A gentle but chilly autumn breeze was the only thing that disturbed the pre-dawn stillness of the Hammerslide Peaks. A worn path wove its way amongst the grey rocks and pale-green grass. The wide but rough path was the best route between the countless slopes, cliffs, and boulders. The path was well-maintained - free of ruts and other obstructions. Yet despite this, the road was deserted, for few traveled this road by choice. Any travelers other than soldiers and supply trains were virtually unknown.
But today, a lone batpony would prove a notable exception to the rule. He sat resting at the edge of a ridge, casting his stern gaze over the valley before him. His coat was a pale tan, his mane shaggy and pitch-black. His eyes were piercing yellow - fitting for how expertly his gaze penetrated the darkness. For many ponies, the darkness would still have been too great for them to appreciate the view - but for batponies, the darkness was no barrier.
His form was covered in tough monster-hide armor - durable yet light enough to move easily in. Its appearance was macabre to most ponies, however, who didn’t necessarily like the idea of a dead creature’s flesh - even that of a monster’s - being worn on the body, even as protection. This particular armor’s rough appearance was accentuated by by its dark coloration and expertly-mended but still visible tears and scars, as gruesome in appearance as if they were the scars of the pony beneath.
Around each forehoof was a metal brace, and each side of the brace held a sturdy, bladed spike. Traditional weapons of batponies, particularly who fight in mid-air, these “Batars” were powerful, versatile, and symbolic of the Nighthaunters’ fighting style, when they chose to engage in direct combat - forceful yet precise, and brutally up-close. They could slice, but were more often used as “punching daggers” - stabbing into enemies with all the force a pony’s leg could muster.
Though this batpony was not equipped with them, variants existed for the hind legs, whether for slashing at foes in flight, or to deliver spiked bucks to enemies behind them. The joke amongst soldiers of ponykind was that a batpony was not considered armed until five of six ends were pointy - for some batponies even had devices attached to their tails, hooks and blades which could be used with a flick of a tail. Rumor had it that when batpony smiths heard this joke, they immediately set out to make a device to make the sixth “end” pointy as well, by turning a batpony’s jaws into a deadly weapon.
This batpony traveled light, however - with few weapons and simple armor. Though he carried saddlebags, they were light and designed to be able to be dropped at a moment’s notice if a fight broke out. Inside, there was only emergency rations, and the most basic of travel supplies.
There was no form of identification on his body or in his pockets. To those who merely saw him in passing, he was nopony. For those he cared to speak to, he was simply Strix. But his Cutie Mark, hidden beneath his armor, told a more complex story: It was of shadowy bird of prey swooping down upon a hapless imp; a Cutie Mark in fighting evil, though not every pony would interpret it as such. But its meaning was clear to the countless forms of evil in the world. He was one of the Nighthaunters - one of many brotherhoods of heroic ponies, but one of the few that cared nothing for heroics - only of death and terror to the enemies of ponykind. Though they all had Cutie Marks in fighting evil, like other ponies who would be called heroes without question, Nighthaunters were rather different in how they pursued their destiny. Nighthaunters were much more dark and violent in their actions against evil, dedicated and ruthless in a way that gave other ponies pause. When ponies thought of heroes, often what came to mind were bold, courageous, and charismatic warriors, who led the charge against evil and never let anything darken their hearts. They didn't think of the Nighthaunters, they who cloaked themselves in shadows, holding their rage and hatred at bay - until the perfect moment to strike arrived.
It was a lonely existence, with little praise and little respect. But Nighthaunters were the type to run off of nothing but hatred of evil. It was not just their armor and their weapon, but the whip that drove them on when other ponies would collapse from exhaustion. Nothing would stand in the way of a Nighthaunter and their current target - Evil must always be destroyed, no matter what form it took. So even though Strix, a Nighthaunter journeying alone into a lonely land, had nothing but rage to guide him, it would be enough - enough for him to track his target, a lone pony, through Hell and back if need be.
Though he specialized in hunting monsters, monsters sometimes existed in pony form, only to reveal their evil at the most hurtful moment. That this monster had been a fellow Nighthaunter - and his own sister - meant only that this was about revenge as well as simple destruction of evil. And for a Nighthaunter who sought retribution, there was no price to great to pay.
