the results (roughly speaking; I had to fudge a few rolls for plot’s sake). The “white-skin” actually got three kills! I took one away so I could leave some Word Bearers for the last two, And Orlando actually succeeded on his 6+ invul save (For those who don’t know, that means he needed to roll a 6 on a 6-sided die to avoid getting hurt, and he did), and Krev actually rolled that badly when shooting the Dreadnought.

And for those who may be annoyed at how easily the Chaos band was defeated: I’m sorry. Castello, the Dreadnought, was a late addition in my planning, and I forgot to compensate for that with more Chaos Marines. That combined with a need to keep a certain number of characters alive through this battle and the outflanking the Blood Angels ended up performing pretty much sealed the Chaos Marines’ fates. Don’t worry though, Chaos will have a much better showing soon.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Comments and criticism appreciated.

Chapter 6: Angels In Ponyville

Celestia was not a happy pony.

Ponyville was in ruins, with fires still raging in some parts. Dozens of her beloved little ponies lay dead in the streets. Strange minotaurs that looked like monsters right out of her most hated nightmare stood before her.

And right before her was the Monster itself. It may have been smaller than in her dream, with less gold and no alien heads or wolf pelt, but it was the Monster, of that she was sure. Hate emanated from its very eyes, and it just stood before her with its coal-black armour and bearing its blasted mace, the mace that killed…

Celestia unfurled her wings to their full extent and strode right up to the Monster. Her eyes glowed a faint red, a stare to ward off the baleful glare she remembered so well, that haunted her from the shadows. She stood right in front of it, her snout just inches from its skull-like face.

Every pony and alien stood tense. Luna eyed the aliens warily, ready to pounce at the first sign of violence. The aliens replaced the containers on the bottoms of their killing boxes. The giant metal box flexed its cruel talons. The air screeched as the metal bird returned, coming to a hovering stop just in front of town hall. Twilight Sparkle stood just a few steps from the blue-armoured alien, eyeing it warily. The surviving defenders of Ponyville watched, eyes wide and hearts pounding.

Through it all, Celestia never took her eyes off the Monster before her.

“Monster! Kneel and explain yourself!” Celestia’s words were a storm of constrained fire, a force which would have brought anypony in Equestria to their knees.

The Monster simply huffed. “I am of the Emperor’s Chosen, and I kneel before no xenos. Now get out of my way. I have more important matters to attend to.”

Golden light flared all around Celestia. “This is my domain, Monster! I demand answers, and you will not take one step until they are answered!”

The Monster tightened its grip on its weapons, especially that abominable mace. It stepped closer, its skull-face coming within but an inch of Celestia’s snout. “My mercy is finite, witchmind, and already overextended. Now be gone!”

Fury surged in Celestia’s heart, her vision slowly tinting red. How dare this alien Monster defy her? Her ponies were wounded and died by their hand! The reek of spilled blood filled her nostrils! She deserved answers! She demanded answers! And she would get them, tear them from their hideous necks, gorge herself on the knowledge, flay them, kill them-

“Sister!” Luna’s voice broke through the haze. Celestia fell back a few steps, a brief gasp escaping her mouth. “Be calm! Do not let it overcome you!”

The Lunar Alicorn leapt to her sister’s side, fear as evident on her face as the full moon on a cloudless night. Celestia knew at a glance the worry and concern which filled her sister’s heart at that moment. That alone was enough to drive back the thirst which had almost consumed her.

It was also the exact wrong action to take when surrounded by nervous alien warriors.

The Monster was first, its strange, small tube snapping to a level with Celestia’s head. All around, the aliens took aim with their killing boxes, their tubes and their pipes. Death was about to be unleashed again on poor, ruined Ponyville.

“Aless! Wait!” a forceful baritone boomed. The aliens froze in place, and the Monster turned. Celestia followed the Monster’s crimson gaze to the blue-armoured alien, who stood with its hands raised in the air.

“Make this good, Renato,” the Monster rumbled.

“That I will,” the blue-armour said as it strode over, its massive hooves, feet, leaving shallow indents in the ground with every clanking step.

As the blue-armour advanced, Celestia reached out with her magic. She touched the mind of this strange alien. A jolt of fear shot through her heart as she felt in it the same power that had earlier that day rippled throughout Equestria. Now both wary and curious, she dug deeper, seeking to know what this creature intended.

This is not a wise course of action, strange xenos.

Celestia’s eyes widened as the alien’s baritone voice spoke in her head.

Please, do not be frightened! I only give advice! I mean neither you nor your subjects harm. That is, actually, what I’m trying to avoid. Such fascinating creatures you all are…

In an instant, Celestia weighed the odds of the matter. She sent a quick telepathic message to her sister. Luna, the blue one is magical, and knows telepathy. I advise caution.

Luna’s response was swift. It speaks? What did it say?

Before Celestia could answer, her attention was stolen by the Monster, which had turned its attention back to her.

“Battle-brothers!” it shouted. “Stand down! We will ply our holy craft no more this day! Priam, Dabriel! Take your squads and gather up the arms of our fallen. Domenico! Collect the Chapter’s due. Castello! Take up a patrol and hunt down any remaining servants of Chaos. Orlando, Paolo! Bring what remains of the veterans. You will accompany Renato and I.”

Celestia eyed the Monster warily. It turned its crimson gaze back to her.

“I will not kneel to a foul xenos,” it said. “But against my better judgement, I will speak with you.”

“What my companion means to say,” the blue-armoured alien said as it stepping forward. “Is that diplomatic relations are in both our best interests, and that it would be better to talk before tensions… escalate.”

The Monster glared at the blue-armoured alien. The latter simply shrugged.

At almost the same moment as that, Twilight Sparkle burst into the conversation.

“We can use my castle!” she said, almost bouncing with excitement. “It hasn’t been used for anything important since the yaks, except for that whole time travel mess with Starlight, but that doesn’t change the fact that it still doesn’t get used as much as it should, and these are aliens, Celestia, and there were nasty evil ones and then there’s these ones who are actually kinda nice and they showed up and saved us, and…”

“Twilight,” Celestia said in the calmest, most motherly tone she could muster. She smiled at the excitable mare, her mind briefly flashing back to happier times, when aliens were not invading and murdering her beloved ponies. “Calm down. We, apparently, have guests. Why don’t you go on ahead and prepare your castle?”

Twilight rushed a few words of thanks out of her mouth and was gone in a flash. A moment later, she reappeared.

“Wait! What about my friends?” Her eyes were wide with sudden terror. “Where are they? What happened to them?”

“Hey, where’s the big red meanie?” Pinkie Pie said as she appeared as though out of thin air. Every alien within view snapped their weapons out and aimed them at the pink party pony. She seemed to not notice. “I had a really special pie, just for him!”

“Pinkie! You’re safe!” Twilight tackled her friend to the ground. Behind her, the Monster waved its soldiers down and they returned to their duties.

“Of course I am, Twilight,” Pinkie said as though an army of alien murderers had not just rampaged through Ponyville. “It was other-me the meanie killed.”

It suddenly occurred to Celestia that she never had finished that investigation into Pinkie Pie’s mental state. The Solar Alicorn made a mental note to finish that up when she had the chance.

“Other-me? What?” Twilight, it seemed, was just as confused as Celestia. The latter was unsure how to take that.

“Remember that time I made a lotta me’s, and then we had to get rid of them all ‘cause they were causing so much trouble around Ponyville?” Pinkie said.

“Oh, I see,” Twilight said. She shook her head. “Anyway, Pinkie, do you know what happened to everypony else? Why aren’t Applejack and Rainbow Dash here? We could really have used their help.”

“Rarity got hurt, so Applejack took her to Fluttershy’s,” Pinkie explained. Then she pointed her hoof at the ruined remains of a nearby house.

“And Dashie’s in there. She tried to sneak up on meanies, but her aim was a wee-little bit off.”

At that very moment, a still quite dazed Rainbow Dash stumbled out of the ruins.

“Hey you, stop,” she mumbled. “No pony, ah…”

Then she fell to the ground unconscious. A couple nearby ponies picked her up and carried her to town hall.

Twilight moved to follow her wounded friend. Celestia gently blocked her path with a hoof.

“Rainbow Dash will be fine, Twilight,” she said. “I need you and Luna with me when we speak with these aliens. You saw what happened here, and your insight will be invaluable in figuring out what’s going on.”

Twilight hesitated, her mind whirring as she considered the situation. She nodded. “You’re right. Rainbow’s been through worse than a crash and been just fine.”

A sudden spark of excitement washed over the lavender alicorn. “Which means I get to talk with the aliens some more! They’re really interesting! I only had a few moments to talk to the blue one, but it seems like a nice pony, er, person, and oh I just can’t wait to learn more about them!”

Celestia allowed herself a small chuckle as Twilight carried on, rambling about all the questions she wanted, no needed, to find answers for. It did the Solar Alicorn’s heart good to see such untampered joy on a day as dark as this.

Such thoughts were interrupted a moment later, when the Monster spoke again.

“Xenos, I have offered you negotiation,” it said, its tone reeking of irritation. “I would like if we could begin.”

Celestia nodded. “Very well. Luna, Twilight, come. We all have much to discuss.”
_______

“And we commend your spirit to the Golden Throne and the Emperor’s Embrace, where you may find rest forevermore,” Domenico prayed over the bodies of his fallen brothers.

As one, he, Squad Murata, and Priam’s Assault Squad prayed the final words.

“The Emperor Protects.”

Domenico turned to his battle-brothers. “My duty here is done. Do as you will with their bodies. Save for Cornelio, they were of your squads, and so it falls to you to decide their fate. If I am needed, I will be in the tower. I believe the locals have been keeping their wounded there.”

The white-armoured priest strode off, five canisters of freshly-retrieved gene-seed clanging against his legs.

Priam was the first to speak. “Brothers, help me carry Vito. We will cremate him that hill over there. The wind should be just right. Dabriel, may I borrow our squad’s flamer?”

“Of course,” Dabriel answered. He gestured for Aurelio to turn over his flamer. Priam took it and with the help of his squad hefted the naked form of their fallen brother onto their shoulders.

While Priam led his squad away, Squad Murata turned to their own affairs.

Five dead. Three from Murata. A paltry price to pay for the deaths of so many foul heretics, but one that still hung heavy over their hearts. They were the last; no reinforcements would be coming to fill the gaps. If they did not return to Baal soon, Squad Murata would be lost forever.
Severo was the first to move. He strode forward and kneeled at the late Tonio’s side.

“Good-bye, brother,” he said. “Find peace at the Emperor’s side. I will miss you.”

Marco’s mouth opened before he could restrain himself. “I though you hated him.”

Severo spun around, his glare penetrating into Marco’s very soul. “Tonio was an insubordinate fool, but he was still my battle-brother! I may have disliked him, but never for a moment did I want him dead! Never forget that.”

Marco fell back a step. “I meant no offense! I am sorry.”

Dabriel intervened before it could go any further. “It’s alright, lad. Come on, let’s waste no more time. Our brothers are with the Emperor now, and Domenico has their gene-seed. Remember, none of us are truly gone as long as our gene-seed remains. It bears the legacy of all who carry it, from the first Terrans who took to the stars in the early days of the Great Crusade, all the way to us now. Now, Marco, ready the Heavy Flamer. Let us not leave the bodies of our brothers to rot on some xenos world beyond the Emperor’s light.”

Marco nodded and hefted the weapon. As one, the squad prayed their final respects.

“From the sands of Baal we are born, and to those sands we shall all return. We are the Sons of the Angel; forged in blood, and buried in flame.”

Dabriel raised his hand, ready to signal Marco to execute his duty. Before he could lower it, a strange voice intruded.

“Um, excuse me? I don’t mean to interrupt, but I’d like to, uh…”

Squad Murata turned as one to see one of the local xenos, a grey-furred child, standing just a few metres away. It seemed to be nervous, though to the degree any of the Astartes would have expected it to be.

“Interrupt you have, xenos,” Severo spat. “Be gone! I’ll not have my brothers’ last rites tainted by the presence of-”

“Severo! Quiet!” Dabriel snapped. Severo complied immediately. The Sergeant turned to the xenos. “Why are you here, xenos? My brother is right, you are interrupting a holy ritual.”

It was the child that first answered. “I just wanted to say thank you for saving us from the nasty monsters.”

Marco and his battle-brothers looked at each other, then back at the xenos. Marco spoke.

“Why do you say that?”

The child spoke again, a strange giddiness in its tone as it bounded over to the Space Marines. “Because you did! You blasted those monsters who chopped your buddy!”

“Our ‘buddy?’” Marco said. Something clicked in his mind. “Do you mean Tonio? Did you see him die?”

“Tonio?” the child echoed, its tone confused. “Do you mean my hero? ‘Cause he saved us! One of the monsters tried to get me, and mommy tried to make it run away, but she just got hurt, and then the monster was going to get her, and then bam! He just came out of nowhere and make the monster fall over, bang! Bang! But then more monsters showed up, and he told us to run and we did and then they chopped him all up and I never got a chance to say thanks!”

The creature’s tone drew more desperate as its words carried on, and tears began to flow from its yellow eyes. In that moment, Marco felt something strange deep inside him. Before he could make sense of this mysterious instinct, however, Dabriel kneeled in front of the xenos and laid a ceramite-covered hand on its furry head.

“Calm yourself, xenos,” he said as soothingly as he could. “You say you want to thank brother Tonio? Come, Let’s remedy that.”

Dabriel carefully lifted the xenos in his hands. The creature yelped, but did not struggle. Dabriel then carried it over to the bloody and torn remains of Brother Tonio. He carefully set the creature down beside Tonio’s head.

Marco could only watch in shock as the xenos timidly approached Tonio. “Thank you, lonely alien. You saved mommy and me, and I’ll miss you.”

Severo hissed into Dabriel’s ear. “What are you thinking? Is it not bad enough we are suffering the alien to live? Why are you letting one desecrate our brother’s body?”

“Because Tonio thought that these xenos were worth his life,” Dabriel answered calmly. “And because children, even xenos children, are the same everywhere. I’ll not see this child denied the chance to thank Tonio. So hold your patience just a short while longer. He will be cleansed with holy promethium soon enough, and any taint the xenos may have left will be gone.”

Severo grumbled but obeyed. Marco fidgeted with the Heavy Flamer, the strange feeling he could not explain combining with the sight of a xenos crying over the body of his battle-brother to make him very uncomfortable.

This situation was further complicated when another interloper arrived.

“Dinky! There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A grey-furred xenos soared towards the child, landing with a bit of a crash. It quickly recovered and interposed itself between the child and the Blood Angels. “What were you thinking, running off like that! You had me worried sick!”

“But I had to come, mommy!” the child said. “You always tell me to say thank you when somepony helps you, and this alien helped us both and I didn’t get a chance to say thank you, so I had to come!”

“It’s alright, xenos,” Dabriel said, taking a step forward. The adult did the best it could with its crossed eyes to lock gazes with the Sergeant. “The child is safe with us. Though, in future I would advise listening to yours elders more. The years bring wisdom with them.”

“Okay…” the child said.

“And it would be good if you could take the child,” Dabriel continued. “I am glad I was able to help it find closure, but we are in the middle of an important ceremony, and we should not delay any longer.”

The adult slowly walked behind the child, never once taking its gaze off Dabriel.

“Come on, Dinky, it’s time to go,” it said.

“But mommy!” the child started.

“No buts!” the adult chastised. “You ran off without even telling me where you were going, and then I find you with complete strangers! Come on, let’s go find the Doc.”

“Alright…” the child groaned. It held its head low.

The adult at last turned it gaze from Dabriel to the child. It wrapped its hooves around the child.

“I’m really glad you’re safe,” the adult said.

The adult then placed the child on its back and flew off in the direction of the town.

“Finally,” Severo said. “I thought it would never leave.”

“Marco, commend the bodies of our fallen brothers to the Aether,” Dabriel said.

Marco nodded and raised his Heavy Flamer. As the flames engulfed the bodies, he could almost swear he saw a smile on Tonio’s face.
_____

“Ya sure yer alright here?” Applejack asked. “Ah mean, iff’n ya need any help…”

“No, no, we’ll be just fine,” Fluttershy replied. “Rarity just needs some rest so the medicine can work.”

“Alright, in that case, Ah’m off,” Applejack said. She nodded and said, “See ya soon!”

Applejack trod back down the path to Ponyville. In the distance she could still see smoke billowing up from the town. Part of her desired nothing more than to charge off, to get here as fast as she could. Yer friends need ya! But another, stronger part of her urged caution.

The latter prevailed, and so Applejack continued her walk, her senses on high alert as she came closer to town.

What in the hay is even goin’ on? she wondered. Strange creatures invading out of the Everfree, setting Ponyville to the torch without even saying why. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced; even the villains she and her friends had faced explained what they were doing and why. These monsters simply killed, as though life somehow offended them.

Applejack’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of heavy stomps in the distance. They were as loud as a dragon’s steps, but to the well-honed ears of the farmpony, they sounded wrong. She could not hear claws digging into the dirt, always the tell-tale sound of a prowling dragon. No, these stomps were almost… metallic. Appejack was reminded of the time her older brother had gotten a pail stuck on his hoof, and the racket he had made with every step.

This sound was something like that, only much, much louder.

Applejack quickly realized the stomps were getting closer. She dashed behind the nearest tree. She peeked just around its side, looking for any sign of the… thing that was approaching. She waited, and waited, every moment the stomps growing louder. Then, a deep, metallic voice spoke.

“Come out, tiny xenos, I mean you no harm,” the voice boomed. When Applejack refused to move, it boomed again. “Ah, I know where I have gone wrong. Forgive me for my rudeness. It has been a long while since I have spoken to anyone other than my battle-brothers.”

Applejack’s jaw fell slack as the source of the voice stomped into view.

It was massive, easily four times her height and as broad as it was tall. It walked on two stocky legs, and had strange, minotaur-like appendages on either side of its boxy frame. Each appendage ended in three vicious claws.

It stomped towards her. Then, in the most surreal action Applejack had seen that day, it waved at her.

“Greetings!” it said cheerily. “I am Castello. What is your name, tiny xenos?”

“Ap-Applejack,” was all the farmpony could stutter out, her mind still trying to process the idea of this metal beast trying to act pleasant.

“Then fair day to you, Applejack!” Castello boomed. “What brings you here?”

Applejack cleared her confusion with a shake of her head. “Wait, what in tarnation are ya? How can I trust ya when I don’t even know what ya are?”

Castello made a rumbling sound that Applejack quickly realized was some form of laughter.

“A wise sentiment,” Castello said. “I am a Dreadnought of the Blood Angels Chapter, a loyal servant of the Emperor and the Imperium of Man. My brothers and I came here on the trail of foul Chaos heretics, the very same ones who burned that town over there. But you need not fear, tiny xenos, for we have purged the taint. I am in fact out here to ensure that we did not miss anything.”

“Ponyville’s safe?” Applejack said hesitantly.

“Is that the name of the town?” Castello chuckled as he considered this fact. “What a strange name.”

“Sorry, Mister Castello,” Applejack said. “But Ah really must be goin’. I need to see if mah family’s alright.”

“Ah, so you are from the town. Very well,” Castello said. “I apologize for delaying you. A good day to you, then. The Emperor Protects.”

With that Castello stomped off, leaving Applejack to consider what had just happened. To her annoyance, she could find no conclusion but that this was the strangest day in her life.

As she rushed off to Ponyville, Applejack had no idea just how untrue that thought would prove to be.

Author's Note

As of this chapter, I’m going to be implementing a little rule to represent the Flaw (those of you who don’t know, you’ll see soon enough). Before each battle, I’m going to roll for each of the Blood Angels involved. On a roll of 1, they’ll fall. The system is as follows:
Assault Marines: 1d6
Tactical Marines: 1d10
Veterans, Sergeants, and Sanguinary Guard: 1d12
Officers: 1d20
Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Chapter 7: Tea at Twilight's Castle

Of all possible resolutions to this day, Chaplain Alessandro had never anticipated this particular outcome.

It was not, of course, a mistake he could have been expected to make. Alessandro was, above all else, a Space Marine, a living instrument of war, infused with the blood of one of the mighty Primarchs to better his service to the holy Emperor of Mankind. Thus, even in his wildest dreams, he had never even entertained the idea that he might one day find himself seated across from a xenos horse in a crystal tower, being offered…

“Tea, Aless,” Renato said with a small smirk. “They call it tea. You really should try a cup, it’s quite refreshing.”

“I have already agreed to speak with these creatures at your behest, Codicier,” Alessandro said, glaring at his age-old friend. “I will not stoop to eating their food.”

Renato shrugged and took another sip. “If you insist.”

Alessandro sighed and turned his attention to the xenos before him. Three they numbered, all of the same breed. They seemed to combine traits he had seen in the other local breeds, with horns and wings where most seemed to have only one, the other, or neither. 'Alicorns' they seemed to call themselves. All of them carried a faint hint of the Warp about them, something he could not reconcile with the sheer psychic power he had seen during the battle. He wondered if this was connected to Renato’s most disturbing discovery.

Before Alessandro could muse on that further, the white-furred xenos spoke.

“I believe we have spent enough time on pleasantries,” she said, placing her tea cup back on the table. “And I doubt my former student could stand waiting much longer. Let us begin.”

“Yes, let’s,” Alessandro said. “I tire of this waiting. Ask your questions, xenos.”

“First, I believe introductions are in order,” the white-furred xenos said. “I am Celestia, Princess of the Sun.”

The dark blue xenos to ‘Celestia’s’ right spoke next. “I am Luna, Princess of the Night.”

“And I’m Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship,” the purple xenos said.

Behind his helmet, Alessandro raised an eyebrow. Friendship? These creatures appointed a ruler of friendship?

He did not even know where to begin with that train of thought.

Renato nudged the Chaplain in the side. He whispered, “Now introduce yourself. And please try to be civil, at least until we know what’s going on.”

“I am Chaplain Alessandro, of the Fourth Company of…” he began.

“The Blood Angels Chapter,” a new voice finished for him. Everyone in the room turned to see a brown-furred xenos stride into the room. “Warriors of the Imperium of Man. Princess Celestia, if I may be so bold, you’ll want me here for this. I’ve had… dealings with these men before.”

“Doc?” the lavender xenos, ‘Twilight,’ asked. “What are you doing here? And how do you know them?”

“More importantly, how did this xenos slip past you, Orlando?” Alessandro said, turning to his guards.

All six of the remaining Veterans had come with Alessandro to this strange crystal tower. Fausto and Placido had been left at the main entrance, and Flavio and Durante were still on patrol. Orlando and Paolo had been given the honour of guarding this… talk itself.

And somehow this ‘Doc’ had been able to sneak past all of them.

“I would very much so like to know that myself, Holy Chaplain,” Orlando said. His tone was calm, allowing only a hint of his inner irritation, as was befitting of a veteran of his stature.

The Doc chuckled. “Call it a habit. I’m used to getting into places I’m not supposed to be.”

“How he came to be here is immaterial,” Luna said. “He is here now, and I would hear what wisdom he has to share.”

“Just a few gaps, really,” Doc said as he took a seat next to Luna. “Details the good Chaplain may neglect or simply not know.”

“You dare insinuate that a Son of the Angel would lie?” Alessandro said, fury radiating from his armour. The Doc flinched.

“Never,” he said with a sad sigh. “That’s not what I meant. A lot has been lost, and even the wisest can sometimes forget important details. Speaking of which, who is your Chapter Master these days? Belarius? Castivarus? Kadeus?”

“Our Chapter thrives as it has for centuries under the wisdom of Commander Dante,” Alessandro answered, pride swelling in his voice.

The brown xenos almost seemed to pale. “Oh, dear… Has so much time already passed?”

Every Blood Angel in the room bristled at those words. Orlando voiced what they all felt.

“Dante is the greatest Chapter Master in the Imperium!” he said, the pride of a loyal battle-brother overflowing in his words. “I will not hear him so slighted!”

Celestia extended her foreleg in front of Doc. “I’m sure he did not mean any offense.”

“Right, sorry,” Doc said, bowing his head to accentuate his words. “I was just surprised. I hadn’t realized how far we’ve come.”

“Strange words, xenos,” Alessandro began. “What do you know that we do not? Are you some manner of…”

“Enough!” Paolo boomed. In an instant, all eyes fell on the Terminator Veteran. For a moment of silence, none moved save for Renato and Celestia, both of whom took another sip of the alien drink. “Aless, now is not the time. We are here to talk, and talk we shall.”

Paolo then returned to his duties, silently watching the door, his massive assault cannon raised and ready for use at a moment’s notice.

Alessandro sat silent for a moment, meditating on the life of Sanguinius and calming himself. Paolo was right; this was not the time for squabbling. Not when these creatures bore…

“If that matter is settled,” Celestia said, cutting off the Chaplain’s thoughts. “Then let us do as your large friend suggests, and talk. And if we are to talk, then we should begin with the most important question…”

“What attacked Ponyville?” Luna said, cutting Celestia. If the ‘Princess of the Sun’ was offended by this, she showed not a sign.

“Foul heretics,” Alessandro answered, righteous fury in his voice. “Blind fools who have forsaken the light of the Emperor for the lies and depredations of Chaos. Death and corruption follow them like starving hounds. Be glad my battle-brothers and I were here to stop them. If they had been given the chance, they would have burned your entire world.”

“Why would they want to do that?” Twilight asked, aghast. “We’ve never done anything to them!”

Renato spoke, his tone sad and almost apologetic. “Because, good Twilight, they are the servants of Chaos. This is what they do.”

“But, that doesn’t make any sense,” Twilight said. “I mean, even at his worst, Discord never killed anypony.”

“Discord?” Renato repeated the name. Every other Blood Angel immediately tensed; Paolo tightened his grip on the assault cannon while Orlando grasped the hilt of his power sword. Alessandro slipped a hand around his inferno pistol. The Chaplain was unsure of just why the name put them all so on edge; it was an echo, best he could describe, something half-heard in a dream and all but forgotten at morning’s dawn.

A moment later, they found a more explainable justification.

“Oh yes, Discord,” a new voice said smugly. The Blood Angels stared in shock as an abomination appeared before their eyes. Its appearance ignored all laws of sense and reality; it simply slid into the world, as though passing through some invisible doorway. “Spirit of Disharmony, Avatar of Chaos, and ever so fun at parties.”

The Blood Angels focused on a single word in that sentence. “Chaos!”

All four Space Marines had their weapons trained on the abomination in an instant. Or rather, they should have; in the split-second it took them to aim, the thing was gone.

“My, my, still so serious, aren’t you all?” Discord said. Alessandro looked up to see the thing laying on nothing several metres above him. He leveled his inferno pistol at it. Behind him, Renato briefly blazed with golden light, reality seeming to bend slightly around him.

“Stop!” Celestia boomed in the same commanding tone she had used when she first appeared. “There will be no violence in this castle!”

Alessandro grit his teeth, fighting to stay steady; once again, some strange force he could not explain, something deep inside his genetic matrix, compelled his knees to weaken and his body to obey the command. So he stood, his knees shaking imperceptibly, his inferno pistol still at the ready but unfired.

“Discord!” Twilight shouted, bounding up from her seat. “Where have you been? We could’ve used your help during the attack!”

Discord harrumphed and crossed his arms, glaring at Alessandro and his fellow Space Marines. “The oh-so-mighty Blood Angels were on their way. Always butting into matters that are none of their affair, always messing everything up and calling it a saved day, always acting like perfect little angels for their oh-so-perfect father. Bah! I can barely stand to be in the same room as them!”

Then the draconequus smirked and appeared behind Twilight, a blue cap spinning on his finger.

“Besides,” he said. “I was busy. Had to chase down a lost mailpony who was annoying the sun-winged moonfish-cats.”

“Away from her, daemon!” Renato said, his eyes and drawn sword both glowing with a deep blue power. “I can smell the Warp upon you, and I will not allow these creatures to be corrupted by it!”

Discord looked the Librarian right in the eyes and laughed. “Daemon? My how dramatic.”

The draconequus then appeared right behind Renato, his body changed to appear like some sort of tiny Bloodthirster with Discord’s face. “Boo!”

Renato acted without thought. The sight and the sudden noise triggered in him instincts born of intense hypno-training, centuries of hard-won experience, and the innate nature of his gene-seed. Without a word, he spun, his movements far too fast for a being encased in such bulky armour. His sword sliced through the air, blue sparks trialing off it like the tail of a comet.

Discord let out a surprised “eep!” and flew back a few metres, instantly reverting to his normal form. Then he huffed.

“Fine,” the draconequus said. “I know when I’m not wanted. Good-bye!”

And with that, he was gone. Not a scrap of evidence remained that it had ever been there.

“What was that about?” Twilight asked. “I haven’t seen him act like that since Tree Hugger.”

“How can you stand to be in that monstrosity’s presence?” Alessandro asked, appalled. Renato’s discovery had forced Alessandro to exercise lenience in the face of the xenos, but if they were in league with Chaos already…

“He’s reformed!” Twilight said, her tone bearing some degree of protest. “Well, mostly.”

“Regardless, he is now gone, and maybe we can at last have a proper talk,” Luna said. “We still have many questions to ask.”

Alessandro turned to Renato. The Librarian nodded and returned to his seat, taking another sip of the alien’s drink, tea, as soon as he was settled.

This time it was Celestia who posed the question. “This morning I, as well as my sister and my former student, felt a strange ripple in the magical field. Can you shed any light on this?”

“A ripple?” Renato mused on the notion. “Do you have anything more to go on? I profess to know little of your species’ strange psykery.”

“Well, this morning I, er, we got this really weird feeling,” Twilight said. “Then Celestia sent me a letter asking me to check it out, so Spike, Starlight, and I went into the Everfree Forest. We looked around for a bit, but then we found Zecora’s hut burned down and then those rotten things came after us, and…”

Celestia wrapped a hoof around the shivering alicorn and calmly hushed her. Twilight leaned against the Solar Alicorn’s snow-white fur, the quiet, motherly hushing soothing her frantic heart.

While Twilight sought comfort, Renato developed a hypothesis. “I suppose it might have been the Chaos Marines teleporting to the planet. Interesting. Twilight, when you have a moment of freedom, I’d like to run a few tests with you.”

“That’s likely what happened,” Doc said. “Some of my instruments picked up a strange signal, but I was too busy fixing the Mayor’s clock to investigate.”

Twilight’s breathing finally stabilized and she sat back up. She blushed, looking away from the Astartes, especially Renato.

“Um, I was, er, wondering, just what are you?” she asked.

“In need of a break from consorting with xenos,” Alessandro answered. He rose from his seat. “I call for a recess.”

Celestia quietly huffed. “You have barely answered out questions, which I remind you, you agreed to do.”

“You are xenos, and should be glad I have given you this much,” Alessandro said. “I will answer more questions later. For now, I need some tie with my brothers.”

“But…” Twilight started. Her ears dropped and her whole body seemed to slump sadly.

“I’ll come by later, and we can talk all you like,” Renato said with a smile. The lavender alicorn perked up at this.

“Very well then,” Celestia said. She took another sip of tea. “Shall we say twenty minutes?”

“Agreed. Battle-brothers, with me,” Alessandro said.

He left the room without another word. The other Blood Angels followed after him, and of them, only Renato bothered to look back.

He smiled at Twilight. “Now that I think of it, I believe we both have some free time now. What would you say to some casual conversation and some more of that delicious tea?”

Twilight giggled. “That sounds great. You’re sure your friend won’t mind?”

Renato laughed. “He’ll hate it. But he’l also have plenty of time for brooding and meditation. We’ll just talk quietly in the corner.”

“Well, in that case…” Twilight considered her options.

“I would advise you be wary of these aliens, dear Twilight,” Luna said, her expression harsh. Then, it softened. “But I also doubt they will do you harm if not provoked. Be careful, but go have some fun.”

Smiling, Twilight bounded after the Librarian. Both exited the room a moment later.

Thus it was Luna who was the only pony to see Celestia leading the Doc into a side room.
______

“Doctor, I would speak with you,” Celestia said, motioning the Doctor into a small side room.

Doctor Whooves chuckled as they passed through the narrow door frame. “The moment I walked in that room, I knew you were going to want that. Very well, what do you want to know?”

“With anypony else, I’d take my time and ease into a conversation like this,” Celestia said. “But I’ve known you long enough, I believe we can dispense with that. I want to know what you think of these ‘Blood Angels.’”

“Do you mean these ones specifically, or their kind in general?” Doctor Whooves asked in turn.

Now it was Celestia’s turn for a chuckle. “I believe I’ve lived long enough to judge ponies, or in this case, aliens, by myself. You claim to have met their kind before, and I want to know what you think of them. Can we trust them?”

Doctor Whooves sighed. “Humanity is a strange and fascinating thing. I’ve spent centuries watching them, walking among them. I’ve seen them at their best, and at their worst. And believe me, they can sink to some horrific depths. I’ve seen humans try to wipe out entire species simply because they were in the way. I’ve seen them sell out their own family for money. The things humanity is capable of can make Sombra look like a grumpy foal in comparison.”

“So you’re saying we should not trust them?” Celestia posited. Worse than Sombra? The Solar Alicorn almost shivered at the very thought. What could be worse than that tyrant? His evils pushed the very limits of believability. Celestia quickly ran through her memories and confirmed her suspicion: what the Doctor described was like something out of a wild story, like something her late father would tell her before bed.

Doctor Whooves shook his head.

“I’m not done,” he said. “Because for every Hitler and every Narthan, there’s a Churchill and a Wilberforce. For every tyrant, there are a dozen heroes ready to bring him down. Humanity has produced some of the worst monsters I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen things that would make even your ancient blood run cold, but never have I found a species more capable of heroism than them. Their valleys are the stuff of nightmare, filled with crimes and atrocities the likes of which your little ponies could never imagine. But their peaks?”

Celestia watched, intrigued, as the Doctor’s eyes almost seemed to glow at the very thought.

“They are like nothing the galaxy has ever seen. Crystal spires built from the hearts of stars, cures for every ailment, galaxy-spanning empires uniting a thousand races in peace and prosperity.”

“You have said much good and much ill of the humans,” Celestia said. “Thrilling words, but an imprecise conclusion. What of this ‘Imperium?’”

It pained the Solar Alicorn to see the light simply die in Doctor Whooves’ eyes. The brown stallion sighed.

“The Imperium is a rare thing,” he said. “It’s both at the same time. Mighty and stalwart, and boasting more great heroes than any other civilization in all of history, and believe me, I’ve checked. Sigismund the High Marshall, Sebastian Thor, Marneus Calgar of the Ultramarines, poor Oll the Pious and noble, tragic Sanguinius, the Emperor’s Angel. Names that ring through history, carried on more tongues than you’ve ever seen, facing threats more dire than anything on Equus. Yet they are fanatics, blindly worshipping a living corpse, slaughtering millions in the name of a man who never wanted to be anyone’s god. Every day they feed untold legions into the gullet of an endless war. Anyone who learns too much is branded a heretic and killed. Anyone they deem too different is killed for the ‘crime’ of being a ‘mutant’ or ‘alien.’”

Celestia had no response, and so said nothing. She sat down, retreating into thought. It truly was like something out of a story. A strange story, however, to cast heroes who were spoken of with such esteem as the servants of so cruel an empire. How did such a thing come to pass?
Doctor Whooves spoke again, ending the Solar Alicorn’s ruminations.

“And we have found them at a terrible time,” he said, shaking his head in sorrow. “If Dante is Chapter Master, then the Time of Ending has finally arrived.”

Celestia simply raised an eyebrow. Doctor Whooves shrugged.

“I find the name rather self-explanatory, myself,” he said. “It’s the end, the climax, the final battle. Everything, every life in the galaxy, hinges on this. The Imperium is the weakest it’s been in a long time, and its enemies are at their strongest. The greatest of their foes will lead his final campaign into the heart of their empire, and the fate of mankind will be decided at the foot of the Golden Throne. That’s not important for us right here, however. What that means for you is that these men, these Space Marines, are not in a good mood.”

“So we again come around to not trusting them,” Celestia said. Were she a lesser pony, she might have grown irritated at the run-around. However, for one as ancient and wise as she, it was almost refreshing to be put through this. However, such mental dancing cost time that Celestia feared she did not have. “Unless what you really mean from all of this is that they are in desperate of some friends.”

“That would be it, yes,” Doctor Whooves replied.

“In which case, an offer of friendship may be exactly what they need,” the Solar Alicorn continued. That lifted a small weight from her heart; if there was one thing she knew she could do, it was foster friendship. “We must, however, be careful, since this would be a difficult subject for them.”

Doctor Whooves nodded.

“And so we come again to my question. How can I trust these humans?” Celestia asked.

“Because I was there,” Doctor Whooves sighed. “Oddly enough, it was a lot of seconds. It was the second-worst day of my life, at the height of the second-worst war I’ve ever seen, and I was rushing to try and change the outcome of the second-greatest duel in history. The Emperor’s fate was already sealed. The moment the Heresy began his doom became a fixed point in time. But there was still hope, if only it could be seized. We tried, a whole group of us. Immortals, trying to save the galaxy again. We all had our parts to play and I won’t bore you with all the details, it’s too much to describe now anyways. But there were a few of us there that day, each with our own missions. I was supposed to make sure the Imperium still had an Emperor after the War, and there was only one man who could fill those shoes: Sanguinius.”

“You mentioned him before,” Celestia said. Though she said nothing of it, she felt a strange warmth upon hearing that name. Thus she asked, a desire deep inside her demanding to know more. “I believe ‘noble’ and ‘tragic’ were your words. What made him so special? And how does this affect us now?”

“It’s a long story, but the short version is that Sanguinius was a son of the Emperor, the greatest one after Horus fell. He was one of the noblest men I’ve ever known, almost fanatical in his loyalty and incorruptible in his character,” Doctor Whooves said wistfully. A single tear fell from his eyes. “I failed. I was delayed, got there a minute too late. All I could do was watch as Horus tore an Angel from the sky and crushed the life out of him with that blasted mace of his.”

A cold shiver ran down Celestia’s spine. That sounds like… But how could it be?

Doctor Whooves shook his head. “Sorry, old memories, I’m sure you understand. Anyways, the point is, the Blood Angels are, to oversimplify, the sons of Sanguinius, and to this day, they bear his character. They distrust you because they have been taught to hate those who are different. But if you can win their loyalty…”

“They’ll protect us to their dying breaths,” Celestia finished. She nodded her thanks. “Thank you for your wise words, Doctor. Now I think you’d best be running along. I suspect Derpy will be looking for you.”

“Egads!” Doctor Whooves said, his eyes wide with shock. “In all the excitement I’d completely forgotten! I must go please excuse me.”

With that the Doctor galloped out of the room, and Celestia could not help but smile.

A single beam of light is always most welcome in a place of darkness, she observed. An apt description of her situation; warlike aliens in her former student’s dining room, and warnings of even greater threats than what had attacked Ponyville did little to inspire hope in the future.

Celestia strode out onto the balcony and looked out over the remains of Ponyville, taking a sip of tea. In troubling times, she had found tea to be an excellent method of keeping calm. These times were quite beyond merely troubling.
From what she could see, it seemed that most of the survivors had returned to town, it seemed, and the fires had been put out. Yet clouds of smoke still hung in the air, as though marking the devastation below.

It was a sight that tore at the Solar Alicorn’s heart. A tear dripped from her purple eyes. This kind of devastation was exactly what she’d worked so hard to avoid. Centuries of calm negotiation and careful foreign and domestic policy, all intended to create a peaceful world for her beloved little ponies, and all now proven to be for naught. For all her efforts, war had come to Equestria at last.

Her thoughts then turned to the aliens who had brought war and death to her domain, especially the one they called Alessandro. Celestia had spoken the truth when she spoke to the Doctor; after all these millennia of life, she was as good as her dear mother at reading the character of ponies. And these Blood Angels were, disturbingly, not so different at their core.

Alessandro was a strange one, by Celestia’s reckoning. His appearance still reminded the Solar Alicorn of the Monster from her dreams, but while he was certainly a hate-filled war-monger, this ‘Chaplain’ was most certainly not the Monster. There was a strange nobility to him, something Celestia could not explain. There was no statement or event she could give as an example of it, but somehow she knew, deep inside her heart, that the blood of a true hero flowed in Alessandro’s veins.

Such musings were stilled a moment alter when Celestia looked up and realized that, if only for a minute, there was a second sun in the sky.
______

Chaplain Alessandro had been in the middle of a particularly calming meditation when the interruption came.

A break had been just what he needed; consorting with xenos was uncomfortable but still well within the bounds of his tolerance, but so come so close to a daemon and not be allowed to purge it from the sight of the Emperor? That was a matter for deep reflection upon Terra's Holy Light.

While Alessandro silently prayed to the Master of Mankind, his fellows each found their own ways to pass the time. Paolo and Orlando were currently playing a word game with Durante and Flavio, while in the far corner of the room Renato was sharing more tea with Twilight.

All of this was quite abruptly ended by the unexpected arrival of one of Priam’s Assault Marines.

“Chaplain!” the Assault Marine, Brother Severin, if Alessandro recalled, called. “I bring word from Sergeant Priam. Drop pods are descending!”

Alessandro and Renato were out of their seats in an instant. “Chaos?”

Severin shook his head. “Ours, my lord. Come, they will have landed by now.”

Renato turned to Twilight. “I’m afraid we must depart. If you’ve the time, I’d like to continue our discussion once this matter is handled.”

“That sounds great!” the lavender xenos said, an eerily human grin on her face. The expression fell a half-second later. “But I’m coming with you.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Renato said. “The Chaplain may…”

Alessandro interrupted. “Codicier, we are leaving. Bring your pet xenos or don’t, I care not.”

With that, the Chaplain rushed out of the room, followed closely by Orlando and Severin. Paolo turned to Renato.

“You’d best hurry, old friend,” he said. “I’ve a feeling we’ll both be needed.”

“Indeed,” Renato replied. He turned to Twilight. She was looking up at him, a yearning expression on her surprisingly human face. There is no other explanation, Renato thought as he examined her face. Truly, the Hand of the Emperor is upon these strange xenos. He smiled at her. “What are we waiting for?”

Alessandro’s transhuman senses picked up that brief conversation, and informed him when the pair began following. As he had said, he cared not; for the first time since Renato had told him that these alien somehow bore the mark of the Emperor on their souls, the Chaplain had a normal problem to contend with. No negotiating with xenos, no allowing daemons to escape his grasp unscathed, no being offered tea. Now it was just him, a curiously unordered deployment of drop pods and…

Alessandro stopped dead as he burst out of the crystal castle, staring dumbly into the sky. He was vaguely aware of his battle-brothers and the lavender xenos arriving behind him. That did not matter, however.

What mattered was the second sun in the sky.

It hung there for a full minute, a blazing inferno that nothing could survive contact with, and that could result from only one thing. It was a sight not unfamiliar to veterans of the Imperium. Alessandro himself had seen such cataclysms several times before.

It was the fire that only two ships colliding in space could create.

He turned to his battle-brothers. “Orlando, you have operational control of the drop pod situation. Severin will lead you there, and you will deal with the affair as you see fit.”

“The matter is handled,” Orlando said. He and Severin gunned their jump packs and soared away. Alessandro turned to the veterans.

“Fausto, Durante, gather Squad Murata and bring them here,” Alessandro said. “Flavio, take Placido and find Castello.”

Durante responded first. “What say you, Fausto? Five minutes or eight?”

“Let’s just get to it, Durante,” Fausto said, his tone utterly humourless. He fiddled with his meltagun as the two soared off.

Flavio and Placido simply bowed to the Chaplain and set off.

“What of us, Aless?” Paolo asked, taking a heavy step forward.

Alessandro held his silence for a moment, allowing Celestia to land behind him. Without turning to face her, he spoke.

“Gather your generals, Princess,” he said. The Chaplain turned, drawing his Crozius Arcanum from his belt. “The Wrath of Angels is destroyed, and Chaos is here in force. We are allies now, no matter how much I wish it were not so.”

Celestia simply nodded in response and took another sip of tea. “Twilight, have Spike send a letter to Princess Cadence, and tell Luna to go ahead of me to Canterlot. We will need an army.”

Paolo grumbled, still staring into the sky. “We’re going to need more than just that.”

In the sky above, the second sun finally burned out, leaving nothing save the promise of bloodshed and death, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

Author's Note

For those who don’t get all the references in Doc Whooves’s speech, he’s referring to Narthan Dume (the worst of the tyrants the Emperor had to crush to unify Earth) and William Wilberforce (an 18th century British politician who spearheaded the abolition of slavery in the British Empire). I assume you all know who Hitler and Churchill are.

Also, any advice on who to appoint as the Equestrian attaché to the Blood Angels? I’ve got a pony in mind for the Crystal Empire, but I can’t think of a strictly Equestrian candidate.

Chapter 8: This is How an Angel Dies

A wide smile rested upon what remained of Shipmaster Rodri’s mouth.

It had been an easy win; the Chaos cruiser had not even seen the Wrath of Angels coming, and so had been dispatched with a single volley from the bombardment cannon. It warmed Rodri’s heart to finally have a clear, costless battle. For too long had every victory been bought at a high price. This time, however, Rodri could rest in the knowledge that not a one of his crew had died, and not a scratch had been dealt to his beloved ship.

While a small part of Rodri’s mind relaxed in such pleasant thoughts, the rest was hard at work. He had long ago learned, as all Imperial shipmasters do, that a spaceship was a demanding mistress, one that could never be left alone for any meaningful stretch of time. Thus, he had partitioned away a small part of himself for the purpose of remaining himself amidst the Strike Cruiser that was these days his body. The majority of his brain, both the organic root and the computers which extended his reach throughout every corner of the Wrath of Angels, was otherwise occupied. This thought was concerned with regulating the temperature in the mess hall, that thought was answering a query from the engine maintenance crew. A thousand tasks at once, and not for a moment did Rodri lose his concentration.

Mere functionality was not, however, the extent of the Shipmaster’s actions. He loved his crew; he was their father, they his sons and daughters. Each crewman who died took a piece of Rodri’s heart with him to the Emperor. Each who still lived was his precious treasure. Though he and they still knew their place in the grand scheme of the Imperium, and never would they dare to compromise their duty to the Emperor, Rodri sought every chance he could to protect his crew, and they knew it. To this end, he was very glad to be a son of Baal; some Chapters, especially the despicable Marines Malevolent, treated their crews like mere chaff, hunks of flesh to be used and thrown away without a care. Though the Blood Angels were not the bastions of kindness and love for the common Imperial citizen that, say, the Salamanders were, they still cared for their servants. The Chapter Serfs were well-treated; their quarters were comfortable, good food was always in abundance, and every Serf was educated by Priests and Chaplains of the Chapter. Rodri recalled fondly the lectures he had heard from Alessandro himself, all those years ago. Sometimes the part of the Shipmaster that was still simply human wondered if the Chaplain knew that.

Rodri could never find an adequate answer to that question. On the one hand, Alessandro was one of the mighty Space Marines, that elite cadre which Rodri himself had failed to join. They were superhuman, gene-forged by the Sanguinary Priests and Apothecaries in a tradition reaching back to the Emperor of Mankind in the days before the Great Crusade. To them was entrusted the care of the Imperium; they were the Emperor’s Angels, the manifestations of his Holy Will. Mere men were as beneath them as ants were beneath men. Thus, it was unlikely that Alessandro even cared about, let alone remembered, who came to those lectures. Yet, on the other hand, Rodri, like all Serfs of the Blood Angels, knew firsthand how much the Sons of Baal cared for their charges.

In the end, though the Shipmaster could never find a conclusive answer, he chose to believe that his Space Marine masters saw him as he saw his crew.

At that moment, Rodri’s eyes were all throughout the Wrath of Angels, watching the movements of every man and woman in his crew. He looked to the vehicle bays, where Techmarine Cosimo was performing the maintenance rituals on one of their remaining Baal-Pattern Predator Tanks. With the Techmarine five silent Servitors worked, assisting their master in his techno-religious prayers. Around them bustled the rest of the maintenance crew, three dozen men and women trained by the hand of Cosimo himself in the rituals and practices of the Tech-Priests of Mars, from whom Cosimo had learned, allowing them to safely assist with the repair and maintenance of the ship’s vehicular armoury.

Rodri’s heart warmed as he watched young Rem Sanders worked alongside Konna Hearthfield. The boy was love-struck, utterly enraptured by Miss Hearthfield. For her part, she had been hesitant was hopeful. Rodri hoped it worked out for them. Like any good father, he wanted to see his sons find good wives, his daughters, good husbands, and relationships such as theirs were no oddity on these ships. Some Chapters and Imperial organizations may frown on fraternization within the crew, but this was a proud vessel of the Blood Angels. Rodri himself had dedicated no less than eleven children born on the ship to the Emperor while the Chaplain was busy at war. Seven of them had since grown up to serve in the same crew as their parents. One more was soon to arrive, the child of Mr. and Mrs. Aldin, the latter of whom was making daily visits to the infirmary, just in case.

Mere moments later, Rodri would find himself quite glad that only five children were running around his ship.

The Shipmaster was with his entire crew; he saw the gunnery crews on their decks as they celebrated the destruction of the Chaos cruiser, listened to the quiet poetry club which met regularly in the holds, held his silence with a band of more pious crewmen as they listened to the young girl Taji, who spoke with the fire and faith of an Ecclesiarchal Missionary. He laughed with the off-duty ship’s guard in the mess hall, and wept in the silence of the morgue, where the last of his astropaths was about to be cremated.

Then his heart froze, alone, as his sensors screamed, warning him of a massive flux in the Warp. It was a simple signal, one he had felt an uncountable number of times in his long life. In this case, it was not even the most powerful he had ever felt, far from it. It was, however, the most unwelcome that particular signal had ever been for him.

A fleet had just left the Warp. Rodri set three Servitors to the task, and quickly concluded that there were no less than twenty vessels, seven of them Heavy Cruisers of classes that only the foul heretics of the Chaos Legions used.

Rodri’s reaction took all of a second. He activated the alarm, ordering his crew to their stations. He sent a signal to the engines to feed the
ship’s propelling fire. He raised the void shields. The ships began to come about.

He also considered his odds. Even before the machine spirits and Servitors presented to him their tactical analysis, he knew there was no victory here. The forces of Chaos were too close for flight, and too many for battle. His portion was death, and his only choice was how he faced it.

Thus Shipmaster Rodri straightened what little remained of his human body. His choice was made in an instant, before other options could even be considered. He may have failed the Trials, may have been denied the gift of the Angel’s holy gene-seed, but on this day, Rodri would die like a Blood Angel.

One last, furious charge, a ride to glory or death or both. He would plunge his vessel into the heart of the Chaos fleet and prove forever the truth of its name.

But he could not simply throw everything away. Chaplain Alessandro and his Kill Team were still on the planet below, and would soon need every scrap of ordnance they could find. Every dropship, every tank, every weapon and boltshell would need to be sent planet-side. Such a task would require every method of deployment, from drop pods to tank carrier ships, to accomplish. That was his duty as Shipmaster, to ensure that the Astartes remained well-supplied in this crisis.

His duty as a father, however, was to save the lives of as many of his children as he could.

It was a cruel choice. There were nearly sixty-five thousand souls in Rodri’s crew. Even if he allocated every resource to evacuation, he could not save even a tenth of that number. And he knew he could not do such a thing; to fill the ships with his crew would be to forswear his duty to the Emperor, to betray Holy Terra for his own desires.

Yet he could still try.

One of the more reasonable machine spirits of the Wrath of Angels gave Rodri the analysis. If he loaded the arsenal just so, he could send everything down to the last lasgun battery pack, and still have room to save one hundred lives.

One hundred out of sixty-five thousand. It was a choice no father should ever have to make. Yet it was one he would, for that was what duty demanded of him this day.

Rodri allocated a part of his massive mind to pray to the Emperor in this time of trouble. He needed wisdom, guidance. How was he to choose? He knew every man, woman, and child on his ship by name; many he had known for years, some he had known since birth. They were all as precious to him as Sanguinius had been to the Emperor. He could not rightly choose any one of them over another.

Still, choose he did. A thousand algorithms, a thousand different lists, each vetted by no higher authority than Rodri’s bleeding heart. The machine spirits roared in his mind, each shouting their own opinion.

“The Blood Angels will need warriors!” one shouted.

“Women and children first!” another yelled.

A thousand voices all screaming at once; this one argued for pragmatism, that one for emotion. Back and forth they raged, a thousand factions justifying their own lists and condemning the others.

At last Rodri had his answer; one hundred they numbered, the maximum he could send. He sent his orders while his heart screamed defiance. A great weight fell about the Shipmaster, and he knew he would carry it to his grave.

Fortunately, that would not be long.

The orders were sent, the plan crafted. He knew his course, the only one open to him. All would soon be in readiness.

All this took but a second for Rodri. The reaction of his crew would take much longer.

They scrambled, mugs thumping on the metal floors as their owners rushed to their posts. A poem died halfway through the telling, its end forever condemned to mystery. A sermon was hastily concluded just moments before its climax. A mother screamed in terror, fearing for the fate of her soon-to-be-born child. Workers stumbled over each other, their arms filled with boxes of ammunition.

The last Astartes on the Wrath of Angels rose to his full height and sighed at the order scrawled across his heads-up display.

While the crew rushed to fulfill their orders, the ship turned. Rodri calculated his path, seeking the point where he could do maximum damage. It was a careful task; he would have only one chance, and he still needed time to drop his load.

Within ten minutes the last few drop pods on the Wrath of Angels were filled to capacity with Astartes-grade weapons and ammunition. Rodri deployed them without a second thought.

The transports took much longer.

Servitors were hastily hooked into the controls of the vehicular armoury. Run more by their machine spirits and the grace of the Omnissiah than any skill the Servitors may have possessed, they functioned adequately. Each of the two tank carriers the Wrath of Angels bore took similar loads; they both carried a Baal-pattern Predator and four Rhinos. The sixth tank was their only point of divergence, with one taking a Destructor-pattern Predator and the other an Annihilator. Both carriers were capable of bearing heftier loads, had such loads been present. The Wrath of Angels, however, had been without resupply for over two years of hard fighting, and its stores had not been the best even in the early days of Chaplain Alessandro’s crusade. These twelve were all that remained of their stores. The remainder of the carriers’ bays were filled with more crates of armour, weapons, fuel, and ammunition. When the last of that was finally stored, the hundred evacuees filed in. Cosimo was the last; he stood outside the tank carrier Resolute until the very last of the human crew was safely inside.

Cosimo took one last look at the now empty ship bays. Beneath his helmet, he shed a single tear for the loss he knew was to come.

“Thank you, Rodri,” he said, knowing the Shipmaster would hear him. “Know that you have done all that you could, and that the Emperor is surely pleased with you. May the light of Holy Terra guide you. The Emperor Protects.”

With that the Techmarine stepped inside the carrier at last, squeezing in near the ship’s head cook and one of the engine crew. The bay door slammed shut behind him.

As the tank carriers departed, they were accompanied by the last two Stormravens on the ship. They were loaded to the brim with weapons and ammunition, and carried void-hardened crates in their dreadnought slots. The four ships fell to the planet below.

Rodri would keep an eye on them until his end, though it would be a thin eye; all his processing power was now focused on the matter at hand. This was his final hour. He intended to make it his finest.

“All hands, prepare for battle,” he intoned over the ship’s speakers. “Today began with a victory. We took the servants of Chaos by surprise and slew them before they could even raise their shields. Now more of their unholy kind seek to do the same to us. It will not be so. We cannot run, they have come too close for that. So we will do as the Imperium has done for ten thousand years: we shall fight. Today began with a victory, my children, and though it will cost us everything, by Terra, it will end with another. The Emperor Protects.”

There was little cheering among the crew; they were too busy at their posts for such a distraction. Yet their hearts were enflamed. Rodri was not wrong when he considered himself their father. There was not a one among the whole of the crew who was not proud to have served under him, and under the Blood Angels to whom he was their link.

This was the day of their death, and the day of their glory.

Its cargo at last dispatched, the Wrath of Angels was able to move. All power flowed into the engines, their exhausts blazing like distant stars. Every weapon battery gleamed in the light this alien system’s sun. A fresh magma bomb was loaded into the massive Bombardment Cannon which ran along the ship’s spine. Everything was in readiness. They simply had to get in range.

By now the Chaos fleet had become aware of them. Six Heavy Cruisers sailed towards them, their own weapons batteries glowing, their corrupted machine spirits hungry for the blood of the faithful. Behind them swarmed a menagerie of ramshackle ships. Appropriated civilian transports and paramilitary patrol ships they were for the most part. To Rodri’s horror and sorrow, he recognized one as the Scarlet Heart, once a medical ship belonging to the Sisters Hospitaller, now nothing but a festering hive of Chaos and taint.

Yet another reason for this course, Rodri reasoned. The Sisters of Battle were hard-pressed in these dark times, but he had always respected their faith and courage. It made him glad that he could avenge at least one atrocity committed against them this day.

As the Wrath of Angels approached weapon’s range, Rodri issued his orders.

“Shift all power to the forward void shields,” he commanded. “Arm the remaining magma bombs. Engine crew, prepare for ramming speed.”

There was no tactical scenario in which Rodri could win. He was outnumbered and outgunned. He was not, however, outsmarted. If he was to die, he would exact his price; he would ram his burning corpse into the mouth of Chaos and go to the Golden Throne proud.

The Chaos Cruisers opened fire, batteries of laserfire and plasma cannons unleashing their brilliant payloads across the black of space. Crimson and viridian beams glittered off the bow of the Wrath of Angels, its void shields flaring azure at the impact. Their smaller brethren assisted with a fusillade of cruder armament, massive autocannon batteries and missile platforms. In the back of the fleet, a thousand tiny lights blazed as wing after wing of attack craft launched. It was a barrage that nothing could survive.

Yet still the Wrath of Angels rushed on, dauntless and resolute in the face of its death.

“All weapons batteries, fire at will,” Rodri ordered. There was little point in trying to concentrate fire; there was not time enough for their firepower to bring any major down. This was simply to buy time, and to delay the enemy a moment longer.

At the order, the Wrath of Angels lit up. Its own batteries returned fire, every strike on their void shields given recompense. The void-shielded Hecate Cuisers remained as unaffected by the fire as the Wrath of Angels; mere weapon batteries would take time to weaken such mighty defenses. Even the unshielded Hellfire Cruisers barely flinched. The barrage was too dispersed to do anything more than scratch and dent the armour; even a lucky strike could do nothing but vent a deck into space.

Weapon batteries were not, however, the extent of Rodri’s arsenal.

“Bombardment Cannon, fire on the designated Hellfire,” Rodri said, his command issued over the ship’s comms.

The ship shuddered as the magma bomb launched. It flew like a meteor, and struck with power to put such a thing to shame.

The Hellfire was dead inside of a minute; it had no shields to protect it, and so suffered the full wrath of the attack. Heat sufficient to scour rivers and oceans dry washed over the aging and poorly maintained armour plating. The crew and cultists aboard the ship were simply vapourized, dead before they could even scream. The battle company of Chaos Marines, however, were not so lucky. Their armour and gene-forged bodies, though far from invulnerable, were still strong enough to survive a few seconds. Thus they lived long enough to feel every cell in their bodies catch fire. For a mad, perverted few, it was a good pain. For the rest, it was agony.

The conflagration of the magma bomb took more than just a cruiser. Tongues of flame lashed out from the dying hulk, tearing a half-dozen of the smaller ships apart. Those that survived turned tail, fleeing from the flames as though they were the fingers of the Emperor himself.

Rodri allowed himself the briefest of moments to revel in the kill. It was the last time he ever would.

The Wrath of Angels was in the midst of the Chaos fleet now. If aimed just right, Rodri could likely bring down another Hellfire. Any other day, that would have been his course of action. Today, however, his goals were just a bit grander.

Rodri turned his heading, aiming the Wrath of Angels’ bow firmly at a cluster of three Hellfires. He locked in the course, dedicating the machine spirits to no other goal than a suicide ram.

This would be the end. The void shields had almost failed. Near the stern, where the shields were weakest, both by design and by Rodri’s re-channelling of the barriers, lasers and plasma blasts were punching through, battering holes in the hull. Within no more than ten minutes, they would breach. None of the machine spirits of the cruiser believed it would survive long after that.

It is time, Rodri mused silently. He activated every comm on the Wrath of Angels.

“All hands, prepare to ram,” he said. He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “This day is our last. There is no other way I can describe the matter. We were doomed the moment these accursed heretics came in sight. Too close to run, but far enough that some could be saved. We are not among them. It rends my heart to think of you, all sixty-four thousand, nine hundred and seventy-four in all, and the end that awaits you. Such lives you might have led, such loves you may have known. Many of you will now never see the world beyond this ship, because of this day.”

Across the ship, not a word was spoken. All mouths were shut, and all ears were focused on the Shipmaster’s words.

“But weep not, my sons, and do not cry, my daughters. We are not foul xenos, for whom death is the final end, nor are we unholy heretics, whose end is torment unending. We are the faithful of Mankind. Death looms but minutes from us, but beyond it lies the Golden Throne and the eternal embrace of the Emperor. Shed not a tear for us, my children. Our suffering is temporary, a wave tossed in the ocean.”

The hearts of the crew began to rise. They were loyal worshippers of the Emperor; his edicts they did not question, his promises they did not doubt. And they were loyal sons and daughters of the Shipmaster, whose word was to them just below the Space Marines and the Emperor. To each of them, what Rodri said could never be a lie, and therefore, it must be truth.

“Aye, our death must come, but what a death to be had! Think, my children, and consider your fellows. How many hivers die, unknown, in the streets of their cities, their lives wasted on drink and vice? How many have toiled their whole lives in the manufactorums or the Agri-Worlds, never to know glory or honour? The Emperor is with you today, my sons, and with you, my daughters, for today we know a glory few mere mortals have ever known.”

Every member of the crew, every last one of the sixty four thousand, nine hundred, and seventy-four men and women who served aboard the Wrath of Angels, was in that moment imbued with a fire the likes of which they had never before felt. Though faced with death and burdened by their labours, they stood tall and proud.

“How many of you have heard the tale of the Astral Knights? They too faced an impossible foe, and could not seize victory unscathed. So they sacrificed themselves, an entire Chapter of Astartes, in conditions not unlike our own. Do you not see, my children? When we lived this morning, we were but mortal men. This afternoon, as we die, we are as Space Marines. Ours was not to bear their holy gene-seed. Ours was not to be true Blood Angels. But on this day, in this hour of our death, Chaos is utterly thwarted. We will not bow in the face of their terror. With the bearing of our noble masters, who have fed us and cared for us all these long years, whom we have served faithfully, and whom we are akin to today, we shall know no fear!”

Rodri paused for a moment to soak in the courage and pride of his crew, his sons and daughters. There were cheers, as yet uncoordinated, among the crew. Workers gave their all, and overseers stepped down from their pedestals to aid in the effort. The Shipmaster sighed. These were his final words, and by Holy Terra, he would make them worthy.

“Rise up, my children, rise to your duty and your posts! Today we die in glory! Today we die with honour! Today we show these accursed heretics how a Blood Angel dies! For Sanguinius…”

In that last minute, in those last words, the entire ship, from the lowliest ammo-loader to the very machine spirits themselves, were as one.

“And the Emperor!”

That last cry carried on as the Wrath of Angels ploughed into a Hellfire cruiser. Rodri activated the remaining magma bombs, the explosion tearing both ships apart.

The sacrifice was just as the Shipmaster had planned; the engines of both cruisers overloaded, adding to the power of the magma bombs. For a brief, fleeting minute, a second sun was born above Equus. Flaming lashes reached out and tore the servants of Chaos from the skies. Ships melted into slag, their tainted crews burning with the wrath of the Angels.

And as he died, a wide smile rested on the mouth of Rodri, the Shipmaster, the Chapter Serf, and the hero.

When the inferno at last was silenced, when the last flame was doused by the vacuum of space, there remained nothing of the noble cruiser. Not one scrap of metal remained of the Wrath of Angels, no physical evidence that it had ever even been.

Yet the legacy of its deeds would be remembered for centuries to come.

Author's Note

Meant to include a couple other scenes with this, but it sort of took on a life of its own.
Don't worry, we'll be planetside again next chapter. I have three scenes I'm covering to help set up the next leg of the plot, then we're back to our core cast.
As always, comments and criticism appreciated.

Chapter 9: A Madman, A Mother, and a Monster

Bal Harodon, Dark Apostle of the Word Bearers, was most disappointed. Not angry, no, just disappointed. Both in his Host and himself.

Five years ago, he had sent one of his favourite warriors, Krev Goduron, on a special mission. Krev had been the vanguard, a scout for Bal’s main fleet, tasked with the holy purpose of uncovering the location of the mysterious ‘Stillpoint in the Warp.’ That had been the last time Bal had seen Krev alive.

The reports from his sorcerers were clear on the matter; Krev’s soul could not be detected anywhere in the Warp. Bal had listened kindly to their words and thanked them for their time, but he was unsure how far he could trust their scans.

