The chanting subsided, less loud on the air than it had been in the pool.

Cascadius rose, striding out of the pool, cricking his neck in satisfaction as Ratbag obligingly passed him a cloak.

The ebb and flow of the gory lagoon subsided quickly, the second participant in the ignitiation ritual nowhere to be seen.

Then, with a mighty, echoing groan, the sanctum gave a slight but most definitely noticeable shake, ripples wildly flashing across the pool.

Cascadius, Ratbag and Vovin craned their necks forward with anticipation.

Then it rose.

Out of the blood came a horn, a head, a mane...a mare born anew.

Servilia’s mouth opened wide as she took a gasp of air. Blinking wildly, she gazed around.

She seemed to be taller than she remembered. Everything felt so different in a way she found impossible to describe.

But then how could she, having never been anything else before?

Ratbag’s mouth dropped open at the sight. Vovin stamped for his attention and the fearful goat scrambled into the shadows.

Servilia raised a hoof, brushing something out of her face.

Her eyes clearing, she saw it was her mane.

It had never flowed this way, even when wet.

And she wasn’t wet.

The blood or water or whatever she had bathed in was gone. She was completely clean.

Her lungs felt incredible. Used to wheezing and panting after days of hard labour in furnaces or smelters without end, her breath came easy and full.

Her eyes too, once rheumy and sunken, opened wide, the full clarity of life before her.

Every sense, every movement felt so much easier.

“How...” her stammer was gone “How is this possible?”

“Stunning...” Cascadius gave an awed smile “Simply stunning.”

“Bring forth the glass, Ratbag.” Vovin commanded, saying nothing to the new initiate.

The goat remerged from the shadows with a large oval cut of the bottle-green glass from the doors, polished and gleaming.

He held it up before Servilia as she took in the sight of her new visage.

Where once had stood a gloomy, stunted slave with dull hues and a frail build, there now stood a wonder.

Where her coat had been a pale, sickly grey, barely distinguishable from the dust she was always sweeping, now her colour was a misty ochre, smooth and warm.

Her mane too, once an unkempt, puce mess, was now a rich, silky crimson torrent, flowing perfectly straight right down to the ground. And her tail was much the same.

Her eyes now gleamed a pure ebony. Her legs were long and sleek, allowing her to stare any pony dead in the face.

Her horn had grown. It had been crumpled once and cut and seared and shocked to prevent her magic giving her the means to escape slavery.

Now it had grown longer than any normal unicorn and curled slightly like a sabre.

She almost laughed.

Dvinius had prattled endlessly of his own perfection and those of his inner circle, mocking the impurities of others as often as he could.

Now, she stood before the mirror, no truer definition of perfection.

And she had once been a slave.

She stared up at Cascadius, her new eyes near to tears.

“Thank you...thank you...”

“Your strength, Servilia...” Cascadius said warmly “...is a beauty to behold.”

“The initiation purges all weakness.” Vovin said “The cracked shell is discarded as the core itself is made strong. Gleaming gold to all who are blessed and biting steel to all who are cursed.” He held up his staff “You, Servilia, shall bear our word as Cascadius bears our blade. The Mundane Order is blessed with a new Herald.”

Ordinarily, Servilia would have been shaking in her hooves, unsure of what was happening or why.

Yet now she felt no fear, no uncertainty, no pain.

Slowly, she knelt and took the staff in her hoof.

“Masters...I am yours.”

“There are no masters here, child.” Cascadius chuckled “There is only Mu’und and his chosen.”

“As it is decreed.” Vovin bowed his head, Ratbag doing the same, and turned to the Mundane Order’s blade.

“Warmonger...There is work to be done.”

*

The steel-clad hooves of Captain-General Bold sounded on the marble tiles of the palace grounds as the Royal Guard assembled. Gusty and Midnight Blade stood side by side before the formation as the thrum of forehooves announced the complete assembly, the Royal Guard standing ready. The Captain-General took a stand on the podium above, observed by all, resplendent in his gilded armour, wings of gold crafted intricately into his shoulder-pads, his white cloak bearing the crimson laurels of the Princess and the glowing Equis Blade, fastened to his chestplate by laurel-shaped carnelian inlays.

“Soldiers of her majesty, swords and shields of Equestria and its princess, listen well!” Bold bellowed.

Gusty cast a knowing eye to Midnight. Even as students, Bold had been known for his powerful voice, his commanding atmosphere and his love for being the centre of attention.

Yet, all things considered, he was an able commander and soldier. Few things harmed the Princess with him around.

“Concerning news has reached the garrison and the Princess. Bare hours after Commander Midnight Blade’s return, a message came from the village of Summersweet.” he turned to a senior scryer, a middle-aged lilac-coated unicorn mare with a shaved head, wearing light armour under a silver cape of office fastened with a collar of malachite.

“Miss Geranium, if you please.”

Geranium nodded, her horn flashing silver as a projected magic transmission showed itself to the guard.

The eyes and ears of all those present were invaded by a cacophonous warp of jolts and blurs.

Gusty turned to Bold.

“Is this genuine? I’ve never seen a transmission come out so poorly.”

“Just watch.”

The transmission did its best to focus. The obscured face of a unicorn stallion with a running gash over one eye showed itself and spoke, every few words interrupted by the cacophony.

“From...Summersweet...Army of...Came down...couldn’t hold off...All dying...Coming for...Send for...”