He had one thing in mind - the former Nighthaunter named Shrike, and how she would die.
As dawn grew closer and closer, the area slowly became bathed in the cool, but unique glow of twilight. All around him, the ridges and slopes of Hammerslide’s rock formations descended into a shallow yet narrow valley that cut through the peaks. This valley was the largest and most reliable route through the mountains to the Rockwood Region - a land long since overtaken by monsters. It was for that reason that a large stone fortress, Fort Mistwall, sat - or perhaps squatted - in the middle of the valley. It was a haphazard, hastily constructed fortress, looking less like a stern guardian of ponykind and more like an obese pony blocking an aisle in a food market, but it had served its purpose in the eleven years since its completion. No force of monsters, or undead, nor even the attempted sabotage by evil cultists three years ago, had caused the fortress to crumble. Still, there was a first time for everything, and the brave ponies guarding it remained ever-vigilant.
The fortress was, really more imposing that one would have expected. It was once little more than a checkpoint along a trade route, but when pony society in the Rockwood Region began to collapse, it was quickly fortified and expanded - with more haste than forethought. The builders had never stopped trying to improve on the flawed structure, however, with the result that it now boasted two separate defensive walls, countless guard towers, anti-air wards, and fortified barracks - and an insane layout that was probably a “defense” in its own right. The haphazard arrangement was visible even from Strix’s location, and it certainly looked like it would be a nightmare for those unfamiliar with it. He had even heard rumors that the compound was haunted by the phantasms of evil cultists still trying to find the targets they were supposed to sabotage.
Strix stopped staring at the fortress and shook his head. Here he was, getting lost in the intricacies of the compound, and he hadn’t even reached it yet. His rest was over, and he needed to proceed. He stood and spread his wings, leaping off the ridge and gliding down towards the fortress’ rear gate. Strix wished to arrive quickly, to have as much time before sunset to sleep inside the safety of the fortress, before he set out into the dangerous Rockwood Region.
But as Strix approached, he heard something distinctive, carrying even across the distance to the fortress - the sound of bells clanging in alarm. He quickened his place, flapping his wings as the anticipation of battle set in, as adrenaline flowed through his veins and fury flowed through his heart.
Strix landed just before reaching the gate - attempting to fly over it would be unwise. He wasn’t sure what types of magic protected the walls from unwelcome flyers - most likely gravity spells with special targeting matrices, yanking down any object that wasn’t in direct contact with the ground. Instead he galloped up to the gate and shouted over the bells and sounds of weapons, in a gruff but strong voice, “Open the gates if you want any help!”
For a moment there was no answer, and then they gates flew open towards him as a massive, rotting abomination stumbled through them on two legs, a small group of scattered and battered soldier ponies in its wake
“Good enough,” Strix muttered.
The thing before him - known as a “Stitch” - focused its eyes on him. The beast stood as tall as five ponies on each other’s shoulders, with massive limbs and a tiny head, featureless except for a pair of eyes, fit only for receiving orders from whatever foul mage had created it. Its left arm ended in wicked claws, the right in a misshapen club of metal. The monster was a horror of magic and tailoring, stitched together from the muscles and bones of countless bodies, then animated together as an undead battering ram.
Strix shifted into battle-stance as the Stitch’s claw-arm tensed. The abomination swung its claws across at him, but with a reverse flap of his wings he pushed himself to the ground. It tried to backhand him with the same arm, aiming lower, but he launched himself into the air before it could hit him. In a split-second he flipped a latch on each batar claw-blade, shifting the blades to point downwards, aligning with the line of his forelegs, and with another flap of his wings he slammed into the claw-arm’s elbow, plunging his Batar claw-blades into its and tearing until the forearm went limp.
The Stitch flailed with its arms as best it could, shaking Strix off and causing him to fly back to a safe distance. Scratch damage would do little to the monstrosity, Strix knew - he needed to inflict serious harm, and fast.