After all, a full quarter of their number had just been so rudely wiped out by the servants of the False Emperor.

“Most inconsiderate of them,” Bal mumbled. None on the command deck of his flagship, the Hecate Heavy Cruiser Spires of Monarchia, took any notice. Bal was among the mightiest of the Word Bearers, a veteran who had stood beside Holy Lorgar even before the Enlightenment at Cadia. He was among the most ancient of Space Marines, rumoured by some to have been among the Legion in those early, ignorant days when they were still the Imperial Heralds. His influence was vast, his deeds legend and scripture; Lorgar himself was said to have recorded the sayings and deeds of Bal in the Book of Lorgar.

Bal was also very prone to showing his age.

He was over ten thousand years old, a long life even by the standards of the Chaos Astartes. For reasons not known beyond himself, Lorgar, and the Chaos Gods themselves, Bal had never ascended to daemonhood. Thus he was forced to bear the years himself, his body and gene-seed slowly mutating and corrupting from millennia living in the Warp. It was a topic of much discussion among the Dark Council of the Word Bearers why Bal’s mind had degraded so much since the March on Terra, while other, similarly long-lived Chaos Marines such as the Warmaster Abaddon had not, a discussion that had enver been able to find a conclusive answer. Most ultimately chose to believe that it was the will of the Primordial Annihilator, as despite his quirks, Bal remained a mighty warlord for Chaos.

Thus his warriors simply bore his odd tendency to forget when he was thinking silently and speaking aloud.

“How dare they ram my ship?” Bal asked no one in particular, likely unaware he was speaking. “Where do they get such airs? Ramming into another man’s ship and then exploding, it just isn’t done!”

The ancient Chaos Marine huffed and rose from his command throne. His armour, ancient Cataphractii Terminator Armour from the days of the Great Crusade, creaked and whined at the movement. It had been days since any part of that armour save for the arms had moved. While that was nothing worth mentioning for most suits of Power Armour, this particular set had aged as poorly as its master. His armour groaning and creaking with every little movement, Bal began to descend from the dais on which his throne sat. His gait was slow and unwieldy; Cataphractii Armour was slow enough when in perfect condition, and Bal’s set was far from that. Furthermore, Bal himself was slow for a Space Marine, his body warped and scarred by millennia of war in the name of Chaos. Though he was still fully capable of fighting, and a very deadly warrior in the heat of battle, in more sedate times he took to leaning on his Accursed Crozius for support. It made his movements more stable, but added yet another sound to the cacophony he made with every step.

Yet again, none on the command deck cared. The sound was maddening, yes, but to complain would be to break the old man’s heart, and there was not a one among the Host who would wish to do that. Bal was as devout as they came among the Word Bearers, but amidst his fiery speeches and intricate sacrifices to Chaos, he was a kindly master. He took time to greet and speak with every Chaos Marine under his command, even the frothing Berzerkers of Khorne.

This was, in fact, the reason for his rising. It was an ill day that saw four cruisers destroyed and thousands of cultists slain, and Bal intended to make sure his soldiers’ morale did not suffer from the blow.

His command crew were veterans all, unshakeable in faith and morale. He could afford to speak with them later. For now, Bal’s focus was on the younger warriors in the bowels of his ship.

Thus he traveled down into the hold of the Spires of Monarchia, to his Chapel of Chaos. Once, in ages long past when this ship had belonged to the blind corpse-worshippers, that place had been a shrine to the False Emperor. After Bal had seized control, he had torn down the Imperial idolatry and re-dedicated the room to the only true divinities, the Chaos Gods. It was his place of peace in a galaxy of war, a quiet room for meditation and private meetings.

Today, just as every day that Bal descended to his Chapel, two warriors, mighty in war and terrible in aspect, followed after him. They too were adorned in Terminator Armour, though theirs was the later Indomitus pattern, faster than Bal’s armour but poorer in defense. These warriors were the greatest remaining in Bal’s Host, now that Krev was gone. Gur Katiron and San Delekon were their names, names which carried with them many deeds and titles. Each had burned a hundred worlds by their own hands even before they joined Bal’s elites, and had accomplished much in the name of Chaos since.

After almost an hour of slowly traversing the Spires of Monarchia, Bal at last reached his Chapel. He carefully seated himself in his Preaching Throne. When he was comfortable, he turned to San and smiled.

“Would you kindly open the doors? I will see the first supplicant,” Bal said. San nodded and did as he was told.

Outside the ornate doors of the Chapel was a long line of Chaos Astartes, mostly warrior-brothers of the Word Bearers but also including some of the cult marines, Noise Marines, Plague Marines, and even a couple of Khorne Berzerkers, or so Bal estimated. At that distance, he could simply have been mistaking Word Bearers red for Khornate red.

“Come forth, brother,” Bal gestured to the first Marine. The warrior-brother walked across the room, carefully stepping over the blasted remnants of the old Imperial pews and the later additions of slimy tendrils grown from the stuff of the Warp. In older days those tendrils had been thick and mobile, glowing with the power of the Immaterium, but since entering the Stillpoint, they had rapidly atrophied.

The warrior-brother sat down in the Supplicant’s Pew, a special bench designed to support the weight of an Astartes in full armour while retaining the aesthetic of the ancient Cruxian pews from which the Imperial design was derived. This bench was almost as old as Bal himself, and unlike the Dark Apostle and his armour, it was maintained to excellent condition.

“What is your name, fellow Son of Lorgar?” Bal asked. “And what troubles you?”

The warrior-brother cleared his throat. “I am Hun Karefon, of the Sixty-Ninth Coterie. I… am the last. I came here bearing a message for my Champion, and was to return after we exited the Warp. My Coterie were onboard the Flayer of Tongues when the corpse-worshippers killed it. Apostle of the Dark Gods, please, what does this omen mean?”

A deep, warm laugh rumbled from Bal’s aged throat. “I thought as much. Do not worry, brother. We are not yet beaten. The servants of the False Emperor have slain our brothers, yes, but it is only a bloodying. Four hundred of our brothers remain, true Word Bearers and cultic mercenaries alike. The world below has no defenses, and the diviners have assured me that revenge will soon be ours.”

“Thank you, Apostle,” Hun said. “But can we trust the words of the diviners? The Champions said that we are inside the Stillpoint now. Even I am affected. I cannot hear the whispers of Chaos. Could not our diviners be similarly powerless?”

“Ah, your heart is filling with doubt,” Bal said, leaning forward in his throne. His ancient armour creaked with the movement. “You wonder why we came here, what purpose the loss of our brothers served.”

Hun cocked his head to the side. “Dark Apostle? That was not my question.”

“Power, fellow Son of Lorgar, it is for power that we came,” Bal carried on as though Hun had not spoken. “Power that will serve our Warmaster well in the war against Terra. On that helpless, virgin planet below lies a great power, foretold by the all-seeing eye of Magnus the Red. The four-thousandth prophecy of Magnus, recorded in the late thirty-second millennium. ‘There hung a globe, around which a star turned, and it was sealed with the Stillpoint, which no daemon could pierce. On the globe rested a power beyond power, the key to it all. A crack in the wall, a breach once made to be made again. Crimson-clad they will walk, and into the Stillpoint they will crash. To paradise they will descend, and Angels follow in their wake. There, Fate shall turn and break, and iron fist will clash with the golden eagle.’ Thus spoke the mighty Primarch.”

“Lord Bal, I know the prophecy,” Hun tried to say. “I asked about…”

“The deaths of our brothers pain us all, but we shall endure,” Bal said, oblivious. “But we remain strong. Four hundred of Astartes still stand with you. True Word Bearers, and dedicated servants of each of the Four. Our Possessed have been weakened by the effect of this Stillpoint, but they retain their killing edge. And Perturabo’s gift to us remains intact, a half-company of Iron Warriors, ready to crack any forts that may stand in our path. So purge your fear with faith, young warrior-brother. Our loss today was tragic, but not a defeat.”

Hun abandoned any attempt to dissuade the Dark Apostle’s ramblings. Instead he sat in silence, awaiting the next unprompted speech.

That speech never came, as but a moment after that thought passed through Hun’s mind, a more forceful personality interrupted.

“Bal! I must speak with you,” a cold, hard voice said. Yet it was not a voice of hate; hatred would imply some degree of care for the value of other beings. The owner of this simply found all other life to be beneath its notice. It cared only for its own ends, and would do anything to accomplish them.

“Ah, speak of the Primarch, and he shall appear!” Bal said happily. “Endas! It has been too long. Come, take a seat.”

Endas the Soulless, Warpsmith of the Iron Warriors and master of the Iron Death mercenaries, strode across the room, his face utterly devoid of emotion.

“It has not been enough, senile old fool,” he said dismissively. “But I have no other option.”

Bal turned to Hun, a warm smile on his twisted face. He pulled out a small metal token forged in the shape of the Eight-Point Star of Chaos and bearing a prominent serial number.

“Here, warrior-brother,” he said. “Take this to the slave pits. I suggest you first flay the skin, then apply warp-viper acid before carefully extracting the organs. The screams produced are perfect for re-centering yourself after a day like this.”

Hun rose and bowed. He then quit the room with the disciplined gait that set the Word Bearers apart from the other Chaos Legions.

As Hun passed through the doors, San closed the doors.

Endas turned his uncaring gaze on Bal.

“What have you allowed to happen?” he asked, his tone almost shifting from aloof to accusatory.

“Whatever do you mean, dear Endas?” Bal asked. He gestured to Gur. “Fetch us some Colchisian wine.”

Endas glared at Bal. “Four ships of Astartes lost. Fourteen cultist transports lost with them. All avoidable casualties. I do not care that they died, but I do care about your competence.”

Bal waved his hand dismissively. “If this is about Perturabo’s tribute, don’t worry. A quarter of the slaves in exchange for your assistance.”

A deep growl erupted from Endas’ throat. “How many times must I remind you that the Heresy is over? I am here of my own accord, Word Bearer, not that of the Primarch. And I want assurance.”

“Very well,” Bal said. He turned to take his glass of wine from Gur. “Dear Gur, would you please send word to the slave pits to turn one hundred slaves over to Endas? Would that be enough for you, Iron Warrior?”

Endas rose from his seat. “For now. But I expect more than emaciated humans. I want xenos from that world below.”

“And you shall have them in due time,” Bal assured him.

Endas did not bother with words of departure; he simply turned and left.

Bal took a deep drink from his glass. “San, bring in the next supplicant. And Gur? Throw in another fifty slaves for Endas. He looks like he needs something to raise his spirits.”

The Chaos Terminators did as they were bid. As the next supplicant walked towards the Pew, Bal jangled the large bag beneath his throne. There were many supplicants today seeking reassurance and relief. Thankfully, they had many slaves for them to play with.

And when the last supplicant was assured, Bal could go to his private room, and work on his hobby.

A hobby which at that moment shook the entire ship with roars of rage and pain and hate.
_____

It was neither unexpected nor unusual when Princess Cadence did not awaken until late into the afternoon that day.

This was not because she was prone to laziness, however; she was not Prince Blueblood, who wasted his time on frivolity and sloth while barely managing to hold the least important position in the entire Equestrian government. Rather, it was because this was one of the Princess’ rare days off.

The Crystal Empire was not a particularly adventurous realm. The cold of the Frozen North kept most threats at bay, and regular patrols dealt with the rest. The native population were rarely involved in violent crime, the scars of Sombra’s rule and their fanatical loyalty to the Hero Spike and ‘Cadence the Benevolent’ being too strong as factors to allow for such actions. The worst threats the Empire faced on a regular basis were rogue changelings who inevitably were caught by patrols or found love-drunk in one of the Empire’s many romantic hot-spots, and visits from Yak diplomats. The former was a matter for the Guard, and the latter was too uncommon to truly register for Cadence in this matter.

However, though there was little time for action-packed adventure in the Crystal Empire, the role of Crystal Princess was far from effortless. The crystal ponies were a paranoid and cautious lot, eager to put on a good show for their new rulers, but still unwilling to risk displeasing them. Aside from matters which fell under Guard or military jurisdiction, every little problem and dispute came right to the hooves of the Princess.

Each day, Cadence would rise from her bed, kiss her beloved husband good morning, check on Flurry Heart, and then carry out a strict, unchanging schedule of events: breakfast, morning court, lunch, parliamentary session, supper, evening court, brief time to simply relax with Shining and Flurry Heart, bed. Endless days of deciding which pony would get to place their stall on a given corner, which colour a new house should have, and, of course, reforming the tax code wore down on the Princess of Love. Thus, every few weeks, she would simply take a day off. No court, no parliament; just a day to relax and recuperate.

This day, Cadence had chosen to catch up on her sleep, which had been lacking in recent days due to what most crystal ponies now referred to as the Subsection Five, Paragraph Seventeen Crisis, which had revealed a glaring hole in the tax code that threatened to bring down the entire system.

It was events like this that made Cadence wish something exciting would happen.

Still, a day to just be herself with her family was not to be wasted too much. Thus Cadence rose from her bed and slinked over to her vanity. Reaching out with her magic, she brushed the messy mop that at that moment was her hair.

Several touch-ups later, Cadence trotted out of the royal bedroom and down to the nursery, where she knew Flurry Heart, Shining Armor, and Sunburst would be.

Since Flurry Heart’s Crystalling several month earlier, Sunburst had become a permanent fixture in the family. Though it pained Cadence to admit it, there were many days were Sunburst spent more time with Flurry Heart than Cadence herself did. It was not a matter of choice for mother and father, but rather a necessity of their position. Cadence had to micromanage the Empire, and Shining Armor had the Crystal Army.

Under Shining Armor’s command, the Crystal Empire boasted the strongest military in Equestria. It was a mixture of hard work, dedication, and good fortune which had brought this about. During Sombra’s tyranny, he had amassed a mighty army, intending to cover all of Equus under his shadow. Though most of that army had either been outside the Empire when it was thrown through time or had already been destroyed by the Equestrian Expeditionary Force, some elements remained. After being appointed Prince-General of the Crystal Empire, Shining Armor had reorganized the survivors into the core of the new Crystal Army. Their numbers had been bolstered by survivors from the Crystal Resistance, those brave ponies who had stood against Sombra in the very seat of his dark power. While many resisters had returned to simpler lives after Sombra’s final defeat, a substantial number volunteered for military service. Their numbers were further bolstered by the scattered remnants of the Expeditionary Force. Their lives in Equestria having ended a thousand years ago, they were more than willing to take up service in a new home. Then, of course, there was Lieutenant Flash Sentry and the Shining Lancers. A variety of former Royal Guard and Equestrian Army forces, all of whom had served under Shining Armor at one point or another, they had volunteered to remain in the Crystal Empire after most of the Equestrian Army had pulled out.

This left Shining Armor in command of a menagerie of the most experienced soldiers in Equestria. He took full advantage of the opportunity; haunted as he was by the utter failure of the Guard and Army during the disastrous incidents with Tirek and… her, Shining had vowed to ensure his home was never so vulnerable again. For almost a full year now he had been training hard, garnering the loyalty of his forces and forging them into a single cohesive force.

Cadence shivered at the very thought of her, that horrid monster who nearly ruined her wedding to Shining Armor. She still had nightmares, though these days they were few and far between. Cold and hurt, trapped alone in that cave…

The Princess of Love shook her head, casting away such dark thoughts. She was safe now, and she was gone. There was nothing to fear.

Cadence felt a sudden surge of love, its source far away, but its fire so great that she could feel it even at this distance. It grew and grew, and Cadence was able to taste of its character; it was like a familial love, a father and his children, but it was like nothing the Princess had ever felt. Most bonds of that nature were either pure or utterly tainted, either true love or the strained emotions of a broken family. These bonds carried a hefty taint of hate and fury, but unlike the abusive families Cadence had all-too often encountered, none of it was directed at anypony in the bond. Instead, it seemed as though these hearts were united in an alien mixture of love for each other and hatred for some unknown third party.

A sudden flash of pain threw Cadence to the ground with a shriek. As guards rushed to her side, the Crystal Princess lay on the ground, her eyes watery and her heart pounding in her chest.

As a half-dozen guards tried to break Cadence out of her sudden stupor, she could only mumble, "they're gone, where did they go?"

“Princess!” one of the guards finally managed to get her attention. “What happened? Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” Cadence mumbled as she struggled to her hooves. “Just a weird feeling. I’m fine.”

She collapsed the moment she tried to walk. Cadence grumbled.

“Lady Cadence!” a familiar voice said. Cadence looked up to see Flash Sentry standing just a few steps away. He offered his hoof. “Need some help?”

Cadence accepted the offer with a thankful smile. Lieutenant Sentry was a helpful stallion, if at times a bit simple.

“Thank you,” Cadence said as Flash helped her to hooves. Though still a bit wobbly, she shifted back onto her own legs. “I’m fine, really.”

Flash simply nodded, a knowing smile on his lips.

“Carry on, Lieutenant,” Cadence said. “And the rest of you.”

“Come on, stallions,” Flash said, turning to the unsure assemblage of Crystal Guards. “Back to work!”

The Guards nodded and returned to their posts. Flash nodded to the Princess.

“You’re sure you’re alright? I can get you an escort if you need,” he offered.

Cadence waved him off. “It was just a weird feeling. Seriously, I’m fine. Go on, I’m sure Shiny has you doing something important.”

Flash chuckled. “As always. Be careful, alright, Princess? We’d hate to lose you.”

Flash and Cadence nodded good-bye and set off in opposite directions.

As Cadence walked down to the nursery, she wondered about the strange surge of love. Its nature haunted her; it was so unlike anything she had ever felt, so utterly alien to Equestria.

The sounds of a laughing foal ended any attempt at further rumination, however.

Cadence quickened her pace and smiled. The strange surge was forgotten amidst the wave of love she could feel between Flurry Heart and Shining Armor. Cadence quietly creaked the door open. Her heart warmed as she saw her beloved husband playing with their daughter, making silly faces to entertain her.

The Crystal Princess nudged the door open and slipped in unnoticed. Or so she thought.

“Good morning, honey,” Shining said, a laugh in his voice. He turned and smiled at Cadence. There was a twinkle in his eye as he continued. “Or should I say afternoon? I hope you slept well.”

“I did, and thank you,” Cadence said as she walked up to her husband. “I’m sure Sunburst appreciated the day off.”

Shining shrugged. “If the Princess can get a day off, so can the rest of us. Come on, I’m sure little Flurry Heart here would love some quality time with mommy.”

Before Cadence could respond, there was a flash of green flame as a scroll materialized before her eyes. She smiled as she effortlessly snatched it from the air with her telekinesis. Shining Armor looked over.

“Who’s it from?” he asked.

“It’s from Twilight,” Cadence said, checking the seal. She broke it and unfurled the letter. A letter from Twilight was always good news.

A moment later she fell back on her rump, tears pouring from her eyes.

“Cady? What’s wrong?” Shining snapped to his hooves, his senses on full alert. Flurry Heart looked around, confused, and tried to crawl over to her mother.

Cadence had no words; she simply turned the scroll over to Shining Armor.

The wary stallion took the scroll and read it. His eyes were stone-cold when he next looked at his wife, and his words had all the warmth and life of a glacier.

“We need to get to Canterlot.”
_____

Krev woke in darkness.

He gasped for air, his three lungs swelling as he took his first conscious breaths in hours. Within a second, his genhanced brain rebooted, giving him full awareness of his surroundings.

It was night; he could see the moon and stars above, surrounded by the inky blackness of void. Ancient stone walls rose around him, weathered and worn from centuries without maintenance, though strangely cleared of moss and vines. Surprisingly well-maintained tapestries lined those walls, portraying the strange xenos which had interfered at the very end of his raid.

The raid! Krev realized that he had no idea what had happened. One moment he and Iphotek had been battling with the blind corpse-worshippers, and then…

“Son of Lorgar, you awaken at last.”

Krev froze at the voice. It was ancient, filled with the wisdom of age yet still retaining its immortal power. It was a voice he had never heard before, but knew as perfectly as that of his master, Bal Harodon.

The Word Bearer Champion scrambled to his feet, corrupted ceramite clattering against the aged stone of the floor. His superhuman eyes pierced the veil of night and beheld a giant, massive even by the standards of the Astartes. A chill flickered through Krev’s soul as realization sank in. His knees shook with gene-coded awe as he saw the curved of the twin horns, and his twin hearts quailed beneath that eye’s baleful glare.

“You are…” he began.

“Yes, I am,” the giant said. “Kneel, Krev Goduron. Swear your unwavering allegiance to me.”

“I am a servant of Bal Harodon, Holy Lorgar, and Chaos Undivided!” Krev protested, his words undermined by the weakness of his tone and his knees.

“You owe me this! I have given you and your fellow the gift of continued existence,” the giant boomed. His next words took on an almost somber tone. “And no gift is without its price, as I know all too well.”

Krev fought to remain standing, in the way a branch tries to fight the ocean tides. It was a feeling he had rarely experienced before; only in the presence of his gene-father, and then in a diluted manner when that strange xenos had shone with the might of the sun. His very body betrayed him before it, demanded that he bow and submit before the magnificence before him.

The giant laughed. “Lorgar’s brood were ever fanatic in their stubbornness. Do not waste my time, Word Bearer. Your force is dead in its defeat, and yet you remain alive. Is it not your father’s doctrine that none of his sons shall ever retreat? Have you not already failed him?”

A haze of doubt surged into Krev’s mind, clouding his thoughts. He was sure that the giant before him was wielding his god-like psychic powers to mould Krev’s will, but there was nothing the Word Bearer could do against the assault. Fears rose in Krev’s chest, fear of his punishment at Bal’s hand. Bal was known to be kindly to his men, but how would he treat the Astartes he had called his favoured brother when he returned in disgrace and cowardice? Krev could not face that.

There was no other option. Krev at last gave in, allowing his body to kneel as his mind surrendered to the dominance of the giant. Out of the corner of his eyes, Krev saw the sorcerer Iphotek exited the shadows, carrying a strange device in his hands.

Through the shadows, Krev could feel the giant smile. A single, scarlet-skinned hand reached out of the shadows and curled into a fist.

“Good. The day of my revenge is nearing, Word Bearer,” the giant boomed. He took the device from Iphotek’s hands and held it out to Krev. “And you shall be my instrument.”

Author's Note

Anyone know any good homebrew rules for Mark of Chaos Undivided? I need to figure out what Bal would get.
Also, I’ve forgotten: is the term “genhanced” or “gene-forged?”

Chapter 10: The Train to Canterlot

In his centuries of service, Chaplain Alessandro had done many strange and wondrous things. He had watched as the Tempestus slammed into the heart of the Necron World Engine. During the Second War for Armageddon he had stood in the fire with his battle-brothers. While in the grip of the Red Thirst, he had cracked open an Ork Warboss’ skull with his bare hands.

Yet never in his entire life had the Blood Angel felt as unnerved as he did now, sitting silently in the corner of a xenos railcar, en route for a council of war with the strangest alien he had ever encountered.

The matter of the war did not particularly concern him at that moment. The odds may have been utterly against him, but he knew the Creed; a single loyal Space Marine was worth a hundred of the foul traitors. There would be time for tactics and strategy at the council, where by Terra’s Grace he would know the full extent of the armies at hand.

Similarly, he could not distract himself with maintenance. Since the skirmish, Alessandro had found plenty of time to apply the holy oils and give due to the Omnissiah. His armour and weapons were as ready as he could make them under the circumstances.

Nor did the plight of the surviving crew of the Wrath of Angels at that moment concern him. The matter was in Orlando’s capable hands. One hundred survivors, with another just recently born. Alessandro had prayed for them, and now committed their fate to the Emperor. Orlando and Cosimo would handle their relocation and the transferring of the armoury. As far as Alessandro was concerned, that matter was resolved.
He similarly paid no thought to the fate of The Wrath of Angels. The moment Alessandro had learned of the cruiser’s death, he had mourned, in his own way. Alessandro was a Chaplain, and the commander of this mission. He could not openly weep, even had he been of such a disposition. Rodri had been a good shipmaster, and a worthy scion of Baal. Though he had never asked, for the matter had never been relevant, Alessandro sometimes wondered if Rodri remembered the lectures he had given. The Chaplain recalled fondly the brown-haired youth who never once asked a question, but absorbed his words like a sponge. Rodri’s death pained Alessandro’s heart, but he was beyond mourning. The shipmaster had done his duty to the end. That was more than many could say.

Thus, in this moment of inaction, without war plans to craft or burdens of command to shoulder, he fell to the only recourse remaining. He brooded on his current situation, above all else, the matter of the local xenos population.

Alessandro was disturbed by the sight of an alien which was so… visually pleasant, for lack of a better phrase. The Chaplain had fought everything from Orks to the Tau. He had purged xenos homeworlds, and driven them back from Imperial space. He had met a thousand races on a thousand worlds. They had come in all shapes and sizes, yet they had all shared a common trait: the very sight of them was abhorrent to Alessandro’s eyes. Not so these strange equines.

They were not perversions of the holy human form, as most xenos were. Nor were they descended from snakes, insects, or other species that humanity innately despised. They did not even give off an air of wrongness. Instead, they were, as one of the surviving crew had remarked when he thought no one was listening, ‘adorable’ by objective standards. Aside from Imperial dogma, Alessandro had trouble disagreeing with that assessment.

Then there was the white one, Celestia, he recalled. She concerned him. It was not the powers she possessed; Alessandro had faced witchminds before and knew their tricks. It was her presence.

There was a quality about her, a golden aura. It was a though a star had fallen from the skies to walk among mankind. Whenever she was near, his knees would grow weak. Most times the Chaplain could simply override the response; he was Astartes, and he would not falter in the face of the alien. But when she flared, when light shone from her like the sun and he could see her in her full power and radiance, his very bones screamed for him to kneel, to bow, to submit and obey in awe.

Alessandro was a Space Marine, and as was the nature of such beings, he was without fear. Yet still, these thoughts left him with a cold feeling in his gut. It was why he was brooding silently in the corner of the railcar, instead of chatting with his battle-brothers.

Or rather, it was one reason. The other was, bluntly speaking, that Alessandro was not a terribly sociable man.

He was a Chaplain of the Blood Angels Chapter, a Son of Baal and Sanguinius, a Proud Son of the Emperor. He bore the genetic legacy of The Angel and all that entailed, and did so with pride and fervour. He could inspire weary soldiers to new heights of glory, and by the Grace of the Emperor always knew the exact words to pull a flagging servant of Terra back from the precipice of heresy.

But when the battle was won and the battle-brothers returned to the fortress-monastery, Alessandro became lost. He was an icon of inspiration, a beacon of hope and zeal in the face of insurmountable challenges. But when left without war, without that greatest of prayers to the Emperor, Alessandro had nothing left. He could not joke with friends, could not simply sit back and relax with his battle-brothers. In a Chapter of artists bound by the twin curses of their gene-father, Alessandro stood apart.

The Chaplain looked to the door of the railcar. Beyond it was his hand-picked retinue. Flavio and Durante, both honoured members of the Sanguinary Guard, and Paolo, Alessandro’s oldest friend. Even without the superhuman might of his genhanced senses, Alessandro could hear them. At the moment, Durante was joking about Ork technology, to Paolo’s amusement and Flavio’s affectionate annoyance. Mere moments before, they had been discussing the finer points of regicide tactics. Ever since they had left the xenos town, those three had been having fun.

Fun. It was strange for the Chaplain to consider such a thing. He was a warrior of the Emperor, a Space Marine and a Chaplain. The roar of a boltgun was his prayer, armies his congregation. Alessandro knew that above all else the Emperor was pleased by war in his name. Such menial concepts as ‘fun’ played no role in that life; there was the battle, and the preparation. Yet many of his battle-brothers found ways to relax and enjoy themselves between deployments.

Alessandro was jealous, if he were to be perfectly honest. But it was not a dark, fuming jealousy; he did not lose sleep resenting the joy his battle-brothers found in each other’s company. It was the healthy jealousy of wonder and aspiration, the desire to partake of the same cup as another.

As Paolo’s booming laughter carried through the railcar, Alessandro reflected on that desire. He wondered for a brief moment what it would be like to cross the threshold, to join in their revelry.

Unsure of what to do, he did as he had always, secretly, done when the matter troubled him. He kneeled, his hands resting atop the head of his Crozius Arcanum, and he whispered a prayer to the Emperor of Mankind.

“O Holy Emperor, Master of Terra, heed the voice of your proud son,” he said. “Show me your will. What should I do with these strange desires? If they are perverse, how can I rid myself of them? And if they are good, how do I fulfill them?”

When the last of his words were spoken, silence hung in the railcar.
_______

While Alessandro was brooding, Renato was a couple cars away, lost in the midst of a most amiable conversation.

“And then I looked out the window and it was half day, half night!” Twilight said, her eyes wide with excitement. “It was terrifying! I mean, Celestia and Luna were gone without a trace, and we had nopony to raise the sun and moon. The last time something like that happened was when Nightmare Moon came back, and that had just really been a long night…”

Renato laughed and smiled warmly. Ever since the locomotive had left the station, he and Twilight had been locked in conversation. In the hours since leaving the xenos town, ‘Ponyville,’ as Renato had amusedly learned it was called, their talk had slowly shifted. Initially, Twilight Sparkle had been most inquisitive, unceasing in her questions on every topic that crossed her mind. Unsure of how much information Alessandro wanted the xenos to have but equally unwilling to simply deny this opportunity for learning, Renato had chosen his answers carefully.

“Where are you from?”

“Baal Primus, first moon of Baal, in the Imperium of Man.”

For a time, the answers were simple. However, a moment of reminiscence changed the course of their conversation.

“What are you wearing?”

“Tactical Dreadnought, or ‘Terminator,’ Armour. It is a relic of the Chapter, and this suit has served our Librarius since the days of Chapter Master Castivarus. It has never passed out of our hands,” Renato had answered. He had then pointed to a deep, jagged gash running down the suit’s arm. “This scar is from the Secoris Tragedy, torn by the claw of a Gene-stealer.”

Twilight exploded with questions after that; no longer was she simply fishing for general information, flailing about to try and understand a galaxy of information. Now, she was in her element: researching and analyzing to solve specific problems and create a finite conclusion.

Renato quite enjoyed this turn in the conversation. His heart felt warm as he regaled Twilight with tales of the Blood Angels. To tell the stories again was always a treat; to tell it to one as inexperienced as Twilight was just short of an honour. She hung on his every word as he detailed his adventures, spinning anecdotes from those halcyon days in the Tenth Company to this latest mission in pursuit of the Word Bearers. Renato did detect a distinct disappointment and uneasiness in the xenos pony, however. She seemed to him to be of the same character of the Tech-Priests, her interests more in technology and design, with a mix of Librarian, absolutely fascinated with psykery, and thus annoyed at Renato’s steadfast refusal to give proper explanations of Imperial wargear. She also displayed a naiveté that Renato found difficult to process. Every mention of violence elicited from her a flinch.

To the Space Marine, it was a truly alien reaction; what manner of creature reacted like that? There was no peace among the stars; it was a galaxy of war. Yet on the other hand, a small part of Renato, the part that, beneath all his augmentations and training, was still fundamentally human, was glad to finally meet a creature so safe. Against Alessandro and Paolo’s arguments, Renato had always agreed with the Priest Domenico: their war was not for its own sake, but to create a world of peace and safety.

While Twilight carried on, explaining in exhausting detail her second trip to the Tree of Harmony, Renato was somewhat of two minds, in a manner of speaking. He was a Space Marine, with a brain far beyond anything mortals could achieve. At that moment, he listened to every word Twilight uttered, such that he could recite it verbatim on request. However, that was not all he was doing. While part of his mind was engrossed in the story, another part slipped into the Warp.

It was a rarely-discussed ability of the Librarius known as Warp-Sight. Psykers wielded the power of the Immaterium, and were sensitive to its flows. Even the weakest of psykers could sense, if only just, disturbances in the Warp. With enough power and training, it was possible to tune one’s eyes to see beyond the material world and into its immaterial reflection.

This ability had made this whole tentative alliance possible. From the moment he and Paolo had arrived in the burning ruins of Ponyville, Renato had sensed something strange in the Warp. During the brief peace after the battle, he had on a whim opened his eyes to the Warp, and had made his impossible discovery.

It was that same discovery that he now marvelled at. To those of mortal sight, Twilight was simply, if such a term could be applied given what Renato now knew of alicorns, a lavender equine with a horn and wings that flared with her speech in a manner eerily similar to human hand gestures. To Warp-Sight, she was something far more impressive.

Before Renato’s psychic eyes was a shard of a star. Twilight’s presence in the Warp, her soul, to be poetic, flickered between shades of excited green and nervous yellow, with shades of indescribable colours only found in the Warp sometimes flashing through her. Her wings were even more magnificent in this view, as white as virgin snow on a Fenrisian plain. Yet what most amazed Renato was the strangest feature. On Twilight’s flank, where in the material world her tattoo, cutie mark, sat, was emblazoned an Imperial Aquila.

It was an impossible thing. They were two years beyond the further edge of the Emperor’s light. The Astronomicon was so far away that the Wrath of Angels had been forced to navigate by the echoes of the foul traitors. Yet here it was, absolute proof of a connection between these xenos and the Emperor.

Renato just had to know why.

The physical realm faded back into view as Twilight finished her story.

“And then Discord helped us clean up the vines,” the lavender mare said. She took a deep breath, the long story having slightly winded her. “Any questions?”

“I must say, you tell a good story,” Renato replied. “Not as colourful as some of my battle-brothers, but I quite like your attention to detail. With that said, I still cannot understand how you and your friends can tolerate the existence of a daemon. They corrupt and destroy all they touch, and cannot be trusted, and yet the edict of no less than your highest Princess, you have tried to befriend him. Why?”

“He’s not that bad once you get to know him, honest!” Twilight said. “He’s just… a bit unpredictable. And I have no idea why he treated you all so poorly at my castle. He isn’t normally like that. I mean, he’s not exactly nice, but…”

“Be wary, Twilight,” Renato said. “I have seen the handiwork of daemons. The Warp is dangerous and should never be trusted.”

“I still don’t get your fear of magic,” Twilight said. She ruffled her wings. “I mean, ponies can abuse it and dark magic’s always a bad idea, but I’ve never seen a unicorn suffer anything like what you’ve told me about.”

Renato chuckled. “Allow me to answer with two facts and an anecdote. Firstly, your planet sits in what could be called a ‘Stillpoint’ in the Warp. Across the galaxy, the Warp is a place of Chaos and madness. Here, some force is keeping it stable. Secondly, your kind have a surprisingly weak Warp presence, maybe just a few steps above the Tau. The perils of the Warp may well not apply to you even if you access what little psykery you have available.”

With those facts established, Renato launched into another story, this one covering the relatively recent Raid on Hal-Bujad. It had been a grueling battle, fought in the heat of two blazing suns and amidst a terrible sandstorm. It had lasted for four hours without any proper conclusion, until Renato and his Kill Team had cornered the sorcerer Iphotek in the ruins of an abandoned xenos city. Renato and Iphotek had dueled, as they did every time they encountered each other. That day, Renato held the advantage; Iphotek had been harried by Alessandro and Orlando’s Kill Teams for hours, while Renato was still fresh. Renato was too eager, however, and poured too much power into one of his attacks. It overloaded and nearly killed him, giving Iphotek a chance to act. The Chaos Sorcerer had turned to the most despicable practice of Chaos, sacrificing a group of his cultists to summon a daemon. With that horned monster on his side, Iphotek forced Renato to retreat. Rescue was a near thing, with the Stormraven arriving just a minute before Iphotek overran their position.

Renato sighed, a sad look in his eyes. “We abandoned Brother Donatello that day. He was always just the wrong mix of proud and heroic, always just a bit too willing to sacrifice himself. And of all days! He had been given the heavy weapons duty and had a heavy bolter. A Stormraven can carry twelve Marines in regular Power Armour, but isn’t rated for Terminator gear. In a crisis it was theoretically possible, but there wasn’t enough room for everyone. So Donatello planted himself near the entrance and told me to take his place. He said a Codicier was more important than a simple Tactical Marine. So I did. And I watched as best I could as he made his final stand. I saw him fire into the daemon and its cultist cohort, and then the bay doors closed. We never saw him again.”

Twilight sat, stunned to silence for a moment. “You just abandoned him? Why didn’t you stay and help? He was your friend, he needed you!”

“Life is the Emperor’s currency. Spend it well,” Renato quoted. “The Imperium is at war, Twilight, a massive war, beyond anything you could imagine. I left him because his logic was sound. My powers are far rarer, far more important to the Imperium, than his skills. There were eight of us that day, and we needed an extra slot to take the weight of my armour. If I could live that day again, I would try to change the path that took us there, but in that moment, there was no other option. Besides, as Alessandro would say, he is with the Emperor and Sanguinius now. I can think of worse fates.”

“It’s still not right!” Twilight asserted, her expression pained at the casual nature of Renato’s explanation. “When my friends are in trouble, we find a solution to save everypony. There’s always another way, Renato. You just have to think in a different way. The second time I ran into Starlight Glimmer, she kept beating me and changing the past. We were matched in magical power, and she had the tactical advantage. So I changed the rules and showed her the consequences of her actions. And it worked! All it took was approaching the problem differently.”

Renato simply nodded, a sad look in his eye. “I know. Terra help me, I know. But you can’t always save everyone. Even the best general suffers casualties. It is the nature of war.”

“Then I’m very glad Equestria hasn’t had a war in a thousand years,” Twilight huffed. Renato laughed humourlessly.

“I know many who would disagree. I am not among them,” the Codicier said. “But the galaxy is what it is, and it isn’t nice. We make the best of what we have, leave the rest to Emperor, and pray that we can honour Sanguinius with our deeds.”

“Who is this ‘San Guinness’ you all keep mentioning?” Twilight asked, glad for an avenue to a different topic. “He seems to be really important. Is he one of your gods?”

Renato gave a good-natured laugh. “It’s pronounced Sanguinius. He is our holy gene-father, the Primarch of the Ninth Legion. He more than any of his brothers was the Emperor’s Angel.”

Twilight could feel Renato’s pride rolling off him. It was a pure pride, the kind that a son has for his beloved father.

“I cannot tell the tale as well as the Sanguinary Priests. Even Dabriel would give a better rendition, old war hound that he is,” Renato admitted. He smiled. “But I will do my best.”

Renato leaned back. The wires of his psychic hood hummed and his eyes glowed as he caressed the edge of the Warp, wielding his psychic powers to fashion crude images of his tale. Between his hands hovered a massive grey orb, covered in pockmarks and jutting spires.

“The story of the Great Angel begins ten thousand years ago, in the depths of Luna,” Renato began.

“What!?” Twilight interrupted, her eyes wide with shock. “That’s not… I mean, you can’t just make jokes about a Princess like that!”

The Blood Angel Librarian stared at Twilight for a moment, confused. A moment later realization dawned in his eyes, and he laughed.

“Sorry, I had forgotten,” he said, good humour still overflowing in his voice. “It fascinates me to no end the commonalities of our languages. When this invasion is resolved, I may just have to do some deeper research on the subject. But, no, I’m not talking about the Princess. The ‘Luna’ I speak of is the moon of Holy Terra.”

“Oh,” Twilight said, blushing. Nervous, she started rambling. “Sorry, I just heard the name and assumed, but I should have remembered that Equestrian is really similar to Gothic, and that you wouldn’t make a joke like that, and…”

“Hush, Twilight, don’t worry about it,” Renato said with a smile. “Respect for your superiors is a favourable trait.”

Twilight flinched and shot Renato a look that while not particularly nasty was equally not nice. “Hey! I’m a Princess too. We’re all equals.”

“Again, apologies,” Renato said with a bow of his head. “I did not mean to belittle your position.”

“Well, okay,” Twilight replied. She shook her wings and pawed the floor. “How about we get back to the story?”

“Very well. Now, where was I?” Renato summoned the grey orb again. “Ah, yes. Deep in the depths of Lu- er, Terra’s Moon, the Emperor of Mankind laboured. The Sol System had fallen under his domain, and now he turned his eyes to the lost colonies of Man. During the Dark Age of Technology, mankind had spread far amongst the stars, and the Emperor would need generals just as far beyond humanity as Cadia is from Terra. Thus the Primarch Project was born. Twenty mighty warriors, each bearing an aspect of their father, gene-forged for conquest and command.”

The grey orb, Terra’s Moon, Twilight realized, flickered and morphed turning into twenty creatures similar to the Blood Angels, humans. They were an eclectic lot, far more varied than any of the hoofful of humans Twilight had met so far, each possessed of some grand theme by which they were defined and of which they were the paragon. She saw there the Artist, adorned in royal purple and imperial gold. She saw the Wizard, tall and crimson, ancient knowledge in his eyes and arcane power circling about him. She saw the Twin, his armour teal one moment, black the next. There was the Tactician, a leather-bound book in one hand and a short sword in the other. These and more she saw; the smiling Blacksmith, the zealous Preacher, the grim Executioner. But two stood at the forefront of these mighty kindred: the Angel and the Prince.

Twilight had no other word to describe what she saw. The Angel was beautiful in countenance, alien though it was to Twilight’s eyes. Two massive white wings sprouted from his back, their appearance distinctly reminding the young alicorn of her mentor, Celestia. There was an aura about him, a sense of righteous purpose, calm self-assurance, and unbridled paternal love. Beside him stood an even greater being, a creature whose own aura would accept no less title than Prince. His jaw as hard and edged as rock, and his eyes all but glowed with pride and power.
“Of these sons, two were foremost. Horus, the Emperor’s Favoured Son in those days, and Great Sanguinius,” Renato explained.
The Prince faded away, replaced by the image of a crimson sand-swept world. The story carried on there, as Renato related how Sanguinius slew a massive Fire Scorpion and then led his adoptive people to victory over the disgustingly twisted mutant hordes. Twilight watched as Renato told of the Emperor’s arrival and the reuniting of Sanguinius and his gene-sons. The lavender alicorn saw Sanguinius sweep across the galaxy, conquering worlds in his father’s name.

The story both captivated and disturbed her. She saw the heroism of the Angel, his unbreakable loyalty and indomitable spirit, and she was awed. Then she saw the violence and fury of the Blood, and was sickened. She saw a loving father and his sons, and felt her heart warm. Then she saw a bloodthirsty warlord, and grew cold. She saw before her a paragon of the paradox she had found in Renato’s tales of the Imperium; heroism and murder glorified alongside each other.

“As he campaigned across the stars, Sanguinius met his own brothers, his fellow sons of the Emperor. Of them there was none whose friendship he valued more than Horus,” Renato said as the Prince materialized again. “They were the closest of any of the Primarchs, their bond only surpassed by that of Horus to the Emperor himself. But it was a doomed bond.”

“Why?” Twilight spoke for the first time since Renato’s story had begun.

The Blood Angel grimaced. “In the last days of the Emperor’s Great Crusade, everything changed.”

The Prince, Horus, changed before Twilight’s eyes. His regal face twisted into a visage of hate. His gleaming eyes turned red. His white armour stained black. The image raised its left arm, hefting a massive mace into the air.

“Horus grew proud and turned his face from the Emperor. He was corrupted by Chaos, and fell in heresy, taking with him eight other Space Marine Legions. With his unholy host assembled, he uttered those accursed, hated words,” Renato shivered as he spoke. “Let the Galaxy Burn.”

The image flickered and warped. Twilight’s eyes widened as she watched the horror unfold. She saw brothers murder each other. She saw planets turned to wastelands. Flames and death spread across the stars like a plague, and at the head of it all was Horus.

“It was a decade of unprecedented horror and destruction. Horus took half of the Imperium’s army with him, and led them in a relentless march on Terra. With the Loyalist forces scattered by Horus’ schemes, it was an easy task. After ten years of civil war, Horus reached Holy Terra. With him were six of the traitor Primarchs and forces from all nine of the Traitor Legions. Against him stood the last, greatest defenders of the Imperium.”

A myriad of warriors appeared before Twilight. Space Marines in white, red, and yellow. Smaller beings, normal humans like those Twilight the refugees Twilight had seen just before the train left, in flimsy armour. Tall golden warriors wielding bladed spears. And above them all, three of the mighty beings Renato had begun the story with, Primarchs.

“What is going on in here?” a calm and warm if somewhat concerned voice intruded. Twilight and Renato turned to see Celestia walking into the car.

“I started asking Renato some questions about his people, but he really wasn’t telling me much and then he told me a really interesting story about his armour, and then we started sharing stories,” Twilight said with a grin as she bounded over to the Solar Alicorn. “Which was really interesting because he knows all these really exciting stories, just like something out of a Daring Do book. But it was also really scary, because they’re all so violent and their home is at war and it’s just so horrible out there! And…”

Celestia placed a calming hoof on Twilight’s shoulder. The lavender alicorn fell silent and steadied her breath. Celestia smiled maternally at her former student.

“You can tell me all about it later, Twilight,” she said. She looked over to Renato, who watched the alicorns with unblinking eyes and a hand on the pommel of his sword. Celestia chuckled. “You need not be afraid, Codicier Renato. I was simply wondering how Twilight was doing. I did not mean to interrupt your story.”

Renato returned the chuckle. “I am Astartes, Princess. We know no fear. Though I would like to finish, if you don’t mind. This is not a tale that can be left hanging.”

The Solar Alicorn nodded. “Very well. Though I do wonder, may I sit in as well? Any story that has my dear Twilight so enthused must be worth listening to.”

Renato nodded. Twilight scurried back to her seat. Celestia followed with a more regal gait. With two xenos princesses seated before him, Renato resumed his tale.

“As I was saying, it was the final battle of the Horus Heresy. Eight Traitor Legions hung above Holy Terra, their numbers bolstered by uncountable hordes of treasonous Army and Mechanicus forces. The Emperor even then sat immobile on the Golden Throne, trapped there by the treachery of the sorcerer-Primarch Magnus the Red. Thus the defense of the Imperial Palace fell to the only loyal Primarchs on Terra.”
An orderly company of yellow-armoured Space Marines appeared before the alicorns’ eyes. At their head stood a massive figure with a face carved from stone.

“Resolute Rogal Dorn and his unshakeable Imperial Fists.”

The company became a band of white-armoured Space Marines mounted on strange vehicles that somewhat reminded Twilight of Scootaloo’s scooter, though far more advanced. Riding in their midst was a wild warrior, his sword pointed ahead like a lance.

“Cunning Jaghatai Khan and his swift White Scars.”

Then the image changed again, morphing into the familiar image of the crimson-clad Blood Angels. They stood assembled like a host out of myth, with tall, ornate banners hanging above their battle-ready ranks. Foremost among them was the Angel, Sanguinius, arrayed in gold and bearing a crimson-bladed sword. Celestia stifled a gasp.

“And noble Sanguinius, Lord of the mighty Blood Angels.”

Then the Space Marines became mixed together, forming a three-coloured rainbow of yellow, white and red. Above them the very stars shook and burst into flame.

“For thirty days the Traitors laid siege to Terra, slowly breaking through its orbital defenses. The Imperial Navy was scattered, Luna’s defenses were smashed, and at last, Terra’s own orbital line was cracked open.”

Celestia opened her mouth, only to be pre-empted by Twilight.

“He doesn’t mean Luna, er, your sister,” the lavender alicorn whispered. “That’s just what they call the moon of Terra.”
Celestia nodded and leaned back, allowing the story to continue.

“Then the Traitors descended, carried by thousands of drop pods. In an endless wave, they seized the spaceports of Terra, allowing the Traitor Primarchs themselves to enter the fray. It was madness, an anarchy that lasted for weeks,” Renato paused for a moment. “The Battle of Terra is a tale too large for one telling, and I will not attempt it. Suffice to say that no battle before nor since has ever equaled it. But I am telling of Sanguinius, and so it is to Eternity Gate that we must fly.”

Celestia was stunned still by the next image. A massive gate, large enough to make even Mount Unicornia pale before it, rested before her eyes. Golden and ornate, it was a masterpiece among masterpieces. No mere mortal hands could have crafted such a thing. In her millennia of life, Celestia had never seen anything like it. Save for in my dreams…

“It was there that the final stand of Terra was made. With Rogal Dorn and Jaghatai Khan fighting elsewhere, command of the Gate fell to the Emperor’s Angel and his sons. Sanguinius led the defense, smiting the traitor hordes with his holy wrath. Thousands died by his hand and by those of his sons. The Angel faced the very worst Chaos could throw at him. The Bloodthirster Ka’Bandha, the Angel’s old nemesis, tore onto the field, seeking revenge.”

A creature similar to the form Discord had taken at the negotiations appeared, though this one lacked the massive leathery wings. It carried a cruel sword in one hand and an eight-pronged whip in the other. Sanguinius dove from the skies, striking the monster with the force of a thunderbolt.

“The daemon was no match for the Angel, and received just punishment for its hubris.”

Celestia and Twilight flinched as the image of Sanguinius hefted the monster into the air and snapped it over his knee.

“Then came the very end of it all, the battle, the Heresy, and our tale.”
Renato grew sad in tone and appearance. Twilight was caught somewhere between eager anticipation and nervous anxiety. Celestia held her breath, fearing what was to come.

“The Emperor’s sight was clouded in those dark times, and he did not know that three more loyalist Legions, the Ultramarines, Space Wolves, and Dark Angels, were coming. If even one of them could arrive, the battle would turn in favour of the Imperium. If all three made the journey, then the Heresy would be annihilated. Horus, through the whispers of his dark masters, knew this, and so made one last gambit. He lowered the shields on his flagship, the Vengeful Spirit, as an invitation to the father he had scorned, offering him a final duel to decide the fate of humanity.”
The three loyalist Primarchs stood together, weary but unbroken. Celestia froze as the fourth figure appeared, a massive man clad in golden armour, fire swirling about his head.

“The Emperor rose from the Golden Throne and led his sons to the final battle. They teleported onto the Vengeful Spirit, accompanied by as many of their gene-sons as they could muster. However, the hand of Chaos was against them, and they were scattered. Sanguinius was the first to reach their goal.”

The image of Sanguinius trudged through a corridor of horrors. His wings recoiled in pain as they brushed along the oozing walls. He roared silently as he cut down the twisted villains Celestia recognized as Chaos Marines. Then he came to a massive chamber, and…

Before the white-coated filly stood a giant, and she was afraid.

The Monster, clad in black and gold and bearing that horrible, hated mace, stood before her. Celestia was frozen with fear, unable to move as Renato spun his tale to its bitter end.

“Horus, utterly consumed by the taint of Chaos, tempted our gene-father to join in his corruption. Sanguinius refused.”

Tears formed in Celestia’s eyes as she watched her nightmares play out before her; two war-gods dueling to the death, a devoted Angel against a corrupted Monster. For a moment, Celestia gave no heed to Renato’s words, consumed as she was by the dream before her.

Then it came, as it had so many times before.

“But in the end, Horus’ foul strength proved too much, and the Angel fell. He died beneath the weight of Worldbreaker, Horus’ accursed mace. He died, and across Terra, his sons screamed,” Renato said, his voice subdued and his countenance despondent. Then he gave a small, sad smile. “But his sacrifice was not in vain. In their final duel, Sanguinius made a small crack in Horus’ impregnable armour, which allowed the Emperor to strike down his fallen son and save the Imperium.”

Renato had no words for what he next showed, for none were needed. The body of the Angel, broken and bloody, was carried by a cohort of his sons. Nine of them there were, eight in crimson clad and one in golden armour and unmoving white wings. They traveled deep beneath the red sands of Baal, into a dark chamber. He was laid into a massive circular device, a golden sarcophagus from which glowed with the light of the fallen star it bore.

Twilight cried, leaning on Celestia for support. The Solar Alicorn was stock still, only able to stare, tears streaming from her eyes, at Renato. The Blood Angel sighed sadly and spoke one last time.

“Thus ends the tale of Sanguinius, the Emperor’s Angel.”

An hour remained until they arrived in Canterlot. While the veterans continued to play their games and the Element Bearers chatted just a car away to pass the time, these three simply sat. Not a word was spoken, for there were none to say. For Twilight, it was a tragic tale. For Renato, it was the loss of the father he had never known.

For Celestia, it was first step on her path to the truth.

Author's Note

I yet live! Sorry for the delay, Skyrim, work, and X-Men: Apocalypse conspired against me. I’ll try and get back on a two-day schedule this week.

By the way, does anyone have a rough idea of how fast Equestrian trains are?

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Don’t worry we’ll get back to action and intrigue soon.

And a huge shout-out to my six followers! Thank you all for the support! I really appreciate it.

EDIT: The sentence about Wrath of Angels survivors has been brought in line with Domenico's thought process in The Basement.

Chapter 11: War Council

It had been a long two days for Cadence and Shining Armour.

Twilight’s letter had been anything but what the Prince and Princess of the Crystal Empire had expected. Monsters from another world burning Ponyville to the ground, creatures so powerful that only the intervention of more aliens ended the slaughter. It was beyond anything Cadence had ever experienced. Her sister-in-law’s story sounded like one of the old epic poems she had found in the dustier sections of the Crystal Library. From almost anypony else, Cadence would have dismissed it as madness. From Twilight…

Cadence could only wish their trains were faster.

In many ways, the worst part was not just the waiting, but the not-knowing. Twilight’s letter had been detailed but rambling, as though she had been distracted and anxious while dictating it. Many parts made no sense to Cadence’s eyes: strange flying minotaurs that had no wings and weighed as much as a small house, alien boxes that spat fire, and all that senseless death… Why? Why would anypony do anything like that?

Then there were the gaps. Where did all these aliens come from? How did they get to Ponyville? Who was this ‘Renato’ Twilight kept talking about?

These questions and more had swirled in Cadence’s mind every waking hour of the train ride. Irritatingly, she had not slept much.

“Princess Cadence?”

Cadence snapped out of her brooding at the sound of Flash Sentry’s voice.

“Yes?” she stammered as she returned to the material world. “What is it?”

“We’re here, Your Majesty,” Flash said.

“Thank you,” Cadence replied as she stumbled to her hooves. She resolved to not let herself fall so deep into brooding again; if she could miss a train stopping, then she might also fail to notice more important details.

Flash simply nodded and walked out of the car. Cadence reached out with her magic and grabbed her bag. She trotted out behind her guard. Without even thinking, her love magic guided her gaze to Shining Armor’s stoic form, his armour gleaming in the light from the windows as he talked to Sir Light Brigade about the state of the Crystal Empire’s skirmishers.

Cadence smiled at the sight of her husband. Considering they had been on a train for two straight days, she had seen precious little of him. Every free hour he had spent with their generals, organizing and mustering the Crystal Army.

Before Cadence had taken three steps into the car, Shining Armor had excused himself from the conversation and was trotting over. He returned his wife’s smile as they nuzzled in greeting.

“Well, we’re here,” he said. “Come on, let’s find out what this is all about.”

“Yes,” Cadence replied. She shivered. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Don’t worry, Cady,” Shining said with a confident smirk. “Everything’s going to be fine. And hey, you’ve been looking for an excuse to visit Twily again, right?”

“Yeah,” Cadence mumbled. She did her best to pretend she believed his façade; it would do the stallion no good to reveal her love magic could detect the simmering fear in his heart like a chef could detect fouled ingredients.

“We’re here!”

Shining and Cadence turned to see Sunburst trot carefully into the car, Flurry Heart nestled securely on his back. Shining laughed.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he said as he walked over. He nuzzled Flurry Heart, who cooed in response to the affection. “Was almost worried you’d gotten distracted playing or something.”

“Oh no, it’s just, I’d just gotten Flurry Heart all calmed down and I didn’t want to get her all riled up again, so…”

The conductor shouted for the passengers to disembark, cutting off Sunburst’s explanation. Preceded by some of their guards, Cadence and Shining set hoof in Canterlot for the first time in months. The last time they had come was for a day of celebration.

Cadence distinctly missed that day.

The walk to the castle was somewhat atypical, considering those involved. The guards were silent and stoic as ever. The Royal Family of the Crystal Empire, however, were usually much louder than they were this day. Absent was Cadence and Shining Armor’s usual flirtatious, teasing, joking conversation. Gone was the near-tradition of Shining and Sunburst discussing magical theory and half-jokingly debating whether practical or academic magical study was superior. Even Flurry Heart was strangely quiet on that walk, as though she somehow sensed the weight of the council to come.

The silence was almost maddening, and worst of all for Cadence, it was an open invitation to more brooding.

Thankfully, a chance encounter staved off such dark thoughts.

Roughly halfway to the castle, Cadence and her family encountered the strangest creatures she had ever seen. They varied in height, ranging from some roughly as tall as Cadence herself to one who almost seemed taller than Luna herself. They stood on their hind legs, and had strange forelegs that, especially when combined with their general body structure, distinctly reminded Cadence of minotaurs.

For a moment, the creatures seemed vaguely familiar. It was Shining Armor who first solved that particular puzzle.

“These must be the creatures Twilight mentioned in her letter,” he surmised. “The ‘Space Mariners,’ I think.”

Cadence let out a relieved sigh. She chuckled. “I guess she was just exaggerating. Thank Celestia, I was so worried.”

The letter had given the impression that the ‘Space Marines’ had been giants, twice the size of a normal pony, with stony red skin and unmoving faces. Twilight’s words had painted a picture of terrifying aliens, beings of monstrous power who could punch through steel and spread fear with their very presence.

These creatures were, to be generous, a far cry from such an image.

They were tall, and the one who could stand eye-to-eye with Luna was unnerving to consider, but they were far from giants. Their skin seemed hairless, but there was nothing stony about it. In fact, it seemed their skin was not terribly tough at all, as they were wearing what looked like some sort of hoofball uniform that only left their foreleg hooves, hands, if Cadence remembered correctly, and their heads exposed. Nor did they seem particularly strong or scary. Their faces were far from unmoving, and were actually surprisingly expressive. That, if anything, was the most unnerving thing about them; Cadence could read their expressions as easily as a pony.

“Hello!” Cadence called out, waving a hoof and smiling. Might as well be nice to the newcomers.

The response she got was the last thing she had expected. There were no words of greeting, not even a mumbled excuse half-explaining why they couldn’t talk. Instead, the gaggle of ‘Space Marines’ turned their heads and sneered at the ponies. At the same time, Cadence felt a sudden wave of utter disgust wash over her. It was the strangest she had ever felt; it was not a furious hate, nor was it a simmering loathing. Those emotions Cadence understood; she did not like them, but she did understand why ponies felt them. Sometimes ponies held grudges against those who wronged them, and other times they allowed jealousy to overcome sense. This hatred, however…

It was like they were glaring at a rat that had just ruined their birthday cake.

The ‘Space Marines’ grumbled to each other in a language Cadence couldn’t quite understand and wandered off.

“What was that about?” Shining Armor asked, half-confused and half on guard.

“I don’t understand…” Cadence said, staring blankly where the ‘Space Marines’ had just been.

“Maybe they were busy?” Sunburst suggested.

Cadence shook her head. “No, that can’t be it. You don’t hate somepony because they interrupted you. And they hated us, hated us like nothing I’ve ever felt before.”

“Hated us? Why?” Shining asked. “What did we ever do to them? And how could anypony hate you, except Chr-”

Shining cut himself short of saying her name. Even so many months later, Cadence still had nightmares, still couldn’t bear to hear that name.

“I, I just don’t know…” was all Cadence could muster.

The rest of the walk was even quieter than before.

Eventually they reached the gates of Celestia’s castle and were quickly ushered in by the Solar Guard. Clacks echoed through the marble halls as they walked to the old council room. It was as uneasy a walk as the approach to the castle had been; the Canterlot guards were silent and fidgety, their eyes darting back and forth as though watching for something. Shining Armor and Flash Sentry shared a silent look, communicating in the manner of old comrades. Though Cadence could not understand a whit of what either meant, she could feel the emotions rolling off them. They did not comfort her.

She turned to Sunburst, who was far more obvious with his discomfort. She smiled reassuringly at him.

“Why don’t you take Flurry Heart up to our room? I’m sure she’s tired out from all this travelling,” Cadence said.

Sunburst almost jumped at the breaking of the silence. “Oh! Yes, that’s... a good idea, Princess, thank you.”

Cadence and Shining nuzzled Flurry Heart and kissed her good-bye. Sunburst then took his leave, quickly garnering an escort of Solar Guards.

It was a fortuitous time for his departure, for but a moment later, when Shining and Cadence were but half a hallway from the council room, the silence was broken again.

“Two days!” a deep voice boomed from the council room. “Chaos hangs above us and you make us wait two days to start the council!”

Cadence looked nervously at her husband. “Who’s that? I’ve never heard anypony with a voice like that!”

Shining Armour was silent for a moment, his senses on full alert. He was at that moment in what Cadence called ‘soldier mode,’ his every sense, both mundane and magical, reaching out and searching for any sign of danger. The look in his eye did more to shove a spear of ice into Cadence’s heart than any words ever could.

Whatever was going through the stallion’s mind, he was terrified.

He slipped forward a few steps, definitively taking the lead. With the shrug of a shoulder, he gestured Flash and two guards forward with him, while the rest of the escort fell into a perfect circle around Cadence.

“I don’t know,” Shining finally said, soldier’s instincts overriding any emotion that might have slipped into his words. “But whatever it is, I won’t let it hurt you.”

Cadence allowed the words to comfort her. The more academic, logical part of her quite vividly recalled how during every major crisis Equestria had faced, Shining Armour had been rapidly incapacitated. However, the more emotional part of her warmed at the sentiment. Given her role as the Princess of Love, the latter quite easily won out.

With guards and Shining on full alert, they entered the room. The sight they beheld made Cadence’s jaw fall slack.

She knew at once that those she had thought ‘Space Marines’ earlier were nothing of the sort. Whatever those creatures were, they were nothing in the face of these monsters.

There were five of them, giants that could stare Celestia in the eyes. Two seemed to be made of gold, with massive white wings extending from their backs. Another was the colour of blood, broader than most of the five, with a face eerily similar to a diamond dog. The fourth was as broad as the red one, though it was blue and it had a much smaller, fleshier face. The last was a nightmare to behold.

Cadence was frozen with fear. The creature had a bone-white face in the shape of a deformed skull. Its eyes glowed a deep, dark red. A strange, stylized mace hung from its belt. Yet worst of all was its skin, as black as polished coal, just like her.

The Princess of Love could not help but shrink away, those memories rising up. In that moment, Cadence was not in the council room; she was in those caves, lost and alone, with her standing there, laughing, mocking. She was just there and no pony was doing anything…

A firm hoof caressed her shoulder, dragging Cadence back to reality. She leaned into her husband and released her held breath.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

Shining gave her a warm smile. “You’re safe, Cady, nothing’s going to hurt you here.”

Cadence ceased her trembling, but was far from comforted. Her husband’s touch had always been enough to end the recurring terror of her, but that was not all that frightened her this day. Cadence was the Princess of Love, attuned to the emotions of those around her. Most times she had to actively reach out to sense how a given pony was feeling. In the case of strong emotional states, she simply had to be close enough and the pony’s feelings would be made clear. This monster’s emotions were rolling off it in waves.

What stood before her was a perversion of everything Cadence stood for. It was as though Hatred had been made incarnate. Black waves of disgust emanated from the creature, hating everything, as though life itself, or at least most lives, offended it. Jagged hate lines, foul corruptions of the love lines Cadence was so used to seeing, connected it to every pony in the room, as though somehow this creature hated each of them personally. Strangely, two lines were unique: the line to Luna was the darkest, reminding Cadence of Sombra’s shadowy ghost; and the line to Celestia was a strange mixture of black hate and golden respect. The latter, however, was the strangest Cadence had ever seen; it was almost… forced, like some unknown force demanded that the creature bow before the Solar Alicorn.

Yet none of these facts truly disturbed the Princess of Love. She had faced the pathetic minions of hate before, gazed into the eyes of beings like Sombra, who had not an ounce of feeling save cold loathing for anypony else. She had seen ponies so consumed by anger and hate that they could feel nothing else. This creature’s hatred saddened Cadence, but it was not what scared her.

What scared her was the creature’s love.

Straight glowing lines of pink love linked the creature to its fellows in the room, and out into the city and beyond. They were among the brightest she had ever seen, surpassed only by those between herself, Shining Armour, and Flurry Heart, and of course those which connected Celestia to her subjects. Though one beam seemed almost to equal even those; it was a strange fusion of pink and gold which shot away to a distant place Cadence could not conceive of, to a being of such alien nature and immense power that the Princess of Love simply could not comprehend it.

Never before had Cadence seen anything like this. Only the unloved and the unnatural hate, she remembered; words of a wise pony from an older age. What, then, was this creature before her, which hated so strongly, and yet both loved and was loved? And what was that blaze of black and gold and crimson and blue on the edge of the great line?

Unable to stop herself, she followed the line to its end. Time slowed as her heart raced across unknown stars. Flashes of alien worlds flew by, glimpses of strange creatures and structures moving too quickly to understand. Then she found its end.

Cadence had not words to describe what she saw; unimaginable pain and sorrow, their cool blues pooling only to be shattered by lances of crimson fury and black hate, all against a swirling background of the tarnished gold of broken pride, the pulsating pink of paternal love, and the dull grey-blue of regret and resignation. And in the centre of it all, a single, crying eye.

