The galaxy was burning.
Across the stars, war raged. Brother fought brother, and the Imperium was tearing itself apart. Worlds and armies declared for one side or the other, for treacherous Horus Lupercal or for the rightful Emperor of Mankind. Star systems were torn apart, fleets were destroyed, precious, irreplaceable technologies lost forever. Terra itself was under threat, it defenses cracked open and the very Imperial Palace besieged. Three loyal Space Marine Legions against six Traitor, and countless auxiliary forces, from Titans to the Custodians to the humble Imperial Army, millions were waging the deadliest battle in Imperial History. The very fate of humanity hung in the balance: whoever won this war would rule humanity for generations, even out to ten thousand years.
In a strange but fortuitous move, the traitor Horus had dropped the shields on the Vengeful Spirit, his flagship. The Loyalists were wary, none more than stoic Rogal Dorn of the Imperial Fists, but they had no choice. No reinforcements were coming, and the very gates of the Imperial Palace were under threat. Horus’ mistake was certainly a trap, but it was the only hope for humanity. So the order was given, by the Emperor himself.
“Our wrath shall be without peer. Treachery shall be repaid with blood. I shall visit destruction upon the traitor Horus. This day the war shall be ended. To the teleportarium!”
Thus they went. Hundreds of Space Marines, thousands of Imperial Armymen, a company of Custodians, all three loyal Primarchs on Terra, and the Emperor himself. There was no order: each squad was sent as soon as it arrived, rushing every available body into the breach. The Warp is a fickle thing, and it was no different this day. No one arrived where they were supposed to. They were scattered and lost, and all desperately fighting through indescribable horrors, impossible terrors from beyond the stars, to reach the command deck, and find the arch-traitor Horus. It was the most desperate maneuver the Imperium had ever undertaken. Never had the stakes been higher, the risk of failure so great.
But now, in this dire moment, the Emperor of Mankind was all but dead. He had faced Horus, and hesitated. Number XVI, Horus Lupercal. The greatest of all the Primarchs. The Emperor’s first recovered son, and his favourite. After all these years, the Emperor could not simply strike down one he loved so much. Any other he could have destroyed with a thought. The Emperor was ancient beyond reckoning, had seen civilizations rise and fall like mayflies. He had long ago abandoned the naïve notion of friendship or companionship. He was singular, and needed none other. All others were but tools to his ultimate goal. So he would kill anyone who dared oppose him without a second thought. But Horus was different. Stronger, so much more like the Emperor, and so much more useful if he could be restored.
Such hesitation had cost the Emperor dearly. Whatever love the Emperor could muster in his cold heart or plans in his labyrinthine mind, Horus did not reciprocate. They fought like gods wreathed in flesh, hours of battle passing in mere seconds between them. It was the ultimate duel, the climax of everything the Emperor had built. And he lost.
Lightning paled in comparison to the meeting of their blades, thunder to the crash of their blows. No mortal eye could follow the speed of their movements. A mace like a dead moon, with the power to break worlds, fell in blows like a meteor. A sword of golden flame tore through the air like a scythe through wheat. Claws both gold and iron-grey scraped against each other, shrieking like banshees of myth. Bursts of light and darkness visible wreathed about them, following with every clash and swing. Beyond the reach of sight, in the Realms of Souls itself, they waged their greatest battle, twisting dream and thought into weapons beyond compare, pure wrath and power unleashed. None could hope to match their raw might, or the devastation they left in their wake.
An arm, an eye, even his spine before the end. Horus broke them all. The Emperor could barely move, cast down in the broken shards of his once-brilliant golden armour. His sword was cast away, his lightning claw broken beyond all repair. The only weapon the Emperor had left was his mind. But if he so desired, it would be enough. Horus was strong, but the Emperor was supreme.
The Emperor turned his one remaining eye, and looked on another figure clad in gold. Number IX, Sanguinius, the Blood Angel. The only Son who could hope to match Horus in battle. He was dead, broken and cold on the floor. His loss grieved the Emperor. Sanguinius had been loyal, matched only by perhaps Dorn in that regard. He was mighty in battle, wise in counsel, and possessed of foresight to rival Warp-cursed Magnus himself. His death would break the IX Legion. It would be a terrible loss to the Imperium’s armies.
But no more did the Emperor feel. Sanguinius, Number IX, was mighty, and object of as much love as the Emperor could muster, but he was not Horus. Not precious, powerful Horus. The Emperor would honour Sanguinius, raise up statues for him, should he survive this day, but no more. Not a tear would the Emperor shed, even for one so loyal, even for one so noble.
The Emperor turned back to Horus, and watched. The Lupercal was ranting, lecturing on Chaos and betrayal and madly asserting his right to rule mankind. The Emperor heard every word, knew instantly every level of meaning, even those Horus himself, with all his superhuman intellect, did not yet grasp. But he cared not. He had heard none so cunning in speech, nor absolute in conviction, but to one such as the Emperor, immortal beyond all humanity, rhetoric was nothing but ornament. The true meaning he had heard innumerable times before, and never had it moved him. Chaos would be destroyed, whatever its worshippers said. The Imperial Truth would reign, humanity would be ushered into a new Golden Age, and the Emperor’s Will would be done.
Then, a new voice.
“Stop! Get back! I name you evil, and I fear you no longer!”
Even the Emperor could not believe his ears, wise and mighty though he was. He and Horus turned alike as a small figure, clad in the meager garb of a common soldier, charged into the room. Horus laughed, but the Emperor could only gape with his broken jaw. For he knew the man who charged in with nothing but a lasgun in hand.
The figure stood between Horus and the Emperor, lasgun raised and ready. Horus laughed again, like a rumbling avalanche.