That was all the speaker could manage before a slamming sound and a blood-curdling scream shot out of the transmission as the obscuring overpowered the projection before it dissipated.

The guard were quiet.

Magic messaging rarely ever ended that badly.

Whatever had happened in Summersweet, it sounded like it was already too late.

“Now this wasn’t so long ago. Even on the border villages, they have emergency alarms prompting immediate aid yet whatever sprung on them took that out of the equation. From that and the state of the message, we are more than likely dealing with an enemy versed in anti-magic.”

The soldiers glanced at one another with unease.

After generations of rule from the alicorns, anti-magic was a word one never needed to say or hear. Magic had granted Equestria master over craftsmanship, engineering, healing and learning, not just to the unicorns but to all. Anti-magic was not just something that nulled spells or enchantments, it was something that stripped a pony of their inner strength.

Most forms of it were forbidden or sanctioned and the methods kept only in the hooves of those who could be trusted with it.

For an enemy to have such power was a frightening thing indeed.

“In o’ two-hundred hours we head south to Summersweet. A commando platoon from the forward garrisons at Fillymore will be meeting us there. We rescue any and all survivors and either annihilate or drive off those who attacked the village”

He skimmed his eye over the officers.

The soldiers were arranged into different companies from the six legions of the royal army, distinguished by the colour and style of their armour and plumes.

Bold nodded and allotted the command structure.

“Right. Gusty, you shall command the troops from the Dawn Legion. Ginkgo, troops from the Morrow Legion. Good Grace, the Noon Legion. Pavo, the Undern Legion. Crown o’ Thorns, the Dusk. And Midnight Blade, goes without saying, the Nightfall.”

He stamped down and saluted “Dismissed!”

The guard departed slowly and quietly, shuffling off in groups.

Gusty turned to Midnight.

“Where do you suppose this leaves us?” she asked, concern in those deep sea-green eyes of hers.

Midnight grimaced.

“I’m not sure I want to know. I’ve never met anything that can knock the magic out of an entire populated area like that. I just hope it’s something they can only use once.”

“Well, if this does turn out to be worse than we anticipate...I want to make sure I don’t go off without saying goodbye.”

“You do what you need to do, Gusty.”

Gusty gave him a look of sympathy.

Midnight never talked about anypony close to him. The two acted as more than bodyguards to the young princesses. Growing up as alicorns, beings Equestria still had little knowledge or experience in, the two hadn’t much in the way of friends. Laurelore always tried to introduce them to her fellows whenever she could but the two were shy creatures. They could never shake off the feeling of being not so much a colleague as a curiosity.

Gusty and Midnight, Star-Swirl’s most accomplished students who’d been with them since their earliest days, were the closest thing they had to friends.

Gusty’s lineage descended from the Flutter Valley, laid to waste by the hordes of Tirek an eon ago. Her parents were a well-to-do but secluded couple, a druid and a wand-maker, and her little sister, Gale, who’d just gained her Cutie Mark recently, was still in pre-school. She wasn’t as close to them as she would have liked to be, her work for the princess cut most of her time short, but she made the most of seeing them whenever she could.

Midnight, meanwhile was something of a recluse. A while ago, his uncle, the dignitary, philosopher and swordsteed, Vorpal Blade, and his sons had been the ponies he’d been closest too but they had all perished during the Vampony Plague, something Midnight refused to say a great deal about.

The guard was now the closest thing Midnight had to a family.

The pearl-white armour Gusty wore on a daily basis had become like a blanket over time. Her family were probably the only ponies who saw her often in her home garb. But they’d grown to look up to her.

It wasn’t every family that had a daughter in the princess’s bodyguard after all.

Gusty found them near the city gates. Gale was hopping around excitedly, her schoolbags at her sides, her red and green-streaked mane wavy in the gentle breeze. Her father, the distinguished Willow Wisp, white a cyan speckle-pattern across his coat and his dark-green mane tied in a topknot, was nodding sagely, ruffling her daughter’s mane, while Summer Solstice, a pale orange mare with a curly red mane, heavy lashes and an almost permanently flustered look to her, tried to shush her, firmly but not sternly.

Gusty smiled at the sight.

They weren’t the perfect parents. Willow Wisp was a touch more muddle-headed than the average stallion while Summer Solstice could have fussed for Equestria. Growing up, Gusty could remember more than a couple of times they communicated less than well.

But parents didn’t have to be perfect to be wonderful.

And Gale? She wouldn’t trade her for the world.

At the moment, Gale was bound on a school trip to Eminence City, a mountain metropolis in the former Flutter Valley where a remnant had valiantly fought Tirek till his defeat and boasted stunning history and art of a forgotten age.

Gusty approached, her little sister’s eyes widening as she shuffled awkwardly.

So she hadn’t forgotten their last conversation.

Gusty swallowed hard and spoke.

“Gale, sweetie...I’m sorry for yelling at you.” she craned down and looked her little sister in the eyes “I get why you were upset...I wish there was some way I could come with you but...”

“I-i-it’s okay...” Gale stammered. She was known for stammering when under anxiety “I...I’m s-sorry I was angry at you...G-Gusty...I understand...The p-princess needs you.”

“Hey, hey, sometimes even the princess has to take second priority when it comes to my little sis.” Gusty gave her a nuzzle.