The monster swung its club-arm overhead at him - a quick dodge to the right, and the club hit the ground hard. In the same moment, Strix darted towards the elbow joint of the club-arm, stabbing hard into it while propelling himself towards its head. The head, though small compared to the body, was as big as his torso, its dead eyes staring at him as he approached, expressionless. Strix rammed into the head and began stabbing furiously at it, cutting deeply with each punch. But his eyes weren’t on his target - his head was turned around, watching behind him. The moment he was waiting for came - the monster swung its arms up, blindly trying to crush him, but he slipped to the side, and the monster’s limbs crashed into its face instead.
The Stitch reeled, stumbling, and fell over backwards to the ground. It writhed, attempting to stand up, but Strix slammed hard into its chest, digging his claws in - and was joined by the nearby soldier ponies, now regrouped and piling onto and around the monster, stabbing their weapons repeatedly into it until it finally lay still.
Still atop the scarred and torn Stitch, resetting his batars to “walking” mode, Strix looked down at one of the armored soldiers around him, a soldier with a modest rank crest on his helmet and with a spear buried in the Stitch’s head. “Has the fortress been overrun?” He asked simply.
“No, we were just chasing this one, it was wandering through the fort.” The sergeant withdrew his spear. “But there are still other monsters! They’ve broken through the front gates of the first wall and are trying to spread into the camp!” He turned and galloped back through the gates, Strix following close behind. After they passed through, the sergeant shouted an order for a trio of soldiers to remain and quickly close the gate, before galloping into the fortress with the rest of his squad.
Strix took only a moment to drop his saddlebags before taking flight after them, joining a pair of pegasi above the group. The sergeant shouted at him, “Who are you, anyway!?”
“Strix. The rest can wait. There are monsters to kill.”
Whether the sergeant realized Strix was a Nighthaunter or not, he seemed to accept this, and he had no more questions for the batpony, leaving Strix with only the sounds of battle to fill his ears.
Less than a minute passed before they began to approach. Stray monsters began to appear - an armed skeleton, or a cloaked ghost - but a slam from a soldier’s hooves or a blast from a mage’s staff did away with them. But when they arrived at the courtyard between the first and second defensive walls, things were more chaotic. The gates of both had been broken open despite being placed on different sections of their respective walls, and ponies were fighting undead monsters of all types and sizes, with an occasional shadowy demon or cloaked pony cultist aiding the attackers. To the soldiers’ credit, the onslaught had not broken their resolve - and the monsters had only cleared out a space in front of the outer gate, and only stragglers had gotten past the sturdy formations of the defenders, who had sealed off the breach in the inner wall and had contained the invaders to the space in front of the outer gate. Blades cut through air and flesh alike, arrows struck true, and every few seconds a spell ripped through clusters of undead or crippled powerful monsters.
But this was still a battle. No battle was without casualties - and every battle was easier with a skilled monster hunter on hoof. Strix’s purpose was clear: save as many ponies as possible, the only way he knew how, by ripping apart every monster in his way.
His first target was a demon with the body of a large pony - yet where a pony’s head would have been, instead its torso continued upward, with a set of clawed arms holding a wicked axe and a grinning, feral head at the top - a savage Centaur. It had seized a solder in one claw and had raised its axe to strike, only to drop its weapon with a howl when Strix slammed into its upper body and stabbed a batar into its shoulder. It dropped the soldier to free its good arm and clawed at Strix, only for him to buck the claw away with both hind legs and slice into the Centaur’s neck as the freed solder rammed a spear deep into the demon’s lower body. Wounded from above and below, the Centaur collapsed to the ground, wasting its last moments snarling at a foe who had already moved to his next target.
Strix leapt from foe to foe, fighting with the deadly fury of a Nighthaunter in a massed battle, lingering only as long as it took to deliver the killing blow - and for most of his foes he didn’t bother to stop moving first, launching a single, deadly strike while at the same time launching himself towards the next foe. Battle lines meant nothing to him - he went where the enemy was, where he could destroy the most evil in the shortest amount of time, each foe just a link in a chain of destruction.
It was when the chain ended abruptly - as he pinned a zombie brute to the ground with one hoof and drove a batar into its spine in the same motion - that Strix found himself with space to spare, his path to other foes blocked by the advancing soldiers as they regained ground, pushing the few remaining monsters back to the broken gate. But in that moment of stillness, Strix heard something - and felt that same thing where his hooves touched the ground, the punctuated rumble of massive, heavy footfalls. The next moment, a pegasus lookout above called out, “Gauss Colossus approaching!”