“Who are you to defy me, who has become a god?” Horus asked, bemused. “I am Horus. I am the Unstoppable Force. I am the Inevitable made flesh. Even the Emperor could not withstand me. What makes you the mightier?”
Ollanius Pius, the Emperor’s oldest friend, the only Perpetual to ever seek out a simple life, free of war and full of peace, the one who had remained Catheric, even in the face of the Emperor’s Truth, stood firm in his place. He faced death, doom for even a Perpetual, a Primarch possessed of the very power of Chaos. And yet he stood, without fear in his eyes, though he had no defense and no weapon which could harm the Warmaster.
“Where I fall, ten more shall take my place! And one hundred each of them! So strike me down! I am the Harbinger!” Ollanius shouted back, and charged.
It was a pointless gesture. The Warmaster’s armour was mighty beyond the touch of a mere lasgun, and the simple Army bayonet could not hope to even scratch the paint. Ollanius could strike at Horus from now until the last star burned out and be no closer to harming the Warmaster. Ollanius knew this. The Emperor knew this. Horus knew this.
And yet, with a cruel laugh, Horus still slew Ollanius. It was a simple task, a beam of raw psychic energy, utterly unmaking the man's body, and rending his very soul. There would be no return from this. The Emperor’s oldest friend, the only one who could begin to understand what it was like to outlive everyone again and again, to see everything burned away and have to rebuild it all from memory, to be so utterly alone at all times, even when surrounded by countless others.
Grief, true sorrow, came to the Emperor for the first time he could remember. It was cold, an icicle in his meager heart. A pressure built behind his eye. His failing heart pounded against his superhuman chest. Grief turned to rage, and the Emperor turned to his wayward son. He looked into the depths of Horus’ eyes, and saw that his son was gone. Horus was dead: the monster before him was just a pretender, a facsimile devoid of all soul and humanity.
The Emperor made his decision. His eye glowed, and he gathered all his power to himself. The Astronomicon below, sustained by the sacrifice of Malcador the Hero, flickered as the Emperor’s distant might left it. Reality itself shuddered, and Horus, fearless Horus, Horus the conqueror, quailed for a moment. In the depths of the Warp, the Chaos gods screamed, and fled from their host, fearing the coming wrath, and leaving Horus alone for the first time in ten years.
The Lupercal gasped, and looked out into the stars. He saw the war, the countless deaths as the mightiest fleets in the galaxy tore each other apart. He looked across the war-room, and saw Sanguinius, noble Sanguinius, his dearest brother before the war, dead, by his own hand. He turned and faced the Emperor, saw the gathering power.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he said, closing his eyes, awaiting his doom.
But then, just as the Emperor unleashed his true wrath without fetter or constraint, a strange thing happened. In another time, in another place, there was a sudden burst of energy. It was a curious conjunction, never to be repeated in all the turning of the worlds. It was an impossible thing, a breaking of all rules and sanity. But it was a thing of the Warp, and cared not for the limits of possibility.
The Emperor’s blow did not fall. It warped, and bent, and grew, until it tore at the very fabric of reality. Indescribable colours burst from nowhere, ripping open a hole in existence. Images of another world, of strange alien beings, flashed before the Emperor’s eyes. Beings like unto equines, but unlike any breed he had ever seen. He saw six artifacts, and six aliens and six again. He saw a man clad in golden armour, with wings so familiar, torn from his flight and hurled to the ground. He saw the future and the past, and an unfamiliar world, beyond the scope of light, beyond the reach of dark. What could possibly await?
Then he fell, into light.
“You think you can destroy the Elements of Harmony just like that?” Twilight Sparkle asked, a spark of realization flashing through her thoughts. “Well you’re wrong! Because the spirits of the Elements of Harmony are right here!”
The five ponies who had accompanied her, her companions, stood beside her, in defiance of Nightmare Moon. The shards of the broken Elements shuddered and glowed, rising around the alicorn of shadow.
“What?” Nightmare Moon asked, confused. Her snake-slit eyes darted about, her corrupted mind uncomprehending. She had won! The Elements were broken, the sun forever banished. So what was going on?
Twilight listed her friends, and the Element they embodied, one by one, from Applejack to Rainbow Dash. As she spoke the name of each, the shards of their respective elements flew to them, swirling around them like stone halos.
“You still don’t have the sixth element!” Nightmare Moon protested. “The spark didn’t work!”
“But it did! A different kind of spark!” Twilight turned to her five companions. “I found it the moment I realized how happy I was to hear you, to see you, how much I cared about you. The spark ignited inside me, when I realized you all are my friends!”
The Element of Magic appeared in a flash of shining white light, descending on Twilight. Nightmare Moon quailed. The Elements of Harmony formed into necklaces and a crown, inlaid with gems. The power of friendship swirled together into a great rainbow helix, and descended on Nightmare Moon. The alicorn of shadow cried out in defeat as the light slammed into her.
Then, it was as though reality itself shook. The rainbow wave shuddered, and a white light blinded Twilight and her friends, if only for a moment. A boom drowned out all sound, even Nightmare Moon’s cry. Arcs of raw energy raked the room, narrowly missing Twilight and her friends.
Twilight shook her head, and looked through the smoke and dust. “What?”
She had come on this mission with no clear idea of what the Elements of Harmony would do. However, of all possibilities, this one she would never have expected, never conceived of, in a thousand years. Nightmare Moon remained, though weak and wounded, shadows bleeding forth and revealing a light blue coat beneath. But the truly incomprehensible sight was just beneath the alicorn of shadow. Three new ponies lay there, with no indication of where they came from, or why.
Before Twilight could begin to formulate any theory as to their origin, she processed their strange appearances. The first, the closest, was a coal-black earth pony with a golden mane and strange gold patterns in his coat. The next was a white-coated pegasus with a golden mane. The last was the most horrible sight. He seemed like a unicorn, or what remained of one. He was heavily scarred, and blood marred his golden coat. He lay, twitching, with two horrible wounds just below his withers and his horn broken near the base.