The morning hadn’t started cleanly. Upon informing her elder sister of her upcoming trip, she partly-hoped-partly-expected she would accompany her. Gusty, not quite in the morning mood yet, had told her it was out of the question. Tempers flared and both sisters had left the house with little sympathy for each other.

Evidently, things had cooled since then.

“Look, when I’m back home and I have a moment, I’ll look at all your drawings and help you bake cookies and then I’ll read you your favourite books, okay?”

Gale’s eyes twinkled.

“You promise?”

“On my mark.”

Gale reached up on her hind legs and wrapped her forehooves round her sister’s shoulders in a fond hug.

“Thanks, Gusty. You’re the best.”

Beside them, Willow and Summer observed their daughters reconciliation with warm, proud smiles.

“Go on, Gale. I’m sure you’ll have a fantastic time. Eminence City is beautiful this time of year.” Willow Wisp cooed.

“You’re absolutely sure you’ve packed everything?” Summer Solstice asked for the eighteenth time that day.

“Yes, mummy. Goodbye everypony” Gale reached up to give and receive goodbye kisses from her parents before joining the trail of chattering foals heading to the caravan station that would take them to Eminence City, giving them one last wave.

Summer Solstice gave a sigh.

“Are you sure it’s safe?” she asked nopony in particular “I mean, now that war’s been declared.”

“I wouldn’t worry, darling.” Willow said sagely, patting her shoulder “The attacks are due to come from the far west and south. Eminence City’s in the north. And besides, the city has a well-manned garrison of its own. Gale will be fine.”

“I hope you’re right...Maybe I’m just fussing over nothing. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“It’s okay, mum.” Gusty gave her a cheek a light nuzzle “I gotta’ go. Love ya!”

Kissing them both goodbye, she fumbled with her helmet and prepared to meet with her battalion.

A soldier’s work was never done.

*

Nopony dared stop the Warmonger as he strode through the caverns of New Hycarion optimistically named ‘The Halls of Magnificence’, searching grimly for his employer.

There was no door to his washroom, only a couple of guards who parted obediently for him.

He hadn’t been in New Hycarion for a full two days and already the populace knew their Potentate Magnificence was much a ruler as he was a true alicorn.

Only one pony approached him. One of the Cosmos Legion, stepping into his sight with a supercilious little smirk.

“Oh Warmonger, you come at last. Any longer and you would be an outcast.”

The mercenary quietly groaned. It was Limerix Adversi.

A pus-yellow New Hycarion with a bone-white mane standing wildly on end and a face that was always either smug or spiteful, his tiny, sallow eyes always gripped by a perverse egomania, Limerix Adversi had been the second-in-command to the late Luximus Fulman and had now, it seemed, was heading the Legion. Dvinius’s court poet, he had the most annoying habit of rhyming every two lines that came out of his mouth, or at least doing what he thought was rhyming. It was a desperate show of self-satisfaction most of the time and was never above substandard. Cascadius had known many proper poets in his lifetime and Limerix was not one of them.

“I bring news for his majesty’s ear. Not yours.”

“I am his majesty’s finest sword. From weapons and words I must be his guard.”

Rolling his eyes, Cascadius shot him an unimpressed look and sneered.

“Has anypony ever told you that you have all the skill and sophistication in the field of poetry as a spilt chamberpot?”

Limerix’s smirk curled into a grimace of indignation but his words came uneasy.

“...no...”

“Well, now you know. Good day.”

Passing the speechless poet without a word, he entered the washroom of the Potentate Magnificence.

Cascadius found himself looking at a large stone-carved tub. Dvinius was bathing, kneeling in the middle of the tub, splashing the water over his face in some frantic pleasure. He didn’t seem to notice his visitor.

He wasn’t alone. There was a mare and two fillies in the tub. The mare was the same one that he’d dressed as Laurelore in the throne room, wearing her costume again. One of the fillies was dressed in similar accessories but with a primrose-pink wig while the other had inked her coat to a dark-blue and wore a navy wig. The three of them were unmoving, slumped motionlessly against the stone tub.

As Cascadius drew nearer, he saw why.

Their throats had been cut. The water in the tub was now a deep red.

Their lifeless faces were ones of despair, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. There was no sign they’d tried to fight back. Perhaps they’d been taken from the pleasure houses to the Potentate’s chambers knowing what would happen.

Cascadius remembered the blank look the mare had worn in the great hall. Had she known her fate was sealed? He was unlikely to find out in his lifetime.

He wondered if Dvinius had bathed in blood at the same time he and Servilia had done the same.

But this was without purpose or accomplishment. This was meaningless, just another of the many fantasies Dvinius would spend his days trying to live out, no matter how much it cost him.

Cascadius cleared his throat loudly. The king-in-name-only’s head spun round as he stared with those pathetic milky eyes at the one who stood as both his servant and master.

He stared for awhile. Cascadius knew the stallion before him was choosing his words carefully.

“I...did not want to be disturbed.” he said at last.

The Warmonger twisted his lips in an unimpressed look.

“In life, one must get used to not getting what one wants. For only then will one learn how to get it.”

Dvinius scowled. Clearly he wasn’t smitten with this philosophy.

“I heard you were ready to...march upon our enemies.”

“I am.”

Dvinius straightened up, leaving the tub as an attendant handed him a large drying-cloth. To call it a ‘towel’ would be general, it was little more than a frayed hempen rug.