Strix’s ears twitched. There was no foe known to ponykind that a Nighthaunter was not prepared to fight. But there were some enemies that no sane monster hunter looked forward to battling. As the rumbling grew louder, Strix took flight, moving towards the broken gate to get an early view of the mechanical monstrosity as it approached.
The machine stood on two legs, and despite its hunched posture it was still even bigger than the Stitch that Strix had fought. It looked like a giant suit of metal plate armor, moving with precision despite its mass. Unlike the Stitch, it was not bulky, but instead was more slender, almost athletic, its body and limbs taking up no more space than what was required for the machinery inside. It, like all Gauss devices, was once a marvel of ponykind’s knowledge and technology, until the arrival of evil in the world and the collapse of the old civilizations. Even after over a century, this machine, like many other Gauss devices, still functioned smoothly, its armor and weapons still pristine enough to defend itself and whatever lost ruin it had previously protected.
Yet this Gauss Colossus was no sentinel, guarding hidden places without rest. It had clearly been tainted by evil, now serving alongside undead and demons. Its armor was pitted and torn from where evil beings had battled it and won, and the crystal in its head - used to perceive and judge its surroundings - glowed a deep crimson instead of a crystal blue, as if seething with the malice of the dark magic used to corrupt it. Its purpose was not to defend - it was to attack and destroy.
It advanced steadily towards the open gate, a lance held in its right arm, lightly sparking with unearthly power - an Oscillator Lance, made in forgotten days to be the Colossus’ primary weapon. Its left arm was supposed to hold a large triangular shield, point facing upward, not meant to protect itself but to be placed near to the ground protect pony soldiers as they advanced. Now, however, its left hand was replaced with a giant cleaver made of rusted scrap metal, as though its original hand had been torn off in battle, and this crude weapon installed in its place. It was a grim sight - a marvel of technology and precision in one hand, a savage improvised blade in the other, and between the two was the body of a once-noble machine, now scarred and enslaved by the ones who destroyed its creators.
Yet Strix felt nothing for the tragedy the machine represented. It was an enemy. Enemies were to be destroyed, no matter what - or who - they were, or once had been.
Bolts and arrows flew towards the machine as it advanced, trying and failing to find weak points in its armor or strike its sensor eye. Battlemages sent blasts of magic at it or called down spells - yet each magical attack was blocked by a red, transparent barrier that formed around it in response to each blast, twisting and spinning under the onslaught like a tornado.
As it passed through the gates, seeming to stare down contemptuously at the soldiers below, Strix sprung into action. A Nighthaunter preferred to strike from the shadows if possible, or take advantage of the chaos of battle - but sometimes there was no option but to be the first to charge. But as he charged the Colossus, it swiped at him with the flat of its clever, as though it were swatting a fly. Strix dove, but he had not been expecting to have to dodge the full width of its blade, and it clipped his wings and the tip of his helmet, knocking him to the ground. Strix rolled to his feet and away from the machine’s foot which casually stepped where he had just been. It walked over him, not seeming to care about the foe it was disregarding.
Perfect for Strix, of course - underestimating a Nighthaunter was just one of countless fatal mistakes one can make when fighting the batpony hunting elite. Strix leapt into the air, driving a batar hard into the joint between leg and hip, , where a glimpse of exposed machinery could be seen through the gaps of its armor. Another stab, and something snapped inside - and it was not his blades.
The Colossus halted, and turned its torso to look at Strix. As it moved, Strix spotted a gem embedded in its back - a magical device, and obviously not part of its original design. Perhaps it was responsible for the mana shield protecting it from spells. Either way, it looked important, and Strix doubted its combat protocols had been updated to protect it. He kicked off from his position on the Colossus’ leg, and flew towards the device on its back, but the machine’s hip joint spun, rapidly rotating its torso around to face him, and keeping him from attacking the shield generator.
But Strix didn’t need to attack it himself. The thing about ponies - if a hero charges, others will follow.
Pegasi lancers were now circling it, striking at exposed locations. The mages had begun to use spells to enhance the soldiers - some warriors were now gifted with crystalline wings and struck alongside the pegasi, while others charged on the ground, covered in the glossy sheen of protection magic.