As Cadence watched, the Eye turned, until its gaze fell on her. There was a creaking, as though jaws which had lain dormant for time beyond her reckoning were moving once again.

It has begun… They return to me… Those I have lost…

The force of the words threw Cadence back to Canterlot. She shook as her mind returned to the waking world. She found Shining Armor’s hoof on her face, and quickly realized he was wiping away tears.

“Hey, Cady, you okay?” he asked, his face lined with concern. “Come on, what’s going on? You haven’t cried about, er, that, in months…”

Cadence shook her head and smiled at Shining. “I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ll tell you later.”

Before Shining Armor could press further, Flash Sentry cleared his throat, quickly grabbing the attention of those in the room. “Presenting Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Prince Shining Armour of the Crystal Empire.”

Cadence leaned off Shining Armor and husband and wife stood tall and proud side-by-side. The Princess of Love showed no outward sign of discomfort, but she kept a wary glance out of the corner of her eye on the blue creature. It seemed as though the thing was watching her, almost as if it were analyzing her.

“Welcome,” Celestia said, nodding to her niece and nephew-in-law. Though the Solar Alicorn masked her expression well, Cadence could perceive her micro-expressions as easily as she could feel her husband’s love. Celestia was deeply saddened, and very worried. Neither did anything to help Cadence’s tenuous emotional state. Celestia continued. “Now that we are all here, we can begin. Luna?”

The Princess of the Night stepped up, giving a regal nod to her elder sister. “As Princess-General of Equestria, We hereby declare this War Council in session. Codicier Renato, if you would…”

Shining Armor interrupted. “Wait, what’s going on? What are these creatures? And where’s Twily, er, Twilight?”

“Is she alright?” Cadence added, her eyes wide with worry.

“Twilight and the other Elements of Harmony left for Manehatten yesterday, to help General Fogey fortify the city,” Celestia answered. “They are safe.”

“You mean ‘Old’ Fogey?” Shining asked, aghast. “That stallion couldn’t command his way out of a paper bag! Why is he in charge of Manehatten?”

Celestia sighed. “General Fogey is one of our oldest and most experienced commanders…”

“He still uses a phalanx, Celestia,” Shining cut the Princess off. After a moment of consideration, Cadence decided she should he proud that Shining had finally become accustomed to his royal position. “A phalanx!”

“Ahem!” the blue creature said. Everypony in the room turned to look at it, him? Cadence wondered. “I don’t mean to sound like Aless, but we’re not here to bemoan the inadequacies of xenos commanders. Chaos hangs over this world, and we’ve no time for squabbling.”

“Well said,” said a thestral in the lavender armour of Luna’s personal guard. “Too many ponies have died already. I’ll see no more of it.”

“Did you not hear Renato? Chaos has come, xenos,” The black creature made a sound that Cadence was convinced was laughter. When it spoke again, it spat the first word. “Ponyville was but the prologue.”

“Are you doubting our skill?” the thestral snapped, her lips curled in a snarl.

This time it was Luna who cut the argument short. “Silent Knight, leave it be. Alessandro is not the enemy. Renato, if you would give the report?”

The blue one, Renato, nodded and stepped forward.

Cadence was unsure of what to make of this one. Rambling as Twilight's letter had been, her sister-in-law had been very clear that Renato seemed to be a likeable sort, and quite intelligent. Yet here that same Renato was, his love lines showing him to be nothing less than a brother to the hating paradox in, glistening chitin, black armour. And she could swear he had been watching her when she entered the room. The Princess of Love quietly snorted in frustration; nothing about these aliens was making any sense.

“We have no intelligence on the heretics’ numbers,” Renato said, tossing a pad of parchment onto the table. “Nor their current plans. We don’t know why they came here. What we do know is that they have total space superiority, yet have not carried out orbital bombardment, and the identity of their leader. We face the Dark Apostle Bal Harodon, an ancient Chaos Marine of substantial influence and evil.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re still completely lost,” Shining Armor said. “Again, who are they, and what’s going on?”

“Sir, allow me to explain,” a white-coated earth pony said as he stepped forward. Cadence recognized him immediately as Diamond Rough, Shining’s successor as Captain of the Solar Guard. “These are ‘Blood Angels,’ aliens from another world. They helped save Ponyville from being massacred by a second faction of aliens which seems to have some sort of connection to these ones. They are, respectively, the Codicier Renato, Chaplain Alessandro, Veteran Paolo, and the Guards Flavio and Durante.”

Diamond pointed to each ‘Blood Angel’ in turn.

“Ponyville was saved, but there are more of these ‘Chaos Marines’ hiding in the skies of our world, and so we are preparing to defend against them. Is that sufficient, sir?” Diamond finished.

Shining smiled at his old subordinate. “For now. Though I’ll want a full report after this. Twilight’s letter was… a bit muddled.”

“Are we done?” Alessandro asked, his arms crossed. “Good. Now, I would know what forces are available to us.”

Celestia nodded. “Fancy Pants? If you would.”

Major General Fancy Pants bowed his head in respect before facing the assembled council. “Mm, yes. The Equestrian Army is, to put is lightly, a shambles. We’ve only seven thousand soldiers on active duty, and a mere nine thousand reserves. Of the lot of them maybe a thousand are properly trained, and less than half that number have any real experience.”

Luna stepped forward next. “The combined Royal Guards number almost a thousand ponies, all with the best training and equipment Equestria has.”

Alessandro huffed and walked over to a nearby Solar Guardspony. He rapped his knuckles on the guard’s armour. “Yes, I can see that. By the head of Ferrus Manus, is this actually battle-armour? I assumed it was something ceremonial. This wouldn’t stop a las-beam, let alone a boltshell.”

“Not everyone is clad by Mars, Aless,” Paolo said as he lumbered forward a step. His voice seemed too deep to Cadence; though she could not explain how, she felt an artificial quality in his words. “Though I agree. Princess Luna, we will need to gather the best smiths in your realm. With Cosimo’s help, they should be able to make something better, but what you have now…”

“We do have some old suits, relics from darker times,” Celestia said. “We could bring them back into service, but they wouldn’t armour more than a few hundred at most. We’ll still need to produce new equipment from scratch.”

Shining Armor stepped forward. “Not necessarily. I’ve been building up the Crystal Army for some time now. We have weapons and armour that should at least put our forces on better footing.”

“Just how much time have you invested in this army of yours, Shining Armor?” Celestia asked, her eyes narrowed in what Cadence instantly recognized as her I’m getting very suspicious and do not approve of what I suspect look.

“That does not matter now, sister,” Luna said. She turned to face Shining, smiling. “What matters is how much can be provided for our forces.”

“I have roughly ten thousand ponies under my command,” Shining reported. His chest puffed out with pride. “Veterans from the War With Sombra, transferred elements from the Equestrian Army, and a growing body of volunteers from the Crystal Empire. I’m offering you the excess materiel from my army. Replacement suits, surplus equipment… that sort of stuff.”

One of the golden creatures, Durante, Cadence recalled, walked over to Shining. He flourished with his monstrously large hand while placing the more normal one on Shining’s back. Shining Armor bristled at the sudden contact, but his discipline kicked in before, preventing his more violent training from potentially creating an incident. Nonetheless, he snorted in protest.

“I like this one! Hey, Aless, if we annex this place, can we make him governor? He’d be better than that Paris fellow at Droi Trius,” Durante said. Paolo and Renato joined in Durante’s laughter.

“By the Emperor that man was incompetent,” Renato said, wiping a tear from his eye.

Paolo chuckled. “Couldn’t even bring in tax revenue, let alone his Tithe. Had to man his PDF with out of work actors and couldn’t even create a fake Imperial Guard Regiment to hide the lack of recruits.”

Cadence felt the sudden wave of emotion from Alessandro. It was an almost pure annoyance, tainted by shades of disgust. Yet it also carried a strange hint of wistfulness that Cadence couldn’t quite define. All of it served to only deepen her disturbed confusion about the alien.

“Now is not the time for jokes, brothers,” Alessandro said firmly. He turned to Celestia. “I offer ninety-three able-bodied militia, and twenty of my battle-brothers.”

Shining Armor’s jaw dropped. “One hundred and thirteen? You bring a war to my home, our home, and all you offer us is one hundred and thirteen soldiers?”

“No.” Alessandro stiffened, turned the full force of his glare on Shining. The latter stood firm. “I offer you Space Marines. We are the Emperor’s chosen, and we will not falter.”

Before the discussion could go any further, the doors slammed open to reveal another white-coated pony, with a well-combed golden mane.

“Sorry I’m late,” Prince Blueblood said as he trotted to take a seat at Celestia’s side. “I was… delayed.”

Shining Armor and Cadence simply glared at Celestia. The former voiced both their thoughts.

“Why is Blueblood here?”

Fancy Pants sighed and answered. “He is the duly appointed liaison between the Equestrian Parliament and the Army. They never thought the role would actually be needed. Terribly sorry.”

“Oh, come now, Fancy Pants,” Blueblood said as he double-checked his appearance in a mirror. “Stop being such a wet blanket. I’m a Prince of Equestria. I was born for this.”

Alessandro shifted his glare to the golden-maned stallion. Blueblood shrunk beneath that furious gaze. “Let not the dynast rule, for his issue shall falter in his absence.”

“Who are you quoting?” Cadence asked before her mind could stifle her tongue. She didn’t know how, but somehow, those words were familiar, like something she had heard in a distant dream.

“Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, in the Codex Astartes,” Alessandro answered. “One of the passages which the High Lords prefer to ignore.”

Renato groaned. “Aless, none of them will understand a word of that. Can we get on with the council? Chaos could strike at any moment.”

“A wise suggestion,” Celestia said. She rose from her seat and approached the table. “Word has been sent to our allies of our predicament. The Gryphon Empire and Saddle Arabia should stand with us, if no pony else. Both nations are famed for the strength of their armies, far more than Equestria is. Tell me, Chaplain Alessandro, assuming our armies cannot defeat the invaders, do you believe they can at least buy enough time for reinforcements?”

A puff of green flame cut off any answer Alessandro may have had. Celestia’s horn glowed with power as she instinctively grabbed the parchment. She cracked the seal and unrolled it. She gasped.

“Celestia, what is it?” Cadence, the first to visibly react, asked.

Luna was but a moment slower. “Aye, sister, what news troubles you so? What does this letter say?”

Alessandro turned to Durante and nodded. "Prepare the Stormraven."

The golden-armoured Space Marine bowed his head in return and gestured for his fellow warriors to leave the room. Though she knew not what the letter said, their reactions told her they, at least, had some inkling of what it portended, and whatever it was they thought was coming was very much so not good.

Celestia gulped and turned to the council, fear in her eyes.

“It’s from Twilight,” she said. Lances of cold fear shot through Cadence’s heart. “It says, ‘help.’”
______

Thousands of kilometres above Equus, a similar council had taken place aboard the Spires of Monarchia. Bal Harodon had gathered his Champions and the Iron Warrior Endas, and together they had fashioned a cruel plan of action. It had taken hours of debate, but after much grueling discussion and several threats of death by torture, but just an hour earlier, they had finished.

With his conclave finally dissolved, Bal Harodon retreated to his personal sanctum in the deepest bowels of the Spires of Monarchia. It was a dark place, its only source of light a single candle lit by the power of the Empyrean. Since entering the Stillpoint, the candle had grown to be all but extinguished.

Bal walked up to the writhing monstrosity chained to the ancient wall. He smiled, the expression somewhere between cruel and some facsimile of grandfatherly affection.

“How are we doing today?” he asked.

The abomination roared in response, its ragged, leathery wings straining against their bonds and its ceramite claws snatching at air in a pointless gesture of impotent rage.

Bal chuckled warmly. A sudden melancholy ended his humour. This monster had been Krev’s last gift before he died. Bal was determined to make the best of it.

The Dark Apostle lowered his gaze to the large tray just a metre from him. He trod over, his ancient armour creaking with every movement. The tray was covered in all manner of torture tools and syringes. It was a collection only slightly younger than Bal himself. Ever since Lorgar had revealed the truth of Chaos to his Legion, Bal had been collecting these. After perusing his options, he selected one of his personal favourites. It was a purple syringe, a gift from Fabius Bile, offered as reward for Bal’s gift of live Imperial Fists captured in some system Bal had long since forgotten.

“Now, what is next on the list?” Bal asked himself. He pulled out a piece of blood-stained parchment. To human eyes it would have been almost illegible, especially in the dim light of the dying warp-candle. To Bal’s genhanced gaze, it might as well have been printed by a Mechanicus typewriter. He thumbed his way down the list until he came to the first unchecked item. “Ah yes, we need to strengthen those wings of yours. Wouldn’t want you tearing them off trying to flying, now would we?”

Bal filled the syringe with a sick, pulsating green goo. He then drew an eight-pronged flaying knife and turned to the chained abomination.

Without a word, Bal tore into the creature. It screamed in agony as the knife’s poisons shot through its corrupted vitae. Tattered skin and hunks of meat fell to the ground, followed by a rain of blackened blood. With a path to the abomination’s second heart firmly carved, Bal thrust the syringe in and compressed.

The screams that followed were enough to chill the spines of every non-Astartes on the cruiser.

Bal removed the syringe quickly, his hand just narrowly escaping the hole before the creature’s flesh closed back over it. He looked at the list again.

“Now, what’s next?” Bal said as he reached for a new tool.

The creature's screams would last for hours to come.

Author's Note

Alright, that should be enough exposition for now. Next time: "Drop Pods Over Manehatten."
The "only the unloved and the unnatural hate" quote is from Charlie Chaplin's "The Great Dictator." I forget if I've paraphrased i a bit or not.

Chapter 12: Drop Pods Over Manehatten

Death came to Manehatten in streaks of flame.

Few noticed them, at first. A couple astronomers idly playing with their telescopes while waiting for the sun to finally go down. A few children playing in the park. The occasional pony of questionable mental stability living quite comfortably in a large cardboard box. Oddly enough, not a one of the various doom prophets roaming the streets took any notice, distracted as they were by their endless warnings of impending annihilation.

As the orbital projectiles drew nearer, however, more and more ponies noticed them, including a pink-coated former villain dawdling just outside a Marebucks Coffee.

“Hey, Spike, what do you think those are?” Starlight Glimmer asked, squinting at the balls of fire in the skies. “Meteors, maybe?”

The baby dragon crunched the upper half of a sapphire in his mouth as he looked up. He stroked his scaly chin for a moment before finding his conclusion. “I’m not sure. Maybe, but it’s kinda weird for us to be able to see a shower during the day. Hey, Twilight!”

The lavender alicorn ignored Spike, lost in the various reports she had scattered on the small table before her. Twilight, Spike, Starlight, and the other five Elements of Harmony had been sent to Manehatten a day ago, officially to help prepare the city for the impending war with the mysterious forces of Chaos. Unofficially, the trip was something of a vacation for them after the trauma of the burning of Ponyville. Most had picked up on that fact and taken full advantage of it. Rarity was over at the local branch of her boutique, overseeing the daily operations. Applejack had taken Fluttershy to the zoo. Pinkie Pie had disappeared to somewhere. Of the six Elements of Harmony, only two actually concerned themselves with the letter of their mission, for entirely separate reasons.

Rainbow Dash was still with General Fogey, putting her Wonderbolts training to good use. She helped the local City Guard prepare choke points and ambushes, and had spent hours drilling the Manehatten Volunteer Pegasus Militia. Even a week earlier, and the cyan-coated pony would have avoided such tedium like a cutie pox victim. After what happened to Ponyville?

None of her friends would say it aloud, but they had all understood the look in Rainbow’s eyes as she set off for Fogey’s office. Ponies were dead. Rainbow’s home had been destroyed. The Element of Loyalty was going to make sure Chaos paid for its crimes.

Twilight Sparkle, on the other hand, was less interested in revenge and more in duty, or rather, following orders. She was still acclimating to her role as Princess, and though she had come a long way, old habits were difficult to shake, and an order from Princess Celestia, even one intended as a cover for other matters…

The Princess of Friendship had been trying to organize the logistics of defending Manehatten since their arrival the previous day.

“Twilight!” Spike said again, this time louder.

“Hm, what?” Twilight snapped out of her chart-induced reverie. “What is it, Spike? I’m a bit busy.”

“Starlight and I can’t figure out what those things in the sky are, and I thought you might know,” he said, pointing to the sky.

Twilight looked up. She squinted, trying to get a better look at the strange objects above. A brief memory from just a couple days earlier flittered through her thoughts. A memory of a conversation with her newest friend, on just what had fallen from the sky at Ponyville…

“Drop Pods,” Twilight whispered, frozen in shock. While her body stood still, her mind raced, quickly crunching all available data. Fact: drop pods are used only by aliens. Implication: aliens are descending. Fact: the Blood Angels’ ‘spaceship’ was destroyed two days ago. Fact: Chaos still has spaceships. Analysis: Chaos is coming.

The lavender alicorn lunged out of her chair. “We have to go, now!”

“Twilight? What’s wrong?” Spike asked, his eyes wide with sudden worry.

Starlight was faster on the uptake. “Those things aren’t friendly, are they?”

Twilight shook her head. “Renato said Chaos can send soldiers down in Drop Pods, and when the Blood Angels’ Drop pods came down, they looked a lot like that, remember?”

Starlight gulped. Since leaving Ponyville, she had done her best to not think about that day.

“Come on, we have to get everypony ready!” Twilight said as she flared her wings.

Before any of the trio could move, there was a great crash and the ground shook beneath their hooves. Twilight beat her wings to regain her balance, while Starlight grabbed a nearby table for support. Spike simply fell onto his back.

“Hey,” a voice in the distance said. “What the hay is that thing?”

Twilight looked in the direction of the voice. She screamed at what she saw. “Get away from that!”

The object had slammed into the ground, its red-hot talons punching through the street. It sat immobile for a moment. Curious ponies gathered around, chatting and pondering just what had ruined their street.

Twilight shot off into the air, tearing down the street. She made a sound; whether it was a desperate warning or simply a terrified scream, she would never be sure. Whatever it was, it was too late.

The pod shook and rose, revealing ten monsters in crimson armour. The foremost among them raised a cruel, jagged sword and pointed at the confused crowd of ponies.

“And they shall taste of Lorgar’s fury!” he bellowed.

Not a half-second later, the Word Bearers raised their killing boxes, their boltguns, and opened fire.

Twilight skidded to a stop on the pavement, staring in horror as the horror unfolded before her eyes. It was like Ponyville all over again; ponies screamed and died, their bodies torn apart in bone-shaking explosions, while those who had the luck or skill to survive panicked and fled in every direction, desperate to escape the slaughter.

The ground shook beneath her hooves as more drop pods slammed down, each resting still for a moment before unleashing another band of alien murderers. The streets ran red with blood, and soon the screaming paled in volume to the drumbeat of bolter fire. Not a pony fought back; how could they, when war was so foreign a concept, and these aliens so frightening?

“No!” Twilight screamed, half in horror and half in rage.

A strange feeling rose inside the Princess of Friendship, one she had only truly felt once before. It was strangely familiar, like an echo of a dream; it was like what had flowed through her during her battle with Tirek, though somehow different, purer. Then it had come like a storm, battering her with emotions that were not her own; a lust for adrenaline, an imperative of discipline and careful thought, a hunger for battle, and a strange mixture of unchecked aggression and protective instinct. Now, only the discipline remained. She froze for a fraction of a second, her mind racing to analyze all the available data. In the time between a Chaos Marine yanking the trigger of his boltgun and the boltshell firing, Twilight found the only logical solution. She would hate herself for it, but it made too much sense to take any other path.

She turned and sped back to the coffee shop, skidding next to Starlight and Spike, who had taken cover behind an overturned table.

“What are they doing here?” Starlight demanded, her eyes wild with fear. “Why are they attacking now?”

“I don’t know, and we don’t have time to discuss it. We have to regroup with Rainbow, try and organize a defense,” Twilight responded. She fought back the tears; though her heart ached at the senseless violence erupting across Manehatten, that wave of discipline refused to tolerate them. There would be time for mourning later, when they were safe. She reached out with her magic and grabbed a blank piece of parchment from her note-pile. “Spike, take a message to Princess Celestia.”

Spike snatched a pen and jar of ink from Twilight’s note-bags. “Alright, what?”

Any other day, Twilight would have sent a report explaining what was going on in at least cursory detail. This day, however, she did not have time, as the strange sense of iron discipline reminded her. So she gave the only answer that she could afford.

“Help.”
______

“Get the ammunition loaded! Ten minutes, and we are leaving!” Davvy Modden, former Crew Chief on the Wrath of Angels, bellowed. He wrapped his hands around the case of boltshells and lugged it to the open Rhino. A dozen of his crewmates scampered around him, all occupied by the same task.

Chaplain Alessandro watched in silence, his hands resting on the handle and hilt of his Inferno pistol and Crozius Arcanum. It had been several hours since the War Council had been interrupted, and in all that time, he had not said a word that was not an order. In that frantic first hour, the local xenos had panicked like a Tau Fire Warrior surrounded by Black Templars. They had no intel, no plans, nothing. Save for the Princesses Luna and Celestia, only the latecomer, Shiny Arms, or something like that, and Fancy Pants seemed to be to any degree able to handle the situation. Yet handle it they had.

With twenty minutes orders had been rushed out, army units mobilized. A reconnaissance force of the flying xenos, pegasi, had been dispatched within a half-hour. Irritatingly, they had yet to report back.

Would that I had but five Scouts with me, Alessandro brooded. Then he would have a reliable source of information. Instead he had to rely on the word of xenos. It galled him to be so close to them; had it not been for Renato’s discovery he would have simply purged them all after the first skirmish and been done with the matter.

Or so the Chaplain told himself. He was still disturbed by the effect Celestia had on him and his battle-brothers. Many times in the past two days he had wondered just how much that played into his decision.

Am I already corrupted? Would I know if I was?

Such thoughts plagued the Blood Angel in his moments of inactive solitude. Which had of late been annoyingly frequent; given that the stranded Marines had no vehicles which could transport Terminator Armour, it had been decided that Renato and Paolo would remain in the xenos city and simply teleport in once a homer had been set up.

So Alessandro watched his forces prepare. They were at the foot of the mountain on which the xenos city rested, in the makeshift camp established by Cosimo. It was a pathetic defensive position, but until they found a better place, it was all they could manage to store their arsenal. Only one Stormraven, Kantor’s Blade, dwelled elsewhere, resting kilometers above in the makeshift compound the xenos had hastily assembled for the Imperial forces.

The Honour of Meros, that special Stormraven, the one modified by the late Techmarine Fario to hold jump packs without sacrificing space for more Marines, was not thirty meters from Alessandro at the moment. Chapter Serfs and former crew of the Wrath of Angels scurried about it, strapping Castello in and ensuring the newly installed Servitor pilots were ready for service. The scent of burning incense wafted through the air, though Alessandro smelled it not. He had spent centuries serving the Imperium, and though he, like all Space Marines, greatly appreciated the constructs of the Tech-Priests, he had long since lost any care for the smell of their rituals.

Soon the Stormraven would be in Orlando’s care. After the initial recon force was dispatched, that had been the first decision the War Council had made; Orlando would lead a relief force to ‘Manehatten,’ accompanied by roughly a thousand ponies coming by rail and Princess Luna herself, at the head of her Lunar Guard. Alessandro would lead a second wave of reinforcements, bringing their Rhinos and Predators.

“Holy Chaplain?” the voice of a Space Marine, Brother Severin, if Alessandro remembered the young Marine’s voice correctly, intruded on his brooding.

Alessandro turned to the Assault Marine, his hands still resting on the grips of his weapons. “What troubles you, brother?”

The Chaplain’s heart fell; at a glance he knew, as surely as he knew the sound of a firing boltgun, what had happened. The way Severin stood, the subtle shifts in stance that only the genhanced eyes of a Space Marine could perceive. Alessandro had seen it so many times, too many times, in his service. It seemed the time had come for him to execute the least glorious duty of his office.

“It’s Brother Adamo,” Severin said. “He…”

Alessandro stepped forward and laid his hand on Severin’s shoulder. “Take me to him. Then take Brother Benito and bring the ebony paint. I shall administer the last rites.”

Severin did as he was bid, silently guiding Alessandro through the bustling war camp until they came to a secluded corner. Sergeant Priam stood waiting, a Power Sword strapped to his belt. An all-too familiar clatter echoed from just around the corner of a nearby crate, the sound of ceramite struggling against adamantium chains.

“When did it start?” Alessandro asked. Severin bowed respectfully and slipped away.

Priam sighed, his tone carrying the distinct edge all veteran Blood Angels had when discussing the Flaw. “Eleven minutes ago. I sent Severin over as soon as I realized what was going on. Blasted shame, he had such promise.”

“Aye, shame. For him, and for us all,” the Chaplain replied. “If he could not control the Flaw, then that potential means nothing. It is his loss, the Chapter’s loss, and our Holy Gene-Father’s loss. Once, he may well have become a Captain. Now, there is but one final duty for him.”

“Sergeant, Holy Chaplain,” Severin interrupted. Alessandro turned to see the young Marine and Brother Benito holding the sacred canisters. “As you requested, sir.”

“Good. Now go, the both of you. Gather you weapons from Cosimo, and meet Orlando by the Stormraven. The Sergeant will join you shortly,” Alessandro said.

The Assault Marines bowed and jogged off, quite relieved to be away from their fallen brother, if only for now. It was a feeling all blood Angels knew, the accursed revilement of their brothers. It was a mixture of horror, pity and fear that was unique to the Sons of the Angel. Horror, that a brother would be so degraded in mind. Pity, that he had not the will to retain control of the Thirst. Fear, that one day, if death did not come first, that all of Sanguinius’ brood would become like them.

Priam and Alessandro said nothing as they took the paint canisters, for there was nothing to be said. Though the latter had easily a century of experience over the sergeant, both were veterans of the Chapter. They had seen dozens, hundreds of brothers fall over the years. In their youths they had wept and fled, unable to stand the sight of their lost brothers. Now, after so many years and so many deaths, they knew full well that there was no escape. And where there is no escape, it was the way of the Space Marines to simply carry out their duty to the last.

Around the corner lay the source of this unwanted trouble, Brother Adamo. Alessandro stood still for a moment as he looked at his battle-brother.

Adamo’s face was obscured by his helmet, all the better to soften his frothing screams. His roars and cries were filtered by the vox, their volume so reduced as to only be heard by the ears of the Astartes. He jerked and struggled against the half-dozen chains which bound him to the crate. The chains groaned, their sound too quiet for any but the gene-forged ears of the Adeptus Astartes to hear, against the pressure; a Space Marine was mighty in sanity, and it only swelled in those of Adamo’s ilk. His fingers flexed and twitched, grasping for weapons that were not there. Everything he could wield as a weapon save for his own two hands had been removed from his reach.

Though he had already known, it was always crushing for Alessandro to see it with his own eyes. Knowing his duty, he spoke the words, the proclamation of final condemnation that the Chaplains of the Blood Angels and all their Successors knew.

“Brother Adamo, you have been lost to the Flaw, to the Black Rage which burns within us all,” he recited as he had so many times before. “In the Name of Sanguinius, I now welcome you into the company of death.”

Priam and Alessandro approached their brother and raised the paint canisters. It was a ritual they both knew well, to paint a brother’s armour black. It was slow, difficult as it was to paint a Marine in the throes of the Rage. Adamo struggled against them, mumbling and screaming inside his helmet. Soon his words would be heard, but not now, not when there was still a chance to hide the Flaw from the xenos. It was a secret that was only for Blood Angels to know; as long as he could, Alessandro would keep the xenos from learning of it.

As Priam and Alessandro worked, Adamo frothed in madness, his battle-cries and demands for blood broken up by brief snatches of seeming lucidity.

“Russ? How did you come here?” Adamo said, staring at Alessandro. The fallen Marine shook his head. “It matters not, come! Horus waits above and Father rises to meet him. With me, brother! He will need our steel ere the end!”

“Yes, Brother,” Alessandro said. To his knowledge, there was not a single Chaplain who did not in some way sadly humour the madness of the Death Company. “Horus awaits, and soon you will face him. Give us but a moment to finish your armour and retrieve your sword.”

Adamo gave no reply but a scream, followed by a furious hiss about something burning against his wings. Alessandro and Priam ignored the comment; it was simply further proof of what they already knew, that the Black Rage had taken yet another brother from them.

At last they finished and stepped back. Adamo was a grim sight, coated in black; only a couple crosses remained as any evidence of the former crimson of his armour. No longer was he a noble Space Marine, a defender of humanity in its darkest hours; such a fate was lost to the rabid Marine. Yet, as the Sons of Sanguinius had long ago learned, even one as lost as he could yet serve one final duty. Adamo would be a monster, a weapon aimed and fired at the enemies of Mankind. He would fight, he would kill, and he would die, and in doing so redeem himself.

“Priam, make sure he reaches the Stormraven unnoticed. Chain him to his seat, and unleash him when you arrive,” Alessandro said. “And arm him with a Power Sword and Plasma Pistol. Though all he could have been is lost, he is still our brother, and deserves this last chance to smite the foes of the Emperor.”

“Aye, Chaplain,” Priam said simply. He turned back to the new Death Company Marine and whispered a prayer. “O Emperor, father of noble Sanguinius, hear me. Let me die in battle ere the madness takes me, that my brothers may not be forced to see me so.”

Alessandro laid a comforting hand on Priam’s shoulder. “Fear not, brother. Whether death or the Rage takes you, you will serve the Emperor well. And your brothers will endure, as we have endured. The Flaw is our curse, aye, but never forget that it is also our strength. All must one day succumb, but the Sons of Baal are strong. We, you, may yet delay this end. And one day, maybe Corbulo will succeed. Until then, hold strong, Priam, and remember that above all else, the Emperor Protects.”

Priam turned to the Chaplain and nodded.

“Be well brother,” Alessandro continued. “Now, take Adamo to his final battle. I cannot be there this time, and so the duty of shepherding him must fall to you. Let his death buy for us the blood of the heretics.”

There was nothing more to say, and both Marines were old enough to understand that. Priam nodded again and set about carefully unbinding Adamo, keeping the Marine in check with a half-hearted rendition of Roubute Guilliman.

Alessandro left. His heart was heavier now, but he had duties yet to perform. Battle was soon to be joined. As a Chaplain, Alessandro believed that war was the highest song of praise one could offer the Emperor. Though Adamo’s loss was tragic, the battle still lay ahead.

And deep in his bones, Alessandro knew it would be a bloody day, however it may turn out.
_____

On the edge of Manehatten, just a couple blocks from the train station, Lieutenant Flash Sentry of the Crystal Guard was in a tight spot.

Just a couple hours earlier he had volunteered to lead a reconnaissance force to the city. Twelve pegasi, all trained as scouts or hunters, hastily assembled by order of the War Council. The plan had been to fly in low, get a quick view of the situation, and then retreat with whatever information they could gather.

That plan had lasted all of fifteen minutes after their arrival.

Now, after hours of desperately dodging alien fire and hastily fleeing down blood-soaked streets, Flash and the other five surviving scouts were bunkered down in the ruins of a confectionary, trying to avoid a very messy death at the hooves of the alien invaders he had been told were called ‘Word Bearers.’

“Surly, get that table over here now!” Flash hissed at the brown-coated pegasi. “They’re almost through the wall!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sergeant Surly, a member of the Solar Guard, mumbled as shoved the heavy table across the old wooden floor. The solitary lightbulb in the rom flickered as the room shook under another explosive volley from the Word Bearers.

Flash took a peak through the makeshift barrier they had cobbled together. He groaned. “Great, now there’s eight of them. Luna curse them, where are they all coming from?”

“Fire in the hole!” Hot Fumes shouted. Everypony in the room dropped to the ground as the mare fired threw a makeshift explosive at the Word Bearers. Fumes was a member of Flash’s usual squad, and had always had a knack for explosions. Most days, it was an eccentricity that Flash tolerated because of the mare’s otherwise exceptional conduct.

This day, Hot Fumes’ ability to make bombs out of almost anything was all that was keeping them alive.

The world beyond their deteriorating wall burst into flames as the bottle shattered. Flash heard one of the Word Bearers shout something in a language he couldn’t understand, and the fusillade stopped for a precious moment.

Within a few seconds, however, it had resumed. The building shook, dust falling from the ceiling as their supports were blown apart.

“Leftenant, we need to get outta here now,” Red Ensign, a mercenary from Trotonto who had been hired by the Equestrian Army just a couple weeks earlier, said. “I’m surprised the wall has lasted this long, and I don’t think it’ll last more’n a minute now.”

“I know,” was all Flash Sentry could say. He crawled away from the barricade and stuck his head into the back room. With all the debris and furniture they had moved to create the wall, the path out was surprisingly clear. He snuck back to the squad. “Alright, here’s the plan. Fumes, I need two more blast-glasses. When I give the order, throw them both. While the Word Bearers are distracted, we’ll back a break for the back door, try and escape down the alleyways. Got it?”

Surly groaned, but still nodded with the rest of the team.

“Bombs ready, Flash,” Fumes said, a bottle in each hoof.

Everypony tensed, ready to dash at a moment’s notice.

An explosion tore open half the makeshift wall, leaving the ponies hopelessly exposed.

“Fumes, now!” Flash shouted.

As fire wreathed the street, the ponies fled, dodging enemy fire with every step. Red Ensign was the first through the door, bursting it open with his heavy-set northern physique. The rest of the team followed closely behind. A moment later, Flash took the lead, guiding the pegasi down the narrow alleyway they had found themselves in.

They ran around several corners, and amidst the adrenaline not even Flash could quite tell how much time had passed. The flight came to an abrupt end after what seemed to be almost a minute, when one of the team slipped and hit the ground hard. There was a sickening crack as the mare slammed into a wall edge.

“Gah! My leg!” Soft Wind, the least experienced surviving scout in the team, gripped her left rear-leg in her hooves, rocking back and forth on her flank. “I think it’s broken!”

“Well buck me,” Red Ensign said. “Anypony got any medpacks left? Anything? No? Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

Grumbling quietly, Red Ensign began cobbling together a makeshift splint out of garbage, debris, and what he could scrounge from his pack.

“Surly, Blusterwind, you’re on look-out. Fumes, get over here,” Flash Sentry quickly ordered. Blusterwind, the last survivor, nodded and glided back down the alleyway while Surly trotted ahead. Flash groaned; a wounded pony was the last thing he needed now.

“What you need, Flash?” Hot Fumes asked.

“A miracle,” Flash answered. He sighed. “We’ve got to get out of here. The princesses need to know what’s going on, and that almost none of our weaponry works on these guys.”

Fumes fell back on her rump and tapped her chin. “But we don’t know where we are right now, we’re probably cut off, and trying to fly out will just get us all… Well, Grin didn’t look good after that.”

Flash flinched as he recalled how Grinning Berit had died. The poor stallion had tried to fly over the Word Bearers, only to get torn apart by massed fire. Flash doubted they could find enough to bury him now.

A clatter of hooves told Flash that whatever plan he might have had would need to be quickly enacted.

Surly barked his warning. “Word Bearers coming this way! Boltpistols and chainaxes, and a couple had really weird, oversized hooves, er, hands.”

Just a moment later, Blusterwind burst around the corner. “Word Bearers, prob’ly the same group what had us pinned. Can’t get out this way.”

“Well, horseapples,” Red Ensign grunted out as he finished bandaging Soft Wind’s leg. “Got to start getting paid in advance for these jobs.”

Flash Sentry’s heart plummeted. So this is how it ends? They were cut off in an alleyway; no way to escape, and no way of reliably harming their foes. The yellow-orange stallion turned his gaze to the sword hanging on his side. The weapon had been a gift from Prince Shining Armour for his help during the Sunset Shimmer incident. Apparently, this Crystal Blade had been intended as a gift for one of Sombra’s generals before the War With Sombra. Shining Armour had found it collecting dust in an armoury. So far it had proven the closest thing they had to a reliable defense against the Word Bearers; its blade was almost unnaturally sharp, and if he could angle the blow just right, Flash could slice through almost any armour, or so it seemed.

He gripped the hilt in his mouth and drew the blade. If he was going to die today, he would die standing.

“Get ready, ponies,” Flash mumbled as coherently as he could. “We’re making our stand here. We can’t run, so we’ll fight. Who’s with me?”

The pegasi were silent for a moment. It was a dreadful moment; the air was filled with far-off screams, the crackle of a burning city, the deep intonation of the Word Bearers’ chants, and the crescendo of approaching alien hoofsteps.

Red Ensign was the first to speak. “Ah, what the hay. I’ve got nothing better to do today.”

“Bombs ready, Flash,” Hot Fumes said with a grin.

The rest of the ponies followed suit, mumbling an agreement of some form, save for Soft Wind, who could only look mournfully on.

“What’s the point?” the wounded mare asked, tears forming in her eyes. “We can’t hurt them, and even if we could, they’ve got those boxes that spit fire, they could kill us all before we even get close. Why bother fighting when we can’t win? Why bother struggling when we’re all just going to die anyway?”

Before Flash could muster a suitable response, a sudden blur of pink fur appeared in the midst of the pegasi.

“Silly filly, you’re not going to die! Well, we’re all going to die someday, but you’re not going to die right now, unless you’ve got some horrifyingly dangerous condition that you haven’t told anypony about and your heart is about to just explode inside your chest like badly baked pie…”

Flash Sentry quickly recognized the strange interloper as Pinkie Pie, the Element of Laughter and one of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s best friends. Shining Armour had said that the Elements were all in Manehatten, but Flash had not expected to actually find any on the scouting mission, let alone for one to simply appear out of thin air.

“Miss Pie, excuse me, but what do you mean?” Flash asked.

Pinkie Pie laughed and smiled. “Just what I said, Flashie! Help’s coming, just you wait! Give ’em about ten seconds, then you’ll be fine. But watch out for the one in black! He’s a meanie.”

“Who are you talk…” Flash trailed off when he realized that Pinkie Pie was no longer there. He turned to the other pegasi. “You saw that, right? I’m not going crazy?”

Surly grumbled something unintelligible through the brick he had lodged in his mouth as a makeshift weapon. Red Ensign simply laughed.

“Not anymore than the rest of us,” the Trotontonian said with a grin. “Now, what’s this about help? Think the Princesses got the relief force together?”

As though in answer to the question, a new sound tore through the air, overpowering the clatter and screams of the slaughter. It was as though the air were being torn apart by some sort of sharpened club. A moment later, a mighty, unending roar became audible. Both sounds grew louder and louder, and then were joined by a third sound. It was like when the Word Bearers fired their boltguns, only this seemed a dozen times louder. Roars of rage and pain echoed around the corner, soon to be followed by the clattering of metal and alien stone on the pavement.

The pegasi looked to each other for a moment.

“Hot Fumes, cover our rear,” Flash ordered. “Surly, Blusterwinds, take Soft Wind. Red Ensign, we’re on point.”

The ponies fell into formation and carefully advanced towards the strange sounds. Before they had taken five steps, the roar of flames shook their ears for a moment before falling silent. In that same moment a single voice boomed.

“Offer your final prayers, heretic! This day you face Orlando of the Blood Angels!”

Then came a clashing of steel and alien stone. The fray raged for a brief moment, and then simply ended. There was shouting and screaming and the roaring of chainaxes, and then it was over. A last of roaring flame and the return of the air-tearing sound, and as much silence as could be found that day fell.

Flash Sentry cautiously trotted around the corner. He saw before him a sight that on any other day he would have found disgustingly gruesome, but that this day he found strangely comforting. Five of the alien Blood Angels stood before him, surrounded by the bloody remains of their foes. Alien armour was torn open and the invaders’ blood flowed freely into the street. Boltpistols and chainaxes were scattered about, each strangely attached by chains to the arms of their former wielders. The Blood Angels had not a mark on them save for the spattering of blood.

The Blood Angels standing before Flash Sentry were quite a sight; three were clad in the common red armour Flash had seen most of their kind wearing. One of these carried a tube, a meltagun, if Flash remembered the briefing correctly, while the other carried what seemed to be a cut-down version of the same weapon and a glowing blue sword. The last of the red-armoured ones carried a sheening brass sword and a hefty shield. With these three also stood a warrior in armour as white as the snow which surrounded the Crystal Empire, a blood-red sword in one hand and a golden cup in the other. The last was clad in enough gold to make a Solar Guardspony feel inadequate, with two massive white wings stretching out from his back and a massive blue sword in its hands.

The shieldbearer turned to face Flash. It spoke, its voice taking on a strangely heroic quality, albeit one muddied by the strange metallic accent all the Blood Angels seemed to have.

“Hail, xenos! Banish your fear, for the Sons of Baal have arrived,” he said. “I am Orlando, Champion of the Fourth Company, here to command the speartip of the assault.”

“Lieutenant Flash Sentry of the Crystal Empire, at your service,” Flash recited the response by rote. “And currently leader of the scout team.”

The white one chuckled. “So you’re not dead after all? Seems you lot are hardier than you look. Bit lack for recon, though.”

“We were delayed,” Flash explained as he and his team trotted out into the street. “Spent hours just trying to stay alive.”

“Well you’ve certainly done that,” Orlando said, taking a step forward. He gestured up the street, towards the centre of Manehatten. “Tell me, are you up for a bit more? We’re the vanguard, and we could use all the blades we can find.”

Flash looked back at his fellows scouts. They were weary and worn. Soft Winds was too wounded to be of any use in battle. He turned back to Orlando. “I’ll come with you. The rest of my squad can pull back to the forward operating to liaise with command.”

“Oh no,” Hot Fumes said, storming up beside Flash. “You are not going back in there without me.”

Red Ensign trotted to Flash’s other side. He shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve nothing better to do today, leftenant. Count me in.”

“I suppose I should come as well,” Blusterwinds said, joining his fellows. “It’s what Grin would’ve wanted, I think.”

Flash turned to Sergeant Surly. The veteran shrugged.

“I’m certainly not coming,” he said. “Somepony’s got to get Soft Wind here back to base, and my orders are fulfilled. I’m not coming back to this Tartarus-hole unless Celestia herself says so.”

“How about Princess Luna?” Orlando asked off-handedly. “She’s leading your forces right now.”

Surly simply shrugged and started off, grunting under the weight of Soft Wind.

Orlando turned his attention back to Flash Sentry. “Four winged equine xenos. Never thought I’d be storming a city like this. But if the Chaplain says play nice…”

Flash walked up beside the Blood Angel. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

The white one chuckled again. “Aye. There are heretics out there, just waiting to slake the Knife’s thirst. For Terra and Baal!”

The Blood Angels repeated the cry and began their march down the bloody street. Flash Sentry turned to his fellows. He nodded and the lot of them smiled. The Blood Angels were not the only ones with a battle-cry.

“For the Princesses and Equestria!”

Author's Note

A/n: If anyone has a better name then “Trotonto” for Equestrian Toronto or Equestrian Canada, suggestions would be very much so appreciated.

Rolled results for the fight at the end: 4 killed by Hurricane Bolters, 2 by Twin-Linked Assault Cannons, 1 by Hammer of Wrath, 2 by Brother Placido (the one with the Inferno Pistol and Power Sword), and the Sarge was gutted by Orlando in a challenge. Chaos never got to strike back.

For reference, this was a squad of Berzerkers. Blood Angels dominate on the charge.

I feel here is a good place to say that for purposes of the simulated battles, I’m counting the Blood Angels as part of a Baal Strike Force, that is, they benefit from the Red Thirst for +1 Initiative in the charge. When I roll Alessandro’s Warlord Trait, it’ll remain the same for the rest of the story.

Also, hooray! Games Workshop FAQ’ed our Dreadnoughts with +2 attacks! Castello just got a lot more dangerous.

And for those who might care, I have a little gift: statlines for the Equestrians! Starting this chapter, I’m going to include homebrew 40k rules for the forces of Equus. I’ll release them in the chapter a new character or unit first appears in battle. When the story’s done I’ll see if I can cobble together a fan codex or something. Feedback on balancing and point-costing would be greatly appreciated.

This week we have 1 Elites and 1 Troops.

Pegasi Flight Squad 40 points (Troops)

Pegasus Warrior: WS3 BS2 S3 T3 W1 I3 A2 Ld6 Sv5+

Pegasus Sergeant: WS3 BS2 S3 T3 W1 I3 A2 Ld7 Sv5+

Unit Type: Jetbike

Unit Composition: 9 Pegasus Warriors, 1 Pegasus Sergeant

Wargear: Equestrian Steel Armour, Pegasi Wings

Flash Sentry 45 points (Elites)

Flash Sentry: WS3 BS2 S3 T3 W2 I3 A2 Ld8 Sv5+

Unit Type: Jetbike

Wargear: Equestrian Steel Armour, Crystal Sabre, Pegasi Wings

Special Rules: Stubborn, For the Princess!, Crystal Pony, Independent Character

For the Princess!: if Flash Sentry is part of a squad which also contains any model with the Princess of Equestria special rule, then he must automatically succeed on any Look Out, Sir! Roll to redirect a wound from the Princess. If he suffers a wound in this manner, he may take a 5+ Feel No Pain roll against the wound.

Crystal Sabre: A gift from Prince Shining Armour himself, this ancient weapon was once intended as a gift for one of Sombra’s favoured generals before his fall to darkness. Though it was never used, it is still imbued with the magic of the Crystal-Smiths.

It has the following statline: S User, AP5, Master-Crafted, Rending.

And the special rules:

Pegasi Wings: this rule causes the model to count as being a Jetbike

Crystal Pony: due to the unique relationship between the Crystal Heart and the inhabitants of the Crystal Empire, the Crystal Ponies are able to temporarily take on a more durable form when imbued with sufficient love. Once a game, at the beginning of the controlling player’s turn, a model with this rule may choose to turn Crystal, gaining a 5+ Feel No Pain until the beginning of the controlling player’s next turn.

And the wargear:

Equestrian Steel Armour: gives a 5+ save

Chapter 13: Up the Street

In began in light.

Sanguinius stretched out his wings and tightened his grip on the Blade Encarmine, watching as the golden spires of Terra flew underneath. His own golden armour shone in the light, its every master-crafted plate and ornate device illuminated by the reflections of the sun, and by the flare of bolterfire below.

The Emperor’s Angel looked on in sorrow at the tragedy below; men who had once called each other Brother now bayed for each other’s blood, and Space Marine fought Space Marine in the streets of Terra. Sanguinius could still recall a time when such things were all but unthinkable; only the Wolves had ever done such a thing, save for that day on…

“Brothers, we are nearing the drop zone.”

Sanguinius turned to see the very man himself, Leman Russ, Gene-Father of the Space Wolves and the Emperor’s Executioner. Behind the wild Primarch stood two more of their ilk: Jaghatai Khan, the enigmatic warlord, who for so long rode with his White Scars among the farthest stars in search of battle, and Roboute Guilliman, the statesman and planner, the master of the Ultramarines and an empire within their Father’s realm.

On any other day, such a gathering alone would have been a thing of legend; five of the Emperor’s gene-forged sons in a single place. Yet on this day, it was simple necessity, and it was all the more tragic because of that.

Sanguinius turned and looked out across the smoking battlefield. His genhanced senses allowed him to see every detail as they passed, despite the speed of their flight and the altitude at which they flew. He watched each tooth on an Ultramarine’s chainsword bite through the ceramite of a Death Guard. He saw every crack as a boltshell broke through a White Scar’s armour. A thousand stories could be told from what he saw.

“Brothers! You know your duty,” Guilliman said, hefting a power sword in his right hand. “Aless-Father has assigned us the duty of establishing contact with the xen-Vulkan and planting the teleport homers so we can bri-fight Horus on his own ship. Check your weapons and make ready! For the Emperor and San-Terra!”

The Primarchs cheered, and of them , not a one was louder than Sanguinius. Fury surged in the Golden Angel’s blood, the fury that made him so fearsome in war, and which so afflicted his beloved sons.

A shudder, and Sanguinius soared to the ground, his brothers following close behind. They descended on Jump Packs; Sanguinius flew with his mighty wings.

His golden eyes widened with rage as he took stock of the enemy before him. They were clad in black, the hateful ebony of the Black Legion, the Sons of Horus, the arch-traitors. And there, in their midst, stood the greatest of his brothers and the worst of the traitors; a man whose very name was a curse, to be hated by every true human for all eternity. Fury bubbled up in the Blood Angel, spewing forth from his lips in a single, violent cry.

“Horus!”

Sanguinius burst up the street like a shell fired from a boltgun. The Sons of Horus turned their weapons on him, but their volleys were to no avail; boltshells hissed and dissipated against his golden plate, and chainswords shattered in the hands of helpless attackers. The Emperor’s Angel slew with abandon; a slash of the Blade Encarmine, a blast from his plasma-inferno pistol, the stomping of his armoured foot, and with each, another traitor slain. The heretics melted before his wrath like ice before a power sword. They died screaming, in agony, in fear. Sanguinius smiled; such a death was all they deserved.

For hours and seconds and years Sanguinius tore up the street; his enemies were few and unending; Black Legion and the Sons of Horus, charging and fleeing as he passed. His brothers were long out of sight, and out of his thoughts; only battle remained to him, the only outlet for the rage which surged in his breast.

Blood splattered across his armour and was quickly sheered away by the speed of his assault; no drop spent more than three seconds on his person before it was gone. Bones crunched beneath his tread. Ceramite and leather sizzled and warped under the blows of the Blade Encarmine. All who came in his sight died, again, and again, and again.

Then before him rose up a challenger, Ezekyle Abaddon, the favoured son of Horus. Clad in the black of the Justaerin and armed with a power sword, and bearing that impossibly arrogant glare.

“Die, you bast-!” Abaddon began. His words were lost in a burst of plasma, the air exploding from the sudden heat. Abaddon narrowly dodged the blast, a stroke of extreme luck.

Such luck did not last.

Sanguinius struck the traitor with the force of a meteor, throwing the black-armoured marine to the ground. The Angel reared back, raising the Blade Encarmine to the sky.

“Know the fate of all traitors!” Sanguinius roared. He plunged his sword deep into Abaddon’s chest, the energy of the weapon flaring as it seared through the heretic’s armour. Blood spewed from his mouth and his eyes went cold.

Sanguinius planted a foot firmly on Abaddon’s un-beating chest, raised his arms, and proclaimed in a mighty roar his victory. Hot on the heels of his success, Sanguinius lunged forward, leaping into the halls of the Vengeful Spirit. He dashed down the corrupted halls of the flagship. His wings brushed against the oozing sides, and he winced.

“Gah! What foul substance is this?” the Blood Angel spat. “It burns! Curse you, Horus, where are you hiding?”

More traitors fell beneath his blade, their lives snuffed out with both a fury unmatched among all the stars and an apathy as cold as a Fenrisian night. The rage bubbled forth uncontrollably from Sanguinius, but it was an uncaring thing; he killed because his blood demanded it, but not a stroke of his blade meant anything more to him than another brief respite from the pounding in his veins.

Then it came, as it always did. Darkness reared up before Sanguinius, brandishing an ebony-and-gold mace. The arch-traitor’s rancid smile gleamed in the shadows as Horus Lupercal extended his Lightning Claw.

“Come, Sanguinius, my brother,” Horus said, his eyes glowing red as he made his offer. “Join me, and we shall overthrow the false Emperor together.”

The Blood Angel raised his blade, his heart pounding against his chest with rage.

“Never! Face me and answer for your crimes!”

Thus it began; the penultimate duel, the Angel against the Monster. The clash was legendary, as the crimson Blade Encarmine slashed at the ebony might of the Worldbreaker. The battle was over in an instant eternity; for days unending did Sanguinius and Horus duel, sword against mace, wing against claw. With each passing moment a heat grew in the Angel’s breast, melting through his armour and touching his very heart. Sanguinius cared not; he would defeat his brother, bring an end to this heresy, save the Imperium. He struck with all his might, cracking open the unholy armour of his fallen brother.

Then, a tug on his wing, a slamming into the ground. Sanguinius could only watch in horror and despair as Worldbreaker rose into the air, its arc an inescapable fate.

The future flashed before the Angel’s eyes, scattered, disparate images of which he could make no sense: a verdant world, a desperate king, a forlorn queen, death, life, sorrow, love, the sun, the moon, a Father, a Mother…

“Horus!” Sanguinius roared his final word. Worldbreaker fell.

It ended in darkness.
_____

High-speed winds battered against the inhuman body of the Furioso Dreadnought as the Honour of Meros soared into the xenos city. Castello paid it no heed; he had barely any feeling in the cold shell he now called his body. Except, of course, for the perpetual pain of his sarcophagus.

This too he paid little attention to, accustomed as he was to the agony, to pain that would have slain any normal man and driven even the mightiest of them to madness. But Castello was, at his core, Astartes, and thus, though every moment of his life was excruciating, he carried on. Only in death does duty end, a wise man once said. By enduring the pain of the sarcophagus, Castello proved that man wrong.

Not that such mattered to him at the moment; all that mattered was the boil in his blood, the anticipation of the battle to come. It would be refreshing to fight a real battle; the skirmish earlier that week had been nice, but it had been too long since he was able to properly satiate the battle-lust that burned in the heart of every Blood Angel.

The Stormraven shuddered as it came to a stop in the middle of a xenos street. Inside his sarcophagus, Castello smiled; they had already stopped once, to deliver Orlando and his team, and now…

Now, as the clamps which held him to the back of the Stormraven hissed open, he would fight.

Castello struck the ground like a meteor, leaving a two-foot indent in the pavement. His legs whirred as the ancient machinery began to move. The Dreadnought turned his undying gaze on his target. Arcane sensors reached out, pin-pointing the ‘Police Headquarters’ three blocks north of his position. Submitting the information to the machine spirits which dwelled in his mechanical tomb, Castello awaited their analysis.

Sixty-one unaugmented humans, forty-two humanoid mutants, ten Word Bearers, five Emperor’s Children, eight World Eaters.

All in all, one-hundred-and-three Chaos Cultists and twenty-three Chaos Marines between Castello and the local resistance. Inside his sarcophagus, and amidst the endless agony of his condition, Castello twisted the ruined remains of his lips into a horrid facsimile of a smile. It had been a long time since he’d had a real fight.

Warning: sensors indicate no less than ten Iron Warriors on approach, accompanied by two Obliterators.

Had Castello still had shoulders, he would have shrugged. He was a Blood Angel, a Son of Sanguinius; at but a word he would fight against odds a thousand times worse without a word of complaint. More practically, he was entombed in the vaunted Furioso variant of Dreadnought. Even by the standards of the Adeptus Astartes, he was clad in great armour. Let the Iron Warriors and their Obliterators come; even the killing power of meltaguns would have trouble puncturing Castello’s armour, if he was careful.

“Kill it! Kill it now!” a harsh voice, as though its owner had spent his whole life smoking sandpaper cigarettes only to wash it down with shards of glass, called out. Barrages of metal pinged off the ceramite and adamantium that encased Castello.

The Furioso Dreadnought took his first step forward, the ground shaking a little beneath his mighty tread. The undying Space marine entombed inside inhaled hot, stale air.

“In the Emperor’s Name,” Castello boomed, his vox unit booming his words down the streets of the xenos city, Manehatten. He raised his Heavy Flamer. “Burn!”

Four cultists died screaming, their blood vaporized and their flesh seared from their charred bones. A fifth fell in pieces to the ground, his chest disintegrated by a meltagun beam. Castello stepped forward again, and again, increasing his speed with every stride.

The cultist champion hastily pumped a fresh shell into his shotgun. “Fire, blast you all, fire!”

Castello laughed. There was not a weapon for one-and-a-half blocks that could pierce his shell.

The Dreadnought charged into the cultists and their hopeless fusillade, crushing one to a pulp beneath his feet before he could even swing. Those swings came but a moment later, before the cultists could even mount a defense. Blood Talons, crackling with blue energy, soon became coated with fresh blood as he tore four more cultists to shreds, their gore splattering across their fellows. The cultists swung back in desperation, slamming fists, knives, bricks, and other makeshift weapons against the Dreadnought. It was to no avail; among them was not a one who had any hope of breaching his armour.

But a moment later it was all over; the cultists broke and ran, screaming in terror while their champion tried hopelessly to rally the squad. Castello took full advantage of their disarray, tearing the hapless humans apart. He swept through their broken ranks, slaying all who came in reach. Not a one was left unscathed; most were simply dead, their bodies shredded and splattered across the street, and those handful that yet drew breath were not long for this world. Castello cared not for the moans of the wounded and dying, however. He simply turned his attention to the next fight.

“Horus!” a blood-crazed voiced screamed from just behind Castello’s view. The Furioso Dreadnought released a sad, mechanical sigh as Brother Adamo soared past him. The Death Company Marine flew on jets of flame, his Jump Pack carrying him past Castello and into the next body of cultists. The Dreadnought held his fire, simply treading behind his fallen brother.

Before him was a sight Castello had seen many times in his long years. Flesh sizzled beneath the heat of plasma blasts, makeshift armour evaporating under the slash of the Power Sword. Cultists died in droves, their lives but wheat before the scythe of the Death Company’s wrath. The Dreadnought kept pace, spewing death by fire and melta. His sensors told him that the remainder of Priam’s squad followed closely behind, cutting down stragglers with their boltpistols.

Together they cut a bloody swath, scattering the heretics to the winds. Gore gushed freely in the streets. Sundered bones and rent hunks of flesh flew through the air. Bullets shattered against ceramite armour. Flames roared, consuming cloth and leather and metal and meat. The cultists scattered, screaming in terror and agony. Castello intoned a deep, mechanical laugh.

“Taste of the Emperor’s wrath!” he boomed as he crushed a cultist underfoot.

By now the cultists were few and far between; Adamo and Castello had laid waste to their numbers, and those who yet drew breath had mostly scattered down the many alleyways of Manehatten. With the meat shields removed from play, the true fight could begin. Not that a mere twenty-three Chaos Marines constituted much of a threat to a Furioso Dreadnought.

A blast of melta put an end to such thoughts. Castello narrowly dodged the shot, and retaliated with one of his own. A Word Bearer died with a hole in his Warp-tainted flesh.

Castello roared and charged into the squad. The Word Bearers threw up a hasty barrage of fire, but it was to no avail; the boltshells either missed or exploded uselessly against Castello’s Baal-pattern armour, while the handful of melta and plasma bursts failed to do more than warp his paintjob. The Furioso Dreadnought slammed into the lines of Chaos, tearing three of the heretics apart with his crackling Blood Talons. The Word Bearers broke, their line shattered by the Dreadnought’s charge. No defense could they mount, and no resistance could they offer. They simply died, their champion shredded while desperately trying to rally his warriors.

Impaling the last of the squad on his Talons, Castello took a moment to assess the state of the battle. It was, as he had anticipated, a slaughter; the forces of Chaos had been equipped for anti-infantry and urban warfare, not for close combat with a Dreadnought. He smiled as his sensors also reported that he was but half a block from the ‘Police Headquarters’ that the local resistance seemed to have rallied at. Good, the ancient Space Marine thought. We can use their numbers.

The battle here had been easy and swift, but he knew that such luck could not hold; here they fought mere infantry, and struck with the speed and fury so central to the war-doctrines of Baal. But in his centuries of experience, Castello had learned to always expect his enemies to have deadlier tricks up their sleeves. He was, in fact, somewhat surprised that the foul servants of Chaos had not yet made use of their heretical technology.

But a moment later, Adamo reminded Castello of what he had detected at the beginning of his charge.

The Dreadnought could only watch helplessly as the maddened Blood Angel made his final charge. With Power Sword raised high and Plasma Pistol blazing, Adamo threw himself at the band of approaching Iron Warriors. One of the grey-armoured Chaos Marines died silently, a blast of plasma melting through his unholy heart. His fellows ignored their loss as though he had been nothing more than a battle-servitor and took aim.

“Never! Face me and answer for your crimes!” Adamo roared as he lunged at the Iron Warriors, gouts of flame spewing from his Jump Pack. “Horus!”

Adamo died before he could even hit the ground. Castello watched as one of the Obliterators rippled and morphed, his arm transforming into two meltaguns. It fired point-blank at the Death Company Marine. The orange-red beam seared through Adamo, melting the lost Marine’s chest and killing him instantly.

Castello held his ground. But a half-second alter, Priam and his squad landed just behind the Dreadnought, their armour spattered with blood and their guns bearing exhausted magazines. The Assault Marines took a moment to reload, and while they did, Castello thought.

It was not a good situation; not a one of them had anything that could outrange the Iron Warriors, and they were too far away to simply charge. Not helping matters were the remainder of the original Chaos force; a handful of cultists had rallied at the far end of the street, providing covering fire for the Berzerkers and Noise Marines who still carried on the siege of the Police Headquarters. A quick scan told Castello that the building would not last much longer. Beams of multi-coloured light sprayed out of its windows, knocking down cultists and stunning the Chaos Marines, but it was not enough.

Priam stepped beside Castello. The Veteran Sergeant sighed.

“Of all bloody deployments, we just had to get this one, didn’t we?” he said with another heavy sigh. “Why are we even here, Castello? These are xenos. We should have purged them and left.”

“We go where the Chaplain orders us, Brother,” Castello replied. “It was he who forged this alliance, tenuous as it is.”

“And therein lies the rub,” Priam said. “Why has a Chaplain, of all men, chosen to make common cause with xenos? Of all of us he should have been the first to order the purge, and yet instead he has commanded first caution and now alliance. What is happening to the galaxy, Castello, that such a thing would happen?”

Castello did a rough imitation of a shrug. “The witchkin Renato sees things we do not, and the Chaplaincy is privy to matters mere battle-brothers could not understand. I share your concerns, but have faith. The Emperor’s hand is upon us. Whatever happens, take comfort in that knowledge.”

Priam chuckled and fiddled with the teleport homer hanging beneath his Jump Pack. “You sound like a Chaplain yourself, Castello.”

Castello gave his, albeit sadder chuckle. “Maybe I was, in life. It matters not at the moment,” The Dreadnought gestured to the Iron Warriors. “They had drawn bead on us. Brothers! Behind me! I will buy you what time I may!”

Young Brother Severin tightened his grip on his meltagun. “O Holy Emperor, Grandfather of the Astartes, cast your Golden Gaze upon us, and deliver us from Chaos.”

Castello took a step forward. Silently, he issued the same prayer, a prayer he and many other Space Marines had offered in times such as this.

A moment later, it was answered.

The air was filled with explosions as the Honour of Meros soared in overhead, its various weapons systems pouring death into the Iron Warriors. The grey-armoured heretics fell back, seeking cover from the onslaught. Few died; three, by Castello’s count, and not a one of the Obliterators among them. but they were driven back, and a path was opened.

Castello gestured to the Police Headquarters. “Brothers! The Emperor has delivered us! Let us not waste his mercy!”

Under cover from the Stormraven, the Blood Angels charged up the street. Castello burst through a thin line of cultists, scattering the rest to flight with a twist of his Heavy Flamer. Priam and his two squadmates followed closely behind, firing boltshells and melta blasts as they passed.

Castello’s scans blared. Warning: Noise Marines targeting. Warning: Noise Marines targeting.

A volley of fire from the Honour of Meros soon ended that concern, if only for a moment; Chaos Marines were clad in armour of roughly the same quality as the Space Marines themselves, and could survive these volleys if not with ease, at least predictability. In but a moment, the Noise Marines would take aim again and unleash their cacophonous barrage. Already some cultists had rallied, pumping autogun rounds at the Blood Angels.

It did not matter; the Stormraven had accomplished its purpose.

“Varen, the door!” Priam shouted to his battle-brother. The young Assault Marine rushed ahead, skidding to a stop less than a metre short of the Police Headquarters door. He holstered his boltpistol and reached for the handle, only for the doors to swing open on their own. A purple-coated head popped out.

“Quick, get in!” Twilight Sparkle said, her eyes wide with a strange mixture of terror and hope. The Space Marines rushed inside, their Jump Packs smashing dents into the doorframe.

With his battle-brothers safe for the moment, Castello turned his attention back to the servants of Chaos. The ruined remains of his lips twisted as best they could into a scowl as his machines spirits gave their report.

Warning: Noise Marines opening fire. Warning: Chaos reinforcements detected at three kilometres, estimated four hundred cultists, twenty traitor Astartes.

Even a war machine as mighty as Castello had his limits, and he feared they would soon be met. The Iron Warriors were irritatingly not yet dead, simply delayed, and between their anti-armour and the sheer weight of numbers marching to join the siege, the Dreadnought doubted he could win this alone. He simply did not have the range to protect himself from the Iron Warriors, and even his armour could only take so many hits before it would begin to buckle.

His only hope was the Stormraven; it was bristling with the kind of high-volume, longer-range firepower Castello sorely needed.

The first wave of sonic blasts struck but a second after that thought. As was only fitting, given the skill of the artificers of Baal, Castello’s armour held strong, easily ignoring the bombardment. The loud cracks Castello detected behind himself, however, told him that the building was not so sturdy. They would need to leave soon, lest they be slain by its collapse.