“I want the Cosmos Legion in the vanguard.” he snapped “And their grand commanders directing the field of battle.”

Cascadius rolled his eyes.

“I already have a vanguard and command, your grace, one I have utter faith in.” he replied “I will of course consult the legion on matters that concern them.”

‘Whatever those may be’ he privately thought.

“Good.” Dvinius said, nodding “And...your spies. You spoke of an...insurgent sect, hiding from me in New Hycarion.”

“I did. A resistance movement. Alas, I fear they’ve left the city some few days ago. We found a secret tunnel leading to a hideout, quite close to your throne room in fact. But all that was left was dust and refuse. Clearly, they knew we were on to them.”

Dvinius growled and furiously struck a serf in the face. Cascadius remembered the serf had previously been one of the smattering nobles about his court. Evidently, with the serfs and slaves taken in by his armies, Dvinius was resorting to some emergency employment tactics.

“We have, however, found their names and lineage here in the city. As per the decrees of New Hycarion, all those who have birthed, raised, educated or otherwise guarded them have earned...”

“The death penalty!” Dvinius shrieked, storming to the throne room, throwing on his robe and crown “All of them! Death penalty!”

“Of course.” Cascadius said tiredly.

*

Equestria needed its army.

This was not to say that the Magic of Friendship had been unsuccessful. Many former enemies or unlikely allies had become dear companions of Laurelore, her Bearers and all others beside her, throwing down their blades and joining together with open forelegs. It was through the adoption of such philosophies that Equestria had nearly doubled in size and influence.

But there were always those who would not be swayed, for one reason or another. These were the ones who would prove a problem. Equestria had not been perfect when the alicorns had arrived and while they were not the first good beings upon the world, they had no shortage of enemies during their early years and the unification of Equestria had taken many, many years and near a thousand times as many lives.

Throughout Laurelore’s reign, when any king or commander had attacked Equestrian soil or the ponies upon it, it was often for no better reason than to show they could.

However one felt about them, there was no denying that Alicorns were beings of exceptional power.

So what better way was there to prove one’s courage than through spiting them?

The Flutter Valley had not been undefended. From its rise to its fall, it had relied on the deep and mysterious Flutterpony magic to ward away any enemy for many generations. But when foes came who proved themselves immune to this great power, centaurs in particular, the Flutterponies saw their land charred and ruined.

Laurelore was a wise monarch and knew that the best way to defend a kingdom was to avoid over-specialisation. The royal army was comprised of earth ponies, pegasi, unicorns and even a number of foreign recruits, bringing their own unique skills and knowledge to Equestria’s codex of warfare. Each class was honed as far as possible and every battalion was manned by specialists of every kind.

Gusty’s own company from the Legion of the Dawn comprised of around a hundred-and-fifty armed legionnaires, sections of which were separated into spears, bows, lances, healers, scouts and engineers accordingly. Each company was allotted a two-pony-drawn cannon and a Legion banner, the rose and cyan Dawn waving in the breeze. Around a dozen junior officers beside her could be counted on for advice on strategy, logistics, communications and documentation. Such was military organisation and when faced with an unknown enemy, no oversight could afford to be taken.

Captain-General Bold made sure of that.

Still, Gusty looked forward to the day such things would no longer be needed.

Laurelore had once said that a world without war would be a long and costly journey.

As if it hadn’t been enough already.

Her company, along with six more of equal number and a hoof-full of senior commanders, led chiefly by Captain-General Bold, were making their way over the Badlands, a wave of just over seven-hundred members of Her Highness’s Royal Army, their cloaks and banners a shimmering rainbow on the great plains. The mighty miles of sand, at the early winter’s turn, appeared grey below the cloudy sky and filled travellers with a sense of unease.

Even in such numbers, Gusty couldn’t help but feel as if the foe could spring from any corner in numbers not possible to contemplate.

They’d just passed Fillymore in the temperate valleys, scouts had made a quick stop there to resupply, and the village of Summersweet wasn’t too far off, barely visible in the great sunset, a gloaming wash of red and gold sinking into the grey valleys. Bold had just sent the scouts ahead, to rendezvous with the Fillymore Commando Platoon.

Gusty shivered as devious rushes of cold, biting wind ran beneath her armour. She turned to Midnight Blade, standing broodingly on a rocky outcrop, his navy-blue armour appearing jet-black in the dim light.

She made her way over to the young officer.

Though about as similar in appearance to one another as chalk and cheese, the two had a history. Midnight, a foreigner from the mysterious Dun Valley, had been slow to fully warm to the Equestrian way of life and some of those around him had been slow to accept him. Gusty had no trouble with him. Growing up, Midnight regarded her as something of an angel on his shoulder, encouraging him to explore himself and take part in matters of teamwork.

Not all too many of her old friends had ended up in the guard however. While she’d gotten to know her fellow officers, she didn’t find them quite as relatable as she found Midnight.

Bracing herself against the winds, Gusty smiled at the dark pony whose eyes were fixed on the canyons above.

“You okay?” she asked flatly.

Midnight was quiet a moment before Gusty followed his eyes.

She could have sworn there was movement between the pillars of sand and soil.

“We’re being watched.” Midnight said flatly.

“Captain!”

There came a yell further down the path as the scouts returned. Their leader was a mahogany-brown, white-striped zebra with a mane of blue and white locks and the brick-red armour, grey-blue cloak and raven-feather plumes of the Dusk Legion. “Lieutenant Crested Crane reporting, sir!” he said, breathlessly, with a quick salute.