Fluttershy shrieked and fled back behind a pillar. Applejack and Rainbow Dash leapt in front, on guard against anything. Rarity stepped back, while Pinkie Pie bounded off to the side. Twilight cautiously stepped forward.
“Hello? Are you alright? Where did you come from?” she asked.
The white-coated one moved first, groaning and turning his head. He froze for a second, tensing, and then hurled himself into the air, lunging for the coal-black pony.
“Traditore!” he roared, with hatred and death in his tone.
Sanguinius gasped back to life, drawing in precious air. Confusion wracked his mind. He had been dead, had seen the endless darkness, had grasped for the lone, distant light. He had felt the talons rip through him, felt the mace crush his armour. But now he lived, he breathed, he moved, even if weakened. He felt cold, vulnerable, weak. It was a foreign feeling, unworthy of a Primarch. He hated it. He would not stand it!
Dark surrounded him, and his eyes refused to open. But he didn’t care. He was no equal for the likes of Magnus, or even accursed Lorgar, but he still possessed some psychic might. If his eyes would not cooperate, his mind would do the job.
The Emperor’s Angel reached out, psychically gazing into the maelstrom of the Warp. It was utter anarchy, but unlike any vision Sanguinius had seen before. In place of impossible colours marking screaming inhuman faces, there was a rainbow mixed with shadows. Then, he saw it: the terrible shadow, the rabid wolf, Horus.
Horus, his brother. Horus, the Warmaster. Horus, the keeper of his direst secret. Horus, the traitor. Horus the murderer!
A familiar fury coursed into Sanguinius’ veins. It was his curse, the burden his sons unfairly shared. Long had he resisted the frothing berserker rage. But this day, he gave not a thought to resistance. He had died, and returned to life. His killer was before him, weary and dazed and utterly unready.
Sanguinius lunged forward, stretching out for his sword, feeling for its familiar grip. He felt it slide along his palm, but it wouldn’t move. If he had a free thought, he might have wondered why he could not grasp his faithful blade. But amidst the fires of his rage, he cared not. If the sword would not obey, then his bare hands would suffice.
“Traitor!” Sanguinius roared, slipping into his native Baali.
He landed on Horus with a blood-crazed cry, reaching right for his brother’s neck. Always Horus had preferred the speartip, to go right for the throat. Today, Sanguinius whole-heartedly agreed. He would strangle the traitor, and end the war, here and now.
He heard Horus gasp, and he heard other voices, unfamiliar and strange. He ignored them. He had this one chance, and he would not let it slip away. He pressed his grip, feeling Horus struggle against his death. A fist caught the side of his head, and threw him aside. Sanguinius felt something chip off, a scab flying away from his eye. Free at last, it opened, and Sanguinius froze.
The world was utterly changed. Not a trace of the Vengeful Spirit remained around him. This looked like some primitive hall, perhaps a Feudal World castle. But this concerned him far less than the creature he saw before his eyes. The impossibility of it paralyzed him for precious microseconds. In the psychic realm, he sensed his fallen brother, Horus, before him. But the body he saw was not Horus. It was like a strange parody of an equine, bearing the same form but with the details… altered.
Horus fell back a step, and his eyes blinked to his left for a microsecond. It was an impossibly fast movement, one even an Astartes would have missed. But Sanguinius was more than Astartes, and he could read the glance like a pict. However, the rage pounded in his veins, and he lost all care.
Roaring incoherently, he lunged at Horus, only for his brother to slip away. Sanguinius recovered, turned, and tried to charge. But his legs failed him, and he fell on his face. Fury burning through him, Sanguinius looked up, and saw the strange being his brother was approaching. It was of the strange form Horus had taken, though slimmer, and maybe a slight bit taller. Shadows leaked from it like gas from a fissure, and it seemed direly wounded. It called out in a language Sanguinius had never heard, its voice carrying an unnatural undertone, like that of Horus in that final battle. Horus barreled into the equine, grasping it in his legs, and he hurled himself through the window, fleeing into the forest around.
Sanguinius stumbled to his feet, and fell again. Rage blinded him to all sense, and left him with only one thought: Kill Horus. But then, a groan broke through his madness.
The Blood Angel turned and saw a sight more horrible than any other. Watching through his free eye and with his psychic vision, he saw at once another equine, and his Father. The Emperor, or what was left of him, scarred and torn and broken, and embodied in the form of an equine. Sanguinius reached out, and saw he too had taken up this strange form. But he ignored the revelation, for his Father needed him.
He scrambled to the Emperor’s side, and looked for anything he could do. Scouring the broken, golden form before him, covered in wounds, he could find nothing.
“Kiu en la fojno vi estas shercistoj?” a voice demanded, breaking Sanguinius’ concentration.
Sanguinius turned to face the interloper: another strange equine, this one cyan and flying on wings too small for its size. Though he knew not how, Sanguinius could read its anger as well as any human face.
“Mi diris, kiu en la fojno vi estas ŝercistoj?” the equine flew closer, furiously beating its wings.
Sanguinius parsed the alien words. They were familiar, like unto the shadowy beast his brother had stolen, and he heard only human sounds, though modulated by alien throats. But he could not discern their direct meaning, and only gathered a vague sense of intent.
He snarled, and stood tall and proud over his father. “Back, xenos! You shall not lay a finger on the Emperor of Mankind!”