Castello could not return fire; the Chaos Marines had wisely remained out of the insubstantial range of his armament. The Dreadnought decided then and there that if he survived the battle, he would get Cosimo to restore his Storm Bolter; anything, just to have meaningful range on something.

From behind the Furioso, a rainbow array of lights blasted out, supplemented by volleys of metal-tipped wooden bolts. Most of the shots were clear misses, simply striking the ground or pieces of makeshift cover. Of the lights, none seemed to do more than stun or delay the servants of Chaos. The bolts fared a little better, sometimes punching through the low-quality armour of the cultists, though Castello had yet to see a one pierce the tainted ceramite of the Chaos Marines.

Beams of melta forced Castello to begin retreating, narrowly avoiding the maximum range of the Iron Warriors. He growled, furious that he could not simply charge in. But he had no choice; until the Honour of Meros returned for another attack run he simply could not risk taking a melta blast somewhere important.

As though in answer to his prayers, the Stormraven soared into Castello’s sight at that very moment. Its bolters and assault cannons opened fire, unleashing a fusillade of exploding death upon the heretics once again. Castello made ready to charge, taking careful aim with his guns and tensing his legs.

Then came the most horrifying sound the ancient Blood Angel had heard in many months. It was a roar, deep and mechanical, which carried in its very tone the feeling of fire and pain.

Castello could only watch helplessly as the Heldrake soared into view, spewing fiery death and beating its unholy wings against an increasingly crimson sky. The daemonic machine soared after the Stormraven. Before the Servitor pilots the Blood Angels had installed could react, the Heldrake latched onto the vehicle. It tore at the Stormraven’s armour, its vile talons shredding through its siding. The monster then arched its head and unleashed its foul breath. The Baleflamer melted through the Honour of Meros, frying its internal systems and destroying any control the Servitors had. The monster released the Stormraven and flew off, roaring in triumph. The ruined flyer fell and crashed on the streets below, its smoking corpse ripping apart the street and punching into a nearby building.

“No!” Castello boomed. He resumed his retreat, though fury burned in his breast. To be so close to another chance at glorious melee combat, only to be denied at the last moment, and by such a loss!

As Castello found cover from the Iron Warriors, he fumed. The loss of the Stormraven was a tragedy, both in terms of the Blood Angels’ arsenal and their morale. Without it, he doubted the Police Headquarters could hold out for very long, if at all. If they were going to survive, they would need help, and soon.

And so Castello did as all pious Space Marines did when doom reared up before them: he prayed, and he readied his weapons. If he was to die, he would do so with the Emperor’s name on his lips and blood on his talons.
_____

Inside the Police Headquarters, Veteran Sergeant Priam had matters of his own to attend to.

“Severin, Varen, get to the windows and return fire!” Priam shouted, pointing to a random window with his Power Sword. The young Space Marines obeyed without a word, slamming their heavily-armoured forms against the walls and taking aim with boltpistol and meltagun. Priam turned to the lavender pony standing nervously in front of him. He scowled beneath his helmet and strode past her, reaching for the teleport homer on his back.

“Oh thank Faust you finally got here,” the pony, Twilight Sparkle, Priam remembered, said. The xenos tensed up for a moment. “Pardon my Prench, it’s just, it’s been a rough day, and it’s been all we can do to hold these things off, and you seem to be the only ones who can stop them, and Rainbow Dash took off with most of the pegasi to try and find help but she still hasn’t come back and…”

“Cease your prattling, xenos!” Priam snapped. Twilight recoiled momentarily at the sudden aggression. Ignoring the xenos, Priam lodged the teleport homer into the floor of the Police Headquarters. Satisfied that it was stable, he activated the device and prayed that its signal would be received quickly.

With his immediate objective completed, Priam at last consciously took in some detail of his surroundings. The room, a lobby bearing rather eerie resemblance to human architecture, was a mess. Hunks of debris littered the floor, though most of it seemed to have been piled against the walls. Cement dust hung in the air, growing in density with every barrage that struck the building. Xenos of various colours and kinds were scattered throughout. The psyker-types, unicorns, mostly congregated near the windows, their horns glowing like lamps as they fired beam after useless beam at their attackers. The simple xenos, Earth Ponies, ran to and fro, lugging boxes of various contents, from what appeared to be some primitive ammunition to water flasks. Several of them were at the windows, carrying devices Priam recognized as some sort of crossbow. Many of the xenos were dressed in a blue uniform, with strange badges inscribed with words the Space Marine could not interpret. At the far end of the lobby were doors and a set of massive stairs leading up to a second floor. Several xenos seemed to be carrying their wounded down the stairs and through the doors into the backrooms.

Priam heard Twilight began to babble again, but he paid the alien no heed. The veteran Space Marine simply checked the ammunition in his boltpistol. Half-full. Not bad, considering…

His thoughts were cut off by a burst of light, a rainbow of impossible colours flashing briefly before his genhanced eyes as a gateway into the Warp tore open in front of him. But a moment later it as gone, leaving in its wake the Librarian Renato and the Terminator Veteran Paolo.

The two were a sight for Priam’s sore eyes, though a quick scan of the pair left him slightly disappointed.

Renato was armed as he always was, carrying his Force Sword in one hand and a Storm Bolter in the other. This was to be expected and did not play into Priam’s slightly sour mood. Rather, it was Paolo who left Priam uneasy.

The Terminator Veteran had elected to take up an Assault loadout, hefting a massive Thunder Hammer in one hand, while a Storm Shield rested on his other arm. It was a deadly combination, to be sure; few things could withstand a blow from such a hammer, and Storm Shields were famed for their ability to deflect all but the mightiest of blows. However, it did not provide what Priam in that moment desperately needed: ranged firepower.

“Renato!” Twilight leapt in front of Priam, wrapping its strange alien hooves around the Librarian’s chest. “You came! I was so worried I’d never see you again!”

Renato chuckled in response. “I suspect you’ll not have to worry about that for a while. Now, please, we have some rather pressing matters to attend to, so…”

The Librarian firmly but, to Priam’s mind, surprisingly, gently pushed the xenos’ forelegs away. He then strode forward and nodded a greeting to Priam. The Assault Sergeant returned the gesture.

“It’s not good, Librarian,” Priam reported. “Brother Castello is trapped outside, and none of us carries any weapons with the range we need. The xenos…”

“Are unable to harm the forces of Chaos?” Paolo finished for Priam. The Terminator Veteran hefted his Thunder Hammer. “Then I suppose we’ll all simply have to make up the difference. Of all times to meet an alien race that is not dedicated to destruction, why now?”

“We can ponder the ways of the Emperor later,” Renato said as he checked his Storm Bolter. “For now, let us focus on the battle. Twilight, I need a quick report on what’s happened. Our Scouts never returned, so we currently know nothing.”

“It started a few hours ago when Starlight and Spike noticed some, what do you call them, ‘drop pods,’ right? Well, they started raining down and the chanters, er, Chaos Marines started murdering everypony and…” Twilight’s speech was drowned out in a deep mechanical roar. The Space Marines froze for a moment, tensing as their gene-forged and battle-honed instincts flared warnings.

Priam, Paolo, and Renato rushed to the windows, followed closely by Twilight.

“Let it not be what I think it is,” Renato desperately half-prayed.

The spine-chilling sound of adamantium scraping against ceramite and the unholy roar of daemonic flame put an end to any hope otherwise.

The deep mechanical voice of the Dreadnought Castello boomed. "No!"

Severin was the first to voice what all the Space Marines suspected.

“Brother-Sergeant, a Heldrake has just destroyed our Stormraven!” the young Space Marine reported. He flexed his grip on his meltagun. “Sir, what are your orders?”

Brother Varen spoke next. “Brother-Sergeant, Chaos reinforcements are inbound! I see them marching up the streets!”

The three veteran Marines looked to one another, unsure of what to say. To Priam’s great surprise, it was the xenos Twilight who gave an answer.

“I suppose this means we keep fighting, doesn’t it?” the xenos said, its tone distinctly forlorn. An alien tear fell to the ground.

To shed a tear at the thought of battle was a thought as alien to Priam as Twilight itself. Yet the xenos’ trepidation at their situation was a feeling he shared. They had minimal long-range options, were horribly outnumbered, and had just lost their only reliable method of countering the Warp-cursed Iron Warriors.

Priam was no oblivious Scout; he was well beyond the early days in which every Space Marine believed himself invincible. He knew full well just how bad the situation was. It was, tactically, nigh-impossible. Strategically? In terms of keeping necessary assets alive to fuel what amounted to their war effort, there could be no victory here. They were doomed, cut off and set to be destroyed, either in a blaze of glory of a slow, bloody grind.

So Priam did as all Space Marines did in the face of the impossible: he prayed.

“O Lord and Master of Mankind, hear my plea,” he intoned. “Cast thy holy gaze upon your humble servants. Deliver us from this doom that marches upon us.”

Priam felt Renato lay a hand on his shoulder. No words were exchanged, for none were needed; Renato’s support was perfectly expressed in that single gesture. To Priam’s surprise, Twilight placed a hoof against his waist, as though imitating Renato. In that moment, Priam was both disturbed and strangely comforted. Though he, like all Space Marines, despised the touch of the alien, he felt in this particular touch a strange comfort, a familiar presence like that of a distant relative.

Paolo’s heavy steps interrupted the moment. The Terminator Veteran hefted his Thunder Hammer and spoke.

“Come, brothers, xenos,” he said. “The enemy is at our door. Let us teach him the price of such folly.”

“Aye,” Renato said with a grin. “Make ready, brothers, and xenos! To your posts! We shall not let Chaos go unbloodied this day! For the Sanguinius...”

The Blood Angels responded as one.

"And the Emperor!"

Author's Note

Well, this chapter is finally done. Sorry for the wait. My schedule recently got more busy, but I’ll try and get back on track for a chapter once a week.

Please note that the sequence with the Death Company Marine was NOT based on 40k game mechanics. That was based entirely on lore, where a DCM with a Power Sword can kill a Dreadnought solo (I kid you not, that is a thing that happened in one book; it was awesome).

And for those who weren’t sure, the first part was intentionally weirdly written; it’s the hallucination of a DCM, and so doesn’t entirely make sense. I hope it was at least readable.

By the way, does anyone actually understand what melta is? Is it a beam, a spray, what?

On the topic of reader advice, would you guys prefer if the Space Marines keep referring to the ponies as ‘it,’ or would you rather I gender the pronouns for reader convenience?

Chapter 14: The Bridge to Manehatten

Life in recent days had become very strange for Prince Shining Armor, even by the standards of Equestria.

It was only about a year-and-a-half on from the a truly traumatic wedding, the scars of which still ran deep in Shining Armor and his beloved bride. Then, before the pair had even had time to proper honeymoon, Shining had found himself declared Prince Consort of a kingdom he had only discovered even existed about five minutes before being sent off to impotently provide moral support to the ponies who actually saved it. Then came the stresses and misadventures of helping Cadence rule a realm a thousand years out of its time, trying to integrate the recently liberated population with remnants of the armies, both Equestrian and Sombra-aligned, and introduce them to the strange new world that was modern Equestria. On top of that was his little sister’s ascension to Princess-hood, followed not long after by the unpleasantness most had taken to calling the ‘Sunset Shimmer Incident.’ After that came Tirek’s invasion and the third time within the span of a year that Shining Armor had been rendered utterly useless in the face of a great crisis. This had been followed by the birth of his and Cadence’s daughter, Flurry Heart, and the ensuing Crystalling Crisis. Then, within the last few days, Shining had been informed by mail that his sister had almost died during an alien invasion, and that some of the aliens were now their allies, and furthermore, that he and Cadence were needed for a War Council, something Equestria had not seen in three hundred years.

To the Crystal Prince’s great irritation, none of this proved quite able to prepare him for the madness he faced this day.

“Keep up the advance!” Shining Armor roared, thrusting his armoured hoof forward as rank after rank of ponies marched into battle. He was adorned in semi-stylized purple armour. It was a special suit of old Crystal Empire armour, a suit intended for use by one of Sombra’s favoured supporters, repurposed for Shining Armor. It covered more of his body than his old Royal Guard gear, with plates of crysteel covering most of his body, while an undershirt of chainmail protected his joint. Even his helmet was more concealing than he was used to, sealing his muzzle inside a casing of metal with just the right holes for breathing, speaking, and seeing. His horn jutted out, though it too had been plated. Had he not been surrounded at that moment by a force of his own Crystal Empire soldiers, each of whom wore similar, if less effective, suits of armour, he would have looked utterly out of place in Equestria. Even as it stood, the Crystal Prince and his entourage looked like something out of myth, products of a barbaric era that had no relation to modern Equestrian society.

Shining Armor’s horn glowed bright pink as he reached out with his magic, holding together the shield that was keeping his army alive. He roared to the ponies under his command. “We have to take this bridge!”

As the former Captain of the Canterlot Royal Guard, Shining Armor was well-versed in Equestrian military history. He could recite the key battles of his nation’s history, complete with the commanders involved and the disposition of their forces. As Prince of the Crystal Empire it had fallen to him to reorganize the varied units of Crystal and Equestrian army units that had been caught up in the Empire’s disappearance. He knew war as well as anypony of his age could.

It was nothing like the meat grinder before him.

Wave after wave of ponies bravely charged in, though their courage waned with each failed attempt. When Shining and Cadence had read Twilight’s description of the attack on Ponyville, it had sounded like Tartarus itself had been unleashed. It had been almost unbelievable, reading of such raw killing power and so horrible a sight. What he now saw made that description seem almost tame.

Is this what it was like, Twiley? Shining worried, shivering at the very thought.

For a full half-hour Shining Armor had been trying to seize the bridge to Manehatten. It was his role in the hasty plan the War Council had submitted. While Luna led the Night Guard to establish a foothold in the city and a band of those aliens, those ‘Blood Angels,’ whatever that was supposed to mean, secured the Element Bearers. It was one of the rare times Shining Armor deeply envied the wings of the pegasi; it he had been able to fly, he would have been able to join the vanguard and make sure Twiley was safe. As it stood, he had been appointed Field Marshall of the Manehatten Expedition, and thus had to lead the bulk of the relief force.

At that moment, relief was the last thing on Shining Armor’s mind.

The counter-invasion had been a screw-up from the start. One of his top lieutenants, Flash Sentry, had failed to return from his scouting mission, leaving him short a good officer and without any intelligence on the city’s situation. Now he was stuck trying to capture an entrenched bridge with mostly inexperienced soldiers, and Princess Luna was nowhere to be found.

“What I wouldn’t give for that alicorn right now,” he muttered. “Blazing Star, how are we doing?”

Lieutenant Blazing Star, a veteran of the old Equestrian Expeditionary Force who had fought in the siege of the Crystal Palace itself, grimaced as he surveyed the bloodbath. “Poorly, my Prince. We have lost almost a full fourth of our host, and never many were we. The recruits are cowering, and our sergeants are too rare to keep discipline. Save for a miracle, we cannot seize this bridge.”

“Just great,” Shining responded with a grimace of his own. “Hang on Twiley, I’ll get you out somehow.”

“This is a poor situation,” Captain Sturdy Pike noted as he strode up beside his prince. “The aliens were ready for us. We must either make a tactical withdrawal, or change our tactics. A brute-force charge will not break that line, not with so little cover between our lines and their… devices.”

The ‘devices’ of which Pike spoke were, tactically speaking, the worst part of the assault. Autoguns, if Shining remembered the sparse information he had been able to pry from the Blood Angels correctly. Whatever they were they were nasty weapons, able to take down a full grown pony at a range well beyond what most unicorns could manage. Their armour was all but worthless against such weapons; only the shields of the unicorns provided any meaningful defense, and even they were less than entirely reliable. As it stood, Shining Armor’s talent with shields was doing more to keep the army alive than anything else at this point. Ponies on the mainland could recuperate and prepare in relative safety, the volleys of the autoguns kept for now at bay by the purple barrier.

It was not enough, however, to win the battle. Anypony who stepped beyond the barrier was quickly cut down, and Shining would be unable to maintain the quality of the defense if he started trying to move it at any meaningful rate. As it stood, the Equestrians had no way of getting safely across the bridge.

“Pull them back and regroup,” he ordered. It was pointless to continue to throw ponies at that wall of death, and he could no longer bear even the thought.

Shining growled. He was a father, a brother, a husband. He had plenty of mares in his life who at the moment he’d rather be with than be here. He could have been making up for lost time with Flurry Heart, catching up with Twiley, being intimate with Cadence. Instead he was here, trapped in a no-win scenario, with the blood of more ponies on his conscience every minute.

Then came the grumbling roar of alien engines. Shining Armor turned around and saw seven of the strange, smog-blasting crimson metal boxes the Blood Angels used as vehicles. He felt in that moment a strange mixture of relief and anger; relief that reinforcements had arrived, anger that they had taken so long.

Still, with vehicles like that, they might just be able to finally make it across the bridge…

One of the less complicated vehicles rumbled over to Shining’s position. The Crystal Prince turned to his beleaguered army. “Make room for the Blood Angels! Let them through!”

The ponies scampered out of the way of the loud vehicles. Shining Armor stayed put, concentrating as he was on maintaining the shield. The less complicated vehicle rolled to a top next to him, while the other six began forming up near the bridge. The side door on the vehicle next to him swung open, revealing the black-armoured Chaplain, Alessandro.

The Chaplain’s presence did nothing to improve Shining’s mood. During the brief moments he and Cadence had shared before he had to go organize the expedition, the Princess of Love had confided in her husband her impression of the alien. It largely matched Shining’s own; both agreed that this thing was a walking ball of hate encased in strange alien rock. He had no idea why these aliens had come to Equestria, but he knew that it was nothing good.

Alessandro huffed. “Pathetic. You still have not even taken the bridge? Even for a xenos, this is incompetent.”

Shining Armor and his fellows bristled. He snapped at the alien. “How dare you? I’m doing all I can! I don’t have nearly enough pegasi to get around them, and every time we try to march up the bridge they cut us down before we can make it halfway across! Where are Princess Luna and that metal bird of yours? They were supposed to clear a path for us!”

“The Stormraven will be further within the city. Did you not listen when we laid out our plans? As for the black xenos, I neither know nor care. And for the bridge, I have seen the soldiers of the Imperial Guard face worse odds and prevail. The only excuse for a failure is xenos cowardice. Those you face are mere cultists…” Alessandro trailed off as he surveyed the far side of the bridge. “By the Emperor, they’ve brought Iron Warriors. Hmph. Mayhaps…”

The Chaplain never finished his sentence. Shining Armor simmered at the alien’s side, furious at the insult to the sacrifices of his ponies.

“’Mayhaps’ what?” Shining asked. “Answer me, Sombra curse you! My sister’s in there, and and she needs my help!”

Alessandro turned back to his vehicle. “Dabriel! I want the tanks in formation to punch through those defenses. Keep the flamestorm cannon in back. Rhinos will pull up the rear.”

A voice boomed from within the vehicle. “As you command, Holy Chaplain!”

Shining raised an eyebrow as Alessandro turned back to him. “Ready your troops, and fall in line behind the Rhinos. We are punching through now. Keep your nerve, and you may yet see this sister of yours again.”

With that Alessandro slipped back into his vehicle, which Shining Armor guessed was one of the ‘Rhinos’ he had mentioned. A strange name, he thought. It looks nothing like one.

“Orders, my Prince?” Blazing Star asked.

Shining sighed. “Like the alien said. Everypony! Form up and prepare to advance! Let the aliens go first, then follow their vehicles! We are taking this bridge!”

There was a slight ripple of weak cheers at the announcement, followed swiftly by the shouts of the remaining sergeants as they tried to restore some semblance of discipline in the ranks. The Blood Angels drove to the bridge, not even slowing to make sure everypony got out of the way. Thankfully, the sergeants had already mostly cleared the path, and the few stragglers quickly dashed to safety. For a moment, the vehicles sat stock still, pumping smoke and rumbling loudly.

Then came a blaring, mechanical cry.

“For Sanguinius and the Emperor! Advance!”

The vehicles rumbled forward. They had formed into two columns, the widest they could manage while still fitting on the bridge. The three ‘Rhinos’ pulled up the rear while the other four vehicles formed a square of sorts and drove on ahead. As they approached Shining’s barrier, he opened a path for them.

The moment he did so, the fusillade resumed.

A storm of alien projectiles burst screaming through the opening. A handful of unfortunate ponies were caught in the barrage, their armour and coats torn apart. The wounded screamed in pain. Some were dragged to safety by their comrades-in-arms. Others, too deep within the fire zone, were abandoned, left to wail for help until an alien projectile punched through something vital or they bled to death. Shining could only watch in horror, trapped as he still was by the shield which protected the rest of the army from a similar fate.

“Faust preserve us…” Sturdy Pike whispered, his words almost lost amidst the roar of the alien’s weapons.

Then came a sight that Shining Armor would never forget in all his life. Twilight’s letter had described the destructive power of the Blood Angels. Just a minute ago, Shining would have said he had faced even worse in his attempt to seize the bridge. Now, seeing this, he understood.

The Blood Angels’ vehicles lumbered forward a few more metres. Projectiles pinged off their armour like seeds flung at a tin can, each shot having the same effect a pebble would have if thrown at a mountain. The treads of the vehicles crawled across the bridge, crushing and mulching the corpses of the fallen. The various tubes and mounted devices that Shining assumed were weapons shifted and aimed at the invaders.

Then the first two vehicles in the crimson wave put the entire invader hurricane to shame.

Though the two booms from the long-barreled weapon seemed to have no effect, the remainder of the weapons more than made up for that lack. Inside of what could not have been more than a couple seconds Shining saw almost aliens die, their strange, hairless bodies reduced to a red mist. A moment later, the second line of vehicles joined the fray.

The tactical side of Shining’s mind noted that the back-right vehicle did not seem to be using all its weapons, its fire reduced to the small turret on its top. Though he could not explain that strange discrepancy, at that moment it hardly mattered.

The second pair of vehicles did not add much firepower. All four spat death from their top-turrets, though Shining saw most of those shots go wide. The new vehicle that used all of its weapons unleashed impressive beams of green light that seemed to disintegrate anything they touched, though it could only fire three times in that volley. The first two simply poured more flashing death down the bridge. With a mixture of amazement and sheer horror, Shining Armor realized that in two volleys, these vehicles had cut down over a fifth of the invaders.

“What manner of beasts have we made common cause with?” Blazing Star asked, voicing the thoughts of everypony in earshot.

“Whatever they are, I’m glad they’re on our side,” Sturdy Pike noted. “I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that.”

Shining Armor stood silent, his heart pounding in his chest. These are the creatures you said came to save you, Twiley?

Three loud booms stole the Crystal Prince’s attention. He watched as a trio of smoke plumes rushed towards the vehicles. Two spiraled out of control and slammed into Shining’s barrier, cracking the purple shield and sending a shudder through the Prince. The third slammed into the long-barreled tank, exploding into an inferno against its hull.

The Blood Angels responded by adding their Rhinos to the next volley. Six more of the top-turrets joined the fray. It was a roar to put dragons to shame, spewing fire and death at the invaders. Just under a score cultists died, another fifth destroyed.

The vehicles were halfway across the bridge by then. Shining turned to his officers and nodded. The time had come.

Sturdy Pike gave the order. “Brace yourselves! When the shield falls, we advance by sections! Ready…”

Shining’s horn ceased glowing and the barrier shattered into dissipating purple shards.

“Forward march!”

The remains of the Manehatten Expedition trotted forward, keeping to cover as best they could to avoid the unending barrage of alien projectiles. Surprisingly few were so much as grazed, considering how the earlier attempts had gone. The aliens had concentrated their fire on the Blood Angels, and so many of them were lost that their storm of projectiles was no longer so dense.

Shining Armor and his officers trotted into the middle of the formation, surrounded by the heavily armoured ponies of the Crystal Army. For the first time that day, Shining felt a spark of hope in his heart. Almost there, Twiley, just hold out a bit longer. I won't fail you this time.

More plumes of smoke rushed towards the Blood Angels’ vehicles. Two of them flew past, exploding harmlessly in the ground where Shining’s army had been but a few minutes before. The third, however, proved far more dangerous.

It slammed into the long-barreled vehicle’s treads, sending molten rubber and hot metal flying through the air. The vehicles halted in its tracks. Most of the vehicles behind it ground to a halt, while the one directly adjacent to it and the one behind that continued on. The other second-row vehicle turned and filed in behind its partner, and the Rhinos slowly fell into a single line behind those. As the vehicles passed their now-immobilized fellow, they parted back into two columns. One of them, the one that had yet to use all its weapons, rushed ahead of the others.
Shining Armor noticed the grey-armoured alien a moment before the immobilized vehicle started blasting them. Already unnerved by the disabling of so powerful a machine as that vehicle, he found himself deeply disturbed at the sight of these new warriors. Even at such a distance, he could make out the eerie similarities between them and the Blood Angels. They were giants among the common aliens who had done so bloody a job of keeping Shining Armor out of Manehatten. They hefted massive weapons in their hands, and seemed impervious to harm; Shining watched in horror as the immobilized vehicle’s barrage left no more than a scratch in their rocky skin.

These are the ‘Chaos Marines?’ Shining thought, his eyes widening with horror. He had to get his sister out of Manehatten as soon as possible.

A moment later, to Shining’s surprise, the Chaos Marines turned and walked away. The Crystal Prince turned his attention to the end of the bridge, and saw way.

The charging vehicle had reached the enemy.

It ploughed through the alien ranks, cutting what remained of their formation in half. At long last, it used its weapons, spewing massive tongues of flame into the aliens. A horrid chorus of blood-curdling screams echoed through the air, chilling Shining Armor and everypony under his command to the bone.

Against the backdrop of a wall of fire, the invaders retreated. It was a disorganized mess, the common invaders simply turning and running, desperate to get as far away from the oncoming Blood Angels as possible. They were a pittance of their former strength, a few dozen where more than a hundred had once held the line. While the common invaders fled, the Chaos Marines made a more ordered escape, slipping away into the alleyways of the city and disappearing from sight.

The Blood Angels’ vehicles regrouped just beyond the end of the bridge. The back doors on one opened, revealing a band of the alien militia Alessandro had brought with him. The Equestrians halted just short of their alien allies. Shining Armor trotted ahead of the main force, keeping an eye out for Alessandro.

Before he could find a hint of where the alien Chaplain had gone, a sickening smell washed over him. The Crystal Prince stopped dead just a few steps short of the invaders’ abandoned defenses. He fought down nausea at the horror-show his senses were assaulted with.

It had been disgusting enough to hear the invaders burn. Now Shining Armor found himself within a metre of the charred corpses of the fallen. The air reeked of burnt meat, and the ground was black with char. Thankfully, most of the invaders were dead. Horrifyingly, some were not.

“Help, me…” one of the invaders weakly begged, the charred remains of his alien arm twitching in Shining’s direction.

“Faust preserve us,” Blazing Star said, taking a step back. He had fought in the War With Sombra, and had seen many horrible things in his time. But this…

None of them had been prepared for this.

The snap-hiss of superheated air shook the ponies back to reality. Shining saw one of the humans holding a small device in his hand with a smoking barrel. The burned invader had stopped moving, and had a fresh strand of smoke rising from his head.

“Warp take you, heretic,” the human muttered. He turned to his fellow humans. “Police the dead! The Holy Chaplain wants no survivors! Sanders, grab a couple buddies and take a look at the Pred, see if you can get it running again. The rest of you, start fortifying our position!”

Another Rhino opened, allow Alessandro to step out. The black-armoured alien walked over to Shining.

“The bridge is ours,” Alessandro said. “I will be leaving half my militia here. Assign part of your force to assist them. We cannot afford to lose this position.”

“I agree,” Shining replied, fixing his gaze on the Chaplain, doing his best to block out the dozens of charred corpses and the sporadic snap-hisses coming from the humans’ devices. Best to simply slip into ‘soldier mode.’ “Blazing Star, take everypony you need and help the humans anyway you can. Sturdy, dispatch a squad to tell Princess Celestia we’ve taken the bridge and could really use some reinforcements, if we have any.”

The officers nodded and rushed off to accomplish their duties.

Shining Armor sighed. “Hold on, Twiley, I’m almost there.”

Alessandro simply stood, stock silent at Shining’s side. The alien checked his own handheld device, one that had so different a design from the one used by the humans that Shining wondered if they even served the same purpose.

“We cannot delay long,” Alessandro spoke at last. “Half of my battle-brothers are in that city, and I must link up with them.”

“I understand how you feel,” Shining said, surprised at his own statement, yet possessed of little doubt that it was true. He made a quick mental note to have a proper conversation with his wife about the Blood Angels when he got back. “My sister’s in there. I can’t rest until I know she’s safe. I mean, she can take care of herself, but I’m still her big brother, and, well…”

“Ah yes, the 'sister' you mentioned earlier. Who would she be?” Alessandro asked, his tone almost strained.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Shining answered. He allowed himself a slight chuckle, anything to relieve the gnawing tension at having to wait. “What, did she forget to mention me again?”

“A witchmind and a flying psyker from the same family…” Alessandro mumbled, stroking the jaw of his skull-helmet. He shook his head. “Your assistant returns. Comes, we’ve wasted too much time here already.”

Shining nodded his agreement and turned to meet Sturdy Pike.

“Message sent, sir,” he reported. “I take it we are to set off again?”

“Yes,” Shining replied. He turned to the Expedition. “Everypony, make ready! When the Blood Angels roll out, we’re following them!”

At those words, sergeants set about preparing their squads, while officers double-checked their organization. Alessandro returned to his Rhino, and within moments the Blood Angels vehicles, now reduced by a Rhino and the long-barreled vehicle, began blasting out black smog again.

It had taken far too long, and far too many lives, but Shining had finally gotten into Manehatten. Now he just had to find Twilight, rescue all six Element Bearers, and retake the city from a poorly-understood alien force that had decimated his ponies until their new, also alien, allies had arrived.

The Crystal Prince sighed. It was going to be a long, long day. But no matter what it threw at him, SHining Armor made a promise: he would not fail Twilight again.
_______

Deeper inside the city, chaos ruled the streets. Corpses were strewn about, layers of congealed blood forming in static pools of rot. Some had been nailed to walls in unholy patterns, their bodies forming the profane symbols of Chaos. Fire crackled, consuming the dead and their former homes alike. Not a pane of glass remained unbroken, all shattered either by desperate ponies or blasts from boltshells. Statues had been toppled, and the streams in Central Park ran red. In the centre of the park, a cadre of Word Bearers chanted their foul verses as they meticulously built an altar to Chaos Undivided out of a carefully selected mixture of corpses and still-living, still-screaming ponies.

Further out, the massacre was still ongoing. Khornate Berzerkers ran rampant through the city, offering to their god the only worship he accepted. Chainaxes roared and ponies screamed as they passed. Elsewhere, a band of Plague Marines stumbled along, their fetid boltguns spitting poisoned shells at the fleeing ponies. Taint spread with every step they took, killing any plant they touched and rapidly degrading the corpses of those they slew. Lastly, most horrifically, the Noise Marines set about their abominable hedonisms.

Not that poor, young Starwing knew that at the time. At that particular point in time, the Pegasus filly was far more focused on hiding from the pink horror staring at her.

The thing had burst into her family’s townhouse, carrying a strange, silver tube in its weird, alien hooves. It had fixed the family, already confused and frightened by the commotion from further in-city, with its terrifying, unmoving gaze. Then it spoke, in a sick, high-pitched voice that would follow Starwing to her grave.

“Feel the bass!”

It strummed on its tube, blasting the dinner table apart with a wave of ear-splitting sound. In an instant, Father lunged at the intruder.

“Leave my family alone!” he had roared. Those words were his last.

The intruder simply laughed and strummed its tube again. Through some miracle, Daddy survived the volley, dodging the ensuing swing of its tube and striking the intruder with all his might. The intruder stumbled back, stunned by the force of the blow, but it was to no avail; the thing’s skin was like mountain stone, firm and unyielding.

Starwing’s Mommy took advantage of the opportunity and grabbed the filly.

“Come on! We have to go!” she said, rushing to the stairs.

Starwing caught one last glimpse of her Daddy. She screamed as the intruder grabbed hold of Father.

“Oh, so soft,” the intruder said in a tone that let all who heard it know it was licking its alien lips in perverse delight. “I wonder, what is the music of your breaking bones?”

Starwing was around the corner before she could see what came next. The cracking sounds and deep-toned screams of paint hat followed meant she didn’t have to.

Her Mommy flew down into the basement, leaving the lights off. Moving by memory, she found the broom closet.

“In here,” she told Starwing. “Wait here until Mommy and Daddy come get you, okay? Just stay very still and very quiet. And Starwing, we love you, so very, very much, never forget that, okay? Now be good for Mommy, be quiet.”

Starwing sniffled and reached out for her Mommy. “Please, don’t…”

“Sh!” Mommy hushed the terrified little filly. “Please, be quiet. Just wait here, okay? Mommy’s going to go get… Hide!”

Mommy shut the door, trapping Starwing inside. The Pegasus filly could not see a thing, both from the door in her way and from the darkness of the basement. She could, however, hear quite well.

“Catch the rhythm! Taste the rhythm!” the intruder boomed. The alien sounds of its tube blared, hurting Starwing’s ears. The filly dropped to a laying position, her forehooves covering her ears and her eyes screwing shut. Her wings compressed against her sides, as they always did when she was truly scared. Even with that most foolproof of childhood defenses in place, she still heard her Mommy’s last moments.

Whatever last words Mommy had to say, they were drowned out in the next wave of sound. Mommy tried to scream, only for the sound to be cut short by a wet squish and thud. Then came the steps.

They moved to an alien beat, the difference between one step and the other divergent by a time almost insignificant, too little to describe, but enough to confuse the filly’s senses. Each step felt simply wrong on an instinctual level, so close to normal and yet so glaringly not. They came closer with every passing second, closer, and closer, and louder, and louder, until they came to a stop just outside the broom closet.

Starwing whispered a really, really quiet prayer. “Please, Celestia, help me.”

The intruder cackled. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

Then the door to the broom closet swung open. Starwing kept her eyes firmly shut, hoping against hope that if she couldn’t see it, than it wouldn’t be able to see her.

“Well, well, well, what-o-what do we have here?” the intruder sang, its voice carrying a strange mechanical twang, like somepony speaking in an old movie. “A little-little one. Oh, and such a pretty-bitty little colour you are! I always loved dark blue! And don’t you just have the cutest little pink eyes! Oh, the things I can do with those…”

Childhood curiosity overpowering her fear for a brief moment, Starwing slowly opened her eyes, a decision she would immediately regret.

The thing was staring at her through its unmoving face, its horrid yellow eyes staring right at her. Pale pinkish light emanated from the silver tube, bathing the nearby part of the room enough that Starwing could clearly make out the intruder. Then intruded had kneeled down just in front of her. Its unnatural hooves reached up and touched the side of its head. Then, to Starwing’s horror, the intruder removed its own head, revealing a second head inside, one even more terrifying than the first.

The intruder’s new head was a hideous thing, flat and utterly furless. It was a pale, lifeless grey, like the cleaning water at a Filly Scouts camp, or like a thin layer of snow on top of a grey street. Innumerable scars and pockmarks laced its face, making it almost look more like a rock than anything alive. A small hunk of flesh was missing from the side of its upper lip, making it look as though it was always scowling. At the centre of the horror show were two beady eyes, as black as coal and ablaze with a strange emotion Starwing could not understand.

The intruder stretched out it dry, blue tongue and slowly licked its ruined lips. “Oh yes, you’ll be just perfect…”

It reached for Starwing with its rough, pockmarked pink hoof, a gleam of something utterly unholy in its eyes. Something moved in the shadows, a pounding on the stone floor. The intruder lunged. Hot blood splattered across the filly’s face.

Starwing did the only thing she could: she screamed.

Author's Note

Comments and criticisms are most welcome.

And now for stats:

Shining Armor, Prince of the Crystal Empire 90 points

Shining Armor: WS5 BS4 S4 T3 W2 I4 A2 Ld10 Sv4+/5++
Unit Type: Infantry
Unit Composition: 1 (unique)
Wargear: Armour of the Crystal Prince, Unicorn Horn
Special Rules: Master of Shield Spells, Fearless, Independent Character, Psyker Mastery Level 2
Shining Armor may generate powers from the Biomancy, Telekinesis, or Equestrian disciplines.

Master of Shield Spells: one per turn, Shining Armor can elect to forgo any other actions for that turn including generating psychic powers, shooting attacks, or close combat attacks. If he does so, then he may attempt to generate a Shield Spell during the Psychic Phase. He must make a Leadership test. If he fails, nothing happens and Shining Armor cannot take anymore actions that turn. If he passes, he and any squad he is attached to gain a 4+ Invulnerable Save until the controlling player’s next Psychic Phase. If Shining Armor has not moved this turn, then he may extend the Shield to 1d3 other friendly squads within 12” of him or his attached squad.

Wargear:

Unicorn Horn: 24” S4 AP- Assault 2

Armour of the Crystal Prince: this unique relic was recovered from Sombra’s arsenal after the return of the Crystal Empire. Originally intended to protect an unknown individual known only as the “Crystal Prince,” it was given to Shining Armor after Cadence ascended the Crystal Throne. It grants the bearer a 4+ Armour Save and a 5+ Invulnerable Save.
___

Please note that I have not finished designing the Equestrian Psychic Discipline. I’ll post it in the first chapter after I get it done. Advice on what powers I should include would be most appreciated.

And as always, criticism and suggestions on the homebrew rules are very much so appreciated.

Chapter 15: The Basement

After a few moments of quivering in absolute terror, Starwing realized that she was not, as she had feared, dead. She could feel a strange, hot liquid burning softly on her midnight-blue coat, but she was alive. Or at least, she was pretty sure she was still alive. Alive, and terrified.

She had seen something move in the shadows, a massive figure bathed for a brief moment in crimson light. As the pink horror had lunged forward, Starwing had closed her eyes, instinct driving her to avert her sight form her inevitable doom. Yet somehow, impossibly, that doom had been averted. It made no sense; in all the scary stories Starwing read late at night with a flashlight under the covers said that when the monster cornered somepony in a corner, they killed and ate them. It was the rule! Starwing was pretty sure that was what had happened. The pink horror had burst into the house out of nowhere, chased her down here, and trapped her. That was always how it went, but Starwing was sure that she wasn’t supposed to be around to think about it.

Curiosity overpowering her earlier burst of terror, the pegasus filly creaked one eye open, to make sure that she really was fine. What she saw froze her stiff with fear, both eyes snapped wide open in shocked terror.

The pink horror was lying in front of her, its dead, grey face mere inches from the filly. Cold, soulless black eyes stared at her. Its flat, alien mouth hung open, a dribble of black liquid slowly streaming to the floor. At this distance, Starwing could clearly make out every scratch and scar that criss-crossed the horror’s desiccated head. A foul reek burned her nostrils, a stench beyond anything the young filly had ever smelled; to describe it as an unholy mixture of raw sewage, heated excrement, and the stinky waftings of the broken-down house at the end of the street that Mommy always told her to never ever go near would be an understatement. The terrified filly snapped her hooves over her nose, trying to block out the searing stench.

She froze again, sure that her doom was still to come, and that her sudden movement would simply accelerate the process. After all, the pink horror was right there, staring right at her, its alien gaze unwavering, unmoving, almost as though…

Shock overwhelmed the filly, leaving her now as confused as she was utterly terrified. Why was the horror not moving? Did something stop it? What could possibly stop something that big, that powerful?

Within a half-second, Starwing realized that the pink horror looked a bit different. Its weird, furless skin looked a bit brighter than before she had closed her eyes, and it had a strange, red tint that she was sure had not been there before. The next realization was that the floor had taken on a similar quality, as had the old cardboard boxes stored next to the broom closet. The details clicked in her young mind and she found herself looking around for the source of the strange red light. Before she had moved her head even an inch, she found the source.

A massive sword, like something out of one of the fairy tales Mommy would tell her when she went to bed, the one with the giant-ponies and the brave farmfilly who saved the town. The weapon glowed like a dim candle, casting a pale but harsh red glow. It was longer than Starwing’s whole body, and was as red as a fresh apple. Her eyes slide down the blade to the hilt, which she found to be locked firmly in the grasp of a disturbingly familiar alien appendage. Fear seized the filly’s heart as her eyes betrayed her, her gaze inexorably following the unnatural foreleg until she beheld the entire create.

It was, in basic form, all but identical to the pink horror: tall and broad, with the body of a minotaur and a small, unmoving, flat face permanently fixed into a furious snarl. It shared the massive shoulders of the horror and the forelegs that bent the wrong way. However, there were many ways in which this one was quite distinct from the pink horror. Most obviously, this new alien was mostly white, like a fresh layer of snow in Central Park. In the centre of its upper barrel was a crimson raindrop, gleaming like a ruby in the light. Its lower barrel was strangely designed, with six square bumps, all of them the colour of bright gold. It held the glowing sword in one of its alien appendages, while the other carried some sort of golden chalice encrusted with more rubies. Atop its frozen face rested a green circlet like the laurels Starwing had seen in a book on the Romares. A massive, indiscernible shape protruded from the alien’s back, a growth unlike anything the filly had ever seen. Beside the strange growth rested two massive wings, as frozen as the alien’s face, as gold as the chalice the alien carried.

The alien’s eyes suddenly glowed a deep green, as though they were made of emerald. Starwing involuntarily flinched in response. The alien looked down as her, fixing its viridian gaze on her, just like the horror had done not a minute earlier. For a moment that was both too brief and just short of an eternity for the poor filly, the alien simply stood there, looking at her. The terror of the pink horror rose up in Starwing’s traumatized young heart, a storm of frightened emotions bubbling up inside her. She knew, just knew, that at any moment the alien would grow tired of whatever game it was playing and eat her, just like all monsters were supposed to.

Emotionally traumatized and overburdened, still riding a rollercoaster of terror and confusion, poor young Starwing broke down into tears. There was barely any warning from the outside; a brief pursing of lips, a gathering of water in her eyes, and then she bawled.

“Mommy!” Starwing wailed. She was a child, frightened and alone in the dark, faced with two inscrutable aliens. She needed somepony to comfort her, to tell her it would be okay, that she was safe.

Neither Mommy nor Daddy came for her. No pony heeded the filly’s desperate sobs. She was alone, abandoned to the monsters in the dark. With doom standing before her, she cried.

A soft hiss; a wet slice; a metallic click; a mechanical creak; a brief, rocky clatter. Those were the sounds that followed. A strange, warm, smooth pressure gently pressed against Starwing’s head.

Through the waterfall of her tears she saw another flat, furless face no more than a third of a metre from her. Its alien lips curled up, and its golden eyes radiated a strange warmth. A deep voice boomed past those curled lips, its tone soothing for Starwing on some innate, instinctual level.

“Be still, tiny xenos,” the alien said as it softly, calmly stroked the filly’s head. “And be not afraid. You are safe now, and need fear the cruelties of Chaos no longer.”
______

All things considered, it was something of a surreal moment for the Sanguinary Priest Domenico.

Like all Sons of Sanguinius, Domenico battled daily the siren call of the Flaw, the last gift of their gene-father and the great curse which burdened them. It was a battle as unending as the defense of the Imperium, an inner war which could not be won, merely delayed another minute, another hour. All Blood Angels, whatever the name of their Chapter, fought the battle in their own way. Some took up art, others philosophy. Many spent their lives in a perpetual search for battle, scouring the galaxy for the next opportunity to satiate the Thirst, and thus stave off madness another day.

Ever since he had acquired the weapon, a gift from Captain Castigon himself, received after Domenico had saved the noble Captain’s life from the near-fatal blow of an Ork Warboss, the Crimson Knife had been Domenico’s method of control. The blade was as red as the blood in his veins, an apt design given its use. It was a sink for his Flaw, taking his Thirst from him and guzzling blood in his place. Each battle he would unleash the blade, following the path it decreed and slaking its insatiable thirst as best he could ere the end. Through the slaughter, Domenico’s soul would be soothed, if only for a time, granted a respite from the inevitable end all Blood Angels faced.

It was in service to the Knife’s hunger that Domenico, in pursuit of a depraved Noise Marine, found himself standing in the ruins of a xenos house, at least two blocks from his nearest battle-brother.

The xenos house had been a mess when he arrived. The door had been shattered, and the interior was simply destroyed. Shards of wood and glass coated the floor. Just inside, at the border of the kitchen and the entry hall, lay the bloody, broken form of a winged xenos male. Even without two centuries of experience in the art of warfare, Domenico could tell at no more than a glance that it was dead. He stepped over the corpse, turning his genhanced senses to more important matters.

As he crossed the threshold of the kitchen, he heard a sick, high-pitched voice sing a perverse tune. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”

The Priest tightened his grip on the Crimson Knife. Though he did not know the speaker personally, he knew full well that only one type of heretic spoke in such a manner, the Noise Marines of Slaanesh. Domenico grimaced beneath his snow-white helm; Noise Marines were infamous for their jittery speed. Their drug-ruined bodies overflowing with hyper-stimulants, they were fast even by the standards of Astartes, able to match blows with such agile warriors as the Eldar. Domenico’s best chance was a quick assault, to take the Chaos Marine by surprise and rely on the fury of the Thirst, the edge of his blade, and the strength of his armour.

With a grace that would seem strange to the eyes of common men, Domenico slipped almost silently through the kitchen. He quickly located the source of the Noise Marine’s voice, down a flight of stairs which led into an unlit basement. The Sanguinary Priest doused the external light of his lenses. He would not need their help to see in such simple darkness. He also fingered the power switch on his sword, extinguishing its glow and armour-piercing power field. While some power weapons required time to activate, this sword was of the artifice of the Techmarines of Baal and could spark its killing field at a touch.

Taking great care to maneuver his winged jump pack through the tight doorframe without giving himself away, Domenico slowly slipped into the dark basement. With his genhanced eyes, he pierced the veil of shadow and saw his prey. The foul Chaos Marine was hunched over at the far side of the room, gibberingly perversely over some unfortunate object of its vile attention. Whatever unfortunate being the Noise Marine was fawning over seemed to be whimpering. It was a soft, pleading sound, like a frightened child. It was a sound that many Space Marines would ignore in favour of more relevant sensory information. Domenico, however, had long since abandoned such cold aloofness; he was a Defender of Humanity, and by his blood and his sword, he would never allow a child to come to harm on his watch.

Fury burning in his hearts, Domenico offered a brief, silent prayer to the Emperor, pleading for a swift and deadly arm. He tensed. It would have to be a perfect lunge; he could not afford even the faint light and subtle hum of the Blood Chalice’s energy field, and thus this charge would risk spilling the holy vitae contained within. For a human it would be an impossible task.

For a veteran Space Marine, it was as simple as breathing.

“Oh yes, you’ll be just perfect…” the Noise Marine spoke his final words. He leaned forward, his tainted, grasping hands reaching out.

That simple movement was all Domenico needed. Disabling his armour’s vox, he lunged forward with a silent roar. He thumbed the power field on the Crimson Knife, the blade blazing to life in his hand.

The Noise Marine, distracted by the whimpering being obscured from Domenico’s sight, never stood a chance. Domenico was a veteran warrior, his skill honed by centuries of battle. He was imbued with the speed of his Primarch, driven by the Thirst to rush into battle. His ferocity was enhanced beyond that of normal Space Marines by the scent of the Blood Chalice.

All he needed was a single strike, and a single strike was all it took.

The Crimson Knife tore through the distracted Noise Marine, bisecting the Slaaneshi pervert. Black, drug-tainted blood sprayed across the ground. To Domenico’s surprise, a high-pitched scream tore through the air, the squealing sound reaching his ears before he even had the chance to regain his footing. The Noise Marine’s corpse struck the ground with a clatter as his Warp-touched ceramite slammed into the wooden floor.

With the Chaos Marine dispatched, Domenico turned his attention to the source of the scream. He found before him a shivering xenos child of the winged breed. At a glance his genhanced eyes perceived that some of the Noise Marine’s toxic blood has spattered onto the alien. The Sanguinary Priest grimaced inside his helmet; the servants of Slaanesh were infamous for their overuse of all kinds of drugs, and due to the rigors of Space Marine physiology, the Noise Marines could easily survive imbibing concoctions that could kill entire Feudal World villages. A rumoured effect of their addictions was the toxifying of their blood. It seemed the rumours were true, at least for this particular heretic.

The xenos child fell silent for a moment before finally opening its eyes. Domenico watched, silent and unmoving, as the alien’s gaze travelled from the Noise Marine’s scarred visage to the unlit eyes of Domenico’s helmet. Having no reason any longer to keep them dim, he reactivated the light of his lenses. Though he could see well enough in the dark, the Codex was clear: keep the lights on unless otherwise necessary. Despite taking a looser interpretation of Guilliman’s writings than their Ultramarine cousins, the Blood Angels still adhered to the discipline it imparted as best they could.

The xenos flinched at the sudden light. Tears began to pour from its oversized eyes, and it wailed.

“Mommy!” the xenos desperately cried.

Domenico froze. A thousand memories of a thousand worlds rushed to the forefront of his mind. How many times had he heard those same words, in that same tone, flow from human lips? As the memories filtered back into the depths of his transhuman mind, new thoughts began to swirl.

A small part of him wondered, as had all the Blood Angels for some time, just how the xenos was able to speak Low Gothic. It was a question none had dared to mention much, especially with the greater concerns of Chaos and the White Princess, Celestia, taking precedence. Its implications were too unnerving, even for the fearless Space Marines, and too complex for simple discourse. Yet this thought was short and brief; it was a question for a later time, when the veterans could sit in council and discuss these discoveries in detail.

A more important thought soon overrode the linguistic query. What was he to do with this creature? On one hand, Imperial dogma was clear: purge the xenos. Though for now desperation kept them allied with the locals, there were no witnesses here. He could do as he pleased and none would be the wiser. It was the simple solution. It was the Ecclesiarchical, the Inquisitorial solution.

Yet on the other hand, it was not the only legitimate solution. Domenico would never question the Holy Word of Terra; the galaxy was the Emperor’s, and no xenos would be allowed to oppose that. But in practice, there was room for exception. Over the centuries, Domenico had several times encountered the so-called ‘sanctioned xenos,’ aliens permitted by no lesser authority than the High Lords of Terra to exist within Imperial borders. And furthermore, Alessandro had, for better or worse, allied them with these xenos. To betray the trust of an alliance was commonplace to the treacherous mind of the alien, but an offense to the honour of a Blood Angel.

Lastly came a more personal thought, the appearance of which surprised the Sanguinary Priest. He recalled again the many children he had encountered while defending the Imperium of Man. Orphans, wailing for their lost parents, desperate for the security of caring arms and soothing words. Such plights had always struck a chord with Domenico, though he could not begin to explain why. It was a trait he had long ago attributed to the Emperor’s Will. Wherever it came from, it had been a part of him for longer than he could remember.

And yet, it irked him, offended the same pride which told him to honour the alliance, that he was forced to fight alongside aliens. He was a Defender of Humanity, a Space Marine. His mandate was to destroy all who threatened the children of Terra, be they alien or Warpborn. And what would he do with a xenos child anyway? Rescuing the creature offered nothing of benefit.

Another memory, this one far more recent, rose up in his mind. Just a few days ago, in the xenos village, when the battle had been won and the Chapter’s Due had been collected, Domenico had elected to spend his time in the field hospital the xenos had been using. There he had worked alongside a local healer, Nurse Redheart. A few hours later, he had delivered Mrs. Aldin’s baby with Redheart’s help. It was an unspoken maxim among many Space Marine Chapters that, when dealing with amenable xenos, to repay a debt incurred. If even the Blood Ravens could hold to such a rule, even when the favour owed was to the devious Eldar, then how could Domenico do any less?

These thoughts battled in his mind, vying for influence. At last, the victor was determined, and the decision was made.

The whole process took Domenico’s genhanced mind roughly a second.

In what would have seemed to mortal eyes to be a single motion, the Sanguinary Priest activated the cover-field in his Blood Chalice, sealing the sacred liquid inside, stabbed the Crimson Knife into the corpse of the Noise Marine, removed his helmet and clipped it to his waist, and kneeled down. He reached out with his free hand and gently stroked the xenos child’s scalp.

“Be still, tiny xenos,” he said. “And be not afraid. You are safe now, and need fear the cruelties of Chaos no longer.”

The xenos flinched at the touch, but offered no resistance. Had it been human, Domenico would have guessed it was suffering from too much emotional trauma to care where comfort was coming from, simply that it was coming. Given that he was dealing with an alien, however, he had in truth no idea. Regardless, he continued to slowly stroke the xenos. It soon leaned into his palm, its weeping slowly diminishing to wet sniffles. With the crying for now handled, Domenico allowed centuries of medical experience to take over.

Carefully placing the Blood Chalice on the floor, he reached over and grabbed a stray piece of fabric. He placed a firm but gentle grip on the xenos’ back, continuing to stroke it with his fingers so as to keep it calm. He then carefully wiped away the bloodstains in the creature’s fur. Xenos or not, Domenico knew it was unhealthy to have something that toxic slowly burning its way into one’s body. The xenos tensed, but its struggle remained minimal. With the cleaning done, Domenico did a quick assessment of the xenos itself. A moment later he was satisfied that it had suffered no physical harm.

“Where, where’s Mommy?” the xenos asked through its sniffles. To Domenico’s surprise, he found the creature’s nostrils to be slowly streaming trails of mucus, just like human children. It was unnerving how similar these aliens were at times to humanity. “What, who are you?”

“I am Domenico, Priest of Sanguinius,” he answered as softly as he could. It would avail him nothing to agitate the xenos again. “Your mother is…”

He trailed off. He could full well see that the xenos’ mother was dead. The corpse was but a couple metres away, already cooling. Yet what help would it be to tell the xenos this? It is the simplest, most pragmatic choice. The xenos is an orphan now, and the sooner it knows, the sooner it can recover.

“Deceased,” Domenico finished. “But she and your sire are avenged. As you can see, the heretic who slew them is dead.”

Tears welled up again in the xenos’ eyes. “D-dead? No, Mommy, Daddy, no!”

Domenico silently groaned. He knew that this was the most likely response the xenos could have had, given the eerie resemblance its reactions had to human psychology, but it was still an unwanted impediment. The Priest was needed elsewhere; Orlando and the xenos scouts would soon catch up with him, and they still needed to locate Brother-Sergeant Priam. He did not have any more time to waste on a weeping alien.

“Tiny xenos, I cannot waste time here any longer,” Domenico said. “There is battle to be joined, and my blood screams for release. Quiet your weeping and I will take you to safety.”

The xenos gave him a look of distraught betrayal that quickly turned to anger. “You’re lying! Mommy and Daddy wouldn’t leave me, they promised!”

Domenico groaned. Human children, as prone as he was to protect them, were difficult enough; xenos children, it seemed, were just as uncooperative, and far less deserving of a Space Marine’s sympathy. “Then they were fools. Death comes when it will, and pays heed to no man’s schedule. This place is not safe. This Noise Marine? There are dozens, hundreds more just like him running through the city, accompanied by thousands of lesser heretics. You will not last an hour down here, weeping over a cold corpse. This is your last chance, xenos.”

The pounding of feet from the floor above stole the attention of both Space Marine and xenos child. In a flash, Domenico was on his feet, the Blood Chalice in his hand and the Crimson Knife ripped from the bloody corpse of the Noise Marine. Concentrating on his transhuman hearing, Domenico discerned the intruders. Four, no, five, cultists, and two Traitor Astartes, likely Word Bearers.

He looked back to the xenos child, quivering in fear on the floor. Irritating as the creature was, it did not deserve whatever the Sons of Lorgar had planned for it. The Sanguinary Priest sighed.

“It seems fate favours you, xenos,” Domenico said, stabbing his sword into the ground again. “I cannot in good conscience leave you as fodder for Chaos. Come, we will ride to safety on wings of fire.”

The xenos eyed Domenico’s now-outstretched hand suspiciously, but some instinct Domenico did not care to identify overrode the creature’s fear and it approached, taking care to avoid the puddle of black blood which had formed around the deceased Noise Marine. To a surprised squeak from the xenos Domenico scooped it up and deposited it in the crook of his Chalice-arm. As loathe as the Priest was to allow a filthy xenos so close to so holy an artifact, he estimated that it would be a greater offense to the Emperor if he were to die because his sword-arm was filled with xenos.

Taking up the Crimson Knife once more, Domenico readied himself for battle.

“Hold tight, tiny xenos,” he said as he strode towards the stairs. “And keep your eyes closed. You will not want to see what comes next.

Domenico looked up the stairs. Around the corner was the edge of light, the path to the outside. Seven heretics, two of them Astartes, stood between him and escape. His head still unarmoured, he smiled. Good, he thought. My blade still hungers.

And so with a smile on his lips and a xenos child in his arm, Domenico charged with a wondrous cry on his lips.

“For Sanguinius and the Emperor!”

Author's Note

Just for reference, I have no idea if Noise Marine blood is canonically toxic/acidic. I just figure it works as a logical consequence of their… proclivities.

Also, that’s that plot arc set up. Next time, back to the battle at large.

I hope this scene wasn’t too jarring. It just kept growing until it demanded its own chapter.

For those wondering, I meant to include a scene with Domenico and Redheart back in Angels in Ponyville, but it never got written. So as far as story canon is concerned, Domenico lent a hand here and there, and when the refugees from the Wrath of Angels came down Redheart helped Domenico deal with Mrs. Aldin.

I also feel it prudent to mention that the opinions expressed by characters in this story are meant to represent their own views. Please do not assume them to be correct in every matter.

Chapter 16: Scattered Survivors Part I

Today was definitely, certainly, undeniably the least awesome day in Rainbow Dash’s life. Which was quite a statement to make, considering that less than a week ago, she had been forced to watch as alien minotaurs burned Ponyville to the ground.

As it turned out, the only thing worse than that was having those same alien minotaurs try to do the same to Manehatten. Or, more accurately, for alien minotaurs to try and do the same to Manehatten while Rainbow Dash was trying to train up the local branch of Wonderbolts Reserves specifically for the purpose of…

“Watch out!”

The sudden voice snapped Rainbow out of her distracted monologue. It was aptly timed, as Rainbow’s instinctive flinch stopped her mere inches short of a shot from an alien weapon. The shell whizzed by her faze so closely she could feel the wind shear on her nose.

“Yikes!” Rainbow said, eyes as wide as saucers. She shook her head and smirked. “Hah! Take that! No alien thingamajig is fast enough to catch Rainbow…”

A fresh volley sent the blue Pegasus scurrying for cover before she could finish.

Rainbow’s heart pounded against her ribcage, pumping blood and adrenaline through her system. In the brief moments of clear thought she had amidst dodging alien fire and trying to keep the Reserves alive, that feeling disturbed her. On a normal day, the flood of adrenaline was what Rainbow lived for; it was her reward for speed and for daring, the signifier of the best moments of her life. So to feel on a day like this…

If she had more time to think about it, it would be most disturbing indeed.

However, she did not have much time for thought, especially with the smaller aliens rushing forward.

“Wonderbolts! Form up on me!” Rainbow shouted. They were a poor sight, these reserves. There were twelve of them, in varying degrees of proper uniform. The hours of combat had worn on them all. Their coats and uniforms were drenched in sweat, and several of the less fortunate ponies had dried blood spattered on them. Many were barely in their uniforms now, the slim weapons of the smaller aliens having sliced and grazed the fabric to shreds. Some of them could barely walk, only keeping mobile through the endless beating of exhausted wings. One had an eye sealed shut, the lid kept in place by dried blood.

Not that all of them had been in terribly good condition to begin with. Three of them had arrived late and out of uniform, apparently having spent the night previous getting completely hammered. After throwing together her best impression of an angry Spitfire, Rainbow had forced the trio into the first uniforms she could find, none of which fit properly. At the time, it seemed like a fitting punishment.

With one of those ponies struggling to stay in the air, his legs ruined by a volley he had not been quite agile enough to evade, Rainbow found herself seriously reconsidering that idea.

However, guilt could come later. For now, she had to lead these ponies to victory, or at least safety. At this point, Rainbow would take what she could get.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” Rainbow said. “We fly in and distract the baddies. Break off into threes, stick together, watch each other’s backs. Just, don’t fly in a pattern. They catch you faster that way. Try and keep them distracted long enough for Fogey to charge. When he gets here, get out of the way, meet me back here. We’ll follow behind him. Got it?”

Even an hour earlier, at least one of the Wonderbolts Reservists would have said something, cracked a joke or at least said ‘yes.’ But they were too tired, too weary. They had been fighting since the aliens started landing, and it was only getting worse with every skirmish. Nothing they did could keep the aliens down for long, and the constant defeats and panicked retreats were wearing on them. This charge was their last chance. Either General Fogey broke through the alien lines and they escaped towards the train station, or they all, all…

Hibernated forever, Rainbow silently plastered over that word.

The Reservists nodded weakly. Rainbow tried to fake a smile. It was the best she could do. When she was in her element, she could inspire ponies with her awesomeness. But inspiring ponies in battle, it seemed, was a far different feat from getting fillies to follow their dreams.

“Come on, for Equestria!” Rainbow shouted, pumping her hoof in the air. The Reservists mustered a weak reply before breaking off into their trios. Rainbow would fly alone, as she had since the fighting began.

The Reservists were tired, wounded, and demoralized. They were bloodied and battered and bruised. They were all but beaten. They were very much so like most ponies, who by now had simply given up and… hibernated. But there was one other thing they were, one thing that set them above most ponies. Though they were just Reservists, they were still Wonderbolts.

And thus, when they took to the skies, they soared.

Even battered as they were, with their uniforms soiled and torn, they were magnificent. They soared over the alien invaders, dodging the volleys of chanters and small aliens alike. Deftly, with a skill that few pegasi in all Equestria could match, they dodged the alien projectiles. The alien horde ceased its relentless advance, turning its attention to the skies.

“Kill the xenos!” one small alien screamed, its voice stuttered by the recoil of its weapon.

Rainbow evaded the shots without a thought. The sky was her domain, and nothing the aliens had could challenge that.

Or so she thought, until a horrible, mechanical roar tore through the air.

For a brief, fateful moment, Rainbow stopped midflight. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she watched the alien dragon tear around the corner.

It was like a flying skeleton made of black bone. Four massive metal feathers protruded from its draconic arms. Its entire frame was crimson in hue and detailed with lines of tainted gold. Claws as long as Rainbow’s whole body and sharper than anything she had ever seen glistened in the evening light. Fire burned in its chest, tongues of flame licking at the air as the monster flew. It roared, a long, crimson tongue waving in the air as a gout of flame like something out of Tartarus burst past its razor-fangs.

The whole thing simply emanated sheer wrongness. Though Rainbow did not know a thing about it, she knew, on some deep, ingrained, instinctual level, that it was something that should not be, an abomination.

And it was coming right for her.

In the moment Rainbow spent staring, slackjawed, at the alien dragon, one of the smaller aliens below got lucky. An alien projectile punched through her left wing, shattering the bone and spraying blood into the hot air. Rainbow cried out in pain and plummeted. The ground rushing up to meet her, Rainbow desperately tried to beat her wings. Her wounded wing would not budge, every attempt to move it simply sending jolts of agony through her system. Her eyes widened in terror, the tarmac growing nearer with every second. Instinct took over and slammed her eyes shut.

A sudden strike to her underbelly and an involuntary gasp ended the fall.

The horrible, mechanical roar returned, jolting Rainbow back to awareness. She looked around to find herself soaring through the air, very much so alive. Hope fluttered through her heart for a moment.

“Who…” Rainbow’s words trailed off as the rest of her senses caught up with her, and she noticed the razor-blades pressing shallowly into her underbelly and the waves of heat washed over her. Her heart pounding against her ribcage, Rainbow turned her head around and, in a moment of shocked weakness, let out a single terrified scream.

The alien dragon had her in its claws, carrying her close to its burning heart.

“Prey, acquired,” the dragon rumbled, Rainbow shuddering as the vibrations struck her. “Return, to, Master.”

The shock of her capture wearing off, Rainbow’s bravado surged to the fore.

“Hey, let go of me!” Her words turned into another scream as the dragon’s claws tensed, pressing her wounded wing against her barrel in the most uncomfortable way. A tear of pain gathered at her eyes, the damage to her wing growing worse with every moment. Rainbow, being a veteran athlete, was no stranger to pain. But this wound was beyond anything she could think of; with each clench of the alien dragon’s claws, its talons dug a little deeper into her flesh, and the bone in her wing ground down a little more. With each moment, she felt herself slowly slip further away, blood-loss and agony driving her into unconsciousness.

Down below, a cry went up. “For Equestria!”

Through her blurring eyes, Rainbow Dash watched in half-addled horror as General Fogey led his charge. A wave of Earth Ponies in front, covered in the heaviest armour they could find and carrying massive rounded shields. They were packed tightly together, such that their shields left no gap in their wall of iron. Even to Rainbow’s failing mind, it was an impressive sight, dozens of ponies surging forth like a wave of metal, the pounding of their hooves reminding her of the brief Battle of Appleoosa. Behind that first, magnificent wave, came the unicorns of the Manehatten Division, their horns aglow with magical power. Every colour known to ponykind blazed in their ranks, beams and shields and elemental bursts streaming forth like a raging river of magic. In the midst of the soldiers charged General Fogey himself, adorned in an ancient suit of battered armour, a masterpiece of design that had survived everything from griffin claws to beams of pure energy to walls of fire. Old though he was, and his age showed in every grey hair in his coat, he remained fit and strong, as much now the warrior he was in his youth.