“At ease, Lieutenant, what have you found?”

Crested Crane gave a shiver and answered with solemnity and dread.

“The platoon.”

Behind a great rocky outcrop, bare yards from the village, the Fillmore Commandos floated in mid-air; tight, black nooses constricting their throats as their bloodied bodies swayed in the wind.

“Damn it all...” Bold groaned as he and his command stared up at them hopelessly.

Captain Gingko gave them a closer look. Gingko was a young Pegasus from Neighpon trained in the ways of Bushido by the Kirin and Kabuto Changelings and whose family had been guards and attendants to Lady Mistmane. A quiet, secluded mare with a silver coat, flowing dark-auburn mane and piercing indigo eyes, she wore the intricate, shell-like armour of the Kabutobushi, coloured pearl-white with sand-gold inlays and bright blue accents like that of all the Morrow Legion. She was a friend of Gusty and Midnight though they confessed to not knowing her all too well. Gingko was not one to reveal a whole lot in general conversation.

Taking to the air, she looked over the bodies before cutting them down to rest. Once the last of them had been placed upon the ground, she turned to the Captain-General with a grim face.

“The noose was not what killed them.” she said flatly “These wounds are deep and deadly. These poor folk had passed long before they hanged.”

“It’s a message.” Gusty answered.

“Not a very subtle one. What are they telling us?” Bold asked gruffly.

Gusty tilted her head and suggested.

“Come get us?”

“I’ll gladly oblige 'em.” Crown O’ Thorns snarled, a giant of a unicorn, dark sepia of coat and deep green of mane, his slate-blue armour with maroon plumes studded with silver spikes. Midnight and Gusty remembered him being something of a bully in their training years and while he’d greatly improved himself over time, he still possessed the short temper and brutal sense of reprisal to this day.

Bold meanwhile shook his head and turned to Gingko.

“Wrap their bodies in cloaks and send them back to Fillmore. When we get back on the path, we’ll give them our deepest apologies and our promise that they will be avenged.”

“Wait.” Midnight held up a hoof as he stood on one of the protruding mounds of sand and soil and gazed into the heart of Summersweet, visible just below the great Honeywarm Mesa his deep blue eyes wide with concern as the powerful flush of yellows, oranges and reds didn’t so much disappear behind the landscape as sunsets were wont to do, but instead rose, its glow severe, almost angry.

There was smoke on the air.

He turned his gaze to Bold.

“Captain.” he began, knowing he would need to address his old academy rival by his title if he was to be taken seriously as an advisor “I need to take a crack squad and check out the canyon. It’s urgent.”

Bold looked to the village, then the mesa, then back to Midnight, an expression mixed between suspicion and consideration.

“What’s the concern?”

“That!”

Midnight pointed to ochre flash rising from the valley.

Bold tilted his head.

“The sunset?”

“Captain...” Midnight said quietly “That is no sunset.”

*

The crackling of flames and the buzzing of flies sounded almost mocking as the battalion walked grimly through the charred ruins of Summersweet, looks of horror and dismay etched on every face.

‘Too late. Too late.’ Said the fire and the flies ‘Dead, dead, dead.’

Bold had sent Pavo and Crown o’ Thorns with their companies round the village to create a perimeter. It would take a while but it made the chances of being ambushed drastically lower. If they were attacked down the valley, defence would be key.

Gusty stared at the barely recognisable scraps of bloody flesh that used to be the cows, pigs, sheep, chickens and goats on the village farm thrown about the place like gruesome confetti. She felt her last meal feel restless in the pits of her stomach, threatening to push itself up into her throat.

She’d never seen anything like this.

She’d seen battles. She’d seen death. She’d seen some very foul-intentioned beasts of war in her time, some of which she’d slain herself. She was an experienced guardian of Equestria, the entire battalion was.

But this level of wanton slaughter, this cruelty and sadism, to tear apart living animals and scatter their pieces across a village.

This was just savage.

“Where are all the villagers?” Bold asked, concern brewing his normally-stoic voice.

Gingko was inspecting the ground, scraping at the churned-up sand and dirt, her eyes keen.

“They came at least a thousand-strong. From the south-east. No warning. No escape.”

“But where are the villagers?” Bold repeated frantically.

There was a snap as a scaffold on the barn cracked and collapsed, showering strands of hay about the area.

In the current environment, it was enough to jump several of them.

“There!” Gusty was heard to yell.

A thundering clash of shields rumbled the village remains as the guard flew to attention, shields at the ready, weapons drawn.

Shadows could be seen in the distance.

Figures.

“Ponies...” Gusty said aloud. Ponies were indeed coming over the hill, lumbering, trudging, swaying from side to side.

“Wait...” Bold retorted, holding up a hoof “Something’s not right.”

As the figures emerged further over the hill, Gusty paused.

The smoke and heady mist began to clear and as the villagers drew near, they seemed to float, their hooves hanging below them as they were lifted off the hill.

Gusty’s eyes widened as a gasp caught in her throat.

“Oh Laurelore...” she groaned.

An almighty yell shook the valley as beasts of war emerged, carrying the villagers impaled on sharpened staves, swinging them around in the air, morbid trophies, the lifeless ponies shaking like dolls, dripping gore over the landscape.