Strix called out, with a voice forceful enough to seem louder than it was: “Destroy the device on its back!” His own job, as he saw it, was to buy time until that happened. He darted through the air in different directions, moving in to strike and moving to another spot to attack again. This was not merely toying with with the machine, nor was he making an effort to keep out of reach - he needed to keep its attention, and so he attacked with all his ferocity and speed. It was working - the machine focused on him, swatting and kicking at the other soldiers, but facing Strix and the gate, leaving the soldiers to attack from behind.
As if aware of the tactic, the Colossus began to turn. It was then that Strix resorted to his most eye-catching tactic yet - literally, as he rushed towards the machine’s domed head and bucked at the crystal inside. His hooves struck unyielding crystal, stronger than any natural gem - but that was what he expected. The Colossus could not ignore such an attack on a vital part of its “being” and used its lance to brush him off. As Strix dove back from the attack, he heard the distinctive whine of the Oscillator Lance charging its energy. Flowing, almost organic energy enveloped the blade, like blue-purple fire, or electricity, or light, yet none of those things. It was something engineers called plasma, mages called Starmana, and soldiers called death. A blast from a Colossus-sized Oscillator Lance could destroy buildings, burn dragons, and do even worse to unprotected ponies. And this one fully charged, and could release its energy in a wide blossom of death from which he would be lucky to escape.
But Strix had no intention of dying today. If he died now, the traitor Shrike would escape - and also, his rage and desire for revenge would probably just return as a powerful and very unhappy phantasm. Not a pleasant prospect for a monster hunter - or for anyone who wanted to use the fortress for anything ever again.
The Colossus stabbed its lance forward, releasing a wave of energy that rushed towards him. There was only once chance Strix had - and it involved doing the most instinctive thing. He flapped his wings with all his might, propelling himself backwards towards the open gate. As he crossed the threshold, he hit an anti-air ward - and it was just as he predicted and hoped it was. Swiftly, as fast as an arrow, he was yanked towards the ground, the force of his landing making his legs buckle despite landing on all fours - but as he was flattened into the ground, the wall of plasma flew over his body, making his fur stand on end, scorching the walls of the fortress - but leaving him unharmed.
Strix stood up as quickly as possible, despite being winded from the impact, his limbs aching. Not a moment later, a faint shattering sound reached his ears, and a few fragments of crystal fell to the ground as the soldiers succeeded in breaking the shield generator. The swirling energy barrier became visible with one last pulse, then dissolved like a cloud of mist dispersing. There were shouts from the soldier’s ranks, and the troops engaged in melee combat - flying and grounded alike - backed off. Now, the mages launched as many spells as they could at the Colossus, striking with streams of fire, bolts of lightning, and kinetically hurled objects. The machine stumbled, its steadiness beginning to leave it as battle took its toll. Then, as it wobbled, more than one magic used a burst of magical kinetic force to shove it forward, where it toppled onto the ground, with Strix leaping back to keep clear of the impact.
No sooner had it hit the ground when the soldiers charged forward again, and Strix once again was the first to charge. He leapt onto its back, pried open a steaming plate on its back, and as its mechanisms whirred and shrieked, trying to move its limbs to stand up, Strix stabbed his batars, again and again, a the exposed crystal power core, clearing away stray devices and severing cables.
As the Colossus was reduced to twitching limbs, plasma began to leak from its core, melting its own mechanisms and hastening the rapid rupture of its power core. Strix shouted, “clear!” and leapt off the Colossus, other soldiers following suit as a gout of purple energy burst up from the hole in its back, the metal around its broken core beginning to glow red from the heat of the released plasma, before rapidly cooling off as the unstable energy evaporated.
Strix sighed, finally allowing himself a moment to rest. No other monsters remained - the remaining few had been fought off while the Colossus engaged him, and the former marvel of technology was the last foe to fall. Still, he looked out the gates into the rocky path beyond, scanning the twilight for any stragglers.