At the same moment, his superhuman senses took in the room and its occupants. In total he saw six equines, and sensed something like them behind him. Each was a different colour, and each seemed to be reacting differently. The orange one had taken up an aggressive posture like the blue flyer, though it seemed more cautious, more defensive. The white one seemed distracted and confused, while the yellow one was cowering behind a column. The purple one looked as though it were having a panic attack, and the pink one…
“Saluton! Mi estas rozkolora kukaĵo, kio estas via nomo?” it said, appearing right in front of Sanguinius in the blink of an eye. In the next blink, it seemed to be above him. “Vi aspektas amuza, nu, kaj nur iomete danĝera, sed ne malbona danĝera, kiel Koŝmaro Luno, pli kiel Princino-Celestia-leviĝanta la suno danĝera, kaj vi estas Pegaso, sed vi estas tiel granda kiel Granda Mac, kaj li estas bela granda!”
It was like watching Fulgrim train, Sanguinius concluded: faster than the mortal eye could follow, and covered in energetic pink.
“What do you want?” Sanguinius demanded, shaking the creature off.
The creature continued to gab, but before Sanguinius could strike it away, white light burst into the room, blinding him for a moment. A voice, ancient and mighty, resounded.
“Kio okazis ĉi tie?”
Twilight had no idea what was going on, and it was breaking her mind.
These strange new ponies were an utter mystery. Why were the black one and the white one fighting? Why was the white one moving so strangely, and what was that thing it tried to grab? Where did the black one run off to, and why did it take Nightmare Moon? For that matter, why was Nightmare Moon still there? Shouldn’t the Elements have destroyed her, or banished her back to the moon, or, in some mad world, ‘cured’ her somehow?
At that moment, Rainbow Dash interrupted her thoughts with a shout. “Who in the hay are you jokers?”
The white one immediately tensed, standing over the body of his hurt golden friend.
“I said, who in the hay are you jokers?” Rainbow shouted, hovering angrily.
“Indietro, aliena! Non metterai mai un dito sull'Imperatore dell'Umanità!” the white pegasus roared back.
What is he saying? Twilight wondered. She couldn’t understand a word of it. It didn’t sound like anything descended from Old Equish, certainly. That would mean he had to come from somewhere outside Equestria. How many pony nations were there? Saddle Arabia, Mighty Helm, Rainbow Valley…
Twilight’s mind fell into an inescapable sequence of facts and lists, swirling beyond the capacity of any mortal mind to comprehend. Anxiety and confusion overwhelmed her, trapping her in a panic attack only rivaled by when she accidentally forgot to study for the bonus question on a Second Year quiz.
While Twilight was distracted, Pinkie Pie bounded forward, ignoring the aggressive stances taken by Rainbow Dash and Applejack.
“Hi! I’m Pinkie Pie, what’s your name?” she asked the pegasus. “You look funny, and kid of dangerous, not bad dangerous like Nightmare Moon, but like Princess-Celestia-raising-the-sun kind of dangerous, and you’re a pegasus but you’re as big as Big Mac and he’s, well, big!”
The white-coated pegasus snarled and raised his hoof as to bat Pinkie away, shouting, “Cosa vuoi?”
Before he could do any violence, and before Twilight’s mind and heart could race to see which broke first, a comforting, maternal, and iron-strong voice broke in.
“What has happened here?” Princess Celestia asked as she appeared in a blaze of white light.
“The Princess!” Rarity called, and she knelt. The other ponies did the same, even Twilight, though the white-coated pegasus stood tall and wary.
Celestia nodded to her subjects, then turned her gaze to the strange ponies, and to the dais beyond. A flash of sorrow passed over her, as though she had expected somepony who was not present. But like a flickering of light, the expression passed, and she turned her full attention to the matter at hand: her panicking student.
Though she had knelt, it was for but a moment, and it was a submission not of love, but of shame. Twilight’s gaze was firmly locked on the floor as she quite firmly breathed in and out too fast to take in any oxygen. Even if she had not known Twilight, Celestia could have read the signs. As it stood, Celestia had known Twilight since the unicorn had been a foal, and she knew her student’s every cue and habit. She believed she had failed, and was in the midst of self-destruction.
“Twilight, it is alright,” she said, wrapping her right wing around the hyperventilating unicorn. Celestia smiled warmly, and lifted Twilight’s chin. “You have not failed. Sometimes, life doesn’t go the way we want it to, but that doesn’t mean we’ve failed. We just have to find a way to carry on.”
“But, we didn’t stop Nightmare Moon, and then these strange ponies showed up and I’m sure they weren’t supposed to, and then they started fighting, and now Nightmare Moon’s gone and I thought the Elements worked but they didn’t and…”
“Hush, my little pony,” Celestia cooed, hugging Twilight close. “It will be alright. Just breath, and calm down.”
Slowly, Twilight’s breathing stabilized. Celestia released the unicorn, satisfied that the panic attack was over, for now. That left only one immediate matter.
“Who are you, and why have you come to my realm?” Celestia asked the white-coated pegasus. She rose to her full height, and extended her wings out. Centuries of experience and the innate senses of a true-born alicorn warned her that this creature before her was no ordinary pony. She would need to be cautious.
The pegasus called back in a language Celestia had never heard. Despite its strange words, its message was clear: “Stay back.”
“I only want to help,” Celestia replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rainbow Dash struggle to hide her anger and confusion. The Princess of the Sun ignored it. Ponies were entitled to their opinions, after all.
The white-coated pegasus started to shout again, but then flinched, and turned to look at the mangled unicorn laying beneath him. The sight made Celestia herself flinch. She had lived long and seen many terrible things, but she had never lost the sense of pain. The poor stallion’s injuries were severe, though they thankfully did not seem imminently fatal. He would live, if crippled. But she also sensed a danger in that one even greater than the pegasus, a power to rival or even surpass her own.
Then, a voice, deep and proud and strong, like the roots of the mountains. “What world is this?”