In the centre of the company, Captain General Bold gritted his teeth as more and more of the impalers emerged from the south, east and north, hundreds strong. Behind them, a congregation of dark, heavily-armoured brigands closed the exit from the west.

As the enemy horde stood atop the hill, they stamped the staves down into the ground, trapping the company with a fence of corpses.

“Bastards!” Bold snarled before swinging his sword in the air, gesturing to his battalion “Form up! Orb formation! Spears and shields! Now!”

As quick and sharp as an arrowhead, the battalion sped into action, running into a group and facing out as a vast circular formation. Two layers of shields, one at ground level, the other raised high, formed the exterior with lines of spears at every angle. In the centre of his troops, Bold’s horn lit up to cast an area shielding spell. With a grunt of pain, a scatter of sparks spat out his horn.

“Anti-magic.” Geranium the scryer said, standing in the centre, staring out at the mass “Minor spells can still be performed but anything greater will be unobtainable. Somewhere close, there has to be a subverter. A crystal, a sonic instrument, a...”

“The smoke!” Gusty exclaimed “It’s in the smoke!”

“Pegasi, clear the air!” Bold thundered “Give them cover.”

“Wings out, everypony!” Good Grace called, a glamorous pegasus mare with a peach-orange coat, long eyelashes and a mane of magenta and cream swirls, as she and her fliers spread their wings and rose gradually into the air, blowing away the smoke surrounding them.

Bold groaned. While their magic was now at better focus and capacity, the smoke now encircling them gave them very limited vision. When the enemies came, they’d emerge from the mist without warning.
He gritted his teeth. He had to do this. He was Captain-General now and he wouldn’t be the stallion that dishonoured that title.

His father and old Master Vorpal Sword’s voice hollered in his head.

‘Think, young Bold, when an enemy is before you, yet you do not know where, what do you do?’

Bold’s ear pricked and raised high.

A holler came in the distance as the thunder of hooves drew near.

They were charging.

“Archers ready!” he yelled “Clear for cannons !”

Bows were nocked and drawn, pointing at the smoke in their tightly-knit formation as shields parted on either side of the six company cannons as they were loaded and primed.

They were bound to hit something.

“Fire!”

The thrum of bowstrings and the crash of cannon fire sounded on every ear as the orb formation let fly their quarrels, spreading out into the smog. There came cries and shrieks and curses of agony around and, as the cannonballs struck the horde, the smoke was pierced, waning visibly.

Through the haze, Gusty saw the surrounding forces were charging, bedecked in improvised armour and weaponry, wild of face and mane, screaming and raging like mad-beasts.

Her horn glowed a bright teal as she drew her spear, a long one-sided blade, its edge deft and keen, attached to a spear-handle of hardy white oak. Pointing it forward she shot the horde a dark glance, casting her shield slightly to the sky in her forehoof, bearing the rising sun of her ward over the gilded earth of her monarch.

‘Come then, you spineless barbarians.’ she whispered ‘Know the wrath of Canterlot!’

“Canterlot!” the cry went up from her and travelled round the formation, a battle-hymn that matched the horde’s roar as the two sides neared for the great clash.

“Canterlot! Canterlot! Canterlot! Canterlot! Canterlot!”

*

The sounds of battle echoed even as high as Honeywarm Mesa. Midnight Blade glanced below, thankfully never being too apprehensive of heights. Neither, to his knowledge, were his squad.

The zebra, Crested Crane, stood among them along with several of the most accomplished members of the Nightfall Legion. Carefully making their way up the mesa, keeping to the shadows as their oily black cloaks and deep blue armour hid them from view, they sought out the source of the anti-magic.

Midnight turned to the company scryers, an aged maroon unicorn.

“Fortinbras, can you detect anything?” he asked.

The old stallion’s face went craggy with focus, his tufted ears vibrating wildly.

His eyes opened wide and he spoke at last.

“Further up. There is blood-magic at hoof.”

Midnight nodded.

“Silver blades, everypony. Silver for monsters.”

There was a metallic hiss as silver weapons were drawn by all his guard.

“Sergeant Stoker and Legionaries Wintergreen, Buckler, Mirabelle, you scale the mesa. Sergeant Sierra and Legionaries Gulliver and Cymbeline, you three fliers make sure they don’t fall. The rest of you, with me.”

The Nightfall guard split off in two groups, Midnights slinking round the mesa and Stoker and Sierra taking a strike team up the rocky edge, silver glinting in their grasp.

“Listen...” Fortinbras whispered. Midnight’s ear pricked to the sound of a voice, low, husky and likely foreign.

“Foul incantations...But weak...And not in any familiar tongue.”

“It’s Camnetic, Old Eastern Stirropean...But I don’t think it’s his first language. There are mispronunciations everywhere.” Midnight said before he turned to his men, all of them tense but showing no fear.

“Brace yourselves, ladies and gentlecolts...You’re about to do some Vampony-Slaying.”

The smoke was lessening drastically. Down in the valley, what was meant to have been a vast swarm, enveloping and slaughtering Laurelore’s army, had become a disorganised surge. Parts of the horde were still pinned down on the hills whilst others had already reached the orb formation, desperately hammering blade to shield as the spears shot in and out of the wall, felling thousands.