The aliens unleashed their full firepower, their projectiles tearing through the armour of the Equestrian Army like so much paper. The front rank was de-hibernating within seconds. Their fellows in the second followed soon after, having advanced the whole line no more than a couple metres. The third rank lasted longer, the magical bombardment of the unicorns having driven the aliens back. For a moment, it seemed like the plan might still work; just a few more seconds, and the Earth Ponies would reach the alien line, and then it was simply a matter of ploughing on to the other side.

The alien dragon’s roar signalled the end of that hope.

Through darkened eyes, Rainbow could only watch in horror as the alien dragon descended on the remnants of Fogey’s phalanxes, spewing unholy fire from its mechanical maw. The alien horde regrouped and charged, the chanters leading their smaller minions into battle.
As darkness overtook Rainbow’s sight, as the pain of the dragon’s talons and her broken wing faded into dull numbness, she was sung to unwilling sleep by the screams of dying ponies, and the furious roar of battle.
______

“Keep movin’, Fluttershy!” Applejack shouted, yanking on her friend’s mane. “They’re almost around the corner!”

Fluttershy said not a word, her lips and vocal chords frozen in abject terror. It had been bad enough during the attack on Ponyville, when all the butter-coated pegasus had seen was a small band of aliens. Now, in a place they had all believed safe, there were more. Dozens of the big ones, Chaos somewhats, and hundreds of smaller ones that looked like twisted parodies of the ‘humans’ Applejack had so briefly met accompanying the Blood Angels, had shown up out of nowhere. If Applejack had not become so experienced at judging the position of Celestia’s sun for time, she would have utterly lost track in the hours since the invasion began. Too much adrenaline, too much running, and too much time spent trying to keep Fluttershy safe.

Thankfully, the butter-coated mare budged and fled with Applejack down the alleyway. It was a dark, foreboding route, the kind no mare should ever approach on a sane day. Today, it was just another in a long chain of desperate decisions.
The alley was, thankfully, empty, almost surprisingly so. There were no ambushes, no bodies of the dead or wounded. There was just garbage, litter and overflow from the dumpsters, scattered across the ground. A warm breeze wafted through the alley, carrying on it screams of pain and howls of bloodlust. Applejack led Fluttershy through, her eyes darting back and forth as she allowed instincts honed by years of living on the edge of the Everfree Forest to guide her.

It was those senses, in fact, that warned her of what was around the corner.

Applejack skidded to a halt at the sound of clambering steps, at the hard clatter of the aliens’ rock-like hooves on the pavement. Blinded by fear, Fluttershy kept running, dashing almost around the corner.

“Eep!” Fluttershy gagged as Applejack yanked her back.

“Hush, sugarcube,” Applejack hissed into her friend’s ear. “They’re right around the corner.”

“But, you said they were about to come around the corner, oh dear,” Fluttershy whispered as she shook in absolute terror. She turned to Applejack, tears streaming down her face. “Why? Why is this happening?”

Before Applejack could answer, a creaky, scratchy voice echoed down the alley.

“Master, I found them! Master!”

Applejack spun around to see one of the scrawny aliens, the ones that looked just like the ‘humans’ the Blood Angels had brought, standing at the entrance of the alley. It was a wretched specimen, even by the standards of its kind. There was not a scrap of fur on it, and its bared skin was covered in a disgusting mixture of scars, sores, and profane symbols. Scraps of leather hung from its body, attached by rusty studs and buckles to the fraying belts that wrapped around its form. In its spindly hands it held one of the killing sticks its kind so favoured.

A massive crimson form strode around the corner. It was a chanter, a Word Bearer, hefting a killing box in one hand and a cruel, jagged sword in the other. The monster turned its scarred, fleshy face to the mares, an unholy light glowing in its beady eyes. The Word Bearer’s ruined lips twisted into a horrifying facsimile of a smile.

“So you have,” it growled through rotten teeth. “Chaos bless you, mortal. Brothers! Servants! We have them! Remember, no guns. The Dark Apostle wants them alive.”

Applejack could feel Fluttershy’s terrified shaking against her side. The vibration only increased as four more Word Bearers rumbled around the corner, accompanied by a good baker’s dozen of the scrawny ones.

“Horseapples.” The word fell from Applejack’s lips. Memories of the last time she had tangled with these aliens rushed up before her eyes. She turned to Fluttershy. “We’re getting outta here…”

Her words trailed off as she caught sight of the alley beyond the corner. Five Word Bearers marched slowly towards them, their deep, mechanical voices intoning their alien chants.

Applejack ran a quick analysis of the situation. It was bad, very, very bad. Their only escape routes were cut off, and they had seconds before the aliens caught them. In exasperation, the farmpony looked to the sky, silently begging from some intercession, some miracle that could save them.

The sky… Inspiration struck Applejack. It was an unpleasant inspiration, but all she could muster in the moment. She turned again to Fluttershy, who was wide-eyed and cowering, pressed up against a red-brick wall, as though in hope that the aliens would ignore her.

“Sugarcube, ya gotta trust me on this, but I need you ta fly,” she said, looking her butter-coated friend in the eye.

“But, I can’t carry both of us,” Fluttershy whispered. Applejack could almost hear the poor mare’s heart pounding against her ribcage.

Applejack sighed. “Ah know. But ya can get yerself out, and that’s somethin’ at least. Go on, get outta here afore they catch you.”

Fluttershy stopped shivering for a moment, staring Applejack dead in the eye. “No. I’m not leaving my friend.”

Applejack groaned, scouring her mind for the words to save her friend. Her thoughts were interrupted by a booming roar that echoed through the alleyway, stunning even the Word Bearers with its force.

“When somepony tries to block…”

“Show them that you rock!”

Behind the mass of scrawny aliens and Word Bearers came a veritable mob. Ponies of all three tribes, carrying a menagerie of improvised weapons, from cooking pots to shards of broken glass, charged in a wave of colour, screaming like maniacs as they rushed towards the aliens. They were a mixed and utterly disorderly bunch, seemingly drawn from all walks of life. Bakers and janitors, pharmacists and teachers; Applejack could swear she even saw an accountant and a lawyer, neither of whom seemed to be anywhere near fit enough for something like this, mixed into the mob. No more than a handful seemed to have anything in common, save for one, overriding cause: to protect their homes.

The most astounding sight, however, was their loud-mouthed leader, who even then was belting out a mixture of slogans and battle-cries, always speaking one-half of a sentence and allowing the mob to finish it in a deafening shout.

“Treat me like a pushover…”

“And you’ll get the once over!”

Applejack heard Fluttershy’s incredulous voice beside her.

“Is that…”

“Iron Will is ready to bring the pain!” the grey-skinned minotaur bellowed. He thundered down the road, carrying, to Applejack’s unreserved shock, one of the alien chainswords in his hand.

The aliens responded with a fusillade of metal, killing boxes and killing sticks belching death at the onrushing ponies. One Word Bearer leveled a set of blackened tubes and unleashed a wall of flame, catching a handful of ponies in its embrace. Applejack saw about half-a-dozen ponies torn apart, their coats splattered with their own lifeblood. To her surprise and horror, the mob kept charging, still screaming Iron Will’s slogans.

Iron Will rushed to the front of the line just as the mass of ponies struck the aliens like a wave.

“You interrupted Iron Will’s seminar!” the minotaur roared, leveling his captured chainsword at the sword-wielding Word Bearer. “Iron Will demands satisfaction!”

The Word Bearer answered Iron Will’s challenge with a grunt and a flourish of its cruel-edged sword.

The two met in a flurry of blows, jagged edge meeting whirring teeth in screeching battle. There was no skill in this duel, no matching of expertise; it was brute combat, minotaur muscle against alien steel. The alien drew first blood, driving the edge of its sword into Iron Will’s side. The minotaur roared at the wound, but within a second, his cry became a mad laugh.

“You cut my skin, I crush you in!”

With the force and wrath of a thunderstorm, Iron Will slammed his captured chainsword into the alien’s sword-arm. The whirring teeth screaming as they ripped through the alien armour, and then through the alien flesh. The alien gave its own roar as its arm fell to the ground in a spray of fetid black blood. Iron Will raised his weapon and swung again. This time he found the creature’s head.

The alien’s skull exploded in a shower of gore, chunks of bone and hunks of brain matter spraying out as the chainsword ripped and tore through it. Iron Will punched the alien over and howled his victory to the skies.

Applejack instinctively backed away, horrified by the sheer violence of the moment. It was like the attack on Ponyville all over again…

“What have we here?” a deep, raspy voice said. Applejack bumped into something cold and stony and hard. She jumped away like a jackrabbit from a timber wolf, spinning on her hooves to see the five Word Bearers who had been walking up the other alley. One of them, carrying in its hands a massive red-glowing club, smiled cruelly at her. “Leave them alive. Other than that, I care not.”

In that moment, something snapped in Applejack. It had been a long, terrifying, violent day. She had been cut off from most of her friends, forced to keep fleeing without thinking for hours just to keep herself and Fluttershy alive another minute. She was done. It was time to stop running and face this problem the Apple Family Way.

By standing firm against all odds.

“Ah’m givin’ y’all one warnin’,” Applejack said with a furious snort. “Get outta here now, or else.”

The Word Bearers chuckled.

“You have fire in your belly, xenos,” the club-wielder said. Applejack flinched at that word; to the farmpony, it was a term of the Blood Angels, and it disturbed her to no end to hear it come from the lips of these invaders. “I will take great pleasure in dousing it.”

Applejack simply huffed and braced herself. She would have one chance. She remembered well the Defense of Carousel Boutique; if she could just keep moving, she had a chance. If she could get through their Sombra-cursed armour.

“By the Blood of Sanguinius!”

For the second time in that three minute span, Applejack was witness to what seemed a miracle.

The white-armoured Blood Angel, Domenico, if Applejack remembered right, soared down the alleyway, carried through the hot air on a pillar of flame. His blood-red wings flared behind him, adding to the majesty of his charge. Out of the corner of her eye, Applejack saw a small, dark blue mass nestled in the crook of Domenico’s Chalice-bearing arm. For a moment, the farmpony could have sworn the mass had wings.

The Word Bearers fired desperately, filling the alleyway with killing projectiles and a stream of flame from a blackened tube. Domenico ignored the improvised defense; without a single sign of effort, he dodged the projectiles, such that not even the shards from the wall where the shots landed could touch him. The fire was even less of an impediment. Domenico simply burst through it, his armour barely seeming to warm, let alone char or fail.

Then he struck, like a hawk diving for its prey.

“The Knife thirsts, and it shall be slaked!”

In a single swing, he took the heads of two Word Bearers, his blood-red sword ripping through their armour as though it were paper. The Word Bearers flailed in response, desperate to fend off the assault. With the skill of a master, Domenico deflected almost every blow, batting away alien fists and parrying the swings of the massive club, all the while keeping his golden Chalice and the strange mass he bore well out of reach. Yet even one so skilled as he could not deflect every blow, and at last the mace made its mark. It struck like a blacksmith’s hammer, pounding into the white rock of Domenico’s armour. Yet for all its force, the snow-white armour stood strong.

Applejack would never know what went through Domenico’s mind at that moment. Whatever thoughts flickered through his alien head, however, his actions were clear.

The Word Bearers broke and fell before his blood-red sword. Their morale faltered, and they turned to flee. It was a mistake they would not live to regret. Domenico tore the three apart, his sword rising and falling and swinging and thrusting as he rent their armour like tissue and splattered their blood across the alleyway. Within seconds, he was the only alien left alive in that alley.

His snow-white armour spattered with blood, he turned to face Applejack and Fluttershy. Out of the corner of her eye, Applejack realized Fluttershy had curled up beside a dumpster, shivering in fear. Domenico strode towards the butter-furred Pegasus and stretched out his Chalice-bearing arm.

“Greetings, cowering xenos,” he said in a tone that almost sounded diplomatic, where it not for the strange hunger Applejack could sense in every word. “Renato tells me you are renowned for your kindness. Could you please take this? I cannot fight and guard the little one at the same time.”

Fluttershy took a single look at Domenico’s arm and burst out of her cowering position. She all but lunged forward, taking the dark blue mass from the Blood Angel’s arm.

“Oh, you poor thing, what’s happened to you?” Fluttershy cooed at the mass. Applejack trotted over and caught her first good look of the mass. Her jaw fell slack in surprise.

“How in Sam Hill did ya get a filly?” the farmpony asked, incredulous.

Domenico sighed. “In a dark basement, about to suffer a fate best not described. Take it, I have a battle to… Or perhaps not.”

Applejack followed the Blood Angel’s gaze down the alleyway. In yet another shock, the sounds of battle had faded into the distance. Iron Will stood triumphant over the corpse of his foe, his mob of ponies milling about for a moment as they caught their breaths. At the entrance to the alleyway was a mass of bodies, alien and pony alike. The aliens were to a one dead, their bones crushed underhoof and the armour of the Word Bearers blown open by a mixture of unicorn magic and Iron Will’s chainsword. Many ponies, however, had paid for the victory with their lives. More bodies than Applejack ever wanted to count lay strewn about, torn apart by the death throes of their foes.

“It seems I will have to search farther afield to slake the Knife,” Domenico grumbled.

Iron Will stepped down from the site of his victory and strode up the alleyway.

“What have we here? What’re ponies doing with one of… Fluttershy?” the minotaur tailed off as he caught sight of the Pegasus mare and the little filly she was currently doting on. Iron Will laughed. “Iron Will never thought he’d see you again.”

Fluttershy gave the minotaur a brief smile. “Hello, Iron Will. I’m sorry, but I’m a bit busy. This poor little filly’s been through a lot, and I…”

“Iron Will completely understands,” he answered with a nod. “But Iron Will still needs to know why one of these aliens is with you.”

Applejack could feel Domenico bristle with anger. “You dare, xenos? I am Domenico, Priest of the Ninth Legion Astartes. I will not be placed in the same category as the aliens and heretics I am sworn to destroy!”

“Whoah nelly!” Applejack said as she stepped between Iron Will and Domenico. “No need ta fight, we’re all on the same side. Domenico’s a friend, Iron Will. Not all the alie-, er, Ah mean, not all of them are bad. Domenico, Iron Will meant nothing by it, let it go.”

Domenico stood stock still for a moment, save for the flexing of his sword hand. Then he relaxed and sheathed his blade. “Very well. It serves no purpose to fight here. More pressing foes abound. Tell me, orange xenos, have you seen any of my brothers? I became separated from them while… rescuing the little one.”

Applejack shook her head. “Ah haven’t seen hide nor hair of any y’all since we left Canterlot. Fluttershy an’ Ah’ve been running ever since this attack began.”

Iron Will spoke up. “Iron Will suggests we keep moving. We won’t find anypony hanging around here. Iron Will needs to get his ponies somewhere safe.”

“I concur,” Domenico said. “Yellow xenos, take care of the little one. Check for any open wounds. I killed a foul Slaaneshi near it, and its blood sprayed. I gave it a quick clean, but I’ve not the time for a proper…”

Domenico allowed the words to die as Fluttershy began fussing over the filly, carefully checking every hair in her coat for any sign of hurt.

“Alright, so we’re settled?” Applejack said. She sighed in relief. “Good. Now, where are we all headin’?”

“West,” Domenico answered simply. “Even if Orlando cannot be found, the Chaplain will be bringing reinforcements by rail. We should rally with him.”

“Iron Will finds that idea acceptable,” the minotaur said, hefting his chainsword onto his shoulder.

Applejack just allowed herself another sigh of relief. It was still a long day ahead, but at least now they had a chance of making it out alive.

She just hoped the rest of her friends were doing alright.

Author's Note

Well, Rainbow’s scene was hard to write. Not because I had trouble writing her, far from it. Once I started she was actually rather fun. No, it’s because the Heldrake wasn’t supposed to be there. I had a whole scene all planned out, and then the Heldrake said, “well screw you, I’m a dragon,” and flew in, completely killing my plans.

And yes, the Blood Angels do sometimes still refer to themselves as the IX Legion.

EDIT: added "Part I" to the title, since I can't come up with a good title for the next chapter (which is basically what this chapter has been for some of our other heroes), which will be "Scattered Survivors Part II"

Also, stats for the chapter:

Applejack, the Element of Honesty 50 points
Applejack, the Element of Honesty: WS3 BS3 S4 T3 W2 I4 A2 Ld8 Sv-
Unit Type: Infantry
Unit Composition: 1 (unique)
Special Rules: Stubborn, Element of Harmony, Element of Honesty (grants Stubborn to attached squad and any model with the Element of Harmony Special Rule within 12”), Independent Character
Relics of Equestria: Apple Family Stetson (weapon skill treated as being 1 higher for purposes of enemies trying To Hit in close combat)

Iron Will 45 points
Iron Will: WS4 BS3 S4 T4 W2 I4 A2 Ld9 Sv-
Unit Type: Infantry
Unit Composition: 1 (unique)
Wargear: Minotaur Horns (CCW), Chainsword
Special Rules: Fearless, Hatred, Furious Charge, Rage, Show Them That You Rock! (if Iron Will attached to a squad with the Conscript special rule, then the entire squad gets Furious Charge and Rage)

Pegasi Conscript Squad 20 points
WS2 BS1 S3 T3 W1 I1 A2 Ld4 Sv6+
Unit Type: Jetbike
Wargear: Skirmish Armour
Special Rules: Pegasi Wings, Conscript
Options: can add up to 20 more Pegasi Conscripts (2 points each)

Earth Pony Conscripts 20 points
Earth Pony Private: WS2 BS2 S4 T3 W1 I4 A1 Ld6 Sv6+
Unit Type: Infantry
Unit Composition: 10 Earth Pony Conscripts
Wargear: Skirmish Armour
Special Rules: Stubborn, Conscript
Options: can add up to 20 more Earth Pony Conscripts (2 points each)

Unicorn Conscripts 20 points
Unicorn Conscript: WS2 BS3 S3 T3 W1 I3 A1 Ld6 Sv6+
Unit Type: Infantry
Unit Composition: 10 Unicorn Conscripts
Wargear: Skirmish Armour
Special Rules: Unicorn Horn, Conscript
Options: can add up to 20 more Pegasi Conscripts (2 points each)

Wargear:
Skirmish Armour: this makeshift equipment is assembled from whatever could be found on hand, and provides a 6+ Armour Save.
Special Rules
Conscript: a squad that includes at least one model with this rule cannot perform Sweeping Advances.

Chapter 18: A Discovery in Blood

No matter how much it disturbed her, Princess Luna could not deny that she had not felt so alive in years.

She would never deny that the years since her redemption had been among the best in her life; verily, Luna was most sure that she had not felt such pure joy since the long-lost days of her youth, when she could simply play under the ever-watchful aegis of her parents. But for all the contentment and friendship Luna now had, her new life felt dull, as though life’s colour had been dimmed, a vibrant rainbow reduced to a mere colour palette.

It was an instinctive feeling, an emotion coded deep in her very blood; a hunger for battle, a lust for adrenaline that forever simmered in the back of her mind. For reasons none save perhaps her ever-knowledgeable father could have understood, Luna simply lived for combat. Even in her youth, while Celestia had spent her days studying with Mother, Luna had played in the training ring with Father. It was, if nothing else, an outlet, a defense, a bloodletting of the insatiable rage which burned in the darkest depths of her heart. When given free reign, Luna became a monster. When denied, her mind clouded with unreal images, dream-horrors and nightmare worlds that defied all sense and reality.

Just such an image was before her now, a writhing beast of tentacles and baying maws, screaming unholy chants into the hot, humid air.

In her youth, such images had frozen Luna with fear, helpless, not even able to sob until Father or, in those later days, Tia came to her aid, banishing the living nightmares with but a few words of love.

Now, so many millennia later, Luna was the undisputed Mistress of Dreams, and no mere illusion would defeat her. Never again!

A blast of white-blue magic dispelled the haunting image. To Luna’s annoyance, what replaced it was little better. A screaming horde of aliens swarmed down the street. Most were clothed in rags, armed with little more than junk and those strange autoguns Luna had become far too familiar with these past few hours. Mixed into that horde were bands of the heavily armoured aliens, who marched and chanted in unnatural unity.

Like a black-blue lightning bolt Luna fell upon the alien invaders, these cultists and Chaos Marines. She fell like the wrath of the heavens, a recompense for their hateful crimes. At her side flew the remains of her noble Lunar Guard. Thestrals all, they bore armour fashioned in her image and wielded naught but the mightiest weapons Luna could offer them. Morningstars, battleaxes, and longswords were all counted among their arsenal; and as their symbol, the ancient Starlit Knives, artifacts from the War With Sombra forged with such care that, once, no armour could resist their moonbeam-sharp blades. The Lunar Guard were the mightiest of their kind, as much veterans as anypony in Equestria could make claim to that title in those too-recent days of peace.

“For Princess Luna!” the Guardsponies roared. They lifted up their hoof-crossbows, unleashing a volley of deadly iron.

They struck like a smith’s hammer, shattering the cultist horde. The Thestrals screamed and roared as they fought, exacting payment in blood for the death these aliens had brought. They fought to avenge their fallen brethren, those Guardsponies who had been slain during the battle. They fought to defend Equestria against these foul invaders. Yet above all, they fought to serve their Princess.

Luna fought at their head, as had ever been her way. She was a sight to behold on the battlefield. For all it quietly disturbed her, the hunger for battle was a part of herself she could never deny. She fought with a speed and strength all but unmatched among ponykind, and a skill rivaled only by the Silent Swords of the fallen Griffin Empire, and surpassed only by her late Father. She was a scythe in a wheat-field, reaping life from the invaders. They resisted her with madness and fury, but it was to no avail.

Her armour was an artifact of ancient days, a relic forged in the deepest forges of Canterlot in that bygone age when war meant more to ponies than a dull historical lecture. It was a frightening ensemble, the inspiration for her attire as Nightmare Moon. To many ponies, there was no difference; for them, this was the armour of the fallen princess, a living legend come to haunt them in their hour of crisis. Such fear disturbed Luna deeply, leaving her saddened and alone, as though her first Nightmare Night had returned to her again. She had known the armour needed to be redesigned, but to remake such an artifact required time and expertise, and in the peaceful Equestria her sister had made, there simply did not seem to be any pressing need. Yet, in these moments of heated battle, Luna found she simply did not care for public opinion. Frightening as its appearance was, it was all but invulnerable, every inch the wearable fortress she had been promised so many centuries ago. Cheap iron and corrupted bones shattered against it, and even the fusillades of the autoguns could not breach it.

Against the useless assault of the cultists, Luna wielded weapons befitting her station. Grasped in her white-blue magic, Luna’s Starlit Knife danced through the air, slashing at the exposed skin of the cultists and parrying their feeble attacks. Floating by her side, awaiting the moment of its necessity, was the pride of Luna’s personal arsenal, the Lunar Lance. A gift from her beloved mother, it was the greatest weapon Equestria had ever seen before the coming of the aliens; no armour could withstand it, no foe resist its inevitable strike. Yet it was a hefty weapon, slow and unwieldy in close-quarters.

Luna grinned as she swept through the cultists, the fury pounding in her mind receding more with every killing blow. Here she was all-powerful, her mind clear and free. None could oppose her will, not even that accursed Cel…

The Princess of the Moon gasped and froze. She feel behind the unyielding advance of her guards, leaving for now the battle in their capable hooves. Luna kneeled and panted, her eyes wide and brimmed with tears as memories of Nightmare Moon rushed through her mind. The sorrow and solitude, and betrayal and banishment, her crimes and the condemning tears in Celestia’s eyes, they all rose up before her.

“No…” she all but whimpered, guilt driving a spear of ice through her heart. But then, a warm, loving voice rose up in her mind. We were meant to rule together, little sister.

With a shake of her night-black head, Luna banished the guilt and fear. She was not Nightmare Moon, and naught but shards of the Tantabus remained to haunt her. Though she would forever bear the scars of her misdeeds, Luna was reborn, as true a Princess of Equestria as there had ever been.

“Princess! Luna!” the voice of Silent Knight, the Captain of the Lunar Guard, broke through Luna’s reverie. Luna turned her gaze to the thestral, awaiting her report. Silent pointed a hoof off to Luna’s right. “They’re cutting through us like butter.”

Luna followed the line of Silent’s hoof, and gasped at the sight. Five aliens, clad in some twisted, spiked perversion of the armour she had seen on the Blood Angel Renato, strode through the ranks of the cultists. They wreaked havoc upon the depleted ranks of the Lunar Guard. Their guns spewed boltshells like rain from a thunderstorm, striking ponies from the sky with ease. One of their number hefted a massive device latched to the underside of its arm, from which roared tongues of killing flame. No weapon the Lunar Guard wielded could breach their armour; swords and axes and even the Starlit Knives proved useless against those five.

“Silent, gather a squad!” Luna commanded. “And meet me in the charge! We shall smite these blackguards from our world!”

“Aye, Princess,” Silent said with a nod. She soared through the humid air, fulfilling her order with the speed and efficiency which had led her to her Captaincy in the first place.

Luna took to the air like an old pegasus war-god, beating her mighty wings and hefting the Lunar Lance above her head. Without a word, she swooped at the Word Bearers, the Lance the speartip of her charge. With but seconds left before she struck, Silent Knight and her hastily-assembled squad joined Luna’s side.

A volley of crossbow bolts was the only warning of their assault, accompanied by a beam of white-blue magic. The bolts shattered on the alien armour, and even Luna’s magic could not breach it. The Lunar Alicorn silently cursed her guilt-shaken mind; though free of the gripping fear, she was still just too distracted to summon the mightier magics she desperately needed.

Yet some force, whether fortune or the providence of some distant divinity, favoured Luna’s cause. One of the Word Bearers had elected to forgo the helmet his brethren wore, exposing his twisted face to the open air. As he raised his strange, alien weapon against Luna’s charge, a single crossbow bolt found its mark. The iron tip burst through the alien’s unprotected eye, plunging deep into its corrupted brain. The alien slumped to the ground with a wet thud, its impact softened by the corpses of cultists and ponies alike.

The Bearers turned in a last, desperate defense against the charge. They turned the full of their firepower on Luna and her guards. Boltshells ripped through the air. Behind them, two aliens unleashed their weapons, raising up a wall of fire. Luna and her guard danced and dodged as best they could. But against so furious a defense, even the most agile of flyers was vulnerable. Luna’s heart wept as three more of her guards were struck down, torn apart by boltshells or seared by the flames.

But still they flew on, undeterred. Over half the Lunar Guard was already gone; a few more would do nothing to break their spirits.

They struck like a meteor cast down to Equus, staggering the Word Bearers, if only for a moment. Luna kneeled from the force of her impact, absorbing the strike with ease. She turned her gaze up, and in a flash, she saw a monster.

He stood before her, the architect of all her pain. Rising tall like a blood-red pillar, he towered above her. Every inch of his skin was inscribed with profane script. His accursed Mace was raised to the reddened skies, and in his other hand he carried a tome bound in the screaming faces of those he had murdered. He intoned his unholy verses, quoting the lies of his false gods, the lies which had torn everything apart.

A name fell from Luna’s lips, a name she had never before heard and yet knew as well as her own. “Lorgar!”

The Aurelian swung at her with his Mace. So enraptured and shocked was she that she could not avoid the blows. Yet fortune and fine crafting was with her, and her ancient armour resisted the blow. A dark fury rose up from the deep of Luna’s heart. With a mighty roar, she struck back.

“For Father!” she cried. And with the thrust of her Lance, the hallucination was gone. The Chaos Champion fell dead, rotted blood bubbling up from his malformed lips. In a flash Luna tore through the rest of the Word Bearers, the Lunar Lance punching through their armour like wrapping paper. Some tried to fall back, only for Luna to slay them as they fled.

Luna then paused, taking a moment to catch her breath. She shook her head, and tossed away the last vestiges of hallucination. Her mind restored to clarity, she took stock of the battle.

The results were grim, but far from hopeless. The destruction of the Word Bearers elites had broken the spirit of the invaders, it seemed. In droves they turned and fled, scattering down the alleyways of Manehatten like rats. But there the good news ended.

With but a brief survey, Luna knew their losses. She had come with a full company of Lunar Guard, taking with her almost all of the active members. Now but a few dozen remained, and none of them unscathed. None pursued the fleeing invaders, instead taking advantage of the pause to catch their breaths and tend to their many wounds. Even Luna’s own squad, that hastily assembled assault force, were decimated. Silent Knight and two others were all that remained, the rest slain by the Word Bearers.

It was a matter that worried Luna deeply. The Lunar Guard had thus far been rather successful in fighting off the Word Bearers, but as this last skirmish proved, it seemed increasingly clear that these victories said very little about the might of Luna’s guards. Rather, it seemed that victory was hinging primarily on her personal might; it was she who turned the tide at the crucial moment, not the strength of the Lunar Guard. But for all her strength, Luna was still but a single pony, bound to a single location at any given moment in time. And so her beloved guardsponies died while her attention was elsewhere.

When the battle was finished and she was returned to the solitude of her tower, Luna would weep like a mother stripped of her children. But for now, those emotions were bottled up, sequestered away where they could not interfere with the matter of simply surviving.

“Curse it, Princess, where are the reinforcements?” Silent Knight growled, walking up beside her Princess. “Shiny-britches was supposed to be here hours ago.”

“It is a most disturbing development,” Luna admitted. That was a matter that had weighed heavily on her in the brief moments between fights. “Something must have delayed him. We can only hope we can find…”

Luna trailed off as a new sound echoed down the streets. It was a violent cacophony, a discordant orchestra of explosions and magic. High-pitched whirs and the roar of flames flew through the humid air.

“What in Tartarus is that?” Silent asked. “Sounds like somepony’s opened up the apocalypse.”

A mechanical roar pierced through the distant onslaught, a cry of pain and death.

Images flashed before Luna’s eyes; an iron dragon, alien vehicles equipped with all manner of weapons, ponies giving their all against a terrifying alien foe. She knew the nature of those images at once; though true prescience had ever been the domain of Celestia and their Father, Luna too had some degree of foresight.

“Ponies!” Luna called, summoning the remains of her guard to her side. “Help has finally arrived. Come, let us join our strength with theirs! To the skies once more!”

Though wounded and weary, the Lunar Guard soared with renewed spirit. The promise of help was the balm for their tired hearts. With Luna at their head, they flew down the broken streets of Manehatten. For a time, there was but silence from the streets, the only sound the beating of their wings and the distant rumble of the Word Bearers’ assault. The Lunar Guard flew on, their only guide Luna’s instincts.

Then, a strange feeling came over her. A flash of crimson crossed her vision. Something began tugging at her heart, calling her to some secret, shameful place. It was a feeling unlike anything she had ever felt.

The sounds returned, redoubled in their fury, and joined by the screams of the dying. Luna felt the tugging move, drawing nearer and growing in intensity. Then it turned, and sped off to the west.

“Silent Knight, take the Guard and join Shining Armor,” Luna said, gesturing towards the source of the now-diminishing sounds of battle. “We shall rejoin you shortly.”

“Princess? What in the hay are you doing?” Silent asked.

Luna sighed. “We knowest not. But it is something we must do alone. Go, dear captain, and know we shall not tarry long.”

“Hey, look everypony, help is here!” a voice from below called up.

Luna and Silent Knight turned their gaze to the ground. To their surprise they saw a menagerie of ponies slowly pouring out of the ruins of an office building. All three tribes were counted among their numbers, as were all ages and almost every urban occupation imaginable. Few ponies shared any obvious signs of commonality, save for the single, saddening trait they all shared. Dirt and rips and wounds covered them all. There was not a one among them, save for perhaps a hoofful of foals, who did not bear some manner of injury.

“Silent, we… I have changed our... my mind,” Luna began.

Silent Knight cut her off. “We’ll take care of them, don’t worry. Come on, you layabouts, let’s get these ponies fixed up and to safety!”

As Silent and the rest of the Lunar Guard descended to the first survivors they had found since entering Manehatten, the Captain of the Lunar Guard turned back with a grimace. In the years since her return, Luna had slowly acclimated to modern speech, but in times of stress she often returned to more archaic grammatical models. Luna imperceptibly winced as she realized her speech had rather obviously revealed to her entire guard just how frazzled she was at the moment.

No matter, she thought. Whatever that tugging was, it still called to her, and she had to answer.

Luna flew down the alleys of Manehatten, guided by the mysterious tugging. She passed through alleys devoid of life, and alleys littered with pony dead. She sheathed her Starlit Knife and rested the Lunar Lance on her back, turning her full focus to the hunt. The sight and reek of the rotting dead tore at Luna’s heart, but she resisted. There would be time or sorrow in the safety of her tower.

Soon, she came upon an alleyway filled with dead cultists. Disturbingly, this alley was the worst to behold. The dead ponies had simply been killed; any who might have been mutilated seemed to have been dragged out to the horrific sacrifice-fields the Word Bearers had constructed. Those equine corpses which remained were simply dead, shot or stabbed or hacked. These alien dead which now lay before her eyes had been torn apart.

They were splattered everywhere; blood and gore filled the alleyway like water in a stream. Stretches of char reached along parts of the mess. Some bodies were relatively intact, with only a crushed torso or missing limb, but most were simply ripped apart. Whatever had passed through here was a monster, of that Luna was sure.

The tugging dragged Luna further down that alley. For a time, the massacre grew only worse, the dead so thick on the ground that Luna could begin to make out strange tracks, like those one might find in a fresh layer of snow. Then, mercifully, the mess abated, the reek of death diminished, and slowly diminished. At last the she found herself just short of the source of the tugging, hovering at the entrance to an old, decrepit apartment building.

Luna slipped inside. She wreathed a shield of night about herself, blending into the shadows and becoming all but invisible. She carefully trotted up the stairs, employing the full extent of her skill to keep every hoofstep as silent as the night. The building was deserted; not a single living thing appeared in Luna’s sight, though, to her horror, the coppery tang of blood slowly wafted back into her nostrils. She tensed and briefly wondered what had become of the building’s inhabitants; had they found safety, or had the Word Bearers gotten to them?

Those thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a deep voice.

“Holy Chaplain, should we not simply handle this quietly and depart?” the voice asked, grunting with effort.

As Luna crept up to a door hanging on broken hinges, the distinctive voice of the Blood Angel Alessandro spoke.

“You are young, Brother Marco, and still ignorant of many things,” Alessandro said. “Our Holy Primarch has decreed thus: that no Blood Angel will ever die in silence. And so we commit Brother Jagus to the Emperor’s Judgement. We pray, O Noble Gene-Father, that you might take pity on your fallen son, and plead his case before the Throne.”

From just around the door, beneath the booming words of Alessandro, Luna could hear a furious, incoherent rambling. With the silence of a sleeping lamb, she slipped around the corner. The sight she was met with made her gasp in shock.

The floor was a shallow pool of viscous blood. Furniture was broken and overturned. Shattered plates, soaked books, ruined food, and a handful of stained dolls lay like rocks in a gory lake. Several Earth Ponies laid strewn across the far side of the room. The dying embers of the sun’s light cast a harsh orange hue through the shattered windows. In the centre of the room a monster in crimson armour clad kneeled.

The eyes were what stole Luna’s attention. Those bloodshot orbs bore an insatiable hunger, a mindless appetite. It was utterly alien to Luna’s mind, and yet intimately familiar…

The world rippled. Alien spires loomed overhead, their stone walls cracked open and stained glass windows shattered. The evening sun shone through the holes, bathing the room, chapel, in its orange tint. Blood pooled on the floor, leaking from the alien dead which littered the floor. Luna stepped forward, her golden armour making no sound save the quiet lapping of the vitae against her heels. In the centre of all this death he kneeled, blood dripping from his lips, enlarged fangs shining in his open mouth, all-consuming madness tainting his very eyes: the monster and victim all in one.

She knew his name, and yet it escaped her tongue; she knew at a glance the circumstance of his birth, recalled the day of his ascension, and at once knew not a thing about him. She stretched out a gold-armoured hand.

“Come, please, I wish to…” Luna began.

The air cracked, and the monster’s head was gone in a burst of gore. The spires were gone, though the blood-pool remained. The monster’s corpse slumped to the ground with a splash and a thud as alien armour slammed into cheap tiling.

Freed from the hallucination, Luna took in the room once more. The orange light shone again through broken windows, not shattered spires. Only one alien lay dead in the room, and there was not a hint of golden armour to be found.

What could be found were three aggressive alien warriors.

At a glance Luna recognized Alessandro in his night-black armour. Behind him stood two of his red-armoured subordinates; both a simple line soldiers, indistinguishable at a glance from each fellows.

One line soldier hefted a massive box, a heavy flamer, if Luna remembered correctly, a weapon he had grabbed too quickly for a being of his size and bulk. The other had with equally impossible speed drawn a boltgun. Alessandro’s ebony grasp was wrapped around a boltpistol, with his crackling mace raised above his head, ready to strike.

All were aimed directly at Luna. At that moment, all of them were also irrelevant to her thoughts.

For in-between them all was a second line soldier, laying face-down in the pool of gore, blood spurting from the stump that had once been his head.

“What did you do?” Luna demanded, the words bubbling up from the depths of her mind before she could fully grasp their origin or intent. “Why did you kill one of your own?”

“Be gone, xenos!” he roared, aiming his boltpistol right at Luna’s head. “You should not be here! You have no right to be here!”

Luna snorted in anger. “Such arrogance! Thou art in our realm, standing in the blood of our subjects, we have every right! What madness has taken you to do such a thing?”

Wings flared, Luna stood muzzle-to-pistol with the Chaplain. Her horn and eyes glowed as she summoned her magic. The line soldiers tensed. Alessandro stood stock still, his pistol but an inch from Luna’s forehead. The crimson eyes of his skull-mask never wavered, their hatred unyielding and unrelenting.

Then, he relaxed. Alessandro let his pistol-arm fall to his side and lowered his mace. His fellows fell into a wary ease, their weapons lowered, but the emerald eyes of their helms still firmly fixed on Luna.

“I cannot slay you, xenos, and no falsehood could I easily spin,” the Chaplain said. He spun the boltpistol around, grasping it by the body, and extended it to the line soldier. “Marco, I thank you for the use of your weapon.”

The line soldier, Marco, holstered the boltpistol and passed another weapon, an inferno pistol, Luna recalled, to Alessandro. Marco inhaled deeply and took a half-step forward.

“Chaplain, is this wise? It is xenos, alien and unworthy of our trust,” he said.

“You are right, Marco, but in this matter we have no choice” Alessandro said. He turned his full attention back to Luna. “No madness has taken us. Jagus was weak, and so he had to be purged. More than that I will not say.”

Luna stepped forward and stretched up her neck, straining so that her muzzle was as close to Alessandro’s face as she could manage. “Since you have arrived you have brought death to my home. You have insulted and belittled by sister and my friends. Now, one of your soldiers starts eating my subjects, and this is the best you offer? We will have the truth, now!”

Luna shouted those last words. To her surprise, the Blood Angels all retreated a step. For a fraction of a second, too fast to be sure, their knees seemed to almost buckle.

“The Thirst!” the words were torn from the other soldier’s lips, unbidden and forced. The Blood Angel dropped his weapon and grasped at his throat.

“Arman!” Marco called.

“I…” the line soldier, Arman, tried to stop, but as he fell to his knees, words tumbled out against his will. “It consumed him, overtook him, I’m so sorry, Chaplain…”

Alessandro jammed the barrel of his inferno pistol under Luna’s muzzle.

“What sorcery is this?” he bellowed. “Release your grip on us, now!”

“We have done nothing!” Luna shouted. Fury boiled up in her heart. Her vision began to tinge red and black, dragon-slit eyes of palest green gazing upon an ivory orb…

Luna gasped and flew back a step. She grit her teeth and shook her head. Never again! I will not succumb!

The Lunar Alicorn calmed herself, slowing her breathing and her heartbeat. She would not let the rage take her, not now.

Exhaling slowly and deeply, Luna tried again. “Just, tell me why. Why did your soldier kill these ponies, and why did you kill him? I promise I will tell no one else, just please, I must know.”

Alessandro slowly lowered his inferno pistol, then stood silent for a moment. After what seemed an eternity, he spoke.

“Very well, if only because Brother Arman has already betrayed our secret.”

Arman winced. “Chaplain, I…”

“Silence, Brother. Such things are not for the ears of outsiders, and I believe you have said enough as it stands,” Alessandro said, silencing his brothers. He gestured to the dead Blood Angel. “Marco, Arman, extract the Chapter’s Due as best you can. Xenos, in truth, I do not know whether Jagus slew these xenos. He was… drinking already when we arrived. Mayhaps he was the killer, mayhaps not. He died for his weakness, as I told you. He allowed the Red Thirst to overcome him. In that moment he died. What I slew was little more than a walking corpse.”

A memory unbidden rose up in Luna’s mind. A day, so many years ago, when she and Celestia were still young, when Father and Mother still ruled and the world was so simple. Bloodstains on an ivory coat, an unbeating heart, horrified screams and the inscrutable look on Father’s face…

Luna banished the thought. There would be time for suspicion and remembrance later; for no, she had a battle to fight, and ponies to save.

“I have heard enough. Come, we have more pressing matters at hoof,” Luna said, turning to the door. Before she stepped through, she took one look back at Alessandro. “I… apologize. This must be difficult for you. I will keep my promise, Alessandro. No one will know, not from my lips.”

“Beware the xenos, for its mind is deceit and shadows,” Alessandro recited. “But I will hold you to your word. Now be gone! This was never your matter, and I will not suffer your taint in it any longer.”

Luna whirled back. Before her fury could surge forth, the discipline she had slowly built since her redemption held her back. Gritting her teeth, she softened her response, even though she knew the insufferable alien did not deserve it. “Just make sure you and your lac- soldiers get back to the battle. You can have your secrecy, but I’ll not let good ponies be harmed because of it.”

Alessandro laughed. “Xenos, all the power in your world could not keep me from the Emperor’s Praise. We will be again at the forefront when the blood is to be shed.”

With that disturbing line firmly lodged in her mind, Luna sighed and left. She soared for her Lunar Guard, and made a quiet wish for something to fight. For all the pain and suffering it brought, battle offered her a purity of mind she had never found elsewhere.

To Luna’s great misfortune, the fulfillment of her wish was, at that very moment, descending to Equus’ surface, carried on wings of tainted steel.

Author's Note

Phew, glad that’s over. The bit with Luna and Alessandro was really, really hard to work out. Easily the two most volatile characters in the story facing off in a shouting match. Very, very hard to keep everyone alive. I hope you guys enjoyed the final product.

Plus, I originally wrote it with Dabriel instead of Arman, and Marco ended up with Dabriel’s lines. Make of that what you will.

Funny story, when I simulated the battle between Luna and the Chaos Terminators, Luna actually failed to generate any psychic powers. She had 9 warp charges, and failed to generate a single power.

A quick aside, the Melee Weapons list for the Equestrians has not yet been completed. Suggestions are welcome.

Luna, Princess of the Moon 100 points

Luna: WS5 BS5 S4 T4 W4 I5 A4 Ld10 Sv3+/4++

Unit Type: Jetbike

Unit Composition: 1 (Unique)

Wargear: Armour of the Moon Princess, The Lunar Lance, Starlit Knife

Special Rules: Unicorn Horn, Pegasi Wings, Stubborn, Princess of Equestria, Independent Character, Psyker Mastery Level 3, Mistress of the Moon, Fear, Fearless, Rage, Tantabus

Mistress of the Moon: This rule improves any Invulnerable Save Luna might receive by 1. Furthermore, if Luna has been selected as Warlord, then Night Fighting is automatically activated, and lasts an extra turn. Units in Luna’s detachment gain Night Vision and Shrouded while Night Fighting is active.

Tantabus: at the beginning of his or her turn, the controlling player must roll a d6 and consult the table below:

Roll Result

1 Nightmare: Luna is struck with a vivid memory of her time as Nightmare Moon. She must take a Leadership Test. If failed, Luna automatically detaches from any squad she is part of and moves d6” in a direction decided by a roll of the Scatter Die (a roll of Direct Hit is treated as being a movement of 0”). If passed, treat this as 2-5 (Unaffected).

2-5 Unaffected: Luna controls normally this turn.

6 Rage of the Night: Consumed by a horrific nightmare, Luna enters a frenzy and gains the Feel No Pain rule and gains +1A until the beginning of the controlling player’s next turn. If there is an enemy squad within 12” and Line of Sight at any point during the Movement or Assault Phases, Luna must attempt to charge them.

Armour of the Moon Princess: this ancient relic was forged over one thousand years ago to serve as an impenetrable fortress Luna might wear into battle. Made from the mysterious metal known as Moon-Steel and imbued with powerful defensive magics, it grants a 3+ armour save.

The Lunar Lance: an ancient relic said to have been wielded by Queen Stella herself during the Pre-Discordian Age, this lance is almost without peer among the weaponry of Equus. Long-forgotten magics are infused into the very Moon-Steel from which it was forged, granting it a killing capacity equalled only by the mightiest of Equusian artifacts. However, its massive size and long haft leave it unsuited for rapid use. It has the following profile: S+2 AP2 Melee, Unwieldy

Luna can generate powers from the Equestrian, Biomancy, Telepathy, and Telekinesis disciplines.

Lunar Guard Squad 40 points

Thestral Veteran: WS3 BS3 S3 T3 W1 I3 A2 Ld8 Sv5+

Thestral Veteran Sergeant: WS3 BS3 S3 T3 I3 W1 A2 Ld8 Sv5+

Unit Type: Jetbike

Composition: 4 Thestral Veterans, 1 Thestral Veteran Sergeant

Wargear: Equestrian Steel Armour, Starlit Knife, Hoof Crossbow

Special Rules: Pegasi Wings, Night Vision, Furious Charge

Options:

The Squad can add up to 5 more Thestral Veterans… 5 pts each

Any model can take items from the Melee Weapons List

Melee Weapons List (Preliminary)

A model may replace one weapon with any of the following:

Battleaxe… 5pts

Longsword…5pts

Morningstar… 5pts

Wargear:

Starlit Knife: an artifact-weapon used exclusively by the Lunar Guard, and said to possess a blade as sharp as a moonbeam. It has the following profile: S User AP- Melee, Mastercrafted, Rending, Specialist

Hoof Crossbow: 12” S3 AP- Pistol

Battleaxe: S+1 AP5 Melee, Unwieldy

Longsword: S User AP6 Melee

Morningstar: S+2 AP- Melee, Concussive

And lastly, all Word Bearers from here on out will have the following special rules (Thanks to Boltaction for the advice on the Mark of Chaos Undivided):

Word Bearers Legion Rule (from Kill Team: Heralds of Ruin): all models gain Crusader. Possessed can be taken as Troops.

Mark of Chaos Undivided (5pts per model): At the beginning of the controlling player's turn, he/she may choose the model with this special rule to have one of the four Marks of Chaos (Mark of Khorne, Mark of Slaanesh, Mark of Nurgle, or Mark of Tzeentch) and all its effects. This Mark will last until the beginning of the controlling player's next turn. The same Mark of Chaos may not be chosen in two consecutive turns.
(Original link: http://www.lounge.belloflostsouls.net/showthread.php?52136-quot-Bearers-of-the-Word-quot-Word-Bearers-Homebrew-Codex)

Chapter 19: Rally Point Fluttershy

General “Old” Fogey was feeling surprisingly tired at that moment.

It was, even by his standards, quite an odd sensation. All things considered, he should have been quite awake, his senses heightened by a steady flow of adrenaline. After all, he was surrounded by alien invaders with unspeakably powerful weapons, with only a husk of his admittedly meager starting forces. It brought back memories of the Bugbear Invasions, back when SMILE was still a force to be reckoned with. Fogey smiled almost dreamily as he remembered those halcyon days, hunting through the mountains with the local Griffin resistance. Every second among on that foreign soil was a gamble, the risk of Bugbear encounters too great for traditional militaries. Fogey could almost feel the adrenaline that had pumped through his blood on those missions, a feeling he quite distinctly could not detect today.

Upon consideration, the fault likely lay with the rather nasty gash running along his side. Aside from the advantages of massed heavy infantry, the lesson Fogey had learned most acutely in the Bugbear Mountains was that blood-loss tended to numb one’s senses. It would certainly explain his sudden shortness of breath.

“Sergeant, tell me, how bad does this wound look?” Fogey asked the well-dressed stallion to his left.

“I, I’m a Wonderbolt, sir,” a decidedly feminine voice responded.

“Ah, well, still, could you…” Fogey shrugged and carried on, chalking his mistake up to the blood loss. He was a general, Luna-blast it, he was not going senile!

The Wonderbolt Reservist cleared her throat. “Blue Cross is looking at it now, sir. Um, Blue Cross…”

“The General’ll be fine,” the medic answered and he finished stitching the torn skin together. “As long as he doesn’t exert himself too much, such as, I don’t know, charging headlong into a wall of aliens that can kill you with a mean look?”

“Pshaw!” Fogey said with a wave of his hoof. “You’re thinking of Gorgons, and we got rid of them forty years ago. Haven’t seen scale or fang of them since the San Palomino Raids. These bozos just have nifty little crossbows, like you read about in those newfangled ‘science fiction’ stories the colts are all so enamoured with. Bunch of hooey, I say, completely ridiculous. As though anypony other than Luna could travel to the Moon, it’s preposterous!”

Blue Cross rolled his eyes, sighed, and put away his tools. “Anyway, we’d better get moving. I’m sure these definitely-from-Equestria invaders will figure out where we are soon enough.”

“Again you show your ignorance!” Fogey said with a laugh. “They’re obviously other-dimensional beings come to harvest us for their diabolical masters.”

“Other-dimensional beings?” Blue Cross said with a raised eyebrow.

“Well of course,” Fogey replied. “Aliens from another world are just poppycock, sensationalist drivel made up by second-rate hacks trying to scare ponies into buying their latest serial. Other-dimensional invaders exist, and we have proof! Or, would, if all the records hadn’t been classified and then destroyed when, well, that’s classified.”

Blue Cross sighed again and wandered off. Fogey stretched his legs out and took stock of his remaining soldiers. It was a poor sight.

When the day began, he’d had full command of the Manehatten Reserves and the local branch of the Wonderbolts Reserves. Not enough to protect the city from a proper invasion, as recent events had made painfully clear, but sufficient to prepare the city in anticipation of reinforcements. Now he had maybe a fifth of his force left.

“Moon-durned dragon,” Fogey muttered. It had decimated his forces and shattered his phalanx with a single blast of flame, and kidnapped Rainbow Dash in the same pass, all while allowing the invaders to unleash their infernal crossbow fire into his unprotected line. Fogey winced at the thought. What cruel tortures are they putting you through?

With a sigh, Fogey cast those thoughts away. He had more pressing matters.

“Soldiers! Ponies of Equestria!” he called. The remnants of his forces slowly gathered in front of him. “I regret to inform you that we have been beaten. We have no chance of beating these invaders, not now. But there is still hope! Word must have reached Canterlot by now, and reinforcements will be coming. With they’re help, we’ll be able to kick these invaders out on their flanks! But that will never happen if the reinforcements can’t get into the city. Therefore, we’re going to the train station. We have to make sure that’s still in our hands if reinforcements are ever going to help us. Now, we march!”

Fogey strutted off as best he could, considering the care he had to take for his wound. His forces followed behind him, the surviving sergeants slowly shoving them back into formation. They roamed down the empty streets of Manehatten, carefully stepping over the bodies of the fallen. Distant explosions created a rumbling soundtrack to their march, accompanied by bursts of screaming. The surviving soldiers shivered and shook, their morale collapsing beyond what even their sergeants could remedy.

As they made their way across the city, small bands of survivors began silently joining them, civilians, slipping out of cellars, basements, and dark alleyways and falling in behind the soldiers. No chatter could be heard among them. Even the foals seemed unnaturally quiet, as though they understood the gravity of their situation. Their silence disturbed Fogey more than anything he could officially recall. Exhaustion could silence even the most social pony, but foals had long been an exception to his rule in Fogey’s book, especially when they were scared. Foals screamed and whined and cried; even in moments of greatest terror they made noise. To hear them fall silent gnawed at Fogey’s aging heart.

Thoughts of silence faded as they continued down the road, replaced by the growing rumble of active battle. Down the street, Fogey saw bands of unarmoured invaders charging around the corner, and from beyond that corner heard screams, explosions, and battle-cries.

“Blood for the Blood God!”

“Submit to the Truth that is Chaos!”

“For the Emperor!”

Blue Cross trotted up to Fogey’s side.

“What now, General? Try and go around?”

Fogey stood silent for a moment, weighing his options. Another battle-cry rung out.

“For Equestria!”

The aging General inhaled deeply. “We do our duty, Medic. We protect Equestria and all her citizens. Ponies! Soldiers of Equestria! With me!”

The sergeants echoed his call, spurring the beleaguered soldiers on to some semblance of morale. Fogey led the march with renewed vigour. Behind him, the civilians scattered again, slipping into the abandoned buildings to wait out the engagement. The soldiers marched with Fogey. The remnant unicorns summoned up their last reserves of magic, while the pegasi took once more to the sky. Fogey’s fellow earth ponies formed up around him, reconstructing the phalanx he so loved.

As they neared the corner, the sounds of battle grew louder and louder, until they drowned out all else. Fogey grinned, determined to prove such a statement wrong.

“Altogether now,” he said, His surviving soldiers tensed, drawing in breath for what they knew was to come. Then, in unison, they howled to the skies as they charged into the fray. “For Equestria!”

And even as they charged to the corner, a single sound drowned out all else, if only for a moment.

“How dare you?”
______

Amidst the rage of battle, Codicier Renato was troubled.

It was not his current situation which disturbed his thoughts. The greatest danger had, for now, passed. Their escape from the xenos building had been a near thing, but by the grace of the Emperor, they had survived. The servants of Chaos seemed to have lost interest in them, leaving only Word Bearers footsloggers and the scum who followed them.

With naught but cannon fodder left to fall before his blade and storm bolter, the centuries-old Marine’s mind was left to wander. Thus, his troubled mind turned back several hours, to the brief session that had been the War Council, and to the pink xenos, Cadenza.

The clicking of his storm bolter warned Renato to ready a fresh magazine. As he psychically slammed fresh ammunition in, he boggled over what the xenos seemed to have done. Interpreting alien psykery was always difficult task; their inhuman minds and unnatural psychology left them difficult to read. But in that moment, the moment when the xenos had entered the room, Renato had sensed its searching psychic pulse. He had felt its psychic gaze pass over his battle-brothers, had felt it travel… somewhere else.

Fetid blood sprayed as the Codicier’s force sword slashed through a diseased cultist. Fury coursed through the blow, born both from the Thirst which afflicted all Sons of Sanguinius, and from the blasphemy he had been witness to.

Somehow, impossibly, he had felt the xenos make, if only for the briefest second, contact with the Emperor of Mankind.

It was a mind-boggling, preposterous proposition, heresy of the highest order. But Renato had no other explanation for what he had sensed. Those golden rays, so beautiful even if only glimpsed for but a fraction of a thought…

What manner of aliens have we found here? Renato wondered, a flutter of discomfort passing through his hearts. They bear his Aquila, and can reach out to him… Father of our Father, what land is this you have placed us upon?

These were the thoughts which so disturbed Renato as he tore through the ranks of Chaos. But such broodings were not the sum of that engagement. At Renato’s side fought Paolo, his old friend. In the brief snatches between smiting the Emperor’s foes and mulling over the xenos Cadenza’s unfathomable action, Renato allowed the portion of his mind which was still merely human to reminisce about the days of his youth. A smile flickered across Renato’s lips, the expression so brief that it began as he swung at a cultist and ended before the first droplet of blood had been shed. It had been the three of them then, Paolo, Alessandro, and Renato, serving in the Tenth Company. Even now, two centuries later, Renato could still recall the simple joy of fighting alongside his dearest brothers.

With a precision and grace born of centuries of camaraderie, Renato and Paolo headed up the charge. Renato culled the chaff from the field with sword and psykery, turning the very blood of his foes into living bombs and cutting them down with his mighty force sword. To Paolo’s mighty Thunder Hammer fell foes more worthy of his killing prowess. Cultists and Chaos Marines alike died before their wrath.

But while they were the charge’s head, they were not its only strength. Using the jump packs so adored by their Chapter, Priam and the remains of his squad leapt about the battlefield, killing with fire and melta and Priam’s power sword. Though themselves diminished, they nonetheless kept the enemy corralled, leaping back and forth to drive the servants of Chaos into more convenient killing fields.

Rumbling at Renato’s other side was the heavily damaged chassis of Castello. His ancient joints creaked with every step, while exposed wires sparked from the deep gashes in his adamantium armour. Wounded severely by the Iron Warriors who had joined the assault on the xenos building, the undying warrior still served, though only by the Emperor’s Grace. Renato doubted Castello would survive even one more solid hit, certainly not two. But still the Dreadnought fought on, tearing the Chaos hordes apart with his crackling Blood Talons and scouring them from the surface of this alien world with meltagun and heavy flamer.

Taking Imperial military doctrine into account, the strangest part of the charge was also its bulk. The equine xenos, mostly survivors of the local Adeptus Arbites equivalent, pulled up the rear. Most proved largely useless, doing little more than surviving and carrying supplies and the wounded. The psyker-xenos proved more useful, providing some semblance of covering fire for the Blood Angels. It could not compare to the volleys of the Imperial Guard, but with so few Astartes at his side, Renato would take whatever he could get.

Out of the corner of his eye, Renato checked on Twilight Sparkle. A convenient ally and an enjoyable conversation partner, Renato was unsure exactly what to make of it. It was xenos and thus inferior to humanity in all regards, but still, he felt a strange kinship with it. If nothing else, it was nice to be able to discuss psykery with a being that could understand; he loved his battle-brothers, but the Librarius was a lonely posting, a mark of separation that forever kept its members apart from the rest of the Chapter.

As the Codicier’s gaze passed over the xenos he and his brothers were escorting, he took brief note of the newest addition, the white-furred Rarity. The xenos seemed to be acting… strangely, for lack of a better word. Though likely imperceptible to mortal eyes, his genhanced vision allowed him to easily see the micro-differences in its movements, in its posture. However, he could also see the wounds the xenos bore; gashes marred its ivory fur, and its horn was quite noticeably cracked.

Any attempt at further analysis was quite abruptly interrupted by the utterly unexpected appearance of Pinkie Pie.

Renato spun his posthuman eyes around to the pink-furred xenos. Even with the genhanced speed of a Space Marine, somehow, he found his movement too slow for the xenos.

“Heya, weird-alien-not-unicorn-guy!” Pinkie gave Renato a grin too larger for its face. Before the Codicier could form even a single word, Pinkie spoke again, seeming to almost teleport around his armoured form. “Wow, your armour is really, really tough, like old Ms. Nit-Pick’s tests or trying to beat a Wardian army list, and it’s a really nice blue, hey, you think we could paint some rainbows on so you’d look like, well, Rainbow? I mean, she could use something to cheer her up, since she’ll, whoops! Almost spoiled that, well for you, anyway, and I can’t… excuse me a moment.”

In the blink of an eye, Pinkie disappeared. Renato quickly scanned the battlefield, only to find the xenos now in front of him, having produced a strange, rounded device he recognized as a simplified rendition of an ancient artillery piece. Pinkie, somehow wielding its hooves like a man would his hands, pulled the string dangling off the device, causing it to fire a blast of glittery paper into the face of a Word Bearers Champion, sending the Traitor Astartes flying through the air. Renato watched, dumbstruck, as the Chaos Marine slammed into his own men, sending the whole squad tumbling to the ground with a strange, almost wooden clattering sound.

“There, sorry about that but they were going to interrupt and that’s just rude, I mean, why would you just run on up and interrupt somepony while they’re talking, or someone, I guess, does somepony count as a general term?” Pinkie rambled on, bouncing around Renato’s vision like an Eldar Harlequin. “Anyway, that’s not why I’m here, I’ve got to tell you, oh, what was it, oh yes! You…”

Pinkie’s message was interrupted as Twilight landed just beside them.

“Pinkie!” Twilight cried, dashing over to its compatriot. “There you are! I’ve been so worried about all you girls, where have you been?”

“Oh, around,” Pinkie replied with a smirk. Renato threw a Blood Lance at an advancing Word Bearer, slaying the heretic at a stroke.

Twilight groaned. “Pinkie, we don’t have time for this. Listen, we got to get the rest of the girls, then get back to the bridge, BBBFF is…”

“Coming here with a bunch of extra ponies to help, I know that,” Pinkie said, waiving its hoof dismissively. “I didn’t get a chance to talk to him because I had to be all serious for a moment for dramatic purposes, but it really wasn’t fun at all, and the other big mean guy in black showed up, and I’m not quite sure where the first one went. But don’t worry, they’ve got Dashie, and I think Luna just found them. But, Twilight, we have to get the rest of the girls together and get out of here. A hey, are you trying to spoil the story? is coming. The rest of us are a couple of blocks away, just over there. Follow the candy, you can’t miss it.”

“What was that ‘bleep?’ And candy? Never mind,” Twilight said, shaking her head as though to toss the thought from her mind. “Just that way?”

Twilight raised her hoof to mirror Pinkie’s. Renato followed the line, and found it lead around a nearby corner.

“Twilight, what is going on?” the Codicier asked. “We have to link up with Orlando’s force. I’m not sure we have time to go searching for your friends.”

The purple xenos’ jaw fell slack, and it gave Renato a look of absolute horror. “But, they’re my friends! I can’t just abandon them! And besides, we’re the Element Bearers! We might not have the Elements of Harmony anymore, but we’re still heroes, and we can’t just leave each other to…”

Renato fixed a firm note in his mind to research these ‘Elements’ later.

Pinkie spoke again. “Besides, I’m pretty sure your friend is there too! Isn’t it great? It’s a reunion! But we better hurry, ‘cause we don’t have a lot of time left!”

“Please, Renato, we have to go get them!” Twilight pleaded. Renato sighed.

“I will not jeopardize what few brothers I have left on this world. Unless… tell me, how important are these ‘Elements of Harmony?’” Renato replied. He fired a few shots from his storm bolter, keeping the Chaos Marines back, even if only for a moment. A cold feeling crept through his hearts. How much time have I wasted here? My brothers need me.

“I’ll have you know we’ve saved Equestria from certain doom no less than five times!” Twilight rather proudly asserted. “We’ve fought monsters and dark magic! We’re Equestria’s last line of defence! And they are my friends! If you won’t go after them, I’ll rescue them myself!”

Renato paused a moment to carefully consider his options. It was a moment only to the mind of an Astartes; for mortal minds, his response seemed almost immediate.

“Very well,” he said. The Codicier turned to the Dreadnought currently tearing a swarm of cultists asunder. “Castello! Turn right! We’re going on a rescue mission!”

Castello’s laughter boomed and crackled from his vox. “By your word, Librarian! Let us march to glory, then! By the Blood of Sanguinius!”

With those words, the line turned. Astartes and xenos alike turned down the street, with Twilight Sparkle now taking the lead. Wielding its psychic might with the mastery of a seasoned Librarian, Twilight blasted a path for the column. Renato fought at Twilight’s side, boiling the blood of the cultists and lancing any who dared to withstand their combined wrath. Beside them the Blood Angels tore a gory swath. Behind them, the unicorns joined in the volley of psykery.

The servants of Chaos fell before them like chaff. Renato found it no achievement, however; the last of the Chaos Astartes had long since either died or sought easier prey. Only weak-minded cultists remained for them to fight, and even they were spending more time trying to escape than actually fight.

However, Renato found he did not mind the lack of challenge much. After all, the sooner they accomplished this rescue, the sooner they could try to rejoin Alessandro and properly retake this alien city.

Soon, the sounds of a conflict far more deserving of the term ‘battle’ than what Renato as currently engaging in carried on the air. The whiz of alien psychic beams, the cracking of bone and metal, and the resound of exploding boltshells all echoed down the street.

“It would seem the xenos knew truth,” Castello boomed between roars of his heavy flamer. “Onwards, brothers and aliens! Battle awaits, and I shall not be denied its glory!”

Then, as they charged towards the sound of battle, for a brief moment, a single noise, a great cry, overcame all.

“How dare you?”
_____

Flash Sentry was wearing out.

It was not something he would admit to just anypony, especially not the strange, red-armoured aliens he had spent the last hour or so fighting alongside. But, much to his chagrin, it was true.

Ponies, Flash decided, were very definitively not intended to fight for hours on end without rest. Short bursts of violence, though better to avoid if possible, were nonetheless quite doable. To keep doing so for hours and hours…

Flash shivered as he considered just how these aliens were able to do it without even breaking a sweat.