He was aware of the eyes on him, and then of the sound of multiple sets of hooves approaching him at a trot. Less important to him were the several overlapping voices that confronted his ears:
“That was amazing! I-”
“Who are you? Are you-”
“Can’t believe we got them all, if you hadn’t shown up-”
“Hold that thought,” Strix interrupted, before trotting out the gate, wings spread and beating as soon as he left the walls. His target was a few hundred paces in front of him - a pale green, aged unicorn, holding a staff, clothed in dark robes and doing his best to remain concealed - until he saw that he had been spotted, and turned to flee. Strix caught up with him in a few moments, and swooped down on him. One strike slashed the staff from the cultist’s hoof, another slammed his own hoof into the unicorn’s horn to disrupt any spells he tried to cast with it. Another motion and his hoof was underneath the cultist’s neck, the tip of the batar’s blades just barely pressing into his throat as Strix gripped him with his other forelimb, the cultist’s forehooves pinned under him.
“Don’t move, traitor,” Strix spat, quietly yet harshly, with the vitriol all Nighthaunters gave to those who had turned their backs on ponykind in favor of monsters. “Don’t even breathe until you’re on the ground again.” And with no other warning, Strix took off again, carrying the cultist - seemingly paralyzed with fright - back to the fortress, where Strix landed in front of the gates, stepped inside, and then unceremoniously threw the cultist onto the ground in front of the gathered soldiers.
“He looked important,” Strix said, gesturing at some of the chains and medallions the unicorn wore, “So I figured you might want to ask him some questions.”
As the cultist was surrounded with guards and a pair of mages, a tall unicorn mare approached Strix. Clad heavily in gilded but sturdy armor, the soldier said in a sharp but non-hostile voice: “I’m Captain Grey Rose, garrison commander of Fort Mistwall. As grateful as we all are for your assistance, I must ask who you are.”
His only reply was: “Strix.”
A moment passed. Though Grey Rose’s face was mostly hidden behind a metal helmet, Strix could see her magenta eyes - and the eyebrow that had raised above one of them. So, he continued, “I’m a monster hunter. I’m tracking a target into Rockwood, and I wish to rest here for the day.”
Grey Rose nodded. “I see. Well, you’ve more than earned our hospitality.”
As Strix’s adrenaline wore off, he grunted slightly in pain, clutching a hoof to his chest. Grey Rose continued, “And our healers, it would look like.”
Grey Rose shouted for one of the healers - this one was, like most healers, a servant of the vigilant gods of ponykind, the first heroes. As the bright green unicorn mare approached, she scanned Strix with her eyes, and immediately pressed her hoof to his chest for a closer inspection. Strix winced, taking a shallow breath - it hurt even to breathe. The young mare’s eyes were widened with concern, an emotion that carried into her otherwise sweet voice. “Most of it’s internal injuries - he’s got at least 3 broken ribs, and a broken hind ankle, it seems.”
Grey Rose took this in and said, “From the fall, most likely. Bit of a daring move, there. I assume that was deliberate?”
“Was worth it,” Strix said, eyes narrowed and staring at the ground as he dealt with the pain.
“Hmm.” Grey Rose studied him for a moment more, as the healer held out a wand attached to her forelimb to Strix’ chest. With her wand glowing like a candle, the healer began the task of magical first-aid. Grey Rose continued: “Well, it seems you’ll have to spend at least a short time resting here while the healers tend to you. I’ll deal with the accommodations.”
Strix shook his head. “I don’t need a bed. I just need a cot.”
The healer gave him a stern look. “You need a bed, in the infirmary, now.” She cleared her throat, her tone quickly softening. “This way, please,” she said before leading him through the fort.
The infirmary was not far from the entrance, but it was slow going. The pain was manageable for Strix, however, in part due to the mare continuously administering his broken bones with her magic to keep the pain down until she led him into a building and to a bed. She pushed a small liquid medicine horn into his hoof. “Drink this, it’ll help you get to sleep,” she said, and Strix wordlessly drank from it and closed his eyes. The healer continued, “ I think you really helped a lot of us. We would have lost a lot more ponies if you hadn’t come. Thank you so much…”
Strix’s ear twitched, the only sign that he was still awake, but had neither the will nor ability to do any more. As the healer worked and the medicine took effect, the pain began to fade, and in a few minutes Strix had drifted to sleep.