“The usual courtesy is for the intruder to introduce himself first,” Celestia answered. “But still, I’ll tell you. This is the nation of Equestria, and I am its Princess, Celestia. And who are you, who presumes to enter my land without permission?”
Silence hung for a moment, the air thick like soup with tension. The voice answered at last. “You may call me August. And this is my son, Sanguinius.”
Sanguinius relaxed, but only slightly, and kept a wary eye on Celestia.
“August. A strange name,” Celestia said, mulling the situation over. Whoever, or whatever, these ponies really were, she needed to keep an eye on them. With Nightmare Moon still on the loose, the last thing she needed was a pair of wild cards with power to match an alicorn. However, she had many things to do, and could not afford to forever watch two ponies among thousands.
She could not find a solution so quickly. However, the compassion in her heart offered a way to buy time. “You are hurt, August. Come, we’ll take you to Canterlot. I have doctors there who can help you.”
“There is no need,” August protested. “In time, I will heal myself.”
Celestia looked at August’s wounds again, very pointedly dragging her gaze from the shattered horn to the broken leg. “All the same, I’d like to have your injuries looked at. Think of it as repayment for trespassing on my land.”
Sanguinius said something in his strange language, seeming to protest something, and then bowed his head, as though he had received some unspoken answer. It was just one more question Celestia needed to answer.
“Very well,” August said. Beside him, Sanguinius grasped at the massive sword laying on the ground, eventually managing to lift it with a combination of hooves, wings, and his mouth. “We will go with you, but only for a day.”
Celestia nodded, ignoring the insolence of the statement. She had heard worse from ponies far weaker than August. For now, she was just glad to be rid of the old castle, and the dark memories it evoked. Now, to Canterlot, to reassure her ponies that all was well, and to plan her next move.
Deep in the Everfree Forest, far away from the bright sun and its radiant Princess, one dark figure threw another to the ground.
Luna hit the dirt with a thud, and groaned. She recoiled at the sound, hearing in it half the manic tone of Nightmare Moon, her cruel tormentor these past thousand years. Her memories were hazy, and her senses weak. What had happened? Where was she? Why…
You awaken? Go back to sleep, weakling, and leave the waking world to me. The voice of the Nightmare pounded in Luna’s skull, mighty and terrible, but not as mighty as it had been. Luna could sense its weakness. Something had happened, something had wounded the Nightmare. Was it Celestia? Had her noble sister at last mustered the courage to finish what she started a thousand years ago?
Were we so lucky.
“Get up,” another voice, physical, and infused with the wrath of a thousand burning stars, spoke.
Luna could only watch through one eye as the Nightmare turned their head, and saw their captor.
His eyes burned in the shadows like amber fires. “I am lost. You will tell me where I am, what I have become, and how I can find my Father.”
“Why should I tell you anything?” the Nightmare spat at the black-coated pony.
He stepped closer. “Because I am Horus Lupercal. And I always take what I want.”
Author's Note
Some lines quoted from various Games Workshop materials, via 1d4chan. I make no claim to those respective lines.
Some lines (Twilight’s first scene) quoted from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic episode 2. No copyright infringement is intended, and I make no claim to those lines. It was included solely to establish the time frame.
Since I don’t have anywhere near the time I need to write up conlangs for everyone in this story, I’ve decided to use poorly translated versions of real languages in their place.
The Esperanto stands for Equish, Italian for Baali, and Latin for High Gothic. I apologize to people who actually know those languages for my poor handling.
All translations courtesy of Google Translate.
Also, would you readers prefer if I keep character names in their original languages, or should I translate them?
This story was inspired by an idea from Viva i carabinieri.
Sanguinius never tired, nor failed in his duty. At the height of the War, he had foreseen his death at the hands of one he once called brother, and had walked to his end without fear. He had faced monsters and daemons, and had stared into the face of annihilation unwavering.
Thus, though a week had passed since arriving in this strange xenos world, it had been no trouble to the Blood Angel to stand vigil by his Father’s side, to await the doctor’s work. Though time for a Primarch was slowed, its advance ground down by superhuman perception, his patience was without end. Only the gene-coded rage hidden deep in his veins could threaten his repose. But it was no threat to him in an hour of health: only the shock of death and restoration had broken his control, and he would not let it happen again. Not even now, when the doctors had driven him from his Father’s bed, to wait in a distant room until these xenos finished their desecrations.
No, it was not the waiting, nor the fury, which unnerved Sanguinius. It was the strange xenos form into which he, his Father, and Horus had been thrown which left him uneasy. He was a son of the Emperor of Mankind, and though his wings had left him forever apart, he had always taken pride in his basic humanity. Now that was stripped from him, along with his old life and his beloved sons. How did they fare now? He had foreseen their sorrow and their travail, but in those visions they had a body to mourn and bury. What would become of them now, abandoned by their father without so much as a blade to remember him by?
Sanguinius brushed the hilt of his sword, as he often did in these trying days. It was the only artifact to survive the transportation, save perhaps for Horus’ Worldbreaker. With his Father in healing, it was his last connection to his Legion, his Sons. He blinked, and for a moment he almost thought he could see them, in the corner of his eye; Azkaellon, Raldoron, poor noble Meros…
Thoughts of his Father now came to the forefront of his mind. He looked over at the post-surgery room. The Emperor’s injuries had been severe, crippling, even to one as mighty as he. It galled Sanguinius to think of his Father’s life entrusted to xenos trickery, but he had no other choice. Even the Emperor could not heal wounds like this, not before he…
Memories of the cold, black void rippled through Sanguinius’ thoughts. He had been ready to give his life for his Father, to die a brutal if noble death at Horus’ hands. To return from after was beyond his expectation. It gave him hope, and it left a cold spike in his gut. Hope, for if he could survive Horus’ wrath, surely the Emperor would, even if he needed the aid of foul xenos. The cold, fear, the mortals called it, because for the first time since the Emperor found him, Sanguinius had no idea what to do. He had no Legion, no Imperium, no war, no purpose.