Still, he had no choice. He could fight, or he could die. As his prized Crystal Sabre opened an unarmoured alien with a crude club, Flash felt quite justified in preferring to fight.

An alien Flash had almost missed fell screaming at his side, its misshapen skull crushed under the heavy hooves of Red Ensign. The Trotontonian grunted and kept up the charge, slamming his massive, red-coated body into the next alien without a pause. Overhead, the pegasus Blusterwinds soared through the hot air, dive-bombing the aliens at every opportunity. The grey-coated stallion lacked Red Ensign’s strength, but made up with speed and agility.

A purple-red explosion scattered a band of unarmoured aliens. Cackling with glee, Hot Fumes tossed makeshift explosives left and right, sowing confusion and death among the aliens. She was an odd mare, but Flash had dealt with stranger, and her skills more than compensated.

All three of his fellows ponies were their weariness as much as Flash. They were tired, worn out by hours of combat and pushed to the limit by the loss of so many of their squad. Few of them had known any of the others for longer than the mission itself, but they were still all Equestrian, still all ponies, and to lose so many so quickly…

Their deaths will not be in vain, Flash silently swore.

“Ho! Xenos! How fare you?” the shield-bearing Blood Angel, Orlando, called. Flash watched as the alien champion danced through their common enemy’s line, his bronze-bladed sword cleaving through their armour without a hint of resistance.

“Fahn,” Flash mumbled through the hilt of his sword. He lunged into the air and dove at an alien invader. A moment later, and the invading horde was less a soldier.

“I see why you like this one,” another Blood Angel called. This one, Durante, was clad in golden armour, with a massively oversized hoof as its weapon. When he had first seen it, the weapon had seemed ridiculous. That opinion had changed after Flash had seen Durante punch the top half of an invader off in a haunting gory sight that Flash suspected would follow him to the grave.

Within a second of speaking, Durante swept his weapon through a line of unarmoured aliens, splattering blood and gore across the streets. At his side was the other gold-armoured Blood Angel, Flavio. With a sword Flash could swear he had seen before, Flavio swept through the invader lines. Together, Flavio and Durante made a dangerous pair. Flavio headed their charge, his sword cleaving through the chaff. Durante followed but two steps behind, slaying those who survived Flavio’s assault.

Off to Flash’s left fought two more of the Blood Angels, Fausto and Placido. Even by the standards of this insane day, Flash had never seen anypony fight like those two. Placido fought with a fury to put even the invading berserkers to shame, his lightning-blue sword tearing through armour and flesh with the speed of a cheetah. Yet through it all, he made not a sound; not even a grunt of exertion did he make. Dozens died beneath his blade, and only the screams of the dying marked their passing. Fausto seemed to Flash to be somewhat mad, eschewing the basic principles of close combat. Never did he raise his fist, nor lay even a hair on his foes. With the cannon fodder of the invaders swarming around him like parasprites, Fausto kept a tight grip on the red tube he called a ‘meltagun.’ Whatever it was, Fausto wielded it like a scalpel. Moving too quickly for a being in armour like his, Fausto dodged the attacks of his enemies, dancing between their crude cudgels and blades. When he chose to issue death, he leveled his meltagun and fired a white-red beam. All who the beam touched died instantly, their bodies reducing to char and smoke.

Flash turned to Orlando, taking advantage of a brief respite in the battle. “Remind me why he ran off like that?”

A short while earlier the white Blood Angel, Domenico, had simply run off, tearing a bloody swath through the invader lines and disappearing down the streets. Since then, Orlando had lead their half-beleaguered band in pursuit.

“Our Chapter’s way is the glorious charge, and Domenico has long been enamoured with it,” Orlando replied. “The Knife called him, and he answered. Now we must retrieve him.”

Flash suppressed a groan and slashed a charging invader. There was no point in complaining; he needed every ounce of strength he had left.

So they fought on, the ponies pushing themselves to their limits, the Blood Angels unleashing their seemingly boundless fury on the invaders. Invaders died, and blood was shed by both sides. The battle became almost timeless, adrenaline and blood loss destroying Flash’s ability to experience the passage of time. A second or an eternity could have passed, and neither would have been noticed.

Then came a sound, a great, booming voice that resounded through the streets.

“Treat me like a pushover, and you’ll get the once over!”

Flash, the remnants of his team, and Orlando’s Blood Angels burst around the corner. Just as expected, they found a skirmish already in progress. The exact nature of that engagement, however, was, as Flash’s old training sergeant would have said, rather baffling.

The alien horde swarmed, as they had expected. But fighting against them was not a band of Blood Angels, or even policeponies or soldiers, but rather a frenzied mob of civilians. Ponies of all three tribes, of all colours and occupations, thronged through the wide street. Pegasi flittered about the street. Earth ponies kicked and bucked for all they were worth. Unicorns filled the air with makeshift projectiles and petty spells. The tattered remains of clothing, once marks of class and job, hung from the battered and bloodied bodies of the mob. They matched the aliens in ferocity, even if their skill left much to be desired. Ponies and aliens alike died, their bodies torn and crushed amidst the throng of battle.

In the centre of the battle was the least likely trio Flash had ever seen. Though it took him a moment to distinguish her from the rest of the mob, Flash quickly recognized Applejack, the Element of Honesty. Her Stetson sporting several rather conspicuous new holes, she still fought on, cracking bones and driving the aliens before her. At her side was, of all things, a minotaur. A grey-skinned hulk, the minotaur roared battlecries and tore into the aliens with one of their own weapons, a chainsword if Flash remembered correctly. The last of the three was, after Applejack, the most familiar. Flash watched as a crimson blade ripped through the air, white armour splattered with blood and golden chalice raised high.

Orlando laughed beside Flash. “It seems the Priest Domenico has found us a fresh battle. Tell me, xenos, have you strength enough for another bout?”

“Screw it, leftenant,” Red Ensign said, panting. “We’re worn out, beaten up, and I’m pretty sure Blusterwinds’ about to drop dead. Let’s kill these Sons of Mitch’s and get the buck back home.”

“I’m still with you, lieutenant, whatever the leafer says,” Blusterwinds said, trying to hide his very obvious exhaustion.

Hot Fumes seemed almost giddy. “Oh, I can test out this new bomb! I just put it together an dI have no idea what it’ll do, isn’t it great?”

Flash turned to Orlando and smiled. “Let’s do this. For Equestria!”

“For Sanguinius!” Orlando shouted as both ponies and Blood Angels alike rushed to join the fray.

“And the Emperor!” the other Blood Angels cried.

Flash and Blusterwinds took to the sky, their weary wings beating with a brief resurgence of energy. A moment later, amidst a mighty roar of flame, the Blood Angels joined them, if only for a moment. They found an open point in the alien line, a place where the frenzied ponies were not in the way.

Like a tidal wave they crashed into the aliens. Bones crunched under the weight of the Blood Angels’ armour. Skin and flesh was rent as blades and hooves were unleashed. The aliens died screaming, their pitiful armour no match for the might of their new foes. Flash swung the Crystal Sabre with a newfound strength, rending his foes. He and Blusterwinds fought in tandem; the latter struck from above, throwing the enemy off-balance, while Flash slashed from below, undercutting their defenses and securing the blow.

“Bite this, you hoser!” Red Ensign roared as he slammed into the alien line. A few ear-shattering blasts told Flash that Hot Fumes had joined the madness.

With Blusterwinds supporting him. Flash fought, strangely enough, at Orlando’s side. The three of them carved a bloody path through the aliens. Orlando all but waded through, his bronze-bladed sword meeting not even a hint of resistance as it passed through the aliens. Soon, they found themselves fighting alongside the unlikely trio Flash had seen.

“Applejack!” Flash called. The farmpony bucked an alien in the knee, sending it screaming to the ground, before turning to face Flash.

“In tarnation, how did ya’ll git ‘ere?” she asked. “Ain’t ya supposed ta be with Twi’s brother?”

“I came ahead with a scout team,” Flash explained, dropping for a moment the Crystal Sabre to his hooves. “We were supposed to find out what was going on here, then report back to Canterlot. We were… delayed.”

“Well, I ain’t one ta pass up honest help when it’s offered,” Applejack said with a shrug. “Come on, we got a lot of these’uns ta deal with.”

Flash nodded and grasped his sword once again.

“Come, come you Warp-cursed heretics!” Domenico cried, laughing as he swept through the alien ranks. “Let your blood feed the Knife!”

“Brother, curb your zeal!” Orlando called. He fought to Domenico’s side, sword and shield gleaming in the orange evening light. “I’ll not see you lost again.”

“Fear not, brother,” Domenico replied. “We’ve enough here to slake even Lemartes’ thirst. Look on, and listen! Do you not here it?”

Flash dropped another alien and took a moment to strain his ears, listening for the sound Domenico spoke of. At first he could hear nothing, but then it came, a growing rumble, the whirring of chain-blades and the pounding of alien shoes on tarmac. Flash could not see through the mass of aliens, but still he heard.

“Aye, I see them,” Orlando said. “Word Bearers, and a cadre of their heretic brethren. Even… Emperor burn their souls, there is a Helbrute among there number, and Terminators aside! Brothers, to me! We’ve a true battle to wage! Drive this rabble back, that we might regroup!”

In that instant, Flash Sentry saw a change in the fighting of his Blood Angels allies. In the hour they had fought together, Flash had seen these alien warriors fight with a speed and ferocity he had thought unnatural. Now, he saw them unleashed, and decided that ‘unnatural’ was something of an understatement.

The Blood Angels moved with impossible speed. In the blink of an eye, Flash saw them fell several times their meager number. Their weapons flitted through the air, almost too fast for the eye to catch. In mere seconds, they broke the alien fodder, sending the surviving screaming into retreat. As the cannon fodder fled, Flash allowed himself a moment of rest, catching his breath and steeling his heart. This was just the beginning.

Orlando turned around. “We’ve little time before they open fire, and we must plan. Tell me, xenos, what is the condition of your force? We’ll need bodies to absorb the opening volley, and to keep the servants of Chaos busy while we slay them.”

Applejack stormed up to Orlando, a fire in her eyes. “Now jes ya’ll wait a cotton-pickin’ minute, what in the hay was that? Ya’ll could do that the whole time? Why didn’t ya just send ‘em packin’ in the first place?”

Orlando groaned. “Now is neither the time nor the place to discuss this xenos. Every second we waste the enemy draws near, and if we are not ready, we will be overwhelmed.”

“Let them come!” the minotaur said, proudly puffing his chest out. “If they want to beat us, they’ll have to deal with Iron Will!”

Flash chose that moment to intervene. “Applejack, this mob, do you think they can keep fighting? Whether we like it or not, these invaders are tough, and we’ll need every hoof we can get.”

“Iron Will’s ponies won’t let you down,” Iron Will interrupted. “We’ve been fighting these bozos all day, haven’t been beaten yet.”

“Okay, and Orlando, you mentioned ‘Terminators’ and a ‘Helbrute.’ Do you have a way of stopping them?” Flash asked.

“Placido, Fausto, come here,” Orlando said, gesturing to one of his warriors. “These warriors bear the Primarch’s holy melta. If we can get them close enough, then no armour in the galaxy can save them.”

“Well, now, Orlando, you can’t just go forgetting us, can you?” Durante said, a smile in his tone. “Flavio’s wonderful little pistol will do just the same job, and while I don’t want to brag, this power fist of mine happens to make a rather wonderful nutcracker.”

Orlando turned back to Flash. “Keep us alive, and we can handle them.”

“Well then, Iron Will says, let’s get ready to rumble!” Iron Will shouted.

“Ah don’t like it, but Ah guess we can’t do much else…” Applejack said with a weary sigh.”You better be right about this. Come on ya’ll, let’s win this!”

The ponies and Blood Angels quickly formed a line. It was a shoddy thing, the kind of line that would have drill sergeants livid. But for now, it would do.

The growing force of alien invaders marched nearer. Flash could see them now, in all their horror. It was a writhing mass of pink flesh and crimson armour. Banners marked with strange, alien symbols that Flash somehow, instinctively knew were unholy, were raised among the horde. A rumbling, atonal chant rose from the alien ranks, its beat in tune with their advance. Chainblades whirred in the hot, humid air. Heavily armoured aliens, what Flash assumed to be Terminators, slogged forward, heavy and cruel weapons carried in their alien grasps. In the centre of the line was a massive, fleshy box on legs, a warped machine Flash could only assume was a Helbrute.

After hours of fighting these aliens, he had learned to approximate their tactics. Their weapons had a terrifying range, but they rarely took full advantage of it, preferring to draw closer and make their shots more accurate. At their current rate, the aliens would be in firing range in but a moment.

Lieutenant Flash Sentry tensed, and for a moment, he could almost swear he saw his life flash before his eyes. Without needing to look, he knew his surviving fellows were doing the same. Suddenly, he felt a strange, metal patting on his head.

“Hold together, xenos,” Orlando said. “By the Emperor’s Grace, we’ll win this yet.”

Then, the aliens reached the range. The aliens leveled their weapons, and opened fire. Explosions rocked the street, tearing up the tarmac and striking down ponies left and right.

“Advance!” Orlando commanded, pointing his sword at the aliens.

“Iron Will says, let’s get them!” Iron Will shouted, thrusting his chainsword forward.

As one, the Blood Angels roared. "For the Emperor!"

The aliens responded with their own cries. "Blood for the Blood God! Submit to the Truth that is Chaos!"

The mob surged forward, the ponies seemingly bound to the dauntless spirit of Orlando and Iron Will. The two armies rushed closer. Beams of energy and various projectiles whizzed through the air, both sides shedding the others’ blood. Battlecries arose and turned incoherent, all speech reduced to expression of pure emotion, fury and terror given audible form. The Blood Angels led the charge, surging ahead of the ponies, with only Iron Will, Applejack, and Flash able to keep pace. The aliens rushed to meet them, the massive, twisted form of the Helbrute raising twin taloned hooves, flame spewing forth from beneath the claws. Then, as each side neared the others’ line…

“How dare you?” a single voice broke through the roar of battle. Both sides froze, stunned by the interruption. Flash spun around to see, of all ponies, Fluttershy hovering in the air, staring directly at the alien horde, fury etched into her butter-yellow face. “How dare you come here and hurt innocent ponies like this! What did they ever do to you? But you came and you murdered them and you never even said why! Stop this right now and apologize and then turn yourselves in to Princess Celestia!”

Flash lost track of Fluttershy’s speech around that moment. His gaze was caught by a blur of red, as one of the Blood Angels lunged forward. Fausto rushed behind the Helbrute, his weapon firmly gripped.

“For the Emperor!” he shouted. A white-red beam lanced out from his meltagun, searing through the Helbrute’s armour. The monstrosity screamed, crimson smoke pouring from its twisted form. Then, in a burst of light, it exploded. Shards of corrupted metal and hunks of twisted flesh flew through the air, falling like rain on aliens and ponies alike. Fluttershy squeaked and fled, her wings beating like a hummingbird.

With that explosion, the battle was joined.

Both sides charged, their lines swiftly crossing the meager distance and slamming into each other. Blades flashed through the air while hooves of all sorts pounded on armour and flesh. Pegasi dive-bombed the aliens, and the aliens answered with cruel knives. Earth ponies pounded away on their armour, and were slashed and pummeled in return. Unicorns provided what support they could, while the aliens simply threw more poorly armoured bodies into the fray.

The centrepiece of the battle was focused on the alien Terminators. Five they numbered, each bearing a cruel-edged blade or profanely-headed mace. Their alien guns thundered, spewing death in various forms: white-red beams, green blobs, tongues of flame, and simple shells. Against them stood Iron Will, Applejack, the Blood Angels, Flash Sentry, and his team. The Terminators were hardy, their amour simply shrugging off blows that would have felled a pony or even a Blood Angel. The ponies and Blood Angels answered with sheer determination. Iron Will and Orlando fought at the forefront, chainsword and bronze blade blazing through the air, slowly chewing away at the Terminators’ defenses. Flash joined Domenico, the pair of them simply hacking away with their blades, hoping against hope to find a chink in the armour. Placido fought in his characteristic silence, his sword clattering against the alien armour, his pistol firing white-red beams whenever he could chance a shot. Flavio swung as well, his strangely familiar sword hefted and swung, while his pistol spat viridian death at all he could take aim at. Fausto fought in his strange manner, dodging every blow that came his way and carefully executing his foes with his meltagun one at a time. Applejack fought, strangely enough, in tandem with Durante. Wherever she bucked, Durante’s power fist would soon follow.

But it was not enough. The Terminators were tough, shrugging off all these attacks as though they were Breezies in the wind. Flash saw them shift and warp before his eyes; one moment a blue aura would block their blows, the next, a pungent reek would signify a sudden toughening of their flesh. They fought at times with speed unnatural even by the standards of their kind, and at others, with a ferocity only the Blood Angels could match. Wearied from a long day of fighting, the ponies were growing slow. Even Iron Will’s strikes were coming slower, if only by fractions of seconds. The Blood Angels, though more enduring than the ponies, found their efforts stymied. Slowly, but surely, the Terminators were winning.

The battle around them was little better. With all but three of the only true warriors in their force engaged in a duel with the Terminators, the frenzied ponies faltered. Red Ensign, Blusterwinds, and Hot Fumes did their best, but they were simply not enough to turn the tide. They tried their hardest; Red Ensign struck with all the strength his lumberjack physique offered him, spewing northern profanities with every buck. Blusterwinds led massed dive-bombs, slamming into the aliens only to slip back into the air before revenge could be taken upon them. Hot Fumes was almost everywhere at once, throwing all manner of explosives into the alien lines. But it was to little avail. The aliens’ armour was too strong; no longer were they fighting mere cannon fodder. These were true alien warriors, the kind that had slaughtered Flash’s team. Mere ponies stood no chance against such terrifying might.

Then came what seemed to Flash to be a miracle. Two cries went up, echoing from beyond the alien horde.

“For Equestria!”

“For Sanguinius and the Emperor!”

But a moment later, the aliens were thrown into disarray. The clopping of hooves on the streets signaled the arrival of new ponies, trained soldiers if Flash heard the pattern of their approach properly. He saw the tattered remains of Wonderbolts uniforms zipping through the air, joining the pegasi assault. A voice he had never thought he would hear again rose for a moment above the roar of battle.

“Up and at them, chaps!” General Fogey shouted.

But a second later, a deep, mechanical voice boomed across the street.

“Even in death I still serve!”

Even through the mass of bodies, Flash could see the Blood Angel Dreadnought smash through the alien lines, his crackling blue talons tending their armour like wet tissues. Lightning-blue explosions rocked the alien line, and to Flash’s gut-wrenching disgust he began to see alien warriors explode in showers of blood. Overhead, he saw Princess Twilight soaring, unleashing all manner of magics upon the alien horde.

The Terminators turned to face these new threats, leaving but two of their number to fend off their initial foes.

“Seize the initiative!” Orlando shouted. “Kill them, in the name of the Emperor!”

Orlando, Domenico, Fausto, Placido, Durante, Flavio, Iron Will, Applejack, and Flash Sentry all fell upon the twin Terminators like starving timberwolves. In one last burst of adrenaline, they fought, tearing at every weak point, smashing at every defense. Swords and hooves alike slammed into their foes, accompanied by white-red beams and viridian blasts. The Terminators swung back, mace and sword seeking vengeance for every blow. But it was not enough, and soon, one fell. The sword-bearer overstepped his strike by a hair. It was all they needed.

Orlando smashed the Terminator in the face with his shield, throwing the alien off-balance. Applejack chose that same moment to buck the back of his legs, sending the Terminator falling to his knees. Domenico and Flavio hacked at the Terminator’s head, their blows leaving a hairline fracture in the invulnerable armour. Flash lunged in, the Crystal Sabre glittering in the evening sun, and struck the killing blow. He cleaved the alien’s head, opening his skull and rending his fetid brain. The Terminator slumped to the ground, dead.

His fellow sought vengeance immediately. With a single swing of his mighty mace, the second Terminator knocked Flash, Domenico, and Orlando to the ground.

“Know the Truth of Chaos!” the Terminator boomed as he stood over the trio, his skull-headed mace raised to the sky.

He spoke no more, as but a second later a lightning-blue talon crackled through the air, slicing the Terminator in two with a single stroke.

“I am the instrument of his Will!” Castello proclaimed as he tore through the Terminators. It was a conceptually horrifying but emotionally gratifying sight. The Terminators, mighty though they were, stood little chance against the Dreadnought’s power. Lightning-blue talons ripped their armour apart, exposing their vulnerable insides. Those who survived died mere moments later as Blood Angels, ponies, and Iron Will descended upon them, tearing at every gash in the armour until the Terminators moved no more.

The alien horde broke and scattered. Those that could fled down the alleyways, seeking refuge beyond the sight of their enemies. Most, however, found themselves trapped between three armies, and were destroyed. Flash sheathed his sword and found himself panting, his lungs screaming for air. A sudden tiredness overtook him as the last drops of adrenaline burned out.

Princess Twilight landed in front of him, seeming rather pleasantly unharmed. That’s good, Flash thought. A Princess of Equestria shouldn’t have to deal with… this. That’s our job, the army’s job.

“Flash Sentry, right?” Twilight cautiously greeted him. Too tired for speech, Flash simply nodded. “Oh, good, it is you! Is Shiny here? Did he bring reinforcements? How many did he bring? Why is it taking so long to retake the city?”

Flash mustered up the strength to speak. It was a relatively easy task, considering the time Twilight’s endless questions gave him. “I don’t know. I led a scout team, we got attacked, never made it back.”

Off to the side, Flash heard a similar conversation between two of the Blood Angels.

“Orlando, where have you been?” the blue-armoured Blood Angel asked. “Priam made it, but you never arrived!”

“We stopped off early to slay some Khornates,” Orlando answered. “We linked up with a team of xenos, and tried fighting our way to you. I suppose we got… lost amidst the battle. I’m sorry.”

General Fogey walked over to Flash and Twilight.

“I say, jolly good seeing the both of you here,” he said. “It’s been an absolutely frightful day, and knowing you’re safe, Princess, does my old heart a world of…”

A loud, mechanical rumbling silenced the conversations which had been springing up among the victorious Blood Angels and ponies. It was a whirring of gears, a clanking of metal, and the rumbling of alien machinery.

“No…” Domenico said. “No!”

“What is it? What’s coming?” Twilight asked, his wings shaking nervously.

Around the corner came a massive metal monstrosity. As big as a cottage, with huge rubber treads, it rumbled towards them. It was unadorned, save for the yellow-and-black bars painted on a small part of its sides. Two pairs of long, lance-like weapons were mounted on its sides, and a double-barreled weapon was emplaced in the centre. Even at this distance, Flash could see the toughness of its armour. It was a monster of battle, a nightmare given machine form.

Beside Flash Sentry, the blue-armoured Blood Angel gave a name to this new terror.

“Land Raider!”

Author's Note

Yes, I chose to retain Pinkie’s 4th Wall-breaking powers even in the grim darkness of the future.

Oh, and I actually did that to a Helbrute once. Deep struck a suicide melta squad behind him, fired one, and boom! It exploded.

For those who don’t know (which will be the overwhelming majority of you), the term “Sons of Mitch’s” is a reference to the 1937 General motors strike in Oshawa. The Premier of Ontario (Mitchell Hepburn) sent a volunteer police force in to break up the strike, and this was one of their nicknames. I figured Red Ensign would have some knowledge of the local equivalent.

Also, the stats I bet none of you were expecting.

HQ:

Fluttershy, the Element of Kindness, 70 points

Fluttershy, the Element of Kindness: WS2 BS2 S3 T3 W2 I3 A2 Ld5 Sv-

Unit Type: Jetbike

Unit Composition: 1 (unique)

Special Rules: Pegasi Wings, Element of Harmony, Independent Character, Hit and Run, Fleet

Element of Kindness: grants 5+ Feel No Pain to attached squad or any model with the Element of Harmony special rule within 12”. If the model receiving FNP from this rule already has FNP, this rule increases that FNP by 1

Friend of Discord: an army which takes Fluttershy as an Elites Choice may take Discord, the Avatar of Chaos as a Lord of War choice

The Stare: once per game, during any phase of the controlling player’s turn, Fluttershy can use The Stare on her opponents. All enemy squads or units within 12” of Fluttershy, the Element of Kindness must make a Leadership test at –2 Leadership or be Entranced until the end of their controlling player’s next turn. While Entranced, these squads cannot move, shoot, run, charge, use psychic powers, or fire overwatch, and fight in Close Combat at -1 Initiative (to a minimum of 1).

Chapter 20: Cursed by the Power of the Land Raider

Chaplain Alessandro was furious.

The xenos knows of the Flaw. The thought burned in his genhanced mind. It offended him that the secret burden of the Angel’s Sons would be so easily revealed. It also astonished him. How did the xenos accomplish it?

Alessandro was a Space Marine, one of the Emperor’s Angels of Death. He had fought for the Golden Throne for two centuries. He had faced untold foes, both abominable aliens and despicable heretics. Across hundreds of battles, Alessandro had learned every trick of war. Rare was the alien that could slip by him unnoticed; only the devious Eldar had ever escaped his posthuman senses. Yet this xenos had somehow passed by him like a whisper in a hurricane.

These were the thoughts which plagued the Chaplain as he strode through the gore-splattered alleyway, back to his brothers and the war they now waged.

Behind him marched Brothers Marco and Arman, the latter of whom Alessandro had mentally marked for censure once the battle was ended. He cared not for the Tactical marine’s excuses; it was shameful to betray the secrets of the Chapter to a xenos, almost blasphemous. Aye, Arman would be punished for his failing. But, it would be no great sentence; the winged psykers of this world seemed to possess some unknown power that could compel even the Space Marines to…

Alessandro refused to recall that.

“Holy Chaplain, when do we march?” the veteran sergeant Dabriel greeted Alessandro as he exited the alleyway.

Alessandro quickly surveyed the battlefield. He smiled beneath his skull-helm. Though the cultists had already been broken when he had chased after lost Jagus, but it still warmed his hearts to know his brothers were able to so swiftly destroy the enemies of the Emperor.

Not a cultist remained alive on those streets. The heretic humans who had dared to attack the Emperor’s Proud Sons had paid dearly for their foolishness, and were now to a man scattered or dead.

Less impressive to the Chaplain were the xenos. It seemed the leather-wing xenos he had seen in Luna’s company back in Canterlot had joined Shining Armor’s column. Shining’s forces themselves seemed to be in poor shape. His psykers were slowly filtering out of the buildings they had taken cover in during the battle. Despite their alien features, Alessandro found he could recognize their weariness with almost disturbing ease. The xenos' fur was matted with sweat, and their breathing was heavy. Their expressions, so eerily human in aspect, were long, exhausted and worn by both the exertion and the fight of battle. Interestingly, those with armour in the style of Shining Armor seemed to be in better condition than those in other uniforms, save for the leather-wings currently flocking around Luna. The Chaplain filed away this information for later consideration.

“As soon as we are able, sergeant,” Alessandro replied. He gestured Arman and Marco forward. “Dabriel, I return your soldiers. Brother Marco is to be commended. Brother Arman will require discipline when this battle is won.”

Dabriel nodded, both in assent and respect. “As you will. Brothers, come, the Rhino awaits.”

Marco and Arman marched quickly towards their transport. Dabriel turned to follow them, only for Alessandro to lay his hand on the sergeant’s shoulder. The Chaplain leaned close and whispered into Dabriel’s ear.

“The black xenos knows of the Flaw,” he hissed. “Arman cracked, spoke of it when the xenos found Jagus. We must tread carefully.”

“And we may not simply smite the xenos, given its power on this world,” Dabriel said with a sigh. He shook his head sadly. “Rodri, why did you have to die? The Wrath of Angels would be of great help now.”

“Let it not trouble your heart, Dabriel,” Alessandro said. “The Emperor Protects, and never would he bestow on us a challenge we could not overcome. Now, to your squad. We must resume the march.”

As those words left his mouth, a sound began to echo down the streets. It was a click-clack rumble, a clattering of alien hooves against the tarmac. Alessandro and Dabriel both readied their pistols, their gene-forged eyes watching the end of the street.

Around the corner came a deluge of equine xenos in all manners of attire. Many hewed to the strange xenos custom of nudity, but just as many seemed to have taken the more sensible option of clothing. Alessandro saw in the horde various kinds of civilian garb, from the tattered remains of fine suits to once-white aprons stained brown with dust and dried blood. Some among the alien horde wore what seemed to be some sort of blue uniform, while others bore suits of their pathetic army’s armour.

The alien mob smashed into the marching column Shining Armor had slowly been reforming, throwing the army into chaos and anarchy. Alessandro watched as the xenos trampled over each other. Even without years of experience having honed his intuition and senses to the height of human possibility, he could have recognized the expressions of all-too-human fear on their alien faces. Something had terrified these xenos, thrown them into a panic and sent them scurrying.

Not that he particularly cared; these thoughts were simply automatic processes, tactical assessments that all Space Marines instinctively made in response to every piece of sense perception. He similarly did not care when it became apparent that the xenos were trampling each other to death, crushing their fellows underfoot or smashing them against the mighty chasses of the Predators and Rhinos. As the mob tried to push through Shining’s army, various xenos tried to restore order.

“Everypony, calm down! That is an order! Sturdy, get this crowd organized, and somepony tell me what in Tartarus is going on here!” Shining Armor bellowed as what few officers and sergeants it could still communicate with desperately tried to stem the madness.

Alessandro turned his gaze away; the internal affairs of aliens meant nothing to him, and more pressing matters were coming now around the corner anyways. First was a sight which raised the ever-present ire of the Flaw in his blood. There, standing tall amidst the equine xenos, was an abomination, a perversion of the Holy Human Form. Standing as tall as a man, the bull-headed alien waded through the xenos, shouting strange, rhyming phrases that seemed to do nothing but stir the frenzy of its fellows. To Alessandro’s disgust, the creature was carrying a chainsword in its hand.

“How did such a thing capture a chainsword?” Dabriel asked. “Holy Chaplain, could it be some manner of Ork?”

“Mayhaps,” Alessandro responded. “Time will shortly tell. But until then, keep a close watch on it. Whatever it is, its very existence offends the Emperor.”

“Enough!” the voice of the xenos Luna boomed across the street. Alessandro felt the weakening of his knees, but such was a secondary concern to the almost tangible force of the xenos’ voice. It struck his armour like a crashing wave, almost causing him to flinch.

The mob halted dead in its tracks, every xenos turning at once to gaze at the winged psyker.

“Citizens of Manehatten, We command you to remain calm, and move in an orderly fashion!” Luna bellowed. The xenos obeyed.

“But we’re all gonna die!” one of the xenos mass shouted. “He said so! That monster’s coming, and we’ve gotta get outta here now!”

But a moment later, Alessandro saw the flying psyker Renato called ‘Twilight’ soar through the air, accompanied by a cohort of the winged xenos. Following closely behind, wading through the now relatively calm, though still quite agitated, xenos, were Alessandro’s missing battle-brothers, with Orlando and Renato at their head.

Alessandro gestured Dabriel away, dispatching him back to Squad Murata with the flick of his wrist. For himself, the Chaplain strode through the xenos, heading straight for Renato. The Librarian similarly marched towards Alessandro, a look of grim worry etched on his posthuman features.

“Aless, we have to keep moving,” Renato said as soon as they were close enough. “The heretics had fielded a Land Raider, and we must escape before it catches up.”

“Why must we retreat?” Alessandro asked, almost incredulous. “We are the Emperor’s Chosen. Let them bring their Land Raider. They shall not find us wanting.”

“No, they will find us dead,” Renato said as he strode up to Alessandro. “Aless, you are my oldest, dearest friend, and I beg of you, heed my counsel! We are not equipped to fight this thing! It will strike us down before we can even reach it, and even if we survive that long, what will we accomplish? That armour is all but invulnerable!”

“Renato, brother, where is your faith?” Alessandro replied. “The Emperor is with us. Should we be marked as cowards beneath his gaze?”

“Better cowards that might win another day than dead fools,” Renato snapped. “Chaos is rallying around the Raider. With every second we tarry here, more cultists and Traitor Astartes join the horde. They will soon be enough to drown us in numbers alone!”

Alessandro laid a reproachful hand on Renato’s shoulder. “Careful, old friend. Such words veer dangerously close to heresy. Spread the word, we shall make our stand here.”

Renato grumbled his assent and turned to carry out his orders. The two winged psykers landed near the Librarian and the Chaplain.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but are you insane?” Twilight demanded, its wings flaring in what Alessandro assumed was supposed to be an intimidating gesture.

“Pray tell, what is this ‘Land Raider’ of which so many ponies speak?” Luna asked.

Renato turned and snapped out a response. “A Land Raider is the most powerful tank in the arsenal of the Astartes. Its armour is all but invincible, and its firepower can destroy whole continents if left unchecked. Your soldiers will be utterly unable to even scratch its paint, and even we will be able to do little more.”

Luna wheeled on Alessandro. “And you would have us battle such a thing?”

“By the Golden Throne of Terra, aye,” Alessandro answered. “There is no retreat from evil, only victory bought with the blood of the faithful. We stand here, and give not one step to the enemy.”

Luna stared at Alessandro for a moment, its xenos lips pursed as though in deep thought. “Very well. Twilight, join your brother, and ready our forces.”

“I’m so glad we… wait, what?” Twilight’s jaw fell slack. “Luna, you, you can’t be serious! Have you seen this thing? It’s bigger than a house!”

“These invaders have murdered unnumbered ponies this day, Twilight,” Luna said, its alien tone as cold as a Fenrisian night and its eyes almost glowing with a fury Alessandro almost found familiar. “We cannot let this go unpunished.”

“But, Luna, we can’t beat this thing!” Twilight protested. Renato, in a move that both shocked and rather disgusted Alessandro, placed a hand on the xenos’ back.

“Enough, Twilight,” the Codicier said with a heavy sigh. “The decision is made, and our time is spent. If we will not flee, we must rally now. Go to your friends and make ready the line. Aless and I will tend to our brothers.”

“But, but…” Twilight stammered, looked up at Renato with large, pleading eyes. The display sickened Alessandro to his core. The xenos sighed. “Luna, you’re absolutely sure we should fight?”

Luna nodded, and Twilight sighed again.

“Alright, I’ll go get Starlight and the Element Bearers, see what we can do,” Twilight said. It turned its alien gaze to Alessandro. “I really hope you’re right about this.”

“The Emperor Protects, xenos,” Alessandro responded.

With that Twilight and Luna flew off. Renato took one last look at Alessandro.

“I hope you have a plan. Land Raider’s don’t exactly die easily.”

Alessandro hefted his Crozius onto his shoulder. “Of course. Bring to me every battle-brother with a weapon that might harm the Land Raider. We shall make a glorious charge, and ends its unholy existence.”

Renato groaned. “Why did I ever expect anything else? Very well, I’ll go get Paolo. He should be gathering your squad as we speak. You know how he is.”

“Always anticipating what I’m planning,” Alessandro said, a slight laugh in his tone. “Some days I barely have to issue orders, so prescient is he. You’re sure he’s not a witchmind?”

Renato shared a brief chuckle which faded into a sad sigh. “No, he is not. And none of us are immortal, Aless, despite what you seem to think.”

“We will win, Renato,” Alessandro said. “You’ll see.”

Renato simply hung his head, sighed, and strode off to gather Alessandro’s strike team.

For a brief moment of respite, Alessandro stood alone amidst the throng, a pillar of ebony stoicism in a sea of pastel-coloured xenos.

Then, the pounding of feet and the grinding of Warp-twisted treads on alien tarmac brought an end to the flurry of activity. The xenos had formed up as best they could given the time constraints, which is to say they had managed to stop crushing each other. The Blood Angels were in significantly better condition, as was only right given their clear superiority. Dabriel had set up a firing line amidst the Rhinos, while Priam had joined Flavio, Placido, and Orlando to form an impromptu Assault Squad. The Predators had formed up, with the Assault Cannon and Annihilator variants sitting at range while the Flamestorm had driven up closer, ready to charge into the oncoming horde. Most importantly, Renato was now approaching with the strike force Alessandro had ordered.

The Chaplain smiled beneath his bone-white helm. Marching with Renato was every Blood Angel who stood a change of harming the Land Raider: Severo, Severin, and Fausto, each with their meltaguns; Durnate with his power fist; Paolo with the Thunder Hammer; and mighty Castello, the Dreadnought, armed with Blood Talons and a meltagun. Against any other foe, it was a force that would be all but unstoppable. Against a Land Raider, it was all he could muster.

For all his faith and courage, Alessandro was still an experienced warrior. He knew full well that Land Raiders were brutally difficult to destroy. The ceramite infused in their armour left them immune to the armour-piercing power of melta, and only the mightiest of weapons could hope to break so thick a layer of adamantium. It would take every weapon they could muster. But by the Emperor’s Grace, they would accomplish it.

Not a word was exchanged among the Astartes; there was neither time nor need in that moment. The rumble of the Chaos horde was just around the corner, and Alessandro intended to inspire his men by deeds this day.

The first warning came in the incoherent screams of the cultists, who came screaming around the corner in a wild mob, waving crude weapons and autoguns in the air while a handful of them tried to fire on the xenos and Blood Angels.

Word came up from the xenos’ ranks, orders issued by Shining Armor and echoed by the xenos sergeants and the perversion of the human form.

“Open fire!”

As the first volleys of autogun bullets ripped into the xenos, the equine aliens responded in kind. It was like watching the brave regiments of the Imperial Guard take to battle, though with far less humanity and far more diversity of colour in the beams. Alessandro saw every colour he could imagine scream through the air, slamming into the cultists like lasrifle shots. Xenos and cultists died alike, their armour too shoddy to do little more than stave off the inevitable for but a volley or two.

Alessandro left the xenos to their little lightshow. The cultists were nothing but cannon fodder, distractions meant to absorb ammunition. Had he been fighting at the side of the Imperial Guard or much-beleaguered Sisters of Battle he might well have willingly fallen for the trap, if only to spare the human lives he was sworn to protect.

For a force of xenos, he had no such compassion. His guns would remain silent until the true enemy revealed itself.

Such occurred but a moment later. Though cultists still poured down the street like a wave of sewage, into their ranks mixed an increasing number of Chaos Marines. Alessandro saw all manner of heretics numbered among the Chaotic horde. Most common were the Word Bearers, their chanting line slowly marching towards the xenos and Blood Angels. Joining them were octets of Khorne Berzerkers, and wild bands of Noise Marines. In the distance, Alessandro made out a contingent of Plague Marines slopping down the street. Even a couple squads of Chaos Terminators could be seen marching amidst the horde.

He activated his short-range vox. “Dabriel, strike these heretics from the Emperor’s galaxy.”

Thus began the true fusillade, the vengeful roar of the Blood Angels.

Boltshells flew through the air, blowing apart unlucky cultists and blasting back the Chaos Marines. Boltguns, storm bolters, and heavy bolters alike tore into the Chaotic horde, sending blood and guts splattering through the air. The sounds of autoguns, psyker-beams, and even bolt-weapons were all but drowned out by the whirring roar of the assault cannons. Hundreds, thousands of rounds ripped through the air. The cultist lines quickly turned into a crimson mist, and even the tough armour of the Chaos Marines soon began to buckle.

Fire was soon returned in kind as the true strength of the Chaos horde rounded the corner.

It occurred to Alessandro at that moment that, aside from the wrecks of Chaos Rhinos, he had seen not a shred of evidence of any Chaos armour in this city. Perhaps they had simply been deployed elsewhere when he arrived, or they had only just landed. The exacts of where they had been were rather irrelevant at the moment, however. What mattered was that a very large force of armour was bearing down on them.

A trio of Chaos Predators returned fire, spitting autocannon shells, lascannon beams, and plasma bursts into the xenos lines. Chaos Rhinos sped towards them, combi-bolters and Havoc launchers sowing death and confusion into xenos ranks. Helbrutes and Obliterators stormed forward, sending waves of melta, plasma, and boltshells flying at the xenos. Iron Warriors Havoc squads set up their weapons on the alien rooftops, pumping autocannon shells and frag missiles into the xenos lines.

And in the midst of it all rumbled the Land Raider, its heavy bolters and lascannons tearing whole squads apart, its armour simply ignoring the barrages which met it.

The xenos crumbled under the pressure. Screaming in terror, their line broke and scattered. Pastel-coloured equines scrambled away, desperately fleeing down alleyways or back towards the bridge.

“Hold the line! Faust blast you, hold the bloody line!” Shining Armor shouted, his voice all but lost amidst the resound of the guns and the screaming of the injured and cowardly.

“To your posts!” Luna boomed. For a brief moment, even the foul servants of Chaos froze, their barrage for these precious seconds silenced. Alessandro watched as the winged psyker soared above the xenos lines, wreathed in an almost tangible aura of authority. Luna hefted a massive spear in its psychic grasp. “Let us show these murderers the folly of invading Equestria!”

As the forces of Chaos regained their senses and resumed their assault, the xenos, to Alessandro’s great surprise, turned to face them. Desperate and fearful, the equines nonetheless restored their line, mere seconds before the first wave of Chaos struck.

Alessandro smiled beneath his helm.

“Battle-Brothers!” he cried, raising his Crozius Arcanum to the sky. “Today we kill a Land Raider! Charge, for Sanguinius…”

“And the Emperor!” the cry went up from every Blood Angel who could hear the Chaplain’s words.

Alessandro led the charge, his Crozius high in the air and his inferno pistol spewing beams of vermillion death. Paolo and Renato were at his side, their Terminator Armour a blaze with the sparks of enemy fire, striking down cultists and Chaos Marines with blasts of psychic power and the Thunder Hammer. Howling with characteristic enjoyment, Durante slew the servants of Chaos with boltshells and his power fist. The mighty Castello thundered behind them, smiting his foes with roaring flame and searing melta, the crackling blue of his Blood Talons sweeping through the air as he culled the heretic ranks. Brothers Severo and Severin joined Castello in spewing melta beams, while Fausto calmly selected his targets with the precision of a Vindicare. They tore through the Chaos horde, wedging the heretics apart with fire and melta and the Emperor’s Wrath.

Around them anarchy ruled the day. The xenos lines, though reformed, were now impossible to disentangle from the enemy. Xenos fought heretics beneath the dying evening sun, alien hooves clattering furiously, hopelessly, against tainted ceramite. Yet still they fought, their frayed courage held together by the willpower of their commanders.

Caring not for the fate of his xenos allies, Alessandro pushed on, driving his force ever closer to the Land Raider. Whether by fortune or the Emperor’s Design, they faced no great resistance; boltshells, combat knives, and chainswords opposed them in abundance, but even mere power swords were few in number. The Berzerkers who bore most of them seemed to have ignored the Blood Angels for now, seeking easier prey in the defenseless xenos.

Sonic carronades rained down on the battlefield, the Noise Marines wailing away on their blasters and Blastmasters with drug-addled abandon. Weaponized sound waves crushed alien bones and sowed discord among the xenos ranks.

Ordinance tore through the air. Shells, metal slugs, missiles, and lascannon beams streaked across the street, drowning out almost all other noise amidst their torrent of sound. The Chaos Land Raider rumbled forward, its invulnerable armour deflecting every shot that dared strike its mighty carapace.

Thus, it was to Alessandro’s great surprise that he found Luna at his side. Taking a quick glance to his left, from whence the xenos had come, he realized that, somehow, Luna had carved a path of its own through the heretics, leading a much-battered force of xenos warriors to support Alessandro’s assault. Xenos both winged and unadorned led the charge, accompanied on the ground by a small cadre of psykers and in the air by the strange leather-winged xenos Luna counted among its personal guard.

“If the Land Raider is slain,” Luna said as it flew not even a foot from Alessandro, its words eerily clear, even through the cacophony of the battle. “Then the battle will be ours?”

“Of course,” Alessandro answered.

Luna smiled. “Then we shall delay no longer!”

And so they charged, Blood Angel and xenos alike. Luna and the xenos force took to the front, sowing confusion in the ranks of Chaos and giving the Blood Angels some breathing room. The xenos fought and they died, struck down by boltshells, autocannon blasts, chainswords, and all other manners of heretic weaponry. But still they surged forward, knowing victory would make their sacrifices worth every drop of blood.

Then it came, the moment they had awaited. The Land Raider was but a stone’s throw from them. But a few more desperate seconds, and victory would be in their grasp.

The last opposition was quickly cleared. Melta beams and roaring flame scattered the soldiers of the Word Bearers. Pink and viridian beams from the last surviving xenos psykers pounded in ceramite and flesh. Alien hooves from the winged and unadorned xenos slammed and clattered as they fended off the servants of Chaos. Whole squads broke and died beneath Castello’s mighty Talons. The lightning-blue blasts of Paolo’s Thunder Hammer shattered all who stood before him. Durante punched out the chest of an Aspiring Champion. Alessandro crushed in the head of an approaching Plague Marine, the heft of his Crozius combining with the gene-bred fury of the Blood Angels to overwhelm even that abomination’s unholy constitution.

Renato paused a moment between the sweeping swings of his ornate sword to summon up the power of the Warp. His eyes aglow with sparks of crimson power, the Codicier channeled the extradimensional energy of the Immaterium. He began to blur, his movements becoming unnaturally quick even by the superhuman standards of the Astartes. Then, as he once more summoned up the power of psykery, seeking to set his sword ablaze with Warpflame, he froze. Psychic power overflowed in him, tearing at his flesh and his mind. He roared and screamed in the same breath, a pain unimaginable coursing through his very veins. It threatened to consume him, to break his bones and throw his soul before the Golden Throne.

But Renato had not come so far, not advanced so high in the hierarchy of the Librarius, to be destroyed so simply. With a will forged across two centuries of war, the Codicier harnessed the psychic peril. Still he roared, but no longer in pain. A golden aura wreathed about him and his armament. Concentrating with all his might, Renato forced the Warp-strength into a honed edge, focusing the aura into a singularly devastating weapon. His force sword, already alight with the mortal edge such weapons were famed for, became a pillar of golden flame, a bane to the Materium itself; neither flesh nor armour would be proof against its edge, and by the strength in both Renato’s arm and the sword itself, no armour would stand against him.

Then, an opening; first, of the path, with no challenge left between them and the Land Raider, and second, of the Land Raider itself, as it disgorged a force of Chaos Marines.

They were clad in armour of iron and brass, with the black-and-yellow emblem of the Iron Warriors emblazoned upon their pauldrons. All manner of close combat weapons could be found among their ranks; power fists and lightning claws, power swords, axes, and maces, chainswords and combat knives alike were found in their grips. Most carried boltpistols, though one took aim with a deadly plasma pistol. They rushed towards Alessandro’s strike force with a frigid fury, a seething hatred of everything everywhere.

Alessandro recognized them at once as Chosen, the elite of the Chaos Legions. Veterans of uncounted wars, they were among the mightiest of the Chaos soldiery. However, they were still no more than Traitor Astartes, weakened, corrupted imitations of the Emperor’s Angels of Death.

Mixed into their number, however, was a true danger: a Warpsmith, a heretek, a fallen Techmarine. In his two natural arms he carried a boltpistol and a hefty power axe. From his back sprouted the deadly mecha-tendrils, abominations created when the technology of Mars was exposed to the depredations of the Warp. Alessandro saw in the grip of those tendrils a flamer and a meltagun, both quite fixedly aimed at the strike force.

“Brace yourselves!” Alessandro roared. His cry gave but a second of warning.

A fusillade of boltshells blasted the strike force, accompanied by the roar of flame and both melta and plasma beams. The xenos died, their bodies seared and blown apart by the barrage. Yet Alessandro noticed a discrepancy; by his count, there were too many boltshells for the Chosen to have fired, and he was sure he had seen shells too strong to be bolter-fire. He snapped his gaze to the side.

“No!” he heard Paolo cry out.

A squad of Chaos Terminators was rushing towards them, blazing away with their combi-bolters and autocannon.

Alessandro grit his teeth. His faith was strong, but he was unsure if his force could survive the onslaught of both heretic squads.

“Chaplain, seize our victory!” mighty Castello boomed. “I will hold our flank!”

With that, the Furioso Dreadnought turned aside, and met the Terminators head-on.

The Terminators struck with the unholy zeal the Word Bearers were infamous for. In the first half-second of combat, two of their number swung at Castello’s battered and cracked chassis with their power swords, sheering off paint and deepening the cracks. Yet the Dreadnought endured, and in that same half-second ripped those same sword-bearing Terminators in half. Castello roared in fury and triumph.

The whirring of a chainfist brought an end to such a cry. One of the Chaos Terminators dodged underneath Castello’s unyielding Talons, and struck upwards at the Dreadnought’s heavily damaged chassis. The chainfist did its work, the power-field and chain-teeth ripping through Castello’s mighty armour. The Dreadnought roared in agony as the chainfist tore apart critical systems and destroyed his control. He fell backwards and struck the tarmac with a heavy, metallic thud immobilized and, for all tactical purposes, slain.

Yet Alessandro had no time to consider Castello’s sudden defeat, for in that same moment, the Chosen struck the remains of the strike force. Alessandro, imbued with the fury of his gene-father, leveled his Crozius at the Warpsmith and let loose a furious cry.

“Heretic! Kneel, for today you face the Emperor’s Wrath,” Alessandro roared. “And I am his vengeful arm!”

The Warpsmith snarled and barked his response. “Such arrogance! It’s like listening to blasted Harodon! Come then, corpse-worshipper, and die!”

The two masters of war met in a thunderous crash, their weapons tearing through the hot evening air. Their warriors battled around them, giving the duel as wide a berth as they dared. Swords and fists and all manner of weapons met and clashed, but none dared yet even aim a blow at the two challenged warriors.

Alessandro was the swifter, his Crozius a more agile tool of death. He battered at the Warpsmith’s iron-grey armour, denting the ceramite with every blow. Again and again the Chaplain struck, his arm strengthened by the hunger of the Flaw. The Warpsmith stumbled beneath the mighty strikes, but for all the cracks in his armour, only once did he cry out, as the Crozius punched through the ceramite and drew unholy blood.

But the Warpsmith, though bloodied, did not yield. The cold fury of his Primarch burning in his twisted eyes, he hefted his massive power axe. It was a cumbersome weapon, its edge sufficient to pierce even Terminator armour, but its weight unwieldy even for an Astartes. In the time it took the Warpsmith to raise his blade, Alessandro had already cracked his armour.

The Warpsmith soon took his revenge.

The first blow was like a thunderbolt, crashing against the Chaplain with the fury of a hurricane. Alessandro stumbled beneath its weight, only the golden light of his Rosarius staving off the blow. The Chaplain was an Astartes, capable of recovering far faster than mere humans. A blow like this, which would have slain a mortal man at but a glance, stunned him for no more than a moment.

A moment was all the Warpsmith required.

With a roar of rage, the Iron Warrior brought the axe back up. Throwing the full power of his genhanced strength behind it, he struck again at the Rosarius. This time, the protective field did not hold. Alessandro cried out in sudden pain as the axe buried deep in his side, rending through posthuman bone and tissue. For a brief, instinctive moment, Alessandro’s eyes shot towards the warm, red tint of the sky, towards the echo of the setting sun. Remastering himself, the Chaplain turned his gaze and his attention back to his foe. But it was too late.

A mecha-tendril surged forward like a viper, punching through his armour and biting deep into his primary heart.

Alessandro roared again in pain as his body first flared with the heat of posthuman healing, and then turned cold. The screams and clatter of battle faded like whispers in the night.

Darkness rose up around him, and the Chaplain knew no more.

Author's Note

Bet you didn’t see that one coming!

And for reference, the entire sequence with the failed assault on the Land Raider was rolled, with a couple exceptions. Those exceptions, whoever, were not me fudging rolls to get a specific end, but rather me realizing after the fact that I’d forgotten about certain factors in the fight. Renato going Super Saiyan, Castello being felled, etc. all resulted from actual rolls.

As an aside, I kid you not, according to Lexicanum, assault cannons fire multiple hundreds of rounds every second.

As an unrelated side note, we finally have Blood Angels Decurion! It’s just that it sucks. Well, not entirely. The main one can be made passable if you know what you’re doing (and it’s better than just having the Baal Strike Force, depending on the circumstances). Though we do have the most awesome list ever now: The Lost Brotherhood Strike Force. 3-5 Death Company, a Death Company Dreadnought, and a Death Company Chaplain (a Chaplain with a Jump Pack and Inferno Pistol at a 5-point discount, who gives Death Company To-Wound re-rolls), plus any combination of Lemartes (the Chaplain who is in the Death Company), Astorath (who executes Death Company as a hobby), and/or more Death Company Chaplains, plus the various Auxiliary formations. And it gives you a non-Scout 6” post-deployment free move. So you can move 6” before the game starts, then move normally, then charge Turn 1. And Terminators charging out of Deep Strike.

We’re finally playable again!

Chapter 21: Encircled

Even before the Chaplain struck, Renato was already in the midst of the fray.

The Space Marines were already posthuman beings, able to move with a speed too fast for their size and build. Imbued with the power of the Sanguinary Quickening, Renato put even the jittery Noise Marines to shame.

The raw power of the Warp flowed through him, an overload of psychic energy harnessed to his own ends. A glittering field of indescribable colours wreathed about him, distorting and displacing anything that dared seek to harm him. That same power sparked on the edge of his blade, its inherent life-slaying abilities enhanced even further; neither armour nor flesh could now stand against its touch.

With preternatural speed, Renato tore into the Chaos Chosen. His Force Sword rent their iron-coated ceramite with ease. A Chosen with a pair of lightning claws charged towards the Librarian, only to have his skull cleaved in twain. Before the other Chosen could react, Renato slashed through two more Chaos Marines, rending power fist and power armour alike. The Codicier roared, the primal fury of his gene-seed unleashed upon his foes.

Within seconds of Renato’s strikes, the Chaos Chosen reached the rest of the Blood Angels’ line. Power weapons and ceramite-armoured fists swung on both sides, slicing and battering each other. A power maul slammed uselessly against Paolo’s invulnerable Terminator armour. One Chosen slashed his combat knife along Severo’s power armour, drawing a long, jagged line in the crimson paint.

Severo responded by slamming the butt of his meltagun in the Chosen’s helm, throwing the ancient Chaos Marine off-balance. With a furious roar, Severo lunged at the Chosen’s midsection, tackling him to the ground.

“Severin!” he called. “The heretic is vulnerable! Finish him!”

Brother Severin fired his jump pack, hurling himself high into the air. Taking full advantage of his genhanced senses, he carefully aimed his landing and slammed his ceramite sabatons on the Chosen’s head. The warped helm crumpled under so great a force, crushing the skull within.

A third Chosen rushed around his fallen brother and sought a most ambitious prey.

“Iron Within!” he roared as he lunged at Princess Luna, his power sword slicing through the hot air like butter. Luna, slowed by the heft of her Lance, could not dodge the blows. She cried out as the sword cleaved into her side. She stumbled, her breathing heavy as she tried to stabilize the bleeding wound and to restrain the rage that grew inside her heart. The Iron Warrior swung again, intent on taking advantage of the Lunar Alicorn’s moment of weakness.

However, pain had not dulled Luna’s instincts, and though the first blow had come as a surprise, the second did not. Night-blue light wreathing about her horn, Luna summoned up a magical shield, blocking the sword’s second strike.

Luna’s magic could only do so much, however, and with her attention focused on the sword-bearing Chosen, she failed to notice his fellow. Hefting a cruel-edged power axe, the Chosen hacked at Luna’s side, punching two deep gashes in her flank. Luna’s magic just barely rose up in defense, blocking what would have been the final blow. The Princess of the Night coughed up blood. Her heart pounded away as reserves of desperate adrenaline flowed through her opened veins. Her eyes ablaze with night-blue power, she hefted her ancient Lance, knowing that if she failed to fend off these attackers soon, she would not survive.

“Tia, I’m so sorry,” Luna whispered, a single, bloody tear falling from her night-blue eye. The Chosen stalked in, sword and axe raised and ready to finish her off.

“For the Emperor!”

A massive hammer, a weapon too large for any pony to ever hope to wield, swung through the hot evening air. With an explosion of blue energy, Paolo smashed the sword-bearing Chosen into the ground, crushing posthuman flesh and ceramite armour alike into dust. On her other side, Luna saw the golden-armoured Durante soar into the fray.

“Come on, xenos” he said as he punched out the chest of the axe-wielding Chosen. “The Chaplain needs us! Onwards!”

Dashing around the golden-armoured warrior, the veteran Astartes Fausto leveled his meltagun at another Chosen. The beam vaporized the Chaos Marine’s head, along with most of his upper body.

Luna paid little attention to the veteran’s kill, however. Instead, she turned her head at his words, and gasped at the sight she beheld. There, at the centre-point of this battle, Alessandro lay unmoving on the tarmac, with his victorious foe standing above him. Rage burned in Luna’s heart as she looked at the alien invader, a fury she could not understand, a yearning for vengeance as she saw his jagged, crimson-white axe raised above his horned, inhuman head, metal tendrils splaying out from his back like great, leathery wings, or a cruel, otherworldly whip.

The unfamiliar screams of a thousand dead cried out in Luna’s mind. The faces of a thousand dead ponies, civilians, supplicants, and dear friends, rose up before her. The bodies of her beloved Lunar Guard flittered before her like a phantom graveyard. Her eyes ablaze with power and her horn wreathed in night-blue light, she at last hefted the mighty Lunar Lance.

“Get away from him!” she roared. “And get thee away from our lands!”

Luna surged forward like a bolt of midnight-black lightning. She tore through the remaining Chosen, her Lance punching through ceramite with nary a hint of resistance. One after another the Chosen fell, slain at a stroke by Luna’s Lance. Power weapons clattered on the tarmac.

She cared nothing for this. Her night-blue eyes were fixed on her target, honed on the iron-clad object of her hatred.

With the force of a thunderstorm she struck. The invader’s axe shattered, its hafted snapped in twain. Metal tendrils were sliced apart. The Lance punched through his shoulder, sending the limb flying in a bloody arc through the air. He roared in pain as blood gushed from the open wound for those precious seconds before his genhanced physiology began sealing it. Following closely behind her Lance, Luna slammed her hooves into the invader, blasting him backwards. He slammed against the Land Raider and slumped to the ground, unmoving.

“Defend the Chaplain!” Renato roared, thundering to Luna’s side. The surviving members of the strike force rallied to his call. “Severo, tend to him. The rest of you, drive off that Land Raider!”

Brother Severo slid his meltagun onto his back and knelt, doing his best to patch the fallen Chaplain’s injuries. Severin and Fausto stood at his side, peppering the Chaos Land Raider with melta beams. Renato created a wall of boltshells with his storm bolter, driving back the tide of Chaos cultists that swarmed around them. Luna joined the Librarian, her eyes ablaze with power as she unleashed a one-pony barrage of magic.

“Brother-Librarian, the Warpsmith!” Severin called. Luna and Renato turned to see a band of Chaos Marines and cultists charging towards the broken body of the Warpsmith. Alicorn and Librarian took a single look at each other, and instantly came to the same conclusion.

Luna gave voice to their decision. “Drive them back!”

She and Renato turned their firepower on the Chaos warriors, joining the twin meltaguns of Severin and Fausto. Boltshells tore through the air, exploding against warped ceramite and heretic flesh. Cultists died screaming as spikes of magic ripped through their skulls. Melta beams seared the servants of Chaos, striking life from their profane bodies. Yet still they came, the corpses of their fallen fellows a shield for those who yet lived. Boltshells and autogun fire peppered the Blood Angels and Luna, buying yet more time for their duty.

One Chaos Marine, a Word Bearer, shouted, “Into the Land Raider! Back to base!”

A band of Chaos Marines lifted the broken body of the Warpsmith and carried him into the Land Raider, abandoning their fellows as the assault ramp closed behind them. The Land Raider rumbled backwards, its lascannons still firing into the distance, and its heavy bolter providing covering fire as the rest of the rescue group scattered back into the horde. Renato stomped into the fire while Luna threw up a magical shield, holding the fusillade at bay.

Just a few metres away, Durante and Paolo carried out their own battle for a fallen brother.

At the very moment Luna had struck down the Warpsmith, Durante and Paolo had turned to face their other fallen brother.

Durante clapped his free hand on Paolo’s back. “It would seem our elder brother has fallen and can’t get up!”

Paolo grunted and hefted his thunder hammer. “Dark times are they when the ancients of our chapter fall so easily.”

With a flare of red-white flames and the thundering of heavy ceramite boots, the veteran Blood Angels charged at the crimson-armoured Terminators. The Terminator Champion stood atop fallen Castello, sliding a fresh magazine into his combi-bolter.

Castello roared beneath his foes’ boots. “Away, heretics! Be gone! Brothers, purge this filth from my hide!”

“In the name of Chaos Undivided, the Primordial Annihilator, the Word Which We Bear…” the Champion began. A hail of high-power boltshells cut off his words.

The Chaos Terminators turned to face their new foes. They cast a disorganized hail of boltshells and autocannon rounds at the charging Blood Angels. Not but a handful struck true, and even they proved useless against the masterwork of the armourers of Baal.

Durante struck with the force of a meteor, his jump pack hurling from the sky like a thunderbolt, while Paolo came in like a roaring tank. The Terminator Champion hurled himself off Castello’s chassis, slashing at the Blood Angels with his power sword. Durante fired his jump pack, leaping over the Champion before the blade could connect. Paolo raised his hammer high, his viridian eyepieces blazing like a green star.

“In the name of Sanguinius, die!” Paolo roared as he swung his hammer.

Thunder hammer, power fists, and chainfist swung alike, their power fields flaring in the red light of the evening sun. Paolo’s first swing passed by a Chaos Terminator’s power fist, deflecting the power fist with the heavy slab of his storm shield while his hammer crushed the Terminator’s skull in. As that Chaos Terminator fell, Paolo swung up at the Terminator Champion. The other Chaos Terminator hurled himself forward, scratching the blade of his chainfist along Paolo’s storm shield. The chainfist-wielding Terminator died as Paolo’s thunder hammer blasted through his chest, shattering his ancient armour across the battlefield.

The Terminator Champion took a step back, aiming his combi-bolter at Paolo. But a half-second later, Durante’s power fist burst through the Champion’s chest, the remains of his two hearts sizzling away on the weapon’s power field.

“Now, I don’t mean to be heartless,” Durante said, his words infused with the cocksure smile that was surely on his face. “But they were simply pathetic.”

“Now is no time for bad jokes, brother,” Castello rumbled through his vox. “Tell me, what has happened? I cannot see! Is the Land Raider dead?”

“Durante, keep the cultists off us,” Paolo said, pointing his thunder hammer at the mass of heretic humans and mutants swarming towards the defensive line. “I will handle the Astartes.”

“Brothers, tell me!” Castello boomed. “I cannot see, brothers! The foul heretics have left me blind and lame!”

“We have faltered,” Paolo said as he bunkered down behind his storm shield, scanning the Chaos horde for any sign of attack. “The Land Raider retreats, but it is unharmed, and will surely return. And Aless is fallen.”

Castello fell silent, brooding on this tragic turn of affairs while his two guardians kept watch above.

“Paolo! Durante!” Renato called. “Cover us as you can! We’re bringing Aless over!”

Under cover of boltshells and melta beams, the rest of the attack force stalked over to Castello’s fallen form, Brothers Severin and Severo carrying Alessandro’s broken body with them. The Blood Angels and Luna rallied around the wrecked Dreadnought.

Around them the horde of Chaos slowed and turned, cultists and Chaos Marines alike shifting their attention from the meat grinder ahead to the encircled attack force in their midst. Boltshells and autogun bullets began tearing through the air at them, while warriors bearing all manner of weapons bore down on them. From up high, Iron Warriors havocs opened fire, throwing autocannon shells, krak and frag missiles, and lascannon beams screaming through the air.

Renato turned to Luna, his Terminator armour showing steel-grey patches as the fusillade seared away the paint. “Take wing and fly, xenos. You’ve no need to die here.”

“Hast thou so little faith?” Luna replied. “We shall not abandon ye in this hour of need.”

“Very well,” the Codicier said. He turned to his brothers, slapping a fresh magazine into his storm bolter. “Let us honour the Emperor, brothers. Fight! Keep them back, and let not a single heretic finger fall upon either of our fallen kin!”

The Chaos horde surged closer, coming within but a few feet of the encircled Blood Angels and Luna. Cruel-edged blades and crude, makeshift weapons bounced through the hot air, their wielders screaming curses in unholy tongues. All manner of projectiles were hurled at the encircled warriors. The cacophony of battle drowned out all other sound, the roar of automatic fire, psychic beams, the clatter of metal, and the screams of the wounded and dying.

“For the Emperor…” the Blood Angels said. Three meltaguns were leveled, crimson beams striking down foes with searing microwave beams. Boltshells blew poorly armoured flesh apart. Luna’s beams battered against warp-twisted flesh and ceramite. Force sword and thunder hammer rose to the sky. “And Sanguinius!”