Atop the mesa, a stallion struggled to regain control of the spell, his forehooves tipped by crimson shadow that formed four ghostly claws.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Midnight Blade stood with a squad of eight ponies of war, their blades glinting with a silver sheen that spelled doom for any monster. Midnight’s own broadsword was a double-purposed one. One side of it was tempered black steel, the other was silver with inscribed runes of amber, lead and mercury.

He drew it up meaningfully and gave a command.

“Stand down. This is your only warning.”

Facing them were two-dozen of the wild ponies, their armour a mismatch of leathers, furs and iron scraps, and five or six New Hycarionites, dressed in their white rubber suits and silk half-masks.

In the foot of the mesa, a caped figure rose and glared at them. He was a beady-eyed stallion with a face that reminded Midnight of a pickled walnut, sickly-green and furrowed, with a jutting grey widows-peak for a mane and a protruding set of fangs.

An archetypical Vampony, almost stereotypical, yet Midnight detected no phenomenal show of power.

He spoke, his voice low, growly and possessed of an accent that was vague and inconsistent.

“How dare you interrupt my incantations, mortal filth! You insult the great Count Balanitus and thus seal your doom! But tell me, soil-pelt...did your fate lead you here...or your destiny?”

The Nightfall captain was quiet a moment as his squad awaited his orders.

“Okay...” Midnight’s tone had grown significantly bored “Fate and destiny are the same thing. And...‘soil-pelt’ is exceptionally racist. And that didn’t sound like a ‘We surrender’.”

“Silence! Minions! Pluck out their eyes and then bring me their souls! I, Count Balanitus will rule this land and see all who defy me crumble to ash and serve me for all eternity” He threw back his head and cackled, his bat-wings spreading out underneath the cloak and flapping wildly.

Midnight stared at the sight, his face and voice flat, and face-hoofed.

“This is bad comedy. Back to steel, fillies and colts, the poser’s mine!”

The two assemblies clashed, iron, steel and silver ringing against each other. One of the New Hycarionites readied a bow, taking aim at Midnight Blade. With a thump, he was pulled to the ground, then dragged over the edge, shrieking and flailing, as Stoker and Sierra brought their ponies up from the behind, the pegasi taking to the air with crossbows and firing off hails of bolts. Midnight Blade circled in on the Vampony who hissed loudly and threw his cape. Midnight watched, nonchalantly, as the cape caught in the wind and flew gently off the mesa.

There was an awkward pause.

“Er...gah! Your worthless magics will not save you from my wrath!” Balanitus snarled.

“Wow...I just feel bad for you” It was all Midnight could do not to laugh.

“Enough!” The Vampony drew a sword of his own, barbed and serrated, and clashed with Midnights, staring him in the face, his eyes twitching.

“Across the world, there is one name all mortals fear above all. It is Balanitus! My name! My legend!” he gave his sabre a shove against his foe’s broadsword “And now you know that fate and destiny are but two sides of a worthless coin that should be given to a baker on skid row!”

His rant was cut off by Midnight Blade slamming his head into that of the Vampony’s, causing the Count to cry out and stumble wildly.

“Okay, four things.” Midnight barked “One, what in Tartarus does a baker on skid row have to do with this? Two, you do know that Balanitus is an inflammation of the foreskin? Three, not gonna’ say it again, fate and destiny are the same bucking thing! And in life, a pony chooses their own. Four...I am now officially sick of your horse-apples!”

Before the Count could retrieve his blade, Midnight stamped one hoof on his foreleg. As he screamed, the Vampony found his neck inches from the broadsword wielded by his foe.

“Right. Start talking. Who started this attack?” Met with a blank look, he spun the sword so that the silver side began singeing the Count’s throat.

“This smoke is high-level anti-magic. You weren’t its creator, you were just left to keep it active and you couldn’t even do that. You didn’t lead this attack. So who did?”

As the sound of battle died down, the Nightfall Company finishing off what was left of the Count’s guards, the Vampony snarled.

“You have no idea what you’ve brought upon your world!”

“Stop talking in cliché’s and give me a straight answer!”

The Vampony’s brow was beading with sweat.

“If...If I tell you...you must-urkh!”

The Vampony jolted, his head spasming up and down, cutting his throat open on the sword.

It didn’t bleed.

Count Balanitus’s eyes lost all colour, the veins spreading across the pupils and irises until a completely red gaze met Midnight Blade. Slowly, the Count smiled, fangs bared.

The Vampony’s voice was not his own.

“You work faster than we had anticipated.” The accent was different, the tone was different, everything was different “Most impressive. Such is to be expected from a Slayer of Dunholm in the ranks of Equestria’s Princesses. I shall await our confrontation tentatively. And when I break your sword and open your veins...I promise the gift of death shall be yours. I can be merciful to those who impress me...I will not force you to live as the creature you hate and fear.”

And with a blood-curdling scream, the Count’s eyes bled, then his mouth, then every other part of him as he disintegrated into dry, blood-red scraps like a pile of autumn leaves, blown away in the breeze.

Midnight said nothing.

“What manner of sorcery was that?” Fortinbras said, strapping a bandage across Stoker’s gashed brow.

“Very powerful blood-magic...If not, the most powerful...” Midnight brought his blade upright, gazing at his reflection in the steel side, then turning it to catch the silver gleam.

“It seems the Vamponies have chosen a new ruler...one with eyes on me.”