The Blood Angel shook his head. It was not his to question. He was his Father’s true son. He would wait, until the Emperor rose again, and would receive his orders. For what else was he to do?
Calm sunlight shone through the grand windows, warmly caressing every surface in the room. The sky had but a few clouds in the sky. The breeze filtering through an open window was cool. It was a beautiful day to go outside.
Celestia acknowledged this with a brief thought, not even deigning to turn her head. There would be time for rest later. For now, she had a crisis on her hooves.
She went over her notes and plans, and then went over them again. She scoured ever prophecy. Again and again, she found the same, frustrating answer: no-pony had every anticipated this. Everything indicated that Twilight should have gathered the Elements of Harmony (which she had, to Celestia’s joy), and that the Elements should have broken the power of the Nightmare and released her sister Luna. Nothing said anything about mysterious ponies teleporting in and Nightmare Moon escaping.
It pained the ancient alicorn. This day had for a millennium filled her with hope and dread, had kept her fighting in Equestria’s darkest hours, and had kept her wary and ready in her hours of arrogance. She had dreamed for so long of seeing her sister again, only to have her snatched away at the last possible moment.
Even worse, Twilight had become an absolute wreck. The poor unicorn had panic attacks if she got less than an A on assignments. As far as Twilight was concerned, she had failed Celestia, and it was breaking her mind, which in turn was breaking Celestia’s heart. Celestia resented the burdens of state, and the endless problems the newcomers had caused, for keeping her from comforting a pony who may as well have been her daughter.
These thoughts whirled in Celestia’s head and heart, but with the honed practice of one thousand years, she kept working despite them. Through research and paperwork, her horn never tired, and her eyes never stopped reading. Sanguinius and August needed visas and records of their existence, and the Foreign Office bureaucrats had proven even more difficult than she had anticipated. She made a mental note to carry out some reforms, and continued on.
The horn-writing was not her best, but she simply did not care. The faster these got done, the sooner she could visit with Twilight. For now, Cadence and Shining Armor were running damage control, but Celestia knew Twilight would only accept her personal intervention. Celestia quietly cursed herself. Twilight was a unicorn of incredible power and intelligence, with the potential to even rival Starswirl the Bearded. In Celestia’s wildest dreams, she believed Twilight could even become an alicorn, if only she could learn the value and bonds of friendship. Such power would be needed in the years to come, if Celestia’s dreams were any portent, and perhaps more now that those dreams seemed to fail. Celestia could not afford the loss of such an asset, and her heart ached to see her beloved student suffer so.
In the midst of these thoughts, a knock came at the door. Celestia put down her pen, took a quick, calming breath, and turned to face the door.
“Please, come in,” she said, unlatching the door with her magic.
The door swung open, and Doctor Morning Call walked in. She briefly bowed her head to the Princess of the Sun, her curt respect a product of many long years spent working in the Canterlot Palace.
“Thank you, Princess,” Morning Call said. She carried a file folder over to Celestia’s desk. “We’ve finished the surgeries. August will live, but I have no idea how much he’ll ever heal.”
“Were his wounds truly so terrible?” Celestia asked, more out of politeness than anything else. She had carried the brutalized pony back to Canterlot herself (after no small arguing with Sanguinius), had seen his wounds up close. She had no doubt he would be scarred and crippled for the rest of his life.
“Actually, that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about,” Morning Call replied, flipping the folder open with a flick of her hoof. She gestured to a selection of diagrams.
Had Celestia been a younger pony, without centuries of honing in the political arts, she might have gasped at the images. As it was, she managed to constrain her visible reaction to a quick widening of her eyes. She lifted the images with her magic.
The first two images were Before and After pictures of August, the first from his arrival, the second from just that morning. It was the latter of these which so shocked Celestia. It showed clear, if miniscule, evidence that August’s broken horn was healing.
“This is impossible,” she said. “Only the most powerful healing magics can restore a horn, and I know of no ponies skilled enough to wield the few we still have. How can this be possible?”
Morning Call simply lifted another image.
It only exacerbated Celestia’s worry. It was a diagram of August’s back, and showed two disturbing bumps. The untrained eye might have failed to understand the importance, but Celestia had seen far too many battles to ever forget the sight before her: the roots of pegasus wings.
“He’s an alicorn?”
Morning Call swallowed and responded. “I was hoping you would have an idea where he came from. After all…”
“I have heard nothing of any male alicorns since my father left, over a thousand years ago,” Celestia said. A chill rippled through her. She left unsaid her deep worry. What could do damage like this to an alicorn?
Celestia sat down, scouring the diagrams again. Morning Call stood by, silent and tense. A thousand plans and ten thousand worries clamoured for attention in Celestia’s mind. She mentally listed every enemy she had ever fought, then collected a list of those which could not only defeat, but maim an alicorn. For any normal pony, this work would have taken hours. For Celestia, the millennia-old Princess of the Sun, it took a minute. She grimaced: the list was less than a dozen, and of them only half had any chance of returning.
She took a half-second to consider just how many enemies she had made who would return. Soon, if her dreams were correct. But of them, only two or three were a true threat to her direct person. Most monsters which could challenge the alicorns in brute combat were long dead, or sealed far away. So she hoped, at least.
Celestia put down the diagrams and rose. She turned to Morning Call. “This is dangerous. Let no pony know about this. Everypony who already knows is to sign the Official Secrets Act. If the populace finds out about this, we could have mass panic on our hooves.”
Or civil war, again. Celestia remembered the horrible, trudging days after exiling her sister, of rooting out enclaves of fanatics and rebels. Until Luna was safely back at her side, Celestia could not risk a rival alicorn, even one as weakened as August.