The Blood Angels charged, unchaining the Thirst that boiled in their blood. At their side soared Luna, her Lance wreathed in a night-blue aura. They surged outward, forming a circle around Castello’s wrecked chassis and Alessandro’s broken body. Mutants, heretics, and traitor guardsman were mixed with Word Bearers and Khorne Berzerkers, and fought and died just the same. Paolo, Durante, and Renato led the charge, Terminator and artificer armour fending off cruel-edged power swords. Fausto stood behind the invulnerable trio, sniping any who dared approach with a heftier weapon in hand. Severin and Severo fired and punched in sequence, one covering the other before switching positions. Luna kept the gaps clearing, sealing any opening in the circle with a flurry of night-blue beams and thrusts of her Lance.

Cultists died in their dozens, their makeshift armour worthless against such fury. The Chaos Marines fared far better, staving off fatal blows with the might of their armour, and striking back with equal wrath. The Blood Angels began to lose ground, their guns running dry and their armour cracking under the weight of so many blows. Even Luna could only strike so many at once, her strength fluctuating as the faces of dead friends flashed before her eyes. The Lunar Alicorn harnessed the full might of her mind, fighting with equal desperation against the hordes of Chaos and the hallucinations that screamed at the fringes of her vision.

A field of corpses at the foot of the Slaughter-Lord. A massive scorpion bearing down with murder in its eyes. That wretched claw rising above blood-stained wings.

Then there came a rumbling and a roaring of firepower. Boltshells and open flame chewed through the Chaos lines. An unending stream of stub-rounds ripped through the air, chewing through flesh and armour alike. Five warriors flew on wings of flame, hurled by jump packs into the fray. Rainbow beams flashed through the Chaos horde like pellets from a shotgun.

A red-armoured warrior with a golden helm and a gleaming power sword landed in front of the encircled Blood Angels and Luna, his blade cleaving through a Word Bearer like a hot knife through butter.

“Brothers!” Orlando called, raising his combat shield in greeting. “It is good to know you still live. Tell me, where is the Holy Chaplain?”

“Fallen,” Paolo reported. “Struck down by a Warpsmith. Brother Severin tended to him, but we need…”

Domenico landed next, his snow-white armour coated in fresh blood. He sheathed the Crimson Knife and strode past Paolo. “I’m here. By Terra this is bad. Orlando, get the Rhino up here. We need the Chaplain moved to safety, now.”

“Dabriel! Front and centre!” Orlando called. A Rhino rumbled forward, its path cleared by the firepower of the Baal Predators. Its doors swung open, releasing Squad Murata.

“Marco, take three men and keep the cultists off us. Severo, get over here, we need that gun,” Dabriel shouted. He pointed to two of his remaining Marines. “You two, get out the cables, link them to Castello. We’re not leaving him here.”

Luna set down at Renato’s side. “’Twould seem we have survived.”

“For the moment,” Renato said, his lips twisting into a grimace, turning around and gazing at where the Land Raider had retreated. “But not for long.”

Author's Note

Sorry about both the long wait and short update. I’ll try and get back on schedule and regular length soon. I’ve been busy and sick a lot the past few weeks, and my muse is currently waning. To be clear, I’m not losing interest in the story; I’ve still got a lot of story to tell, and I intend to write every word of it. Just that I’m facing a bit of writer’s block, thus, short update.

Also, the fight in the first half was based on the rest of the rolled combat from last chapter.

As always, comments and criticism appreciated.

Chapter 22: Advance to the Rear

It was a grim situation.

“How many have we lost?” Shining Armor asked the earth pony.

“Half the Equestrian Army force, a quarter of your own Crystal Army,” the pony replied. The left side of its face twitched intermittently, still adjusting to the makeshift eyepatch it had recently acquired, patches of coagulated blood still spattered across its coat. “And almost all of the Manehatten militia, reserves, and police. And…”

“Too many of our Lunar Guard,” Princess Luna finished. Orlando could see the fury burning in the xenos princess’ eyes.

“Our losses number three battle-brothers,” Orlando reported. Had he still be merely human, he would have shivered as he spoke his next words. “And the Chaplain.”

Around them the bloodied remains of the various militias, armies, and strike forces they had under their command took advantage of this brief respite to regroup. The wounded were gathered, weapons and armour checked, and squads and formations rebuilt or forged anew from husks. There, Sturdy Pike was putting the defensive line back together, there, Iron Will shouted encouragement to its mob. In the back, far away from the frontlines, the Priest Domenico worked, piecing the Chaplain Alessandro back together. While they worked, the remaining commanders had gathered in the shadow of the Predator Annihilator to sketch out a battle plan. It was a slow business, far slower than Orlando cared for. The purple xenos, Twilight, seemed almost vegetative, tears dripping from its oversized eyes as it mumbled something about bloodshed.

The xenos known as General Fogey harrumphed. “Well, I think it’s quite obvious we can’t hold this position. Even with that whatchamacallit…”

“Land Raider,” Renato filled in.

“Whatever it is, out of commission…” Fogey continued.

“It’ll be back soon enough,” Paolo interrupted. “We hadn’t even a chance to scratch that thing’s armour.”

“Would you kindly can it?” Fogey snapped. “I’m simply trying to say we can’t stay here. With our current forces I doubt we could hold off an angry bugbear, never mind firepower like this. We need a better position.”

“Retreat?” Luna said, aghast. “After so many have been lost? We must press on and banish these invaders forever from our lands!”

Twilight finally seemed to recover its senses. “Princess Luna, I think Fogey’s right. We’re beaten, we’re tired, and oh sweet Celestia there’s just so much blood everywhere, I… I…”

Renato placed a hand on the xenos’ back, stilling its shivering form. The Librarian and Orlando shared a brief, suspicious glance, both considering the implications of how easy that had been. Circumstances, however, dictated their conversation would have to wait.

“While I care not for your insolence, xenos,” Orlando replied, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his sheathed power sword. “I cannot disagree with you. The Chaplain may have believed we could win an assault, but we’ve no chance now. So we pull back, regroup, ready ourselves for their return.”

“What about the bridge?” Shining Armor said. “Easily a quarter of our forces are there. It’s already fortified. If there’s anywhere left in this city we can make a stand, it’s there.”

Renato, Paolo, and Orlando snatched quick glances at each other.

“Very well,” Orlando voiced their decision. “Get your soldiers moving. We’ll send Domenico back with the Chaplain and Castello, and the rest of my forces will form a rearguard.”

“We can gather up the pegasi and thestrals,” Luna suggested. “A cohesive air force has oft proved decisive in battle.”

“I’ll go on ahead to make sure everything’s in order,” Fogey said. “Blue Cross! Get a vanguard together, we’ve got a job to do!”

With that the ad hoc council broke. Luna took to the skies while Shining Armor and Fogey set off to gather their forces. Paolo gave a simple nod and stomped towards the rest of the Blood Angels, bearing Orlando’s orders.

“I…” Twilight said, its breathing still heavy but its demeanour seemingly more calm to Orlando’s eyes. “I better go tell the girls. See you soon.”

The lavender xenos slowly walked away, leaving only Renato and Orlando.

“You’re worried, aren’t you?” Renato asked.

Orland sighed, slapping a fresh magazine into his boltpistol. “We are Astartes. We know no fear, for we are fear incarnate.”

Renato placed his hand on Orlando’s shoulder. “But we are still human, at our core. Don’t hide from me, brother. Tell me what ails you.”

“Is this not the Chaplain’s job?” Orlando countered.

“You know as well as I that Aless was never one for simple chatter, never one for cameraderie,” Renato replied. He looked out over the slowing regrouping xenos. “You’ve fought with the Fourth long enough, you’ve seen what he can do with an army at his back. But alone, when it’s just him and a battle-brother? I think in all two centuries of his service, Paolo and I are the only two he’s ever just talked to, and even then… So yes, it is the Chaplain’s job, but since he’s indisposed at the best of times, I’m the best you’ve got. And might I remind you that I outrank you?”

Orlando sighed again. “Do you think we can win?”

“This battle?” Renato stroked his chin. “By the Emperor’s grace. That’s the only chance I see left to us. We can fight, but this entire battle has been a series of victorious skirmishes that kept us from winning the true fight. Our strength is spent, our ammunition is low, and the enemy has us outnumbered. Aless’ gambit might have turned the tide, but now…”

“So we’ll fight then,” Orlando said. “We’ll fight them at the bridge, and see what we can make of ourselves. And if we fail…”

“Aless would likely sanction me for saying this,” Renato said. “But retreat is an option. Life is the Emperor’s currency, and dying on the outskirts of a xenos city seems wasteful.”

“I know. I don’t intend to die, not here, not now,” Orlando said. This time he placed his hand on Renato’s shoulder. “We know no fear, but we are neither invulnerable nor numberless. I do not know the machinations of Chaos as do you and the Chaplain, but I have served the Golden Throne long enough to learn that when Chaos seeks a world, no matter how random or pointless the invasion seems, there is always some sinister plan at work. We will fight them at the bridge, and should the Emperor will it, we shall retreat. But I pray it is not so.”

“Then let us to it,” Renato said, gesturing to the now-moving column. They stood silent for a split-second, a time almost undiscernible to mortal eyes, but long enough to transhuman beings such as them. “Time grows short, and Chaos will not await us forever.”
_____

Further along in the column, Shining Armor was doing his best to keep his composure.

Do not break down screaming, do not break down screaming, do not break down screaming…

The mantra pounded in his skull, as much a prayer as a mental trick. He had spent the time since Cadence inherited the Crystal Empire preparing for a day of crisis, but this…

This was beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

At the moment, however, that didn’t matter. He had to hold together, for the soldiers, and the growing number of civilians silently joining the column.

The exhausted unicorn looked around, grimly watching the beleaguered ponies around him. Hastily-patched wounds, broken armour, and dried blood were the fashion of the day. As much as he deeply wanted, no needed, her right now, Shining was glad Cadence wasn’t here. A sight like this would break her heart.

“Never fought a real battle before, have you, son?” General Fogey asked, trotting up to Shining’s side.

It was a strange thing for Shining. By Celestia, had it only been morning when he dismissed Fogey as an outdated relic, useless as a modern commander? It seemed like months had passed since he said those things.

“Not like this,” Shining admitted. “A few skirmishes were and there, border squabbles with the Griffons, the occasional changeling raid, but this…”

“This is why I’m still around,” Fogey said. “Why we keep old war horses like me in service, rather than retire ‘em the moment the conflict ends. Because Celestia’s been around long enough to know the world never stays at peace, and the Elements of Harmony can only do so much.”

Shining opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by a lavender blur.

“BBBF!” Twilight almost squealed as she slammed into Shining, wrapping her forelegs around him in an almost desperate hug. “Oh my goodness, you have no idea how good it is to see you again, and I know I should’ve already done this but it’s just we were running away from the Chaos Marines and then we had to fight and then there was the council and I didn’t get a chance and I’m just really, really happy to see you!”

“Alright, alright,” Shining said, a distinct tone of good humour seeping into his weary voice as he playfully resisted his sister’s hug. “I get the idea. I’m really glad to know you’re safe too. And I should probably be apologizing to you, I mean, we didn’t know if you were alive, and… It’s really, really good to know you are.”

The siblings simply stood silently for a moment, the exhaustion of the day weighing down on them. As ponies marched past them and alien machines rolled down the streets of Manehattan, their last meeting in the Crystal Empire seemed very, very far away.

“I don’t mean to intrude on a private moment,” Fogey said. “But that’s Crescent’s squad coming up. Rearguard. We’d better get moving if we want to keep up with the column.”

Shining looked to the sister still wrapped around his neck. “He’s right, Twily. Come on, we’ll talk as we walk.”

Twilight nodded and the pair started off. All around weary ponies marched through the hot evening air.

“How are you and the girls holding up?” Shining asked.

“It’s been a weird day, but we’re holding together. Starlight and Applejack are okay, but I think Fluttershy’s going to need a vacation or something and Rarity seems like she got hit really hard. She’s a bit fidgety, but we isn’t right now? And Pinkie, well, she’s Pinkie…” Twilight answered. A look of shock flashed across her face. “Oh my gosh, I forgot! Shiny, have you seen Rainbow Dash? She was supposed to be helping with the Wonderbolts and I haven’t…”

Twilight’s words faded as she caught Shining’s grim expression.

“She tangled with one of those metal dragons,” Shining explained. “She’s in hurt bad, but we got her to the medics in time. If nothing else, she’ll survive, I think.”

Tears pooled in Twilight’s eyes. “I’ve got to see her. If she… I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.”

“Dash is strong, she’ll pull through,” Shining said. He flinched as a thought flitted through is mind. He may never have fought a real battle, not like this one with all the blood and the screaming, but he’s seen his fair share of crisis. Rainbow Dash would survive, that much he was sure of, but not everything a pony survived made them stronger. Sometimes, it just found another way to break them.

He looked over across the column. Tired, weary, bloody. Only the Blood Angels seemed to still have real fight left in them. The rest, the ponies, were all but beaten. It would take a miracle to pull victory out of this.

And Shining has the distinct feeling they had run out of lucky breaks today.
__________

“Nikolas! Double-time, man, we need that debris now!” Rikkard shouted. The grizzled old man kept his hot-shot laspistol raised, ever vigilant against a surprise attack.

Nikolas grunted and pushed his legs as hard as he could. In his arms he hefted a hunk of brick and mortar, wreckage from a nearby xenos construction. At last, he dropped the heavy weight onto the makeshift wall, giving his aching arms a few precious seconds of relief.

“Good work, good work,” the xenos commander, Blazing Star, commented as it passed. “You do your commander honour.”
Nikolas kept a close eye on the alien. The Holy Chaplain had said they were working together, but even a lowly servant of the Emperor like Nikolas knew it was an act of pure desperation. Once Chaos was gone, they would be able to purge these creatures, just like the Ecclesiarchs said to.

“Nick! Hey, Nick!” Sanders called.

“What is it?” Nikolas turned to his squadmate. They had only known each other a few days, but Sanders was still human and therefore better company than most on this Throne-forsaken world.

“We’ve got another group of xenos wanting to cross, and Elbert’s group isn’t back yet, need an extra gun to escort them,” Sanders explained.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working on the Predator?” Nikolas asked.

Sanders shrugged. “We’d need a techpriest or techmarine to fix that thing, that or a few days. They managed to break the axles, really offended the machine spirit. We don’t have the incense to placate the spirit, or the parts to fix the mechanism. Guns still work though, so there’s that. So, now I’m on escort recruitment.”

“Blasted heretics. Alright. Anything’s better than lugging rocks around,” Nikolas said. He turned to Rikkard. “Sir, I’m needed for escort duty. Permission?”

“Go ahead, kid,” Rikkard called back. “We’ll round up a few xenos, fill the gap for a few minutes.”

Nikolas turned to join Sanders when he heard a rumbling in the distance, the crunch and groan of treads on rubble.

“Sir!” he called to Rikkard.

“I hear it, kid,” Rikkard said, drawing his sword. It was a piece of masterwork, a gift from their holy masters and a mark of his station as platoon commander. The blade was just over three feet long, and sharpened to a killing edge. “That’s tanks and Rhinos. Platoon! Ready up! We’ve got incoming!”

Nikolas and Sanders slid their hot-shot lasrifles off their shoulders and rushed to the barricade. The rest of their platoon soon joined them, while the xenos filled the rest of the defensive line.

“Think it’s the heretics?” Sanders asked as he doubled-checked his ammo.

“Who else could it be?” Nikolas replied.

“Well, maybe the Holy Chaplain’s won, and we’re going to…” Sanders trailed off as a group of blood-red vehicles rolled around the corner.

“By the Emperor,” Nikolas said. “It is the Astartes! The Blood Angels are back!”

Nikolas and Sanders watched as the Rhinos rolled down the street, followed closely by a long column of wounded xenos.

“Nikolas! Sanders! You two, with me!” Rikkard called. “We’re going to meet with the Chaplain.”

“We’ll come as well,” Blazing Star said, walking up with a trio of xenos warriors. “Hopefully, Prince Armor will be back. If the battle is over, I’d like to start reconstruction as soon as possible.”

Nikolas followed along, taking regular, wary glances at the xenos. When dealing with aliens, even ones as strangely adorable as these, it always paid to keep one eye open.

Blazing Star and Rikkard led them to the crimson Rhino. The vehicle rolled to a halt and dropped its rear ramp. The Sanguinary Priest Domenico emerged, his white armour almost stained red with blood. Rikkard, Nikolas, and Sanders knelt before

“Rikkard, xenos,” Domenico nodded his head in greeting. He looked around, the ruby lenses of his helm drifting over the barricade.

Nikolas struggled to steady his breathing. He was a Chapter Serf by birth, but even after all these years, he still could not help but find the Space Marines awe-inspiring. The Emperor’s Angels, the embodiment of his Divine Will, how could he not tremble in their presence?

“Ready to report on the situation, Holy Priest,” Rikkard said, looking up at the Blood Angel.

“In time. Orlando will be along shortly. For now, get the men back to work. We’ve not much time, but much to do,” Domenico said.

“My lord?” Rikkard said, voicing the confusion Nikolas felt.

Blazing Star intruded on the conversation. “What’s going on? Haven’t you won? Or is this a retreat?”

Domenico sighed. “I don’t have time to explain. The Chaplain needs me. Make ready the defenses. Chaos will be here within the hour, in full strength.”

Rikkard rose and turned to Nikolas and Sanders. “You heard the Priest! Sanders, get the Predator entrenched and ready. Nikolas, grab two men, set up a sharpshooter post.”

“Where is Prince Armor?” Blazing Star asked. Nikolas dashed off. He cared nothing for the xenos’ questions. He had a mission, on behalf of the Astartes. His heart was pounding in his chest with anxious excitement. At last, he would have a chance to fight for the Emperor, to make a use of himself for the Blood Angels beyond maintenance and errands.

Whatever was coming after the column didn’t matter, Nikolas decided. It was just like Captain Rodri said.

Now they were all Blood Angels. And whatever came next, nothing could ever change that.

Author's Note

IT LIVES!

Sorry it’s taken so long. It’s been a busy few months. But now, we’re back! CotBA lives!

Next time: Last Stand in Manehattan.

Comments and criticism greatly appreciated.

Chapter 23: Last Stand in Manehattan

It was a dark corner of the burning city. In the shadow of a mighty Land Raider, he brooded. His iron-grey armour glittered in the light of the flames. Down below stood a figure clad in ancient crimson Terminator armour, with horns writhing up from his corrupted skull.

“Endas the Soulless,” the Word Bearer said with a bow. “You honour me with this audience.”

The Warpsmith sneered from his throne of debris. Around him withered servitor-slaves toiled away, repairing his armour and patching up his wounds. However, none dared to work on his shoulder. The last servitor to try laid in a mess of parts and desiccated flesh, torn apart by the mecha-tendrils writhing around Endas.

“Stop wasting my time, daemon-slave,” Endas snarled. Mecha-tendrils slithered and buzzed around the stump that had been his right arm, burning cybernetics into the wound. “I have work to do. Why are you bothering me?”

The Word Bearer gave Endas a patronizing nod. “I bring word on the disposition of the battlefield. The xenos and corpse-worshippers have gathered at the bridge out of the city, and have heavily entrenched themselves, though several of their vehicles have departed and there is a constant stream of escapees. Our own forces are gathering several blocks away. Many cultists still lives, and though we have suffered casualties, our Astartes are still more than a match for the enemy. However, we cannot provide you with daemon support.”

Endas hacked out a dismissive cough. “Let it be. Your infatuation with witchery disgusts me anyway. We need no warp-spawn here. Victory is the willingness to suffer casualties. We shall march into their defensive line and break it.”

“I see you have fail… do not understand the magnitude of this information,” the Word Bearer said, choosing his words carefully. “There is something… wrong with the Warp here. Psychic power flows freely, but the Neverborn are repulsed like nothing I’ve seen since the days of Horus.”

“Shut your maw,” Endas growled. “I don’t care about your sorcerers. Get out of my sight, and start the battle. I want to hear the pounding of our guns within the half-hour.”

“But, without daemons, our forces are vulnerable,” the Word Bearer started to plead. His words were cut short when Endas’ mecha-tendrils lashed out and wrapped around the Word Bearer’s neck.

“I said, get out!” Endas roared, throwing the Word Bearer away. The Chaos Marine crashed into the ground, cracking the concrete and leaving a noticeable indent. As the Word Bearer recovered his wits, Endas stormed down from his throne. “I want them dead! Send in the cultists, and the armour, and the Astartes, and kill them! Do not return until it is done!”

The Word Bearer picked himself up, gave a respectful bow, and scampered away as fast as he could while maintaining the façade of pride. Endas simply sneered and turned away.

“Servitors, with me,” he said, striding back towards his makeshift workshop. He looked at the stump of his right arm. “Let the warp-slaves and corpse-worshippers slaughter each other. I have repairs to make.”

_________

The last defense of Manehattan began half an hour before sundown, with a barrage of heavy lasbeams. The Predator Annihilator caught sight of the advancing horde of Chaos and its Servitor-pilots automatically opened fire. But a moment later, the lascannons of the Iron Warriors returned fire. Cultists died in a fiery blaze while hunks of rock and rubble vaporized. Beneath the crimson lights, the cultist horde surged forward, screaming unholy praises to their foul gods.

As the horde thundered closer, more guns joined the cacophony. Predator-mounted autocannons and heavy bolters tore apart the cultist vanguard, while Iron Warriors Havocs and Word Bearers Terminators unleashed a mass of autocannon and missile fire. Screams of pain and death were lost beneath the roar of the guns.

Still the cultists charged, driven on by zealotry and fear of their Chaos Astartes masters. Behind them rumbled tanks and walkers, some marked in the grey and hazard stripes of the Iron Warriors, most in the dull red of the Word Bearers, their heavy guns joining the fiery fray. Chaos Marines marched around them, the pink of Noise Marines and sickly green of Plague Marines mixing with the red of Word Bearers and World Eaters.

The defensive line threw every last ounce of strength they had into their barrage. As the cultists rushed into range, hot-shot lasguns and magical beams opened fire, joined by the thud of boltshells. Human, Astartes, and Pony alike blasted at the oncoming horde. Corpses fell, joined by the wounded, both trampled by the maddened horde. The twin-linked assault cannon chewed through them.

Though the streets were soon coated with blood and gore, still the horde came on.

“Keep firing!” Renato shouted as he stood on top of the debris wall, his storm bolter blazing. “Don’t let them get close enough to charge!”

“Hold the line!” Shining Armor cried as he marched up the line, throwing up shields against the incoming heavy fire. Sturdy Pike dashed ahead of his Prince, repositioning soldiers and filling gaps in the firing line. Thrice Shining almost tripped over fallen ponies, covered in blood and if not dead, then so close as to make no difference. Yet not once did he let his will falter; no shell would pass through his shield as long as he still stood.

Rikkard and Nikolas alternated fire, each covering the other. Neither spoke, their tongues frozen with the terror and thrill of open battle. They fired at everything that moved, their minds so hazed with adrenaline that they barely noticed and certainly did not care that they were flanked on both sides by xenos. To their desperate eyes, the magical beams were just strangely coloured lasfire.

It was a furious defensive barrage, of a kind Equestria had not seen since the days of myth. To the ponies, it was a horrifying display of everything their civilization opposed; a sickening exchange of death and destruction. To the humans, it was both madhouse and living museum, legends and tales come to life, seeing up close the battles they were usually thousands of kilometres away from. To the Astartes, it was almost underwhelming, a desperate stand to be sure, but a far cry from the highlights of their careers.

It nonetheless failed to halt the tide.

For every cultist who died beneath the fusillade, eight more stepped into the breach. As every rank fell, another trod over their corpses. It was a massacre, but one the Chaos Marines could well afford if only it would get their true soldiers but one inch closer.

Amidst the mass of weary ponies, Orlando stood tall at General Fogey’s side.

“Just like we said, magic and your fancy guns can’t hold them,” Fogey said in-between issuing last-minute orders. “Always knew this battle would come down to good old pony mettle.”

Orlando allowed himself a brief chuckle. “The tactics of my Chapter has ever been to strike the heart of our foe and smite them with our blades.”

“Great, stuck here with two sword-jockeys stuck in the dark ages,” Blue Cross muttered. “Can’t we just retreat and regroup? Get back the element of surprise?”

Luna landed in front of the trio, her eyes simmering with barely-contained rage. “If we retreat now, Manehattan will be lost. Take heart, our little pony, and fight with courage.”

Back near the Predator Destructor, Flash Sentry spoke with the remains of his team.

“Blusterwind, Red, Fumes,” Flash Sentry said, nodding at each pony in turn. “This is it. If the firing line can’t hold them back, it’ll be up to us to stop the invaders. Everypony ready? Because if you want out, the last civilians are leaving now.”

“Sentry, this has been a horrible day, fighting a hopeless battle, seeing friends and comrades-in-arms die in front of my eyes,” Red Ensign said as he finished shining his armour-plated shoes. “So I’m gonna hate myself for saying this, but what the hay, I’m not about to let anypony say Trotonto raises cowards. Let’s die like stallions!”

Hot Fumes rolled her eyes. “Idiotic machismo aside, we were the first wave in, might as well be the last wave out. Besides, those explosions are looking pretty nice over there.”

While Hot Fumes stared at the furious exchange of firepower, Blusterwinds shrugged. “If everypony else is staying…”

“Then arm up,” Flash said, flexing his wings over his sabre. “We’ll be in the middle of it in a moment.”

As it turned out, Flash Sentry was incorrect in that assessment. Against all odds, the firing line held out for another fifteen minutes, costing hundreds of cultist lives. Nonetheless, though they had to clamber over the broken bodies of their dead and wounded, the cultists still charged on, bringing the true force of the Chaos army ever nearer. The ponies, humans, and Astartes of the firing line could almost see the whites of the cultists’ eyes.

“Strike them down!”

None, neither human nor pony, was ever sure who said those words, but all obeyed nonetheless. Orlando, Priam, and the remainder of the Assault and Command Squads gunned their Jump Packs, hurling them over the debris wall and into the midst of the cultists. With a rousing cry, General Fogey and Iron Will led the Equestrian soldiers and militia over the wall, smashing into the cultist wave. Overhead, Princess Luna struck, a wing of the remaining Lunar Guard and Wonderbolts Reserves following in her wake.

Though a match for the Equestrian Army, the cultists were but chaff against even Luna’s forces, let alone the half-dozen Space Marines tearing through them. Within moments the cultists were swept away, scattered and slaughtered. But it mattered not, for their purpose was achieved. The cultists were dead, but their masters had only just arrived.

The Berzerkers were the first wave, rushing ahead of their distant gene-cousins, frothing as they mindless searched for more blood and skulls. Both were found in abundance. They tore into the Equestrian line, chainaxes roaring and boltpistols blazing. Behind them skittered the Noise Marines, their drug-ravaged bodies jittering as they ran into the fray. Sonic blasters screamed and hot pink fists swung. Plague Marines lumbered up just behind, their very presence fatally infecting the wounds of every living being they passed. Chaos sorcerers incanted unholy spells, unleashing the power of the Warp, their power enhanced by the strange calmness of the Stillpoint. And last, the Word Bearers themselves, a mass of crimson chanters firing and marching in lockstep. Mutilators and Obliterators stormed alongside a team of Terminators, blasting and tearing through the battle. In the midst of this last, impregnable command force was the Word Bearer commander, a smug Terminator Lord with a twisted maul hefted above his horned head.

“Behold, foolish xenos! You death comes at the hands of Kron Beremokh!” he roared, his combi-bolter chattering away.

The battle would last another half-hour. It was brutal and bloody, the grim climax of the worst atrocity Equus had seen since the Age of Discord. Its memory would scar Equestria for all its days. But for those who stood there, who made the last stand in Manehattan, though few would ever look back with pride, none would ever regret it. It was the end of an era, and the birth of a new age. War had come to Equestria, and here, on the edge of a once-mighty city, its war heroes were born.

The charge of Chaos halted the Imperial-Equestrian counter-attack, turning the tide back in their own foul favour. Ponies died under ceramite boots and Warp-twisted blades. But they did not go quietly.

Steady Hoof was an Earth Pony from the outlying farms of Manehattan. He had spent the bulk of his life working on the Orange farms, content with his family and modest lifestyle. He had joined the reserves to help get through a financial rough spot. Today, he applied the same grinding determination that had served him so well on the farm to battle. He met a Word Bearer head-on, breaking the Chaos Marine’s chainsword and shattering his unarmoured skull under-hoof. But a moment later he died as a Berzerker passed, ripped apart by the whirring teeth of a chainaxe.

That Berzerker soon met his own fate. Iron Will came roaring into the battle, his endless catch-phrases inspiring the Equestrians around him to ever-higher levels of zealotry. Wielding his captured chainsword like a glorified club, he battered and tore at the Berzerker until the bloody Chaos Astartes at last fell. A Word Bearer was his next victim, his Warped ceramite little match for the whirring teeth of the chainsword. Another followed, and another, one Chaos Astartes after another brought low by Iron Will and his maddened followers.

Not far from Iron Will’s bloodbath, General Fogey made his stand. Surrounded by the remains of his forces, the aged warhorse fought on. Of all the Equestrian soldiers that day, only his still maintained discipline and formation. They fought as one, targeting the Chaos Marines one squad at a time. Every victory claimed more lives than they took, but still they fought on. Fogey himself stood in the front of his soldiers, never backing down, save for when Blue Cross dragged away from a falling chainsword his old eyes missed.

Overhead, Twilight Sparkle, between burst of hyperventilation, unleashed the might of her alicorn powers on the Chaos Marines, driving them back and leaving them open to the attacks of the warriors below. Yet she never killed; despite all the horror of the day, despite all the evil she had seen, she could not bring herself to take the life of another. Inside, she screamed and wept, wishing against all reason that she could find a way to talk with the enemy, to reconcile them and make them into friends. It had been done before; surely even such monsters as these could not be so lost as to be immune to all reason and friendship!

Around the hesitant alicorn swarmed the last pegasi in their ragtag army. Leaderless and driven to the edge of insanity, they still fought, driven by rage and revenge and some shred of hope. They did what they could, dropping debris on the enemy and harrying them from above. But their movements were limited, their soaring forms prime targets for the heavy guns of the enemy. Autocannon and bolt-shells ripped through the air and their bodies. But they were not wholly unprotected.

Down below, Shining Armour still raised the shield. It was no great protection; no city-warding barrier as he had once done for Canterlot. But he still threw up bulwarks for the Equestrians, wielding the purple shields as a reverse scalpel, blocking key shots and keeping the army alive just a little longer. Around him Sturdy Pike commanded the remainder of his Prince’s Guard, fending off any Chaos Marines who sought to harm the increasingly weary unicorn.

Above, the pegasi found help in the mightiest equine warrior on the field. Princess Luna and the remains of her Lunar Guard joined Twilight and the Pegasi, harrying the Chaos Astartes from above. The thestrals of the Guard took their toll, keeping the Chaos Marines off-balance in those precious, all-important seconds of battle. Luna herself reaped a much heartier bounty of death, her Lunar Lance, though unwieldy in face of the Astartes’ posthuman speed, still tore through ceramite with unnerving ease. Yet she, though immortal, was not invulnerable, and the counter-blows of the enemy slowly took their toll. With blood dripping down her brow and flashes of faraway battles splintering her focus, she knew her part in the battle was coming to an end.

A lucky autocannon shell threw Twilight from the sky, knocking the alicorn into the midst of the fray. She lived, but was stunned while enemies surged around her. To her great fortune, though the servants of Chaos refused friendship out of hand, there were others whom she was glad to call friend, and who did not fail her now. Spike was the first to come, having reluctantly left Rarity with the medics, now riding on Starlight Glimmer’s back. As the pink-coated unicorn unleashed the magical power which had once allowed her to shatter time itself on the Chaos Marines, Spike spewed forth the fire of his breed. Together the unlikely pair cleared a path to Twilight.

Into that path poured yet more allies. Flash Sentry led the remains of the recon team, sabre in mouth, into the fray. Where magic and fire failed, simple, honest steel and mettle held the line. They took few lives, but their courage and ferocity were sufficient. The Chaos Marines turned from them, parting like a river around a rock, seeking easy victims. Hot Fumes threw explosives like Pinkie Pie was throwing candy, and to much the same explosive effect; holes were blown in the Chaos lines as alchemical concoctions and suspect confections fell upon them. Red Ensign stood at Flash’s side, standing over the dazed Twilight and holding back the Chaos horde.

On the ever-diminishing debris wall, Nikolas and Rikkard still fired. Lasfire seared through Warp-twisted ceramite, opening holes for the less powerful but more abundant rainbow-volleys of the equine xenos. The humans, though still keeping one eye on the xenos, allowed the bulk of their focus to fix on the enemy. Desperation overrode caution and a lifetime of xenophobic teaching.

In the midst of the fray, where the fighting was heaviest, the greatest of their warriors fought. Orlando and the remaining jump infantry hurled themselves into combat, meeting the Chaos Marines head-on. Even as enemy Raptors fell from the sky to wreak havoc, the Blood Angels fought on.

In his fury, Brother Placido led the charge. He tore through the Chaos lines like a man possessed, unleashing the Thirst which burned inside him. Never did a word pass through his ravaged throat, but his passing war from silent. His power sword cleaved through ceramite and flesh alike, while his inferno pistol seared away anything that dared survive his blade. At his side fought Brother Fausto. As always, he danced around the enemy blows, scything through their ranks with careful beams from his meltagun. He raised no fist, nor even struck with elbow or knee, but still he slew all who stood in his way. Orlando laughed and fearlessly faced the greatest of their foes, challenging the champions of Chaos one after another and striking them down each in turn.

The Sanguinary Guard, Durante and Flavio, fought in tandem, Durante’s power fist crushing those foes Flavio’s glaive encarmine could not scythe. Paolo struck with the force of a thunderstorm, crushing his foes with his thunder hammer while blocking their feeble attacks with his storm shield. Renato stood in the centre of the storm, his eyes ablaze with psychic might as he bolstered his allies and blasted his foes. Sergeant Priam and Brother Severin, the last of the assault squad, followed close behind. Severin did his best, striking down foes with fist and meltagun, while Priam kept him covered with the slashes of his power sword.

Behind them Dabriel roared the battle-cry of their Chapter and led Squad Murata into battle. Boltguns blazing, they smashed into the Chaos horde. Severo, like Severin and Fausto, took aim and seared away his foes with the power of his meltagun. Marco purged Chaos with fire, his heavy flamer consuming the corrupted flesh of the fallen Astartes.

It was a mighty effort, an accomplishing of deeds worthy of song. But it was a doomed affair. For all their courage and valour, the weight of numbers was against them. Were they facing mere cultists, they might have had a chance. But for all the might the Equestrians and Imperials showed, they still faced Space Marines. Warriors of Chaos, bolstered by the blessings of the dark gods, implacable and unyielding, they stormed on, driving the defenders back further with every minute. They marched over the fallen of both sides, their boots coated with blood and gore. Chain-blades whirred and boltguns roared. For every Chaos Marine who fell, ten ponies were taken in revenge. The defenders’ line thinned and stretched, unable to absorb the casualties dealt to it. Doom awaited them the moment the line broke, and it could not hold much longer.

Then, the breaking point came. Luna’s eyes glowed with the power of the stars, and night fell. Though they had grown accustomed to viewing the Princess of the Night as a benevolent figure, ingrained instincts were ever difficult to overcome, especially in times of great stress. With the Chaos Marines now visible only by the dim light of the moon and in the bright orange-red flashes of magic beams, lasfire, and the blasting of heavier guns, the spirit of the ponies broke. Overcome with fear, they broke and ran. It was disordered, undisciplined, and horribly, fatally vulnerable. It was the moment the Word Bearers had been pushing them to, the opportunity to rout the Equestrians and their Imperial allies.

It would have been the end of the entire Equestrian force, had it not been for those same Imperials. Renato and Orlando took command of the situation.

“Twilight!” Renato roared as he stormed over to the recovering alicorn. “With us! We must form a rearguard, or death will come to us all!”

“Renato? Flash?” Twilight shook her head. “Right, okay, um... Okay. Flash… Sentry, right? You’re with me. We can’t let…”

“Understood, Your Highness,” Flash said with a nod.

Elsewhere, Orlando rallied the Blood Angels. “Brothers! Though it is not our preferred way, we must now hold the line, if only for a moment! We must buy time for the army to escape. Sanders! Take the men and get out of here!”

Above, Luna and her Guard fell into silent agreement; though it would cost them dearly, they would join the rearguard.

As the Equestrians fled, the horror of Chaos finally overcoming them, the rearguard still fought. With power blades, magic, and sheer determination, they held back the tide of Chaos. It was not a long stand. They had been few before, and were now even less. At Renato’s command, the Predators and Rhinos rolled back with the fleeing army, providing cover and saving the precious war machines. Only the Destructor remained behind, its tracks still broken.

“I pity to lose it,” Dabriel said as Squad Murata pulled back to the immobilized Predator. “It has served us well.”

Paolo thundered back, holding off a volley of autocannon shells. “Such machines, though noble works of Mars, are but tools. If I must sacrifice this wreck to save our lives, I will do so gladly.”

Dabriel nodded grimly taking one last look at the xenos city. “So this is it. We retreat like the cowardly Tau.”

“No,” Renato said as he stormed back to them. “We make the disciplined choice. We fall back, we regroup, and we strike again when we are strong. Sacrifice is a noble act, but to die here is senseless. Chaos seeks to control this world, and we are all that stands in their way. We lose today, but mark my words, this war is far from over.”

With that, the Blood Angels joined the retreat. The Predator Destructor continued to fire, its servitor pilots uncomprehending of their abandonment. The Predator died, destroyed by anti-armour fire. But its death bought the last, precious few minutes they needed. Beaten and bloodied, but still alive, the Equestrian survivors escaped that night, accompanied by the Blood Angels.

It was a long night as they fled back across the country, seeking the shelter of Canterlot. Few spoke as they marched, for none had anything to say. They had seen horrors unleashed upon uncomprehending innocents, had suffered those same horrors, and had naught but scars and death to show for it. The city and all those who had failed to escape were now abandoned. The battle was lost.

But within the depressed ranks, some took heart. It was not hope that motivated them; hope was unwelcome at this dark hour. Yet where hope fails, vengeance can often suffice. For as Renato had said, though Manehattan was lost, the war was far from over.

Author's Note

It's over! It's finally over! Whew, that's the last time I take this long to do a single battle. I'll try to at least jump around to other events during the longer ones in future.

Due to the release of Traitor Legions, the official rules for Word Bearers will replace the fanmade ones I said we’d use a coupe chapters (and several months) ago.

For American readers, a kilometre (km) is roughly 2/3 of a mile.

Chapter 24: Aftermath

It was a day of mourning in Canterlot.

The battered remains of the army had returned at last. The tension that had rested over Canterlot now turned to fearful malaise as bloodied ponies solemnly slogged through the ivory walls of the city. The wounded were the first to return, rushed ahead of the main body of the army. They now filled the hospitals, overflowing into makeshift camps and appropriated buildings as everypony with even the faintest medical knowledge or training rushed to help. The walking wounded and the unscathed in body came next. In the very rear came the Blood Angels, sore and silent over their defeat.

That was all Twilight could really remember of the return to Canterlot; the order in which it happened. In future days, she would piece together the full story, the almost heartwarming tale of the citizens of Canterlot, so often aloof and uncaring, opening their doors and offering their services to everypony in need. She would learn the names of every pony, colt, and filly who helped, and personally give each of them thanks and reward for their kindness. That would come later, however. At the time, more pressing matters had clouded her thoughts.

“Hold on, Rainbow, just a little bit longer!” Twilight said as she rushed through the halls of the Royal Castle. Rainbow could only offer faint moans as she lay unconscious on the emergency trolley. Nurses hurriedly pushed her along, a doctor whose name Twilight didn’t recognize working as best she could on Rainbow’s wounds.

“Over here, Twi!” Applejack called from up ahead.

They rushed past the farmpony with barely a glance. Not even a second could be wasted. The field medics had done what they could, but the wounds that great metallic dragon had dealt were severe. Hastily-patched lacerations marred Rainbow’s underbelly, blood was splattered all across her coat, and her left wing was in particularly bad shape. The only good news they had for now was that she was still breathing, however faintly.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Twilight asked as the doctors and nurses got to work.

They ignored her, distracted by the matter at hand. Caught between a burning desire to help her friend and the knowledge that even a moment’s distraction could cost Rainbow everything, Twilight could only stand silently, waiting, hoping for… for something.

Finally, a nurse took a brief second to address the Princess of Friendship. “We’ve got everything covered here, Your Highness. I’m sure you’re needed elsewhere.”

“Will she be alright?” Twilight asked, her heart pounding against her ribs.

The nurse paused. It was a brief pause, almost too short to notice. But the powers of an alicorn are many and great, and to her super-pony eyes the micro-pause was like a neon sign.

“She’ll live, I can assure you,” the nurse said tactfully. “Now go, we need room and I’m sure other ponies need you more.”

“But I can help!” Twilight said, hastily, desperately. Her horn glowed with ambient power as her mind raced, searching her memory for any hint of a spell that might help, some piece of lore she’d read years ago, something that would make things…

“Twi, come on,” Applejack broke into Twilight’s thoughts. “The doc’s got ‘er, and you an’ Ah’ve both got other jobs we’ll be more useful at. I hate ta say it, but we’ve gotta leave ‘er fer now.”

Every bone in Twilight’s body demanded she stay, find some way to help. A friend, one of her best friends, was in trouble. She had to do something! But Applejack was right; there was nothing she could do, not now. Rainbow was in the doctor’s hands.

Twilight mumbled an affirmation and sullenly followed Applejack out of the room. She looked back once, before they turned the corner, catching a brief glimpse as the doctor grabbed a medical saw. Twilight turned to Applejack.

“I… I need to talk to Princess Celestia,” she said. With a flap of her wings, Twilight was gone, leaving Applejack alone in the hall.

With no pony left to watch her, Applejack allowed a single tear to slip down her face.
____

Not too far away, the Blood Angels were in a surprisingly similar situation.

“Marco, Severo, help Domenico get Alessandro to the nearest infirmary,” Renato ordered. “The rest of you, make sure Castello reaches Cosimo. We must start repairs immediately. Dabriel, Priam, gather the veterans and meet me in the encampment within twenty minutes. Understood?”

Paolo rumbled up to his old battle-brother’s side. Briefly, the two watched Squad Murata carry out its orders. Marco and Severo carried the broken body of the Chaplain Alessandro with the utmost discipline and respect. At their side, Domenico worked, keeping the Chaplain stable as he fought through a fragile healing coma.

“I never thought I’d see him like this,” Renato admitted. “I mean, I knew he would fall before the rest of us, but I never really thought about seeing him so broken.”

“Only in body, if the Emperor has mercy,” Paolo replied. He placed a hand on Renato’s pauldron. “Aless was always the hardest of us, in body as in head. He’ll fight through, you’ll see. Now come, we don’t have time for brooding. We have a war to plan.”

Renato inhaled. “For such is our lot, we Astartes, that war is our blood and our breath. Our brothers we mourn, but our resolve shall never waver.”

With that, the two set off. It was, by the standards of the local xenos, a fair hike from the city gates to the impromptu encampment the Blood Angels had claimed. To an Astartes, it was barely a brisk walk. Within a few minutes, even hampered by the heavy weight of Terminator armour, the pair had arrived.

It was a ramshackle hovel, an otherwise abandoned neighbourhood that, if Renato had understood Twilight correctly, had been slated for demolition and reconstruction before the Blood Angels arrived. Now, the survivors of the Wrath of Angels scurried about, carrying supplies and equipment to and fro at the behest of their Astartes masters. Makeshift barricades had been erected, with the, rudimentary defense systems being installed. A pair of heavy bolters and a missile launcher; not much, but enough to hold off any surprise attack until the defenders could be roused.

In the heart of the district was the Chapel, an old xenos library that Cosimo had started converting into a headquarters. Renato and Paolo entered silently.

“It’s a dilapidated mess, but I’ve almost got the lights working,” Cosimo said as the pair entered, not even deigning to turn his head from his current project. “Though I suspect we may have a while yet before I can get everything working. These ignorant xenos haven’t even uncovered the art of electricity, so I have to link everything to the promethium engine from one of the drop pods. And anyways, I hear Castello needs me more than these lights.”

“Indeed,” Paolo said. He rumbled over to the massive slab of wood that currently served as their planning table. “Best get to it quickly. The last thing we want is him…”

Cosimo’s servo-arms briefly fluttered. “The Flaw has taken enough already. Very well, I’ll get to it. Just don’t try to turn up the lights yet, they may explode on us.”

With that the Techmarine marched out of the Chapel.

Old friends that they were Paolo and Renato were masters of the art of chatting without saying anything to each other. Idle conversation ensued, passing the minutes until the veterans gathered.

Renato surveyed their motley band. Dabriel and Priam, the sergeants; Durante and Flavio of the Sanguinary Guard; Fausto and Placido, last of the Command Squad Veterans; and Orlando, Champion of the Fourth Company. They were weary and worn, with armour and weapons in need of maintenance, but still standing strong.

“You all know why we have gathered here, so I will dispense with preamble,” Renato said, calling the ad hoc meeting to order. “Our situation is dire. Chaos has a foothold on this world, we have lost several of our brothers, and we now stand on the brink. Alessandro lies in the infirmary, and I know not whether we shall see him on the battlefield again.”

Paolo stepped forward. “In his absence, command falls to Renato, as the Codex Astartes says.”

“From the Preacher to the Witchmind?” Durante said. He shrugged. “Strange times, but hey, what’s life without some adventure?”

“We’ve no time for bad humour, brother,” Flavio said. “We must plan quickly. Chaos could strike at any moment.”

“That is something I doubt, for the moment,” Orlando interjected. “With the xenos city overrun, Chaos will waste valuable time desecrating it. Survivors will be rounded up as sacrifices and slaves, profane altars will be raised, and the invasion will stall, as it did on Chesnia.”

Paolo nodded. “I remember that. Foul days we had there. You were still a sergeant then, were you not? I assume you believe we can drive back the heretics as we did then?”

“Indeed,” Orlando replied. “The Emperor is with us, though we are far from his Light. We cannot fail.”

“Brave words,” Renato said. “But I have found wisdom preferable to bravery alone, and as a wise man once said, ‘trust in the Emperor and keep your bolter armed.’ We need a plan. Now, here is the strategic situation.”

Paolo laid out a series of makeshift figures, a mixture of metal and plastic models, on the table.

“The entirety of our forces are currently concentrated here, in Canterlot,” he said, placing down some Space Marines and Imperial Guardsmen and carving an ‘X’ in the wood. “We are few in number, cut off from reinforcement and resupply, and reliant on the local xenos for resources. Chaos currently controls the space battle, and we have no method of changing that. They can strike anywhere at any time, and we have only two Stormravens remaining. Thus, the heretics hold the initiative.”

“So we need to retake it,” Orlando said. “We need to rally our forces and launch an attack…”

“Where?” Paolo interrupted. “We don’t know why Chaos chose this world, why they came all this way to the edge of the galaxy. We don’t know where they will land next.”

Fausto stepped forward. “The logical move would be to strike major military centres, destroy the xenos’ capacity to resist, to the extent they ever could.”

“Correct. So we’ll need to know what the key bases and cities are on this world,” Renato said. “I intend to meet with Twilight later, I’ll ask her.”

The tension in the room noticeably grew.

“Must we truly work with these aliens?” Orlando asked. “I have obeyed the Chaplain’s orders, but can we really trust them? Are we not commanded to slay the xenos wherever it is found?”

“Your faith is commendable, if…” Renato trailed off, catching a silent glance from Paolo. He cleared his throat and began again. “We need soldiers, supplies, intelligence. We are too few against too many. The Emperor is mighty, but for now, we must put aside the hatred of the alien until the greater threat of Chaos is defeated.”

“With that in mind,” Paolo said. “I suggest we begin fortifying this city, ‘Canterlot’ I believe you called it. As it stands, these walls won’t last more than ten minutes against a siege.”

“Very well,” Renato said. “What suggestions can this council offer us?”

So the council went on, debating over how to deploy their forces and fortify the city, all the while secretly glad that they were without fear, for with the Chaplain out of commission and Chaos hanging overhead, there was very little hope to be found in their ranks.
___

Endas stood, dispassionately tinkering with his new arm, as he waited. His Iron Warriors mulled around him, keeping paranoid eyes out for any sign of treachery or ambush. For their part, the Word Bearers had thus far kept their end of the bargain, but that meant nothing to the seasoned warrior. It was the way of his Legion; advancement came at the cost of one’s superiors, and treachery was only every a single opportunity away. Thus Endas perpetually, instinctively, kept his back to the wall at all times.

For now, he was awaiting the arrival of Bal Harodon, the Dark Apostle himself. The xenos city was secured, and even now Word Bearers forces were spread throughout it, gathering up the last few stragglers and completing their ritual sacrifices.

Endas sneered at the very thought. They were Astartes, the sons of the Primarchs, posthuman demigods of war. What weakness must have so infested the gene-seed of Lorgar that his sons should need gods to worship? Chaos was nothing more than a tool, and a disgusting one at that. When approached carefully, it could be harnessed to reliable, unfailing technology. When praised as divine, it simply consumed. And what an insult this worship was! It degraded the very supremacy of the Astartes. Had they not first rebelled against the Corpse-Emperor because he demanded their submission?

But for all Endas despised the Word Bearers and their religion, he would never let it affect the execution of his tasks. He may be offended by the very idea of the superstitious rituals around him, but he was here to be paid, nothing more. As long as Bal Harodon kept him supplied with slaves and ammunition, Endas would be satiated.

An ear-splitting noise, like the scraping of nails on chalkboard, told Endas that the ancient Apostle had arrived. He flexed the lightning claw that had replaced his severed arm. The implantation as still fresh and required maintenance, and thus a pain which would have driven mortal men insane coursed through him at every movement of the arm. The Iron Warrior barely noticed the ache.

Reality itself peeled open, revealing a realm of madness. Indescribable colours spewed forth, and from it stepped Astartes clad in crimson Terminator armour.

“Good day to you, Endas!” Bal Harodon said cheerily, stretching out his arms as though to embrace the Iron Warrior. The Dark Apostle looked around at the smoking ruins of the xenos city and twisted his warped lips into a grin of crooked fangs. “A fine job you have done today, a fine job indeed. Oh! But what has happened to your arm? Jad, go to the slavemasters and tell them to take a few extra slaves and add them to Endas’ share.”

Endas snarled. “I neither need nor want your senile charity, Word Bearer. You came to discuss the war plan.”

“Tut, tut, so grumpy, and on a day of victory,” Bal sighed and walked forward. “But if you insist, let us get down to business. “San Delekon, please hand me the map.”

One of the Terminators stepped forward and turned over a large satellite pict.

“Excellent.” Bal rolled the pict open, revealing the alien continent they sought to conquer. “Now, we have established our beachhead here. Oh, my, it’s just like when we took the Van Kuvr Port on Terra, so exciting.”

“Get on with it, old fool,” Endas growled.

Bal harrumphed and continued. “The last reports showed that the power was here, but it seems to have moved. Most of it has gone to this large city here, but some of it hasn’t moved since the battle.”

“Are you trying to imply my men are incompetent?” Endas said, flexing his lightning claw.

“Now, wherever would you get such an idea?” Bal tutted. “You take offense too easily. No, I’m just saying that we need to take another look around and find it. To learn what exactly we’re looking for would be a great boon.”

“And now you say we don’t even know what we’re looking for!” Endas roared. He threw his hands up in the air. “Madness! I should never have accepted this deal. I swear, Word Bearer, you will not be the death of me! I’ll see you dead before this mad quest of yours ruins me!”

Just before Bal could move to soothe the furious Iron Warrior, a new voice interjected. It was like silk and coal-fire, an envenomed honey to the ear.

“Come now, there’s no need for allies to fight, at least, not on the winning side,” the voice cooed.

In a split second, every Astartes in the square had drawn and aimed his weapon. Boltguns, plasma guns, autocannons, and many more guns were firmly levelled at the strange creature which had appeared in their midst.

It was in form like the equine xenos which infested this world. And yet it was clearly something else. Where the xenos were bright-coloured and furry, this creature was plated with coal-black chitin. Its mane was like seaweed, and its legs were filled with holes. Insectoid wings extended from its barrel, and a cruel grin sat on its alien lips.

Bal sniffed at the creature. “Hold fire, men.”

“What?” Endas snapped, his guns aimed and ready to fire. “It is xenos. We slay it, or we enslave it.”

“Can you not sense it?” Bal asked as he lowered his combi-bolter. “It smells of Chaos. It is of the Primordial Truth.”

The alien bowed before Bal Harodon. “You are wise to hold your wrath. I believe I have something you seek.”

Chrysalis gestured towards two more of its kind, approaching with a large dark-green cocoon. Bal and Endas stepped forward and gazed inside. Bal began to laugh.

“Tell me, xenos, what is your name? And what do you seek from us?”

“I am Queen Chrysalis,” the alien said, looking Bal Harodon straight in the eye. “And I seek revenge.”

Chapter 25: Two Weeks Later

The sunlight streamed through the stained glass window, illuminating the Elements of Harmony in their hour of glory: the defeat of Tirek, the last hurrah of the Elements themselves. It had only been just about a year since that day, but to Rainbow Dash, it felt like a lifetime.

The blue-coated pegasus sat in front of the window, more still than she had ever been while awake. The light caressed her coat, offering a warmth her heart simply could not muster. Above her was a moment of glory, a moment of awesomeness like little else in the world. It was a moment she would likely never experience again.

Pain briefly jolted through her as she instinctively twitched the stump that had been her left wing. The docs had said it was too damaged to save, the bones shattered beyond repair and already turning gangrenous. So they had amputated it. Cut if off and thrown it away. Rainbow Dash would never fly again.

She had been furious when she found out. Beat up at least two doctors and a nurse before they could sedate her. Woke up a few hours later, did the same thing again. It just couldn’t be true, she had thought. But it was. It was truly, horribly, end-of-her-world-ingly true. Her Wonderbolts career, still so new, was over. She couldn’t even go back to being a weatherpony and amateur racer. Her life was over.

Rainbow looked up, tears silently sneaking past her eyes as she saw herself whole and unbroken, magnificent in flight. Seeing her glass self soaring triumphantly, Rainbow knew the truth.

“I would give anything to fly again,” she whispered.

Elsewhere in the castle, the mood was little better.

Celestia groaned, her care for calm composure having proven pointless in the company of the alien Blood Angels. The war was going poorly, even just two weeks in.

The Word Bearers, after a few days to presumably consolidate their gains, had pushed out from their hoof-hold in Manehattan and laid siege to Fillydelphia. Though many lives had been tragically lost, the city still held under the firm command of Brother-Sergeant Dabriel. Yet, amidst the valiant defense, no real victories could be claimed, and everypony was simply waiting for the Chaos Land Raider to roll forth from Manehattan and end the siege at a stroke.

On the other side of the continent, reports indicated that a second Word Bearer army had landed and was rampaging around Vanhoofer and Tall Tale. Luna had taken her Lunar Guard and several fresh regiments from Neighagra Falls to try and restore contact with the northwest coast. She sent back little word, but if half the rumours were to be believed, the fighting was only slightly less terrible than in Fillydelphia.

Meanwhile, Cadence and Shining Armor had returned to the Crystal Empire to fortify their home, taking with them most of the properly trained soldiers in Equestria. All that remained under Celestia’s direct command were the shattered survivors of Manehattan, amounting to only a handful of understrength regiments, the remains of the Wonderbolts Reserve, and Iron Will’s fanatics.

“Twilight, what are the current estimates for our survival?” Celestia asked, hoping against all reason for an ounce of good news.

Twilight Sparkle gulped, shifted uncomfortably, and finally sighed. “Er… Not good, Princess. Ponies are scared out of their wits and so recruitment is going poorly. And since we haven’t fought a war in centuries, we only have the Royal Armoury and a few totally out-of-date arsenals scattered around the country. So what few recruits we do get can’t even be armed effectively. We’re relying on natural magic, like earth pony strength or unicorn spells, at this point.”

“Pitiful xenos,” the Sanguinary Guard Flavio said, shaking his golden-helmed head. “Are you truly so complacent?”

“Ahem,” the Librarian Renato interrupted. “What my brother means is that it seems strange that you cannot even provide for your own defense, which I have already explained to him is the result of a series of superweapons and heroes facing relatively minor threats. Regardless, the point stands that we need to increase production by at least five hundred percent if we are to arm the forces needed to push the Word Bearers off your world.”

Celestia inhaled deeply, calming her pounding heart. “Are things truly so desperate?”

“Unless you have a secret superweapon hidden beneath this little castle of yours, then yes,” Renato answered. “I have fought Chaos for centuries. When such heretics invade the Imperium, we strike back with no less than a full company of Space Marines and full regiments of the noble Imperial Guard. Even then, many die before the world is won. We must mobilize a massive force and drive Chaos away from its landing posts before we are overrun.”

“I cannot ask such service of my ponies,” Celestia said, scouring her memories for a time when the world had been so dangerous. “And besides, there is no way we can meet such quotas. We have not the facilities, nor the time to build them. We must rely on our allies and our skill.”

“Then may the Emperor grant us a miracle, for nothing else will win this war,” Renato said. “What allies can you even muster? I’ve seen no sign of help.”

“We have many friends across Equus, but few who can provide the might we need,” Celestia said. Still she searched the past, poring over ancient half-forgotten events in desperation. “The Gryphon Empire is a shambles without even a nominal ruler. A self-proclaimed Colonel named ‘Gilda’ claims to be bringing a volunteer regiment, but details on their strength and movements are scant at best. The Minotaurs have never constituted a formal state, but Iron Will has written to his relatives and they should be soon arriving. The Yaks have failed to answer any of our summons. Saddle Arabia, however, has promised its full support once their fleet is assembled.”

Renato sighed and placed his ceramite-clad knuckles on the planning table. “Very well. I shall confer with Orlando, see if I can plan an end worthy of remembrance. Alert me if news arrives. I will be in the Chapel.”

With that Renato left, taking Flavio with him.

Twilight turned to speak, but words failed her. Despair hung over the entire castle, and ever-sensitive Twilight could bear it no longer. Celestia mustered a motherly smile.

“Go to your friends, Twilight,” she said. “You have been under a lot of stress. Take some time to relax. We will need you soon enough.”

Twilight mumbled an affirmative response and slipped out, leaving Celestia to her thoughts. The Solar Alicorn turned to the great window, gazing out upon the city below and the setting sun in the distance. For all her memories, reaching back so many centuries, she could think of no darker hour…

Save one.

A dark, distant memory, all but lost to the sands of time, but still lingering like the last specks of heat in a dying fire. A story, heard only in hushed snippets, of a dreadful monster possessed by unholy powers, and the golden warrior who stood alone against it. In a flash, Celestia knew what she had to do.

It was time to visit her mother.

“Put your backs into it, scum!” Babyl the Slavemaster bellowed as he cracked his sonic whip over the cultists reloading the Predator. “I want to see you sweat and ache and groan! Do it, for the glory of the dark gods!”

Babyl’s twin hearts fluttered as he watched the cultists moan and suffer beneath the lash and the weight of the ammunition. To watch the suffering of others was among the highest pleasures he had found since abandoning the narrow-minded fools of the Emperor’s Children. All the drugs of his former Legion were nothing compared to what he had discovered among the Word Bearers. The perpetual pain of withdrawal, the lust of bloodshed, the exuberance of camaraderie, and the edification of efficient planning: all had drawn him to a new level of raw sensation, and into the welcoming arms of Bal Harodon.

The quivering Chaos Marine strode merrily through the slaves, laughing and whipping with abandon as he passed. For this perverse soul, all was right with the world at that moment, save that he was still forbidden to work on the prisoners below. Caring not who heard, he mumbled his thoughts aloud.

“Oh, how I would love to wreak my art on them, pathetic corpse-worshippers,” he said to everyone and no one. “Why does the Apostle insist on keeping them for himself? All I want is a bit of fun, but he just refuses to share. Ah well, I suppose I must simply make do.”

With that he tore open the back of a random slave, sending the poor man sprawling, screaming, to the ground. Babyl smiled. The special prisoners might be off limits, but he could still muster a good pleasure from these slaves, and after all, wasn’t that all that really mattered?

___

Deep in the infirmary of Canterlot, the Priest Domenico was hard at work. Two weeks of Astartes-level fighting had left many injured, and it was his duty to educate the ignorant local ‘healers,’ if such a term could be applied to most of them, in the ways of medicine.

At the moment he was disinterestedly patching up a winged xenos who had been unfortunate enough to catch an autogun round in its side. The extrication had been simply enough, though the idiotic beast had simply not stopped screaming while Domenico sawed it out.

“Ungrateful little…” the Sanguinary Priest mumbled. Thankfully, the xenos had fallen unconscious after the bullet was yanked out, leaving Domenico a brief moment of peace.

Even without his genhanced senses, it was easy to hear the doors slam open behind him. Two figures, hulking by the standards of this alien world, strode in.

“Greetings, Paolo, Dabriel. What brings you back here?” Domenico asked without leaving his task for a moment.

“Fillydelphia is holding,” Dabriel reported. “So I took a brief respite to check in with command. And to…”

“The Chaplain is stable,” Domenico answered the unasked question. “But still in a coma. No, I cannot tell you when he should awaken. He was torn apart by mecha-tendrils. It is a miracle that he still breathes. Praise the Emperor and Sanguinius, and if you’ve no further business, leave me be. I am busy.”

Dabriel bowed his head and left. Paolo remained a moment.

“I have known Aless for centuries, and seen him endure blows which would have slain lesser warriors,” he said. “But I have never seen him lay in slumber so long. I worry for him.”

Domenico sighed and turned to face the ancient veteran. “His life is in the Emperor’s hands. If the Throne demands he still serve, he will, and if not, then he shall stand guard with Sanguinius in eternity. Either way, the matter is out of our hands. Go, and muster courage among our brothers. Without the Chaplain, it is to you and Codicier Renato that they look.”

“And you also, brother,” Paolo replied. “Your are our Priest, our last spiritual leader. Yet you rarely grace the halls of the Chapel.”

“As I said, I am busy,” Domenico said. “The Emperor knows my name, and I pray for us all. But we are Astartes; it is not our lot to serve the Throne in gilded halls, but in the mire and blood of war and its effluence.”

Paolo sighed and thundered off, his heavy Terminator armour leaving subtle imprints in the weak xenos floors. Domenico sighed and turned back to his work. The xenos would live, and likely fight again if the soft-hearted locals did not interfere.

“Domenico, I need to speak with you,” one of those same locals said as it came trotting into the room.

Domenico groaned. “Am I to be interrupted all day? I have work that must be done.”

The xenos Nurse Redheart rounded about in front of Domenico. “This is about work. I need your help.”

“I’m giving it now,” Domenico said as he walked to his next patient. “In the last hour I have saved seventeen of your kind. If you leave now, this hour I might yet match that number.”

“We have doctors and nurses aplenty for this. I have a job that needs you specifically,” Redheart said, following the white-armoured priest.

“What? Has someone been infected with a plague of Nurgle which baffles your meager knowledge? Simply burn the corpse and be done with it, then,” he answered.

Redheart groaned. “Putting aside the ethical ramifications of that, it’s something else. Do you remember a little filly you rescued from Manehattan, Starwing? She’s been having nightmares for the past two weeks.”

Domenico worked in silence for a moment. Finally, he spoke. “Well?”

“That’s the job, Domenico,” Redheart said, ignoring the rankled flash across Domenico’s face at the forwardness of address. “The poor little filly’s been screaming in her sleep for two weeks, and nothing we’ve tried is helping. She seems to idolize you, so I want you to try helping her.”

“I have more important duties than calming cowardly xenos infants,” Domenico replied. “Besides, are not dreams the domain of Luna? Send your concerns there.”

It was Redheart’s time to rankle. “She is a poorly terrified filly who has lost everything and everypony she ever knew or loved, who needs all the love and care she can get. And Luna is too busy with the war to find a single filly amidst the swarm.”

“Then let it be. Why should I care?” Domenico asked.

Redheart pushed herself up on the operating table to look Domenico right in the eye. “You owe me for the child back in Ponyville. I’m calling in the favour. You get your plot in that poor filly’s room and don’t come out until she can sleep without wailing.”

Domenico glared into Redheart’s eyes, and for a minute, the two simply stood, silent, unblinking. The Priest saw a fury and conviction he had not expected in xenos, and for a brief moment he was reminded of how disturbingly close to human these aliens were at times. Something else festered and grew in the depths of his mind. Images from wars long ago, of weeping children begging for their dead parents.

Domenico was Astartes, one of the Emperor’s Angels of Death. He was gene-forged beyond the limits of humanity, raised up into glory and power. But at his core, he was still human, and for all the callous horror of the Imperium, the very essential core of humanity remained a spark of love and compassion, no matter how deeply buried. He sighed.

“Show me to the child. I will see what I can do,” he said, hating himself for giving in, but also strangely unable to sustain resistance.