Gusty’s spear flew in and about like a lightning-fast firework, blazing with colour and sparks as her magical grasp held true, slaying dozens with every swathe as the battalion opened ranks. The captains had already broken from their guard and taken to the fray, demonstrating their strength and skill for all to see. The smoke had now completely cleared and as the horde gave one last surge, the rumble of hooves and wing-beats sounded from behind.

The Undern and Dusk Legions slammed into where the horde was strongest, taking them by storm, led by the sturdy Crown O’ Thorns with his flail and the elegant Pavo with his pike. Splitting off into two, the reinforcements encircled the orb formation and joined up as they split off in wedges, driving at the horde, who were only now beginning to have second thoughts. As one of them fell to her spear, another ran shrieking at her, only to be met by Pavo’s pike cutting him down.

"Careful now, Miss Gusty." he chuckled in his silky baritone "We'd hate to lose your lovely face to these vermin."

A powder-blue pegasus stallion with his mane of orange and green streaks, Pavo was a flamboyant fellow who fancied himself a charmer. Gusty was among one of the few mares who did not share his opinion.

“I had that one.” she said, slightly grouchily.

“Far be it from me to argue, Miss Gusty. Carry on, we’ve almost finished up here.”

Indeed as the fleetest of the horde’s remnants reached the hills and carried on over, Bold raised his battle-axe, heavy with blood, and let up a cheer, joined by the entire battalion.

The valley was strewn with the corpses of the barbarians, struck down with lethal blows, close to piling where the fighting had been thickest. The battalion had certainly earned their stripes.

It hadn’t come cheaply however. At least two-dozen had died under the horde’s fury and were now being identified in the carnage, mourned over by their captains and their comrades.

Captain-General Bold, walked with Gingko and Crown o’ Thorns to the impaled bodies of the villagers of Summersweet.

Solemnly, he gave orders.

“We’ll bury them here. Properly. Then we’ll rendezvous at Fillymore, send a message to the Princess, deliver the commandoes to their regiment...and then we head back to Canterlot to bury our brothers and sisters.”

Gusty paced over, her mind clouded with concern as the guard began the retrieval and proper burial of the villagers.

“Something’s not right.” she said, looking over the carnage.

“You alright, Gusty?” Bold asked.

“Well...look at this.” Gusty waved a hoof across the valley “These beasts caught an entire village off guard, disabled their magic, swarmed them, slaughtered them, did the same for the commandoes and then when we showed up, when strategy really mattered, they just threw themselves at us and got annihilated. This doesn’t make sense. Why they launch such a careful and calculated assault on villagers and skeleton guard and then attempt such an ill-conceived rush at the Royal Army?”

Bold pursed his lips.

“Overconfidence?”

“No. If they used high-tier tactics and weaponry against villagers, it would have been madness not to use it against us.”

The captains paused.

“Bait?” Gingko suggested “A wanton slaughter was sure to gain our attention. They were luring us in...”

“No...wait...” Gusty’s breath quickened, her eyes widening, her brow dampening, as the horrifying revelation seeped in “No, they weren’t luring us in. They were luring us...away!”

“What?” Bold brow raised in confusion.

“Look, think about it!” the mare exclaimed frantically “They come here, do some damage, leave their work plain for all to see, they’re going to bring us here! And that’s exactly what they wanted! This was a lure, alright, but we weren’t the target! The target was what they were drawing us away from! Throwing us off! Drawing us into the south and leaving them to attack...”

Her words stuck in her throat as horror struck her like a thunderbolt, freezing her on the spot.

“...Attack what?” Bold asked nervously.

Gusty replied, a tear of dismay rolling down her cheek as she knew what was surely coming.

“...the north.”

*

“Eminence City really is beautiful at this time of year.”

One would hardly imagine aestheticism from he who carried the name of ‘Warmonger’ but he enjoyed surprising ponies.

He lay idly on the grass, the bracing early-winter breeze running over him as he gave a satisfied smile, gazing with wonder upon the vast mountain city far in the distance with its silver waterfalls and running marble bridges and towers.

A sight one could take to the grave.

Stretching, he stood up, brushed his forelegs down, equipped his cloak and belt and raised his forehoof.

Gravel and pebbles began vibrating around him as the sound of countless hoof and wing-beats thundered in the distance, growing ever closer. Rocks cascaded down the mountainside, reeds and grass shook feverishly.

Above him, storm-clouds were gathering. As if to welcome him to the city.

“Better I made the most of it.” Cascadius thought, a slight feeling of solemnity in his tone.

“After all...it won’t be around much longer.”

Author's Note

Well, this one had action at least.
First time writing a full-on Medieval style battle. Left my ASOIAF books at my student house so I'm left with what I can come up with myself.
Hope it was sufficiently interesting.

I enjoy making names.

Eminence City is based of His Elevated Eminence the living mountain in G1.
More insight into just how mad Dvinius can be.
I'm tempted to base his atrocities directly off those of Caligula, someone I'm taking reference from in terms of his personality, but I'm afraid of going too far.
As Pinky and the Brain put it...
'Emperor Caligula Was No Boy Scout
He Did Things We Can't Even Talk About'
Hope I don't bore you with the descriptions but there's no sense in coming up with creative names if you don't have creative characters.
Count Balanitus is based off Slovak from the really awful Vampire Assassin. Don't watch the movie. Watch Obscurus Lupa rip it a new one.
Soundtrack taken from Assassin's Creed, World of Warcraft and Bloodborne.

Happy New Year Everybody!