“Of course, Princess,” Morning Call replied. “Anything else?”
“Get word to Sanguinius,” Celestia said. “I would like an audience with him, say, this evening, for dinner.”
Morning Call left, and Celestia downed the rest of her tea. She trotted out onto her balcony, gazing out over her realm. It was peaceful out there, quiet and serene. But somewhere, deep in the eerie Everfree Forest, dangers unforeseen lurked, and beyond, Celestia knew more awaited. Sombra, if no pony else, would one day arrive. What form would he take? And with this new threat, this ‘Horus,’ loose, could Celestia even hope for Twilight to defeat him? And if not, what of the hazier threats, the lurking dooms in the distance? What of Discord, still hidden in the gardens below, imprisoned but not defeated, held at bay but now simply waiting.
No, she could not afford such rogue elements. Not in her realm, not in her Equestria.
Gathering her ancient strength, she left her room. She travelled through shortcuts and secret passages, bypassing everypony in the castle, until she came to the infirmary. Sanguinius was there, brooding in the corner, and stroking the ornate sword he always carried. Celestia quickly realized he was distracted by some dire thought, and, telepathically slipping some extra prodding into his vulnerable mind, slipped back out of his sight. She would not risk interference. Thankfully, she knew a more secret path.
In a few moments, she was inside, with the strange pegasus none the wiser. August was lying there, immobile, covered still in bandages. Celestia watched him slumber for a moment, pondering the mystery and the impossibility. Here was an alicorn, a male alicorn, one she had never met or even heard of before. Where did he come from? Why had he come? And just what was his connection to this ‘Horus’ who had stolen her sister away?
Celestia had ruled alone for one thousand years. She had faced down monsters and witches, horrors and tyrants alike. Though she often left the defense of her beloved Equestria to her little ponies, there were times when she had to intervene. August was dangerous, a rogue element, a factor she had never foreseen. Any conversation with him would be difficult and fraught with risk. Before she attempted to awaken him and negotiate, she needed an edge, some knowledge of what was going on.
She closed her eyes and reached out, calling on ancient magics she had not used in an age and a half. Telepathy of a kind all but unknown in this age, of a kind she had banned from research or use. She hated herself for even thinking of using it, but she had no choice; Cadence was too young, and too unready, and poor Sunset was lost, no longer an option. She would not be enough when the darkness came. All of Celestia’s careful plans had been thrown into chaos, her visions shattered. She needed to know what was going on, and how to get everything back on track for Twilight’s ascension.
Then, she touched August’s mind, and the world went mad. A thousand images flashed before her eyes, of a world gone mad, or chaos and darkness and doom, and one being who stood, madly, against it all.
It is an Age of Strife.
A lone figure, standing amidst the ruins of a once-mighty empire, roars out in rage and sorrow. Ten thousand worlds burn and scream, ravaged by horrors beyond all understanding. Once-noble beings, strange alien creatures Celestia had never seen before, waged innumerable wars, first against strange metal beings, and then against more alien races than Celestia had ever thought could exist. Then, deep beneath a towering mountain, a figure stands, and roars again, as all his hopes are scattered to the winds. He makes an oath, this pact-breaker, and turns his wrath to the stars.
It is a Time of Legend.
Huge, alien warriors in strange, bipedal forms waged war on a scale Celestia could not comprehend, mercilessly annihilating the peaceful and the innocent, burning entire worlds in their wrath. Beings like unto the old gods tore apart monsters to make Tirek seem tame, and weapons of unimaginable power were unleashed. And yet, somehow, they seemed lesser, inferior to something else, further back than Celestia could reach, a mere, pathetic echo of an even greater, fallen power.
It is an Age of Darkness.
Demigods falls, and sons turn against their Father. Warriors once sworn to protect their kindred now wreak horrors like the monsters they once fought. Heroes rise and are slain, and others turn into abominations. A thousand gambits fail, and a thousand schemers die, and a fallen hero marches on to final war. A holy city, sprawling across an entire planet, though its rulers still deny its sacred status. It burns, and burns, and burns, oh will the fire never end? An Angel stands, he defies the darkness with light and blood, and then he falls, incorruptible to the end. Then a golden titan, wreathed in light, rises from his throne, and…
Stop.
The voice, with the force of a thousand trumpets, shattered the vision, ended the nightmare. Celestia jolted back, her spell broken. Pain wracked her mind like fire. She fell back a few steps, her eyes wide and wild.
“Who… August? Is that you?” she asked. “What was that I saw?”
August moved not a muscle, but the voice spoke again.
Touch not my mind again. I shall not be so merciful.
The pain faded, and a mixture of guilt and indignation came over Celestia. On the one hoof, how dare he speak to me like this? But, Celestia recognized her failing. She had put expedience over morality and decency, and was paying the price. She found herself, in a brief moment, almost thankful for the repulse, for the strong reminder to not fall into the trap that had ensnared her sister so long ago.
“Very well. I am sorry for the intrusion,” Celestia said, mustering up a façade of calm. After what she had seen… But she could not afford to lose any more face. She could not show weakness, not now. “I need to know, where do you come from? What do you want? And why have you interfered in my affairs?”
August glared at Celestia, bringing to bear some ethereal weight of power, as though trying to crush Celestia with sheer will. Celestia held her ground, summoning up her great reserves of power. It was a brutal struggle, tearing at the alicorn’s mind, and Celestia needed every ounce of might and will just to keep standing. But stand she did, resisting the waves of August’s wrath, until at last, it relented, and she was freed.
“You are strong,” August said. He sat and brooded in thought for a moment. “But not so strong. I will tell you this: I am beyond you, xenos. Do not meddle in the affairs of your betters. But I have needs, and so for now, I will speak with you.”