“Still the story turns as I have foreseen,” the deep voice boomed deep in the midst of the Everfree forest, beneath the ancient Tree.

Krev Goduron stood, wary and almost shaking beside the incarnate power which spoke. He dared not move, would not chance annoying the crimson giant who now ruled his life.

“The Blood Angels play their role perfectly, keeping the aliens in place,” the crimson giant rumbled. “While Bal acts out the drama on cue. This war will wage long and bloody, and in its anarchy my purpose will be accomplished. Come Krev, I have for you a mission.”

“Yes, Lord Ma-ghk!” Krev felt his throat constrict in a grip of psychic power.

“Speak not my name!” the giant roared, his eyes glowing with ancient and terrible power. “Not here, not in this place, not yet. I will not be revealed until the hour I choose, not to him or to it. Go from me now, son of Lorgar. Slip into the xenos city and find the one called ‘Rainbow Dash.’ She is wounded and desperate. Offer her Khorne’s might. A wretched, simple curse, but it will suffice for the foolish xenos.”

“Lord Ma-Master!” Krev caught his tongue in the nick of time. “Why does this matter? Why not simply slay the xenos?”

“She is important to the Grand Scheme. If left alone she may ruin all,” the crimson giant said. “But if pushed correctly, she will fall. She is the very avatar of loyalty among this ignorant race, and when your envenomed words claim her for Chaos, their spirit will be broken. At a stroke I will have ended them as a threat.”

“But I thought you wanted the xenos as a threat,” Krev said, utterly lost as to the plan of his new master.

The giant laughed. “You simple-minded fool. I have plans within plans and beyond them. You think you are my only agent, the only actor I submit to this play? I am the playwright, and all act for me. The war will be maintained by other means. But I will not have this one threaten my plans, and I will not make a martyr of her. Go, Word Bearer, and ask no more questions. Return when the xenos is in Khorne’s pay. Begone!”

A roiling wave of psychic energy overwhelmed Krev, throwing him to the ground, even in his Terminator armour. With superhuman strength, Krev rose back to his feet, and strode up the stone stairs into the dark forest. As he walked into the night, the giant smiled and turned to the stone Tree nearby.

“Soon, all you are will be mine, and at last, I will have my revenge.”

Chapter 26: Preparation

Far to the north, beyond even the Crystal Empire, there was a valley, a quiet haven of life amidst the iron wrath of the mountains. It was a comfortable place, far removed from danger and strife, but small, unable to support more than maybe a village. In these dark days, it held not even that; only one still dwelt there, amidst the ruins of an ancient civilization, living in a cave that was once the seat of a hall of mighty kings and queens. She was ancient, and mighty, if broken in power. She had dwelt there when ponies still lived in the Unknown West, and had been old when the Windigos came.

She would soon be receiving a visitor, if only Celestia could snatch the time. The Solar Alicorn sighed quietly, the breath so subtle that none but her sister could ever have caught it. She needed her mother’s guidance, needed to know just what her father had done all those millennia ago. A darkness unlike anything seen since had befallen the world then, and only King Angelus had stood against it. How had he done it?

Celestia wished for Starswirl, as she often did in these hours of crisis. She wished he had not disappeared, or that at least his notes were more comprehensible. But still, Celestia had not ruled for a thousand years by living on wishes. This was a time to act, not yet to dream. And so she signed another proposal, reading through the mountains of paperwork set before her at a speed no pony save Twilight could match.

Time was short. She was needed at another War Council meeting in less than an hour. There, she decided, she would need to appoint a Steward to manage the ad hoc armies protecting her lands. Somepony to administer the State and somehow coordinate the Royal Guard, Equestrian Army, various militias, mercenaries, and paramilitaries which constituted her realm’s home defense. And above all, somepony who could deal with the Blood Angels.

They worried her, these mad, alien warriors. There was something about them, something she could not quite define, that seemed almost, blasphemously, familiar. But any time she almost saw a point of connection, some commonality that would allow her to understand them, there it was again, the raw violence by and for which they lived.

But the hour was late, Celestia noted, sensing the slow orbit of the sun, and she could give no more thought to such matters. She needed a proxy, and soon. Perhaps Twilight? Celestia stifled a small giggle. She doted on her student, loved her as a mother loves her daughter, but still she feared the Princess of Friendship was not yet ready for such a burden. Twilight was young, and though she had grown much over the years, was far from ready to rule a kingdom. And yet, who else was there?

Shining Armor and Cadence were far to the north, Luna in the west. What few commanders she had were old or deployed, and none were suited for politics. Of course, Twilight was equally unprepared for the task. Or was she? Celestia paused, her telekinetic grip on her pen failing for a moment. For all her worries, Twilight was still an Alicorn princess. She had, with the aid of her friends, defeated Discord and Tirek, free her sister Luna, and even cast Sunset Shimmer from her throne.

“Sunset,” Celestia whispered, a tear in her eye. Is it wrong, she wondered. To wish you were here? Sunset, for all her old flaws, would have been perfect for the task. Cold-hearted and ruthless where Twilight was loving and compassionate; willing to make any sacrifice to gain the strategic advantage. As intelligent as Twilight or Starlight, and roughly the equal of either in power. She would make a brutal but effective commander in this war.

Or would she? Celestia shook her head, and cast away the gnawing doubts. For all Sunset’s cunning, learning, and raw power, she had ultimately failed. Twilight and the friendships she forged overcame Sunset’s dark powers, and ended that horrid crisis. Celestia smiled proudly despite herself, thinking on how far her student had come. Twilight and her friends had succeeded then, and they would again. Together, they were unstoppable. The Solar Alicorn allowed a brief laugh.

“Let this Chaos do its worst! We shall beat it, united, as we always do,” she boasted to the air.

The decision was made. Twilight would serve as her proxy while she herself went away, to seek out the aid they required. Celestia hoped the trip would not be long, as every minute counted in these dark days, but in the depth of her heart she doubted any such respite. After all, a visit to the house of one’s mother is rarely short, especially when one is coming to discuss her late father. This rule holds for all beings, great and small, from the lowest colt to the highest alicorn.

***

Spike found himself in quite the odd place these days. In all he could remember of his life, he defined himself as “Twilight’s Assistant,” her aide and helper. He prided himself on knowing her moods and habits, on anticipating her needs and fulfilling her wishes. He was also something like her son, and something like her brother, though neither of them had ever quite made sense of what that relationship really was.

But these days, he seemed to be none of these things. Twilight was busy, called away often to rush from meeting to meeting, rarely stopping even to so much as greet Spike in the hall. This, unfortunately, left Spike with little recourse when, after the horrors of Manehattan, he made several unnerving discoveries about himself. To sum it up neatly, he had aged, in a way he had not since his particularly embarrassing episode of utter greed had turned him into a mindless beast. But he felt no less in control this time; no urge to steal or maim fell upon him. If anything, the world simply seemed clearer.

He was taller, and stronger. His scales had grown tougher, and his flame hotter. Strange feelings came upon him he could not quite grasp or describe. And now, just as he needed somepony to talk to, to confide in, he was left alone. He had considered speaking to Starlight, but she too was busy, often running after Twilight between the meetings.

So he did what he always did in such situations: he went to Rarity. Not that she was much help either.

It was the strangest thing. For years now, Spike had willingly served Rarity almost as well as he did Twilight, following along with whatever small or inconsequential task she set before him as though he had been set to guard Celestia’s Crown. Long had he loved Rarity, and long had he struggled for her favour.

But today something felt different. There was something off about Rarity, had been ever since they escaped Manehattan. It took Spike some time to process what felt different, but in time he pieced it together.

She seemed to at last be reciprocating his feelings for her. And yet somehow, it felt empty.

These past two weeks, she had doted on him, spending long hours in his company. A haze of joy and pleasure fell on Spike whenever he was with Rarity. Yet every time Spike had to leave, he felt drained, as though all her energy were sucked out of him. And as the weeks passed and he acclimated to his new, more mature body, he began to think, to wonder why, if he was finally getting what he wanted, he felt so terrible.

Spike shook his head. He could worry about such things later. Right now, the Parliament was meeting for another war council, and he needed to attend.

Hopefully afterwards he could find someone to talk to.

***

The Librarian Renato was growing worried.

Twice now he had been forced to sit through sessions of the xenos Parliament, and twice he had left restraining the Thirst boiling in his veins. These creatures, these foppish alien nobles, had no idea how to prosecute a war. He yearned for the wars of old he had fought, leading the speartip of the Imperium into battle against Orks or the perfidious Tau.

He looked out on the gathering aristocrats and diplomatic representatives, and he despaired. None showed the strength they needed in this hour of trial, none the resolve required of a commander in war. Perhaps Alessandro could have forced them into some manner of efficiency, but Renato doubted he himself could manage any such feat. The mark of the Emperor was on these xenos, and so he held faith that they were of purpose, but he had yet to find any clue as to what it was. They were kind and compassionate, weaklings in the face of an uncaring galaxy.

A shock of fury burst through Renato’s mind. For a brief second, his eyes flared with empyreal flame. With the discipline of the Blood Angels Librarius, he swallowed his rage.

“Orlando,” Renato whispered to the Champion at his side. “Do you see anything wrong? I feel a dire portent.”

Orlando scanned the parliament. “I see xenos, and I see us standing idly by. I obey the Chaplain, and know he would never lead us from the Emperor’s Light, but in the face of this,” The Company Champion angrily gestured to the xenos. “I can see… Forgive me, Librarian. I have let the Thirst rule my words.”

Renato placed his hand on Orlando’s shoulder. “The Emperor Protects, brother. Alessandro will rise again, this I swear. But for now, we must fight on. And I cannot shake the feeling that something here is wrong.”

“I know, I know. But what chance have we? Many hours you and I have discussed the war and our strategy, and no solution can be found. The Emperor must have mercy on us, for nothing else can win this war,” Orlando said, sighing. “But I suppose that debate is now pointless. You know my stance: we should gather what forces we have and make a final assault on the enemy, die in honour and blood. But I will stand by your wisdom, and await their coming, or a miracle.”

“You are brave, Orlando, but not yet wise,” Renato said with a half-smile. “The Thirst burns in us all, driving us to war and slaughter. But wars are won by thought and cunning, especially when we face a foe superior in numbers and armament. But The Emperor Protects, and we will prevail. We must, for he has chosen this world for some purpose.”

“You speak of the symbols on their souls?”

“Yes. Only the Emperor could have made such an impression on the souls of an entire species. But why? They are xenos, and of a world beyond even the reach of the Astronomicon. What grand scheme has the Master of Mankind prepared for these creatures? Until we know, they must survive, and that means we cannot die yet. But come, the meeting is starting.”

Soon the session began, as it always did, with meaningless speeches which never failed to vividly remind the Librarian of the most pompous Planetary Governors he had met. Various nobles spoke meaningless drivel, and arguments over pointless side-affairs perpetually broke out. Renato watched with disdain, his posthuman gaze scouring the room for any sign of danger. He noted, as an aside, that the xenos Celestia appeared to be just as exasperated as he was with the entire affair.

Renato kept scanning the room, even as the speeches and debates rolled by. They concerned nothing he cared about, and what little information was truly relevant to the true war effort he could easily absorb without direct attention. Such were the benefits of genhanced physiology. He watched, looking for any hint of treachery or abnormality. He also snickered at that thought; in such a world as this, in such days as these, what did ideas of normalcy matters?

At last, something was said that mattered, and Renato slipped out of his searching.

Celestia stood up and addressed the War Council. “I regret to inform you that for reasons of national security, I must take a leave of absence from Canterlot. I cannot tell you why at this time, but I assure you it is of the utmost importance to the war effort. In the meantime, I will not leave you without guidance, and so I am appointing Princess Twilight Sparkle as War Regent in my absence. Treat her words as you would my own.”

Renato stroked his chin. Interesting. He began to ponder the implications. With a small portion of his superhuman mind, he observed the frantic confusion of Twilight as she scrambled to respond. She was unready, of that he was sure. She lacked the experience to run a state even in peace, let alone amidst such a war as this. But, that very naivete could prove useful. And she was pliable, considered him a friend. He had little concept of ‘friendship’ outside the Astartes, and even less outside the human species, but he did considered Twilight the subject of some manner of strange affection.

The Librarian stood. “If I may speak, on behalf of the Blood Angels, I wish to congratulate Twilight Sparkle on her appointment. May she serve well. And in all things, we shall support her.”

Renato sat, and Orlando hissed in his ear. “What was that for? Who cares about the organization of the xenos government?”

“Because, good Champion, I need more information. The Emperor imbued this world with some importance, and if we are to win we must know it. Therefore, I want access to their hidden archives, and that end will be well served by taking advantage of Twilight’s favour while she is in charge.”

“I pray it works. And that we survive.”

Renato sighed. “On that, we are agreed.”

Prologue

Before the white-coated filly stood a giant, and she was afraid.

It stood over eleven feet tall, with a body like some strange minotaur. The giant was upright, the whole of its massive body resting on two legs as thick as tree-trunks. Its body was clad in armour as dark as the space between the stars. Golden ornamentation was wreathed across its massive metal body, shaped into arcane symbols the filly could not understand. Its right arm was over-sized, swelling from the elbow until it ended in a set of five golden talons with a strange box mounted on the outside. Its left arm was better proportioned, and in its armoured hand the giant carried a mace which in length stretched from the thing’s hooves to its shoulders. On its back rested the pelt of a massive white wolf. A trio of glaring amber eyes formed a line from its chest down to its hips. Strange, flat-faced heads hung in a circle on its belt. Skulls were mounted on the spikes above the giant’s shoulders.

But what scared the little filly most was the giant’s face. It was flat, like the heads which hung about its waist. Its thin lips were twisted in a hateful grimace. Its eyes glowed a violent red. Wires protruded from the back of its skull, linking the giant into its armour.

The giant took a single, thundering step forward. The filly squeaked in terror and curled up, too frightened to flee. Her heart pounded in her chest, a fear so familiar yet so unlike anything she had ever felt tearing through her.

Then, against all hopes, it happened, just as it always did. That voice, that deep, warm, commanding, comforting voice boomed through the dark halls of the evil giant.

“Horus! I name you Traitor! Face me and answer for your crimes!”

The white-coated filly turned, her violet eyes lighting up as she beheld a second giant.

This giant had a similar body to the first, and was almost as tall. There, however, the similarities ended. In golden armour was this giant clad. A crimson eye rested in the centre of his chest, its gaze denying the baleful glare of the evil giant. A scarlet robe hung from the second giant’s armour. Soft locks of golden hair hung from his head. In his right hand he held a mighty sword made from metal the colour of fresh blood. From his back protruded two massive wings, as white as snow, save for every ninth feather, which was a bright red. He was in all ways inspiring; his very presence demanded that all of stout and noble heart bow before him in reverence and awe.

Yet to the young filly, the most inspiring feature of this second giant was his face. It was kind and strong, the very epitome of a true father. He bore both love and war in his deep blue eyes; love for all who fell under his aegis, and war for all who intended harm for his family.

Thus the filly beheld them, the two giants, the Monster and the Angel.

“Come, Sanguinius, my brother,” the Monster said as he flexed his talons. “Can you not see the truth? This is a false Imperium, built by a false Emperor. We were just tools to him, not Sons. We were to be used and then cast away, abandoned and forgotten while he declared himself a god! Join me, Brother, and together we will tear him down, and in his place we will build a true Imperium, under the True Emperor!”

For a brief moment, the Angel’s countenance seemed sad, forlorn, as though he knew the inevitable end of it all. But it was for a moment; the filly could barely perceive the micro-expressions of his face before they were overtaken by a single, overwhelming emotion.

“Never!” the Angel roared, his wings flaring and his blood-red sword leveled at the Monster. “I will never betray Father! You lie, Traitor, and you besmirch his name with your false words. What madness could have taken you, that you would commit such atrocities against he who called you Son?”

Those were the last words spoken that held any true meaning. Battle-cries and maledictions were still to come, but they mattered not. The Monster offered his temptation, and the Angel remained incorruptible. Thus they fell to the only recourse left to them.

They fought.

It was a duel the likes of which had never been seen, and which would only once be surpassed. In a war among those who might be described as gods, this was the penultimate duel. The Monster, the foremost of his kind, mighty in war and cunning in verbal artifice, against the Angel, the noblest of his Brothers, true in loyalty and fearsome in war. Somehow, the white-coated filly knew that never again would their kind be seen among the stars.

Thus these giants, these war-gods, made battle with one another. Words failed to capture what the filly saw. The combatants moved like lightning, blows and parries too fast for mortal eyes to perceive. Power rippled through the halls of that accursed place as they clashed; a blood-red sword struck against a black-and-gold mace, the metal spitting fire as they slid down each other. A black-armoured boot slammed into the ground, denting the floor and sending the filly tumbling onto her side as the world around her shook with the force of the blow. White wings beat against the hot, stale air, thrusting their bearer toward the ceiling.

The filly could do nothing but watch in awe as light and dark clashed, with the fate of all things hanging in the balance. The Monster would be the end of all things, the harbinger of an age of shadow and terror. In the Angel lay hope, and the promise of a brighter tomorrow. Back and forth they struggled, until it came, as it always did, to the end.

Dread filled the white-coated filly’s heart as she saw the Angel dive away from the mace. She knew what came next, what always came next. Yet still she screamed in horror as those golden claws reached out and grabbed the Angel’s wing. A jerk and a pull, and the Angel was falling, torn from the skies by the Monster. He struck the ground like a meteor, a brief cry of pain and a moment’s daze the price paid for the blow. It was only a moment that he lay there, defenceless and exposed, but it was a moment too much.

The mace rose in the air, and time froze for all but the poor little filly. Her body frozen in place, all she could do was watch as the mace slowly climbed higher and higher, as it inched its way towards the apex of its arc. All she could do was hope against hope that somehow Fate would recede, that somehow the ending would change, that the Angel would rise or roll or somehow move, and avoid the doom that was to come.

As the mace fell, gaining speed and force with every second, the filly knew her desperate prayers had gone unanswered.

She screamed as black-and-gold metal crushed the Angel, shattering his golden armour. Blood sprayed forth from the fatal wound, falling through the air like rain. The blood fell, and the filly fell with it, her screams lost amid the roars of ten thousand warrior-sons now orphaned. She fell, deeper and deeper into the darkness, racing towards the baleful eight-pointed stars which gazed up at like a voracious beast…
____________

Celestia woke with a scream.

The ancient, ageless alicorn sat upright in her bed, panting, her terrified heart still pounding in her chest. With a discipline borne of millennia of practice she steadied her breathing.

“Sister!” Celestia’s door burst open as her younger sister, Luna, flew into the room, her teal-blue eyes wide with fright and concern. “What is it? Why do you so scream?”

Celestia leaned back in her bed, the presence and archaic diction of her sister helping to calm her nerves. “It was that dream.”

“Again?” Luna asked as she walked towards Celestia. “I thought you said it troubled you no more.”

“It didn’t, at least not for some time,” Celestia said. Her horn glowed as she reached out with her magic to quickly brew a cup of tea. “I haven’t had that dream in over four hundred years.”

“It is strange, then, that it would now return,” Luna said as she took a seat next to her sister. “What could it mean?”

“I do not know,” Celestia admitted. She turned her gaze to the moon, which still hung bright and high in the sky. A shiver ran down the immortal’s spine as she spoke. “But I fear it can mean nothing good.”

Chapter 1: The Day the World Changed

The day Equestria changed forever began, as such events are wont, without much warning. It was, by all accounts, a perfectly normal morning. Celestia raised her sun at the appointed hour, while her beloved sister Luna lowered the moon. In the small, eccentric town of Ponyville, roosters crowed, signalling to all the coming of the dawn. In every house there was a stirring, and soon the day was begun. Fasts were hungrily broken, and within the hour shops across town were open. From Carousel Boutique to the Apple Family Orchards, ponies were soon hard at work. Just a couple short hours later, young fillies and colts were at school, bored out of their minds as the teacher Cheerilee did her best to make multiplication tables interesting to the common foal. Just before lunch, Rainbow Dash accidentally crashed into Fluttershy’s chicken coop, which in turn destroyed the fence. In short order Applejack was called in and the three of them set about trying to repair the damage, amidst various mishaps and disagreements.

It was, in all, a perfectly normal Tuesday. So normal, in fact, that the only hint of what was to come was a strange ripple in the magical field, so faint as to only be detectable by the most powerful and attuned of minds. There were five such minds in all Equestria.
In the cold reaches of the far north was Princess Cadence, who on that day was still in bed, taking a well-deserved rest from the rigours of rule; the Crystal Empire may have been lacking in great danger or controversy, but like all kingdoms it had its fair share of petty court cases and continual need for tax code reform, matters which, given time, will wear on even the staunchest of souls. Thus it was that Cadence would be the last princess to learn of the events to come.

Canterlot was the resting place of two more minds capable of feeling the disturbance, Celestia and Luna. Much like Cadence, Luna was at the time asleep, resting after a long night of calming the fears of frightened young foals. With her dreams now clear of the spectre of the Tantibus, that nightmarish torturer which had until recently been assigned by Luna herself to ensure she never forgot the sins of her past, the rest was peaceful and refreshing. It was, in fact, a rest that in the days to come Luna would reflect upon and find herself longing for.

Despite Luna’s slumber, she would be quickly informed of the events in Ponyville by her elder sister, Celestia. When the ripple came Celestia was quite awake and in full command of her faculties. It was the seventh minute of her fifteen-minute cake break, nestled comfortably between the morning noble’s court and the afternoon commoner’s court. Being a mighty alicorn, Celestia needed little in the way of physical sustenance; magic itself provided for most of her nutrition. However, food did little to hurt her, and over the millennia of her life she had found that some foods, particularly cake and tea, were great comforts. If nothing else, Celestia had found that a few cups of tea every day did wonders for keeping some of her… less wholesome urges in check.

The coming of the magic ripple interrupted the break just as she was about to take a third bite of her delectable snack. It was a strange feeling, cold and wild, almost like the magic of the mad draconequus Discord if one were to remove any hint of humour or personality from it. Celestia’s attention was captured at once, her body freezing and her gaze snapping south as she honed in on the disturbance.

“Your Highness?” one of the Celestial Guards, an aging veteran named Surging Rock, asked. Without even thinking, Celestia used her magic to feel the condition of Surging Rock’s heart, sensing the nervousness he hid so well beneath his iron-hard expression.

“Go wake Luna. There is something we must discuss,” Celestia said, turning her warm visage to Surging Rock long enough for him to nod acknowledgement. As he turned and sped off in the direction of the Lunar Suite, Celestia returned her attention to the disturbance. To her annoyance it had already faded to naught but an echo of its already weak presence. The Solar Alicorn closed her eyes and concentrated, her horn glowing with golden energy as she reached out with her magic. With skills first taught to her by her long-departed father and honed over millennia of life, Celestia investigated what she could of the disturbance.

So weak was the signal that a vague location was all she could find. For a moment Celestia pondered why such a thing would occur there of all places; the Everfree was wild and dangerous, and lacking in useful resources. However…

“The Castle…” Celestia whispered as she opened her eyes. Reaching out with her magic, the Solar Alicorn lifted up ink and paper and pen. “Dear Twilight Sparkle…”
__________

On the edge of Ponyville, there lay a massive crystal castle. Magically constructed by the Tree of Harmony several months earlier, it was the home of the fourth mind which could detect the magical ripple, Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Friendship.

The castle was massive, easily capable of housing a hundred or more ponies within its crystalline walls. However, most of those rooms lay empty and unused. Three were there who lived there, the Princess Twilight Sparkle, her student Starlight Glimmer, and the young dragon Spike. At the time of the ripple, all three were gathered in the castle library. Twilight was busy researching the history of alicorns, hoping to find some hint as to how her newborn niece, Cadence and Shining Armor’s daughter Flurry Heart, could be born with such a status. Starlight did her best to help, though the historical nature of the research left her somewhat handicapped; she was an expert mage, but the distant past was a subject she had paid little attention to in her studies.

For his part, Spike was nestled in a chair in the corner, his nose buried in the latest issue of Power Ponies.

At the research table, Twilight was mumbling to herself, as she often did. “Hmm… According to this book the last natural alicorn birth was sometime in the Pre-Windigo Era, when Princess, I mean, Celestia and Luna were born to a ‘Queen Stella’ and ‘King Angelus,’” Twilight tapped her hoof on her chin. “Strange, I’ve never heard of them befo-”

Twilight froze as a strange, cold tingle washed over her spine. Starlight Glimmer snapped her attention to her mentor, worry in her eyes.

“Twilight? What’s wrong?” she said, dashing over to the purple alicorn’s side.

The feeling passed, and Twilight shook her head. “Sorry. Just a weird feeling. Did you feel that?”

“Feel what?” Starlight asked. She cocked her head to the side. Concern and a small hint of suspicion filtered into her tone. “Are you alright?”

“You’re sure you didn’t feel anything?” Twilight said, a look both curious and worried creeping into her eyes. “You didn’t feel a cold shiver running right down your spine?”

Starlight took a half-step back. “No, I’m quite sure I didn’t. What’s this about, Twilight?”

“I must have just imagined it…” Twilight’s thought were interrupted by a sudden rustling of paper and a fiery belch.

“Hah! Didn’t burn the paper!” Spike proclaimed triumphantly. He turned to the two ponies staring at him. He chuckled nervously. “Oh, uh, letter from Princess Celestia for you, Twilight.”

Twilight trotted over to her faithful assistant, followed closely by Starlight. The latter said, “I wonder what it’s about.”

Twilight’s horn glowed as she reached out with her magic and opened the scroll, mumbling as she read it. “Well, it seems I wasn’t just imaging things. Prin- Celestia felt it too, and she wants us to investigate it. Starlight, Spike, come on. We’re going to the Everfree Forest.”

Spike sighed. “Why did it have to be the Everfree?”
__________

Deep inside the wilds of the Everfree Forest, reality tore open in a great flash. An indescribable array of colours danced beyond the hole, blocked only by the shadows of strange creatures the likes of which Equestria had never seen. In an instant the hole was gone, leaving only a faint ripple in magic and the strange creatures as proof it had ever occurred.

Black and purple smoke billowed around the newcomers. The ground crunched beneath their feet like glass. Monsters they were; like minotaurs in shape, but by far more horrid.

Thirty-two they numbered, four groups of eight. Their leader, a tall creature with a flat, misshapen face, was most pleased by this. Eight was the number of the gods, and to be blessed with so exact a number boded well for the battle to come. Though some of lesser faith might have ignored such an omen, Krev Gorudon was a Champion of the Word Bearers, a Gene-Son of the great prophet Lorgar. At the foot of the mighty Daemon Primarch, Krev had been taught the mysteries of Chaos, learning the unholy litanies of the Four. Now, after seven hundred years of war, he was honoured to serve under the Dark Apostle Bal Harodon, an ancient Chaos Marine said to have stood by Lorgar’s side at the Battle of Terra ten thousand years ago.

Now he would lead this menagerie to unholy war in the name of the dark gods themselves. What did it matter that he had lost warriors in the teleportation which brought them here? What did it matter that those accursed Blood Angels had slain some of his best servants? He was at least here, on this verdant, untainted world. The soldiers of the False Emperor were far away, and there were none on this world who could hope to defy the will of Chaos. His victory was assured, and with his mission complete, surely ascension would follow. Krev would scour this world and make it a sacrifice to his masters, and in return, surely he would at last be granted the greatest of gifts, to become one of the Warpborn themselves. All he had to do was overpower the ignorant inhabitants of this small, pathetic world, and take from them the great power they possessed.

Krev Goduron smiled cruelly, his torn lips peeling back to reveal his jagged and misshaped fangs. This day is going to be perfect.
______________

On the edge of the Ghastly Gorge, the fifth mind able to detect the ripple sat. Adorned in a simple brown cloak and with grey hair and a grey beard temporarily summoned to his draconic visage, Discord sat on a moss-ridden boulder. He laid one clawed hand on his summoned beard while the other fondled a small, metal baton attached to his belt. With an expression that was at once both grin and grimace, he spoke in a wise, aging voice.

“The Warp? Now that’s a feeling I’ve not felt in a long, long time.”

Then he cackled and disappeared, his insane mind already at work, wondering just what would come next.

Author's Note

Hello!
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.
I intend to have the next chapter up within the week.
Criticism welcomed.
For those of you new to the world of Warhammer 40k, feel free to ask for clarification on anything.

Chapter 17: Scattered Survivors Part II

The empty seats in the Rhino weighed heavily on Marco’s hearts.

It was a strange thing. He was a Space Marine, a proud son of Baal. For decades he had served the Emperor, and in those years he had lost many battle-brothers. Some had been little more than acquaintances, others, the dearest of friends. Every one had been a loss, both to the Chapter and to Marco himself. Yet in all those years, none of those deaths had hung over him like those empty seats.

It was the oddity of the filled seats, perhaps, that left him so disturbed. In all those years, he had never ridden into battle with an incomplete squad. The Codex Astartes set the deployment of squads at five or ten Marines. Squad Murata currently had seven. With the Holy Chaplain accompanying them, they had two empty seats in the vehicle. One for each heart in a Space Marine.

Marco double-checked the tank on his heavy flamer. For the fifth time since they had left the xenos city.

A ceramite-clad hand clapped on Marco’s pauldron. He flinched at the unexpected contact, his emerald-eyed helm swinging around. He froze in surprise as his genhanced eyes fell on the Chaplain Alessandro himself.

“Be of good heart, brother,” Alessandro said. “Your brothers stand at the Emperor’s side. Balance your humours, and let your mourning end. They are dead, and we have wept for them. Now, our duty calls, and we shall ride to glory and vengeance on the wings of the Angel.”

“Chaplain! I…” Marco stammered. “How…”

Marco could swear that beneath his skull-helmet, Alessandro was smiling.

“We are the Emperor’s Proud Sons, Brother Marco, but we are still born human,” Alessandro said. “And I have led our brothers into battle long enough to recognize the scent of melancholy when it rises.”

With that, the Chaplain returned to his seat. Veteran Sergeant Dabriel chuckled softly.

“Ah, this brings back memories,” Dabriel said. “You know, lad, the good Chaplain gave me the same speech, once.”

Alessandro huffed and walked over to the command panel, keeping a close eye on the auspex scans.

Dabriel leaned forward, the emerald lenses of his helm almost gleaming with enthusiasm as he began his tale.

“It was forty-three years ago, now. Most of you would’ve been too fresh to see service. I was fresh out of the Devastators, just like you, Marco,” he said. He stroked the beak-like snout of his Mk. 4 helmet. “In fact, I was on… Say, let me see your…”

Dabriel snatched the heavy flamer form Marco’s hands, turning it over and inspecting the weapon. A moment later, the sergeant shrugged and returned it.

“Sorry, I was just wondering if it was the same one,” Dabriel explained. “Anyway, I was on flamer duty, and we were deploying to Armaggedon.”
Brother Severo sighed, tapping the butt of his meltagun against the Rhino’s floor. “Sergeant, we all know what happened on Armaggedon. How could this possibly relate to us here?”

“Do be quiet, Severo, and be not so flippant with that gun” Dabriel replied. “We had successfully deployed to the planet’s surface, and were rushing to what we thought was Ghazghkull’s headquarters, when out of nowhere…”

Dabriel’s story was interrupted by a beeping form the auspex. Squad Murata turned to listen, their gene-forged ears picking up every micro-fluctuation in the sound.

Chaplain Alessandro groaned. He gestured to the squad. “Dabriel, Marco, Jagus, with me. It seems we have guests.”

Dabriel sighed. “At this rate I’ll never finish the story. Ah well, up and at it, lads.”

Marco followed dutifully, hefting the heavy flamer and falling in line behind Dabriel and Alessandro. Jagus, a longstanding fixture of Squad Murata, came last. The hair on the back of Marco’s neck bristled as his battle-brother slipped out of view. He couldn’t explain why, but something about Jagus this day left him… uneasy. Jagus was quiet, and prone to the occasional eccentricity, but in the admittedly short time Marco had known him, he had never seen Jagus as… twitchy as he had today.

Probably just not used to fighting without Tonio’s bad jokes, Marco figured. He forced the matter out of his mind as they exited the Rhino.
For a moment, Marco wondered just who these ‘guests’ could be. That passing question was answered but a moment later, as two of the local xenos slowly approached them. With the precision of his genhanced sight, Marco took full stock of the pair. One was of the winged sub-species, while the other was of the simpler stock, devoid of any special characteristics. Of note, however, was that the normal xenos was clad in the golden armour the local ‘Solar Guard’ seemed to favour.

The xenos commander, Shining Armor, if Marco recalled correctly, trotted up.

“By the Sun, Sergeant Surly? Is that you?” Shining called.

The Solar Guard barked a response. “Darn right, Captain. Can I get some help here? I’ve got wounded.”

Shining nodded to a pair of its guards, which rushed off and relieved Surly of its burden.

“Grab some soldiers, have them escort her back to the bridge,” Shining ordered its guards before turning to Surly. “What happened to you? We thought you were dead! Where’s the rest of the recon team?”

Surly sighed. “Ambush and superior firepower. These Wordies or whatever are nasty in a fight. Killed half our squad, would’ve gotten more if Sentry hadn’t kept us moving. He’s got the rest of us with him. Linked up with one of our aliens, Orange Load, or whatever. I came back to drop off Soft Wind and get the Tartarus out of Dodge.”

Marco saw Shining’s eyebrow rise. It was a disturbingly human act.

“I’ve never known you to run from a fight, Surly,” Shining said. “What’s going on here?”

“It… Where in Sam Hill do I start?” Surly sighed. “There’s not a shred of mercy in those sons of nightmares. I saw ‘em murdering civvies, then pile ‘em up into mounds that made your eyes hurt if you looked at ‘em too long. I don’t know what in Luna’s unmentionables they’re doing here, but I’ve had enough. I’m taking Softie here back to HQ, then I’m getting the first train back to Canterlot.”

“Orange load… Orlando? You say you encountered Orlando?” Alessandro interrupted. “Where has he gone? Why have we received no word from him?”

Surly took a step back, casting its eyes Alessandro’s black-armoured form.

Shining spoke. “He’s alright, Surly. This is Alessandro, the Blood Angels leader. You were briefed on him before the mission, remember?”
“Of course I was,” Surly snapped. “It’s just something somepony we ran into said… ‘watch out for the one in black.’ That weird mare claimed he’d be a ‘meanie.’ Luna’s knickers I’m getting too old for this.”

Alessandro stroked the chin of his skull-helmet. Marco suppressed an instinctive flinch. While that description as apt for the Chaplain, at least when dealing with xenos, it could just as easily fit the Death Company. Marco turned his head slightly, looking to the Chaplain for guidance. Out of the corner of his genhanced eyes, he saw that Jagus and Dabriel had similarly turned.

The Chaplain shook his head, the movement too subtle for mortal eyes to catch, but as clear as blood on white snow to the Astartes. No mention of the Flaw would be made to these xenos. “I weary of this drivel. Xenos, if you know where Orlando is, tell me. If not, then be gone. I will permit no further delays.”

“I don’t know where he went or what he’s doing, if he’s still kicking,” Surly answered. The white-furred xenos bristled with irritation. “He and the lieutenant marched up the street, this street, following after some big metal bird. I carried Soft Wind back. Last I saw, they were running around a corner. Now can I get moving? Softie here needs a medic.”

Shining Armor nodded. “Sturdy, throw together an escort for the Sergeant here. See if you can find some of the more frightened ponies, get them out before they run.”

Shining’s assistant nodded and led Surly away. Alessandro returned to the Rhino, Marco and the rest simply falling into line silently behind him.

Within a minute the column was moving again, Rhinos and Predators rumbling through the streets of the xenos city. Dabriel resumed his story. Marco paid him the kind of attention only an Astartes could give, fully aware of every word being spoken, but not consciously listening. The young Space Marine allowed his mind to wander, retreating into thoughts of the battle to come.

A short time later, the Rhinos ground to a halt again. Squad Murata shook at the abruptness of the stop, gently tossed side-to-side by the rocking chassis of the Rhino. The ramp dropped and they marched out. Were it not for their reduced numbers, it would have been a perfect Codex-approved deployment, each Marine in his place, weapons raised and ready to fire. Alessandro exited last, gripping the haft of his Crozius like a lifeline.

With the squad deployed, Marco took a moment to assess his surroundings. A strange sense of familiarity, of home, washed over him as he took in the battlefield around him.

Hundreds of corpses littered the street. Most were mere cultists, the dregs of humanity, fools, mutants, and weaklings who had sold their souls to the Ruinous Powers. Here and there he caught sight of a traitor Astartes; here, a Word Bearer, there a Noise Marine. The street was stained dark brown with congealed blood. The scent of rot saturated the foetid air, bellowing up from the dead like smoke from a smouldering fire. In the distance was a ruined husk of a building, a concrete slab that, if the remains of the sign hanging above its shattered doors meant what Marco believed it did, had once been a Police Headquarters. Marco chose to ignore the eerie similarity between the sign and the Low Gothic script. In front of the ruin rested the husks of several vehicles. Three Word Bearers Rhinos, their crimson paint charred black by melta scarring.

A thought occurred to Marco, a niggling inconsistency in the design of one of the Rhinos that quickly bloomed into a horrifying realization. He called out, “Chaplain!”

Alessandro spun to face Marco, then followed the young Marine’s outstretched finger. The Chaplain’s back straightened as he too saw it.

“The Honour of Meros! They have slain it!” he cried. He ran, followed mere microseconds after by Squad Murata. They ignored the Predators and the human conscripts, ignored their xenos allies and the corpses on which they all stood. Their feet pounding on the pavement like ceramite pistons, they surged up the street until at last they reached the corpse of the Stormraven.

Dabriel placed a gauntleted hand on the charred plates of the Stormraven. “And so ends all but the last of Fario’s legacy. Horus take these heretics!”

Alessandro slowly exhaled, controlling the release of his breath just like he controlled the release of the fury Marco could feel was blazing in the Chaplain’s chest. “He shall be avenged, like all our brothers.”

“Holy Chaplain, I do not mean to interrupt,” Brother Severo said, stepping forward and dragging his own hand along the Stormraven’s husk. “But how did Chaos manage this? The hulk is charred, but this is unlike any melta blast I have ever seen. More like a flame…”

Severo’s words trailed off as a horrible, mechanical roar tore through the air. The Blood Angels tensed, readying their weapons and raising their gene-forged eyes to the sky. They heard the clatter and thumping of hooves on pavement and aging cadavers, but cared not. Their foe was above; no land-bound monster did they seek.

“What’s going on?” Shining Armor asked. In the corner of his eye, Marco saw the xenos commander following his battle-brothers’ gazes. Shining’s jaw fell slack but a moment later, dumbstruck by the same sight that set the Blood Angels to battle-readiness.

Adorned in dark crimson and lined with tainted gold, a Word Bearers Heldrake soared around the corner, spewing fire from its Warp-cursed maw. Its wings were outstretched, just barely thin enough to avoid clipping the tall xenos buildings. Its talons rested, curled up beneath its metallic underbelly.

“Battle-brothers! Take cover, and ready your boltguns!” Alessandro roared. “Hold your fire until the beast has passed us. When it shows its back, we shall strike it from the Emperor’s skies!”

Squad Murata scattered. It was an act that to mortal observers might indicate poor discipline in their ranks. Such an analysis would be entirely wrong. It was a calculated scattering, an act of supreme precision the likes of which was all but unheard of among mere humanity. Half the squad joined Severo and Alessandro as they dove into the Honour of Meros, taking cover and waiting for the moment their meltaguns might come in range. The rest, including young Marco, followed Dabriel, who rushed towards one of the Chaos Rhinos. He slowed as he crossed the street, his gaze falling upon one of the corpses which littered it.

“Brother-Sergeant! We must hurry!” Marco called out, his mouth moving before his mind could still his tongue.

Dabriel sheathed his power sword and holstered his boltpistol. In the same motion, he swept his hands along the ground, snatching up a plasma pistol and a new power sword from the frozen grip of a charred corpse. Without so much as a pause, the veteran sergeant continued his dash for cover.

“Come along, Brother Marco,” Dabriel called. “You’ll do us no good just standing there!”

Marco slipped into cover with Dabriel and two other members of Squad Murata. Dabriel turned to his battle-brothers.

“Ready your boltguns,” he said, a grin in his very tone. “But hold your fire until the Chaplain gives word. This shall be just like Qarhenna.”

Marco hefted his heavy flamer onto the maglocks on his backpack and drew his boltpistol. Out of the corner of his genhanced eye, the Blood Angel watched the xenos scatter, fleeing into the nearby buildings and taking whatever cover they could find. The Rhinos rolled back, while the Predators all but pressed against the walls of the xenos buildings. The Blood Angels tensed, weapons gripped tightly in their ceramite-armoured fists.

The Heldrake came roaring down the street. Fire spilled from its maw like bile from a Nurgle-priest. It blasted the ruined hulk of the Honour of Meros again. A strange, cold feeling gripped Marco’s hearts for a brief second; it was not fear, for Space Marines were above so base an emotion, but rather a calculated worry. The flames of a Heldrake could cut through ceramite like a power sword, and cover was rarely useful against such a weapon.

The cold lifted but a moment later as the Heldrake passed, its rear armour now bared to the Blood Angels. From the smoking wreck of the Stormraven arose the Chaplain Alessandro, his inferno pistol raised to the sky.

“Strike it down!” Alessandro bellow.

As one the Blood Angels unleashed the full force of their firepower. Boltguns spat exploding death. A ball of crackling green energy flew from the tip of Dabriel’s new plasma pistol. Two streams of melta arced through the air. Triple las-beams hissed across the sky, accompanied by a fusillade of boltshells and high-velocity slugs from the Predators and Rhinos. Volleys of blue-green lasrifle fire streaked through the air. Glittering streaks of light erupted from the windows of the buildings as the psyker-xenos joined in the fray, their horn-lasers dispersing harmlessly across the metallic armour of the Heldrake.

It was a simple rule of warfare that non-specialized, ground-based weapons had great difficultly accurately striking airborne targets. Another simple rule was that any target could be hit and damaged if sufficient firepower was applied.

The Heldrake stumbled in its flight. Tongues of flame burst from rent wounds in its armour. Hunks of Warp-twisted metal fell clattering to the corpse-ridden streets. The mechanical monster screamed in pain as the barrage ripped into its poorly protected rear. Yet for every hit, a dozen rounds missed, and for all their killing power, the Blood Angels could not quite land enough blows. The Heldrake roared flame into the sky, defying its enemies and declaring to all that it yet functioned.

Marco swapped out the magazine in his boltpistol, praying to the Emperor for the protection he knew they would need when the Heldrake made its second pass.

Then, what seemed to Marco’s eyes to be a miracle occurred. Daemonic energies built up in the chest of the Heldrake. Arcs of Warp-lightning wreathed its body in impossible colours. Metal plates buckled outward. Its claws ripped open, dropping a small, blue object. The Heldrake snaked its neck back and unleashed one last scream of fire.

Then it died, exploding in a blaze of Warpfire the forced even the Astartes to, if only for a moment, shield their eyes. Its dead husk fell from the skies, slamming into the street and rending a long, deep trench.

Without a word, Dabriel gestured Marco and their two fellows forward. Marco hefted his heavy flamer once again and took point, marching but a few steps ahead of his sergeant. Alessandro led the rest of the squad, and as one the eight Space Marines marched towards the fallen Heldrake.

Through the smoke and ruin, the Astartes perceived a strange sight. A pink-furred xenos stood, unnervingly calm amidst the wreckage. On its back rested another xenos, blue-curred and wearing scraps of what once had been some manner of uniform. Its fur bore streaks of black char, and great splotches of congealed blood covered much of what remained. One of its wings was bent at what even Marco knew was not a natural angle. The pink xenos wore its mane flat against the side of its head, and had a strangely human expression of sorrow in its eyes. It walked forward, its steps slow and measured, shifting slightly so as to keep its unconscious cargo secure.

The Blood Angels said not a word. They kept their weapons raised and ready, and each kept an eye firmly locked on the xenos, but beyond that they ignored it. The xenos possessed no weapons; it had not even the horn the local psykers all possessed. It posed no threat, and so it was ignored as it trotted past them.

They spread out, forming a circle around the felled dragon. Each Marine kept his weapon leveled, ready to fire at the first sign of unlife. The sound of armoured hooves clapping against the ground heralded the arrival of Shining Armor and its guard.

“Pinkie Pie! What’re you doing here?” Shining Armor asked as it galloped to the pink xenos. “Rainbow Dash? How did…”

The pink xenos, Pinkie Pie, sighed sadly. “She’s hurt real bad, Shiny, real bad. We gotta get her outta here really quickly, or, or she…”
Pinkie started sniffling. Shining laid a hoof on its shoulder.

“Sergeant Bulwark! Assemble a detail and escort these two back to the bridge!” Shining ordered. “I’m not letting my sister’s best friends die on my watch!”

“Oh no, I’m not going, not yet,” Pinkie said as two of Shining’s guards took the blue xenos off its shoulders. “Rainbow’s safe now, but we’ve still got a lot to do before we’re done here. But don’t worry, Shiny, be happy! We’ll still get outta this.”

Marco blinked. It was a brief action, even by the standards of blinking. Yet somehow, in the microsecond his eyes were closed, Pinkie disappeared.

The Blood Angels froze in place. It was a flinch so subtle that not a one of the xenos noticed it, but that it happened at all left Marco disturbed. What manner of xenos have we found?

A xenos voice called out in the distance. “Somepony get Triage over here, now! I need unicorns keeping her stable! She’s alive, and I intend to keep her that way!”

Shining Armor and his guard trotted up to join the Blood Angels, who had started forming a perimeter around the Heldrake.

“What in Tartarus is this thing?” the one the xenos called Sturdy Pike asked.

“A Heldrake,” Dabriel answered, his newfound plasma pistol leveled quite firmly at the monster’s broken skull. “A daemonic engine. It was once an aircraft, but years in the Immaterium have left it, well…”

“By Celestia…” Shining cussed under its breath. It spoke in so quiet a tone as to seem silent to his fellows. To the gene-forged ears of the Astartes, the xenos commander may as well have shouted from the rooftops. His next words were louder, openly intended for his Space Marine audience.

“This is what we’re fighting? I’ve seen hot air balloons, read a few research proposals, but this? What sorcery produces…”
Shining’s words trailed off as the sound of stomping feet grew louder.

“What now?” it asked, exasperated. It turned and groaned.

From the alleyways which littered the streets of the xenos city came pouring hordes of Chaos cultists. Drawn, Marco suspected, by the call of the Heldrake, they were now bearing down on the disorganized column.

“Battle-brothers! Make ready!” Alessandro boomed, aiming his inferno pistol at the cultists. “Chaos has seen fit to send us fuel for our prayers! Let us make full use of their foolish gift!”

Squad Murata formed up, placing a carefully spaced line of boltguns between the cultists and the squad’s special weapons. Marco double-checked the fuel on his heavy flamer, while Severo slammed a fresh magazine into his meltagun. Dabriel raised his power sword and leveled his plasma pistol at the cultists.

Beside them, Shining Armor and his guard fell into formation, placing their heaviest armour in front and their psykers in back. Shining’s horn glowed, erecting a dense purple shield around his squad.

The Chaos horde ran screaming down the street.

“Advance!” Alessandro commanded. With footsteps so well timed as to seem to comprise only two feet, Squad Murata marched forward. Shining Armor followed at their side, his guards matching he Blood Angels step for step.

A cacophony of staccato booms echoed down the street as the vehicles opened fire. Storm bolters and heavy bolters fired en masse, filling the air with boltshells. An almost continuous scream erupted from the assault cannons. Lascannon and lasrifle beams hissed through the hot air. Glittering alien pysker-beams burst from the windows. But a few seconds later, the roar of flame joined the deadly orchestra.

Cultists died. Bodies were rent apart, blood and bone and gore showering the screaming horde. Some cultists simply vaporized, lascannon fire reducing them to no more than dust. Hungry flames consumed those unlucky enough to charge near the Baal Predator. Even the xenos beams took their toll, though at a much slower pace. The initial barrage did little more than slow the cultists. A rainbow of lights peppered the cultist horde, dissipating on makeshift armour and the machinations of Tzeentch. Those first few to leave any mark did little but bruise the maddened heretics.

Then, it happened; a single, lucky beam punched through the chest of a cultist, sending the mutant sprawling to the ground. Within mere moments, more of his unholy brethren joined him in the grave.

Yet still they came, screaming unholy praises to the Warp-gods. Marco could see the Marks of all four of the Ruinous Powers displayed amongst the horde. There, a band of Khornates frothing blood from their malformed lips. There, Nurglites slogging through the corpses of their fallen brethren, their bloated flesh absorbing rounds like Astartes armour. For all the firepower they faced, the cultists kept charging, spurred on by the false promises of the dark gods.

The Space Marines needed no orders. The moment the cultists set but a foot inside the range of their boltgun, they opened fire. A wall of exploding death met the screaming horde. In the full sense of things, the addition of Astartes firepower did little to alter the outcome of the charge; three Predators and two Rhinos provided far more guns than a diminished squad of Space Marines. But, as the Imperium had learned in its many wars with the Orks, more firepower was never a bad decision.

Shining’s guards joined the firing line, adding their own glittering beams to those of their fellows. They proved slightly more accurate than the other xenos, and their beams began felling cultists slightly sooner. The cultists, though diminished, still charged.

“Marco!” Dabriel shouted as he and Severo added their firepower.

With a smile beneath his helm, Marco thumbed the pilot light on his heavy flamer. A second later, he yanked back the trigger and unleashed an inferno of death upon the cultists.

A half dozen fell within the first few seconds. More joined them soon after.

At that moment, it seemed Marco’s heavy flamer made all the difference. The cultist charge at last stalled, held in place by psykery, boltshells, melta spray, plasma, and the roar of open flame. Slowly, a wall of corpses began to form, the cultist ranks depleted sufficiently by the other xenos and the vehicles to be easily annihilated by Squad Murata.

Then, a primal roar erupted from the Blood Angels firing line. Every Space Marine took a step back from its source. Every Space Marine except one.

Brother Jagus screamed at the top of his lungs and charged, spraying boltshells with wild abandon as he rushed the cultist line.
In the brief moment the Blood Angels had stayed their fusillade, the cultists made their move. They surged forward, meeting Jagus’ charge with their own.

“May the Warp take you, Jagus!” Alessandro bellowed. He turned to Squad Murata. “With me! We are now committed to the charge! For Sanguinius…”

“And the Emperor!” Squad Murata bellowed. The seven Blood Angels charged after their blood-crazed brother.

“Are you insane?” Shining Armor called after them. “Tartarus, ponies! We’re going in after them! For the Crystal Empire!”

“For the Crystal Empire!” the xenos guards roared as they galloped into the fray.

Jagus was the first to meet the cultist line, bolter and boltpistol both raised and firing. Such was the Thirst which had overtaken him that he broke the cultist line by himself, crushing bones and rending flesh with nothing but the weight of his guns and the strength of his fists. Cultists surged around him, striking back with the fury of Khorne, the endurance of Nurgle, the speed of Slaanesh, and the sorcerous shields of Tzeentch. Given time, they could have eventually brought him down, the sheer number of their blows wearing through his armour and the numbness of his bloodthirsty veins.

But time was a resource which they severely lacked.

Alessandro led the bulk of the charge, laying into the cultists with his blessed Crozius Arcanum. Sergeant Dabriel came just behind, his power sword scything through Warp-cursed flesh like wheat. Marco followed with the rest of Squad Murata, snapping heretic bones with his ceramite-clad hands.

The Space Marines tore through the cultist lines, the mad brother Jagus leading the way. Somewhere in the midst of the throng Shining Armor and his guards fought, but Marco cared nothing for them. Close combat was the love of every Blood Angel; it was the outlet by which they held the Flaw at bay. No matter their station or rank, every Son of the Angel thirsted for the chance to fight their enemies hand to hand. Marco was no different, his blood aflame as he spilt the blood of the heretics.

The cultist line shattered at last. The combined firepower from the xenos psykers, the human conscripts, the Rhinos, and the Predators devastated their reserves, while Jagus’ charge broke those that remained. Xenos and Space Marines alike swept through the cultists, leaving a field of corpses in their wake. What few cultists could fled the field, retreating into the alleyways from which they had come.

Jagus followed them. Somewhere in the fight his helm had disappeared, and in his now-bared face the truth of his madness was made evident. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and his blood-soaked jaw hung open like the maw of a starving wolf. His guns long since dried of ammunition, he chased after the cultists with nothing more than his bare hands, gibbering incoherently as he searched for fresh sources of crimson vitae.

“Marco, Arman! With me!” Alessandro commanded as he dashed after their mad brother. “Dabriel! Command is yours until I return! Find Orlando and Priam!”

Marco dashed after the Chaplain, hefting his heavy flamer, ready to purge any who dared stand between Alessandro and Jagus. Nothing would distract them from their duty, not now. A Blood Angel had fallen victim to the Red Thirst, and it was their solemn duty to rectify his failing.
_______

It was quite a stressful time for the already rather high-strung Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Their escape from the Police Station had been quite narrow. The hordes of Chaos invaders had kept them pinned in, and that horrifying metal dragon had posed quite the problem. Thankfully, something had grabbed the dragon’s attention and dragged it away. One daring breakout attempt later, and most of them had managed to escape down the street, destroying Chaos vehicles and just killing so many ponies, peoples, whatever!

It was sickening, just how much death was around her. She was the Princess of Friendship, not a soldier, not a killer!

Irritatingly, that particular sentiment was becoming harder and harder to hold onto with every passing minute.

“Even in death I serve!” Castello boomed as he cleaved through another Chaos Rhino, his Blood Talons shimmering with blue-white energy. The Dreadnought had been the speartip of their escape. His armour was all but invincible; alien projectiles shattered uselessly against it like rotten apples against the white walls of Canterlot. Chaos had little to match the killing power of Castello’s scything claws, and between them and the massive flamethrower and killing tube, meltagun, he had mounted on his arms, any-alien who got in his way died rather horribly. But even for one as mighty as Castello, the battle was taking its toll. The escape had cost him dearly, and even now fluids of various colours spewed from tears on his chassis. Spots of char ruined his paintjob, and many of his decals had been damaged or outright destroyed. He moved slower now than when he had first advanced on the Police Station, his legs damaged by the attacks of the steel-armoured aliens.

At Castello’s side fought Paolo. His advance was as steady as it was relentless. The massive slab of decorated metal he claimed as a shield was hung out in front of him, absorbing and blocking almost every attack Chaos threw at him. For his part Paolo never stopped advancing. Nothing could so much as so him, save for the heft of his massive hammer. It was a terribly unwieldy weapon, something so massive Twilight could barely accept it existed, let alone be used in battle. But used it was, and to terrible effectiveness. Though it took time to raise the hammer, when it fell it was like the wrath of Faust falling from the heavens. Whenever its massive head made contact with some physical thing, it emitted a massive explosion of blue energy, tearing through any armour that dared oppose it, and even killing anyone unlucky enough to be standing nearby.

The bloody explosion of one of the smaller invaders, a Chaos Cultist, if Twilight remembered correctly, brought her attention to the other Blood Angel fighting at Castello’s side, the wizard Renato. His advance was as steady as his fellows. His killing box, Storm Bolter, spat death with every step. It was little compared to Castello’s flames, but every bit helped. More useful than his Storm Bolter, however, was his magic prowess. Supernatural power wreathed about his ornate sword, and with that hand he cast his strange war-spells. With the flick of a wrist, he could make his opponents explode like bombs made of blood, and when tougher enemies opposed him, he could throw blood-red lances from his fingertip. His sword cleaved through any foe foolish enough to come within his reach.

Just a bit further ahead the rest of their Blood Angels allies bounded through the air, sowing death and discord among the alien ranks. They jumped back and forth, striking like a serpent before retreating to try again elsewhere.

For her part, Twilight was leading the police-ponies. She and Starlight Glimmer provided the example by which the police-ponies fought, spewing beams of glittering magic into the invader ranks. Every unicorn in the Manehatten Police Department had joined them, as had a number of civilian unicorns conscripted to the cause of staying alive, at least, all those that could still fight. For all the power at their disposal, it was still a battle, and casualties were mounting.

“Copperfoot, Blue Jacket, pick that pony up and git ‘er to the medics!” Police Chief By-The-Book shouted as he trotted up beside Twilight.
“Horseapples, Princess, what are we even doing? Do we even know where we’re goin’? I got two dozen wounded, and half that many dead. We can’t keep this up for much longer!”

“We have to, Chief,” Twilight answered. “Or we’re going to have more than a dozen dead.”

It was in brief moments of total lucidity like this, when the adrenaline pounding through her veins abated for just a second, that Twilight deeply hated how easy words like ‘death’ and ‘kill’ now came to her.

“He’s right, Twilight,” Starlight said as she paused to catch her breath. “We’ve got to find shelter, or an escape, or something! We can’t keep fighting forever!”

“We already did something like that, remember?” Twilight replied. “If we can keep fighting through an infinite number of alternate universes, we’ve got to be able to get through downtown Manehatten!”

“Ma’am, we ain’t in downtown,” By-The-Book said. “We got turned north a couple streets back. At this rate, we’ll make Times Square in the next hour.”

Twilight tensed. She quickly reviewed what information they had: Chaos was invading Manehatten, the Blood Angels had arrived as reinforcements and more were supposed to be on their way, hundreds if not thousands of innocent ponies were dead, murdered by…

“Twilight, snap out of it!” Spike shook the Princess of Friendship out of her analytic daze. “Focus, Twilight, don’t just get lost in thought.”

“You’re right, Spike,” Twilight said. She shook her head. “Okay, Chief, if the Blood Angels are bringing more reinforcements, where would they have to come?”

“The Manehatten Bridge, of course,” By-The Book grumbled in response. “How else would’ja git here?”

Twilight, caught up in thought, failed to notice the inherent jab in that statement. “Okay, By-The-Book, can you get up to the Bridge?”

“Ma’am, I’ve been police chief for twenty years,” he answered. “Getting from Saddle Row to the Bridge is nothing.”

“Wait, Saddle Row?” Starlight asked with a gulp. “Isn’t that where Rarity went?”

“Oh my gosh!” Spike exclaimed. “Twilight, we have to find her!”

Before anypony could respond to the baby dragon, a surprisingly refined scream ripped through the air. Twilight, Starlight, By-The-Book, and Spike all turned to see Rarity herself dashing up the street, closely pursed by a band of cultists.

“Don’t worry, Rarity, I’ll save you!” Spike shouted as he ran towards the ivory-coated unicorn.

“Spike, wait!” Twilight cried. Spike paid her no heed. Flaring out her wings, Twilight soared in pursuit.

Starlight groaned. “Why am I always left behind?”

“Xenos!” Renato called. “Fire support on the left flank, now!”

Starlight spun and opened fire, grumbling under her breath. “This had better count as a friendship lesson, Twilight.”

Under normal circumstances, Twilight, though nowhere near as fast or skilled a flyer as a born Pegasus, was nonetheless a rather fast flyer, certainly fast enough to outpace Spike’s waddling steps. Today, however, was a day of unusual circumstances, and Spike was driven by the power of his heart. To Twilight’s shock and horror, the baby dragon reached Rarity first, though only by a split second.

That was all he needed.

The purple dragon lunged into the air, viridian flame spewing from his mouth. Though she had no time to process the information, Twilight could swear she saw him grow by a couple inches in that lunge. His dragon’s fire burned through the cultists, searing through their poorly armoured flesh and melting their fetid insides. They fell dead where they stood, their lives struck from them before they even understood what was happening.

Spike barely even noticed. All he cared about in that moment was Rarity’s safety.

“Are you alright, Rarity?” he asked. Twilight landed beside him.

Rarity moaned and rubbed her forehead. As she caught Spike in her gaze she immediately threw her forehooves around him in a hug. “Oh, thank you for saving me from those ruffians, er, darling! Why, how can I ever repay you?”

Spike blushed as Rarity battered her eyelashes at him. He scratched the back of his head. “It was nothing, really… I’m just glad I could help you…”

“What Spike means to say is we’re really glad you’re safe, Rarity,” Twilight interjected. “I’ve love to talk a bit more, but we’ve got to get moving, and we need all the help we can get. Think you can give up a little extra firepower?”

“Oh, so sorry, darling,” Rarity as, rubbing her forehead against. “I’m afraid these ruffians damaged my horn. It’s just not safe for me to use any magic right now.”

“Don’t worry, Rarity,” Spike said, puffing out his chest. “I’ll protect you!”

“Oh, so brave!” Rarity said, swooning before the baby dragon. “Why, thank you, Spike!”

Twilight groaned. She didn’t have time for… whatever she was looking at. Something about it felt… off, but she didn’t have the brain-space to figure it out. Whatever it was, it could wait until they were safe.

“Come on, Starlight’s going to need my help,” Twilight said, gesturing to the slowly advancing column of police-ponies, rescued civilians, and Blood Angels. “And we need to get moving, now.”

“Quite right, darling,” Rarity said. “Come along, Spike, we mustn’t keep everypony waiting.”

With a sigh, Twilight soared back to Starlight’s side, once again plying her magical craft for the defense of the column. Spike and Rarity soon caught up, joining the band of civilians they had been slowly rescuing throughout this very long day.

As Twilight fired bolt after magical bolt, she wondered just how much longer this day would go on.

Though she didn’t quite know the answer, somehow, deep down, she knew it wasn’t one she was going to like.

Author's Note

Sorry about the delays. It’s been a busy fortnight. But now I’m free for a bit, and I’m… actually, given my track record I’m not going to make any promises about updates. I’ll just say you’ll get them when they’re ready, and I have a lot of time on my hands.

I’ve started re-writing minor details in some of the earlier scenes. I’ve always know where we’re going and the major stops on the way, but exactly what happens on the road to the climax and what we’ll find have been (and to a degree remain) in flux. As such, there are a couple continuity errors and some misaimed foreshadowing. I’ve also changed the capitalization style a bit, so that’ll get retrofitted soon enough. Over the next while I’ll be going back and bringing the whole story into line. May even add in the scene where Domenico and Redheart meet. I’ll mention in the Author’s Notes section of the chapters that get edited what (roughly) I’ve changed.

As a bit of an aside, that bit with the Heldrake? Roughly speaking, that actually happened to me. I had a few Sanguinary Guard, some Tactical and Assault Marines, and a couple HQs, and I managed to remain technically in combat with an enemy squad until my opponent’s Assault phase, when I finished them off. That meant his Heldrake, which had only just come in, had to fly past my guys without hurting them. I grabbed a Skyfire nexus and opened fire, reducing it to a single Hull Point that it lost the next turn while trying to regenerate. That was an awesome game.

And finally, well, dang. “The Time They Are a Changeling” kind of throws a wrench in some of my plans. Sort of. So I’m going to just quickly establish a couple things:

This story begins shortly after “Stranger than Fanfiction,” but before the rest of Season 6. Elements from those episodes may or may not be incorporated, but none of them have occurred as far as this story is concerned.

Thorax will get slated for an appearance, though exactly how I’ll work him in needs some thought. You’ll get a better sense of why as the story develops.

To be clear, I really liked the episode. It’s just that it upsets a couple plot arcs for this story.
Oh yeah, and this chapter’s stats.

Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship 70 points
Twilight Sparkle: WS3 BS4 S3 T3 W3 I4 A2 Ld8 Sv4+/5++
Unit Type: Jetbike
Unit Composition: 1 (unique)
Wargear: Unicorn Horn, Pegasi Wings
Special Rules: Unicorn Horn, Pegasi Wings, Stubborn, Princess of Equestria, Independent Character, Psyker Mastery Level 3
Twilight Sparkle can generate powers from the Biomancy, Telepathy, Telekinesis, Pyromancy, Equestrian, and Divination disciplines.
Options:
May take Spike the Baby Dragon – 10pts

Spike the Baby Dragon 10 points
Spike: WS2 BS2 S4 T2 W1 I3 A2 Ld6 Sv6+
Unit Type: Infantry
Unit Composition: 1 (unique)
Wargear: Dragonflame, Baby Dragon Scales
Special Rules: Dragonflame Letters, Furious Charge, Dragon Code

New Special Rules:

Element of Harmony: a squad that has at least one model with this rule cannot be subject to a Sweeping Advance. If the squad would be subject to a Sweeping Advance, they instead remain locked in combat. In addition, any model with this special rule as a 5+ invulnerable save.

Dragonflame Letters: Once per phase, this model can send a letter to a single other squad, at any time during the phase. If the model does so, the selected squad can use the highest leadership value in the letter-sending model’s squad instead of their own.
Dragon Code: a model with this special rule automatically passes the Initiative test to attempt Glorious Intervention.

Princess of Equestra: all units within 12” of a model with this rule may use the model’s leadership value instead of their own. As well, if a squad which includes a model with this rule would be subject to a Sweeping Advance, that squad instead remains locked in combat. This rule also grants a 5+ Invulnerable save to the model.

New Wargear:

Baby Dragon Scales: grants a 6+ armour save

Dragonflame: S User AP4 Template