“Does this mean you will answer my questions, or simply continue speaking in vague nonsense?” Celestia asked, annoyance slipping past her still-recovering mental defenses.
August glared again, but did not strike. “I speak as I will. You desire of me more than mere answers to petty questions. You desire a favour.”
A sudden sense fell on Celestia. Our duel… he did not use his full strength. He was able to fight me, and draw out my intentions without losing an ounce of force, nor alerting me.Just what am I dealing with here? “Yes. I want to see you healed, but I have many duties. You and your son have interrupted a plan one thousand years in the making. I would ask your help in fixing things.”
“I have seen your plan. A pathetic gambit, reliant on emotional responses, and wasting resources on a purely emotional desire,” August scoffed. “And now you desire my son to hunt for your sister. Oh yes, I know your secret, the terrible truth you hide from your people.”
“Yes. He seems strong, and wise, and I am short on time,” Celestia admitted, suppressing the shock of August’s invasion of her deepest mind. “A terrible darkness is coming, and already it may be too late. And now appears a strange enemy, unmentioned by any vision, which can cripple alicorns. I need it stopped, and I need my apprentice ready for the trials ahead. I ask for Sanguinius to return to Ponyville with Twilight Sparkle, to help her pursue Nightmare Moon and this Horus who has stolen her away.”
August sat, laying his scarred head against his pillow, breathing heavily, as though exhausted. “Leave me. I will make my decision.”
Celestia paused. She knew she could not force August to do anything he did not want, nor did she feel right in attempting such a thing. Already she had stepped over the line, and paid the price. She needed help.
“Very well. But first, answer my question: where did you come from? What was the madness I saw in your mind?” Celestia asked.
August’s wrath flared again, spreading out like flames in the night. “I call no place home, xenos! I have said I am beyond you, and that is my answer! Do not press me, lest you feel my true power!”
Celestia, angry at the refusal, nonetheless acceded. “Fine. One day, though, you will tell me the truth. One day I will know what those giants were, and why they fought.”
With that, the Solar Alicorn left, slipping out and returning to her room. She had much to consider now, dark dreams to ponder, and new plans to spin. The darkness was rising on the horizon, and if she was to keep her little ponies safe, much needed to be done.
Come.
The word, deep and mighty, boomed in Sanguinius’ mind. It was a familiar presence, and though weak, it was dearly welcome. Sanguinius answered the call without a word or moment of hesitation.
He slipped into the recovery room, unnoticed by the xenos guards. Disgust flashed briefly through his posthuman mind. How useless were these guards, that they did not even turn or listen at his movement? He knew that as a Primarch he could ambush even an Astartes, but these xenos had not the awareness to even wonder about a strange and sudden breeze!
It mattered not. Sanguinius was inside, alone with his Father. Despite himself, Sanguinius flinched as his eyes fell on the Emperor of Mankind. Trapped in xenos form, like himself, and so horribly wounded. Deep within his hearts, a quiet but urgent voice whispered doubts. Sanguinius silenced them. His Father was mighty. His Father was wise. His Father would live, and would one day sit upon the Golden Throne again.
The Emperor opened one eye and, slowly, shifted his aching head to face Sanguinius. “I have spoken with the xenos queen. She wants our help.”
Sanguinius rankled at the very thought, but he held his tongue. “What do you want of me, Father?”
“I am weakened. I can overpower her here, but it costs me. It will be some time before I can muster power like that again. In the meantime, we must keep the xenos from learning the limits of my wounds,” the Emperor said, and Sanguinius realized just how weary and laboured his Father’s breathing was. Brief fear flickered through his heart. “Therefore, you, my last servant, will go forth. Work with the xenos, and find Horus. Kill him, bring me his head. Nothing else matters, save that it will mask your purpose. Do you understand?”
“Of course, Father,” Sanguinius said, bowing to the Emperor. “But please, if I may ask, why must I work with the xenos? Do you not trust me to hunt down the Archtraitor myself?”
“I am weak, and unready,” the Emperor said, flinching from the pain of moving his bandaged foreleg. “I cannot afford to act without due preparation. When I am ready, I shall cast off the shackles of the xenos, and the Imperium will be reclaimed. But until then, make peace with the aliens, and use them for our ends. Find Horus, and kill him. That is your quest.”
“As you will it, Father,” Sanguinius said, doubt still whispering in the dark depths of his heart. He silenced that voice: doubt was the root of heresy, and he would not fall. Not like Horus. Never. The Blood Angel rose and left the room.
Outside, he met the guards. “Go to your queen, tell her that we have accepted her offer. I will depart as soon as I may.”
It took some hours for the matter to be entirely resolved. The guards galloped off, and Celestia soon sent her warm thanks, to the disgust of Sanguinius. Then came gifts, as best Sanguinius could describe them: some food, a handful of tools and bags, and several ‘coupons’ as they were called for shops in a place called ‘Ponyville.’ Sanguinius snorted at the absurdity of the name, but bit down his contempt. He would soon be dwelling there, and he could not afford anger overmuch, not now. A time would come to avenge these indignities, and to teach these xenos the true working of the world, to show them the darkness and terror that awaited their monstrous kind.
But for now, he would wait, as he did at the train station, to depart alongside the xenos called ‘Twilight Sparkle.’ She was to arrive any minute, now, and then off, to the xenos village, to begin his quest.
“I shall not fail you, Father,” Sanguinius said. “You will have my brother’s head.”
Author's Note
Does anyone know what Equestria technically is? Is it a ‘kingdom,’ or something else?
Also, sorry for the long delay, and for the rushed end to this chapter. It came down to me wanting to get you guys a new chapter, rather than waiting another month or so while I tried to find time for detailing the last few paragraphs.
