“Hey! Psst! Hey!”

“What’dya want?”

“Give me a bit of that gin!”

“To hell with that! This is probably the last bottle in south Grifftham!”

“You greedy bastard! I gave you a swig of my whiskey last week and you took half the bottle!”

“Keep it down, you idiots!” the sergeant yelled in the loudest whisper he could muster. “And what the hell are you doing drinking gin right before we move out?”

“I sure as hell ain’t gonna drink that oily piss we’ve got for water…” the first private grumbled.

“Just keep your heads on! I’m not yanking you two out of line of fire if you screw up while we’re retaking the river!”

That made both privates, as well as several others who were currently hunkered down and hiding among the decimated ruins of south Grifftham City nearby, let out a collective groan.

“The river?! Says who?”

“Order came from ol’ Grouch this morning! Says Trottingham gave us these weapons two weeks ago and we need to start using ‘em!”

“Easy for him to say! He’s sittin’ at home 300 kilometers away hiding under his pile of money! Why the hell we gotta get our heads blown off for him or Trottingham?”

The sergeant glared at him. “Because I’d rather risk getting my brains blown out here than ending up in a Trottingham POW camp. And if you’ve got any sense, you’ll do the same!”

The soldiers didn’t grumble anymore…at least not vocally…but hunkered down and turned to the river.

The mouth of the Grifftham was important to both sides of the conflict. It represented a sea access point for all places north along the river, and was vital to control of the region. Small wonder that it was one of the most important spots in the current military campaign, and why the city already devastated by the effects of the Tantabus months earlier was now little more than ruins. Smoke from both the few remaining industries to the north as well as constant fighting now hung over everything. The snows that had begun to fall with winter were the only contrast from a world of mud, grime, filth, and devastation.

On either side of the river the two armies encamped, with neither one able to overcome the other as of yet. From their vantage point, the hidden soldiers…only a few of hundreds on either side squirreled away or ducking under whatever shelter or camouflage they could find…could see the former port and mouth of the river stretched across the landscape. The Griffon Royal Rail Bridge still stood, but only because neither side was willing to destroy it. It was barricaded on either end instead and none would dare come anywhere near. For weeks, fighting had continued but had been relatively tame compared to the earliest days of the war. With the bridges fortified, the only real advancement could be done by river transport. And there was no way to even organize such an invasion without being shelled by artillery.

That had changed over the past few days, however. Winter was now upon Griffonstone, and it was bitter and cold. Enough to first freeze the river and then to leave a powdery layer of snow on it for traction. Now infantry could make a move, which both sides knew meant blood was coming.

The Griffonstone soldiers had no idea how the Fillydelphians were faring, but their own lot was pitiful. Rations had already been cut back twice since the war broke out. Public utilities had been neglected, unserviced, and unfit for human use before things got bad. Now at least 26 percent of the soldiers were dealing with disease along with hunger and frostbite. Most were poorly clothed and sleeping in water or muck every day. It hardly mattered that many were sporting new Trottingham rifles when their fingers wouldn’t move to pull the triggers quickly…or had already been amputated. The only thing that motivated them now was the fool’s hope that fully retaking the river would mean fresher supplies; including medicine, clean water, and decent food.

It was two hours past midnight when their side finally started to make their move. Griffonstone’s own armored war engines had long since been decimated, but Trottingham had supplied them with newer models. Well on their side of the river, four different long-range rail-mounted cannons opened fire and began to shell the distant shore. Over the next twenty minutes, the Fillydelphian forces did what they had done for many nights prior—hunkered down and hid themselves as they waited for the follow-up to the attack. As a result, losses remained minimal and the western shore stayed patient for whatever would come next.

The shelling was still going on when the sounds of mortars began to join in with them. As a result, cannisters pummeled the far side of the shore, and thick clouds of smoke began to billow out. At once, the Fillydelphian side sprung to life—realizing that Griffonstone was going to make its move. The guns went out, the light artillery was loaded, and as the larger shelling tapered off they prepared for the inevitable. As best as they could in the darkness, the soldiers looked out and waited for the first signs of life…

And as soon as one was spotted, the sounds of bullets crackling filled the air. The smoke covering the ground turned into a set of small thunderheads as lights from gunpowder resounded throughout it, and artillery and bullets alike pierced the smoke and lay into the opposite shore. It wasn’t long after that the fresh snow began to be stained red, and Fillydelphia gave the order to redeploy at the spots where the crossings were happening—fully expecting the Griffonstone artillery to start counterattacking at any moment to protect their bloody charge.

Yet as the initial wave was halted, the troops arrived, and light artillery kept pounding, the commanding officers soon noticed something. The body count was too low. Griffonstone had already stopped their advance, even though their mortars continued to cover their shoreline with smoke. Something was wrong. A captain turned to his subordinates and asked if the combat telegraph lines were up yet. On getting confirmation, at three until the top of the hour, he began to send his message…

Griffonstone’s own message came through sooner and clearer as their own bridge barricade erupted. What came rolling through it were new and improved models of armored engines—faster and smaller than the ones Griffonstone were using. They barreled across the bridge with murderous intent, spraying fire wildly to suppress and destroy as much as possible. They didn’t get more than a quarter of the way across the bridge before the opposing artillery hit both of them; turning both into flaming pyres with two thunderous cannon shots. Yet, unfortunately for Fillydelphia, that was just the beginning.

A much louder roar soon thundered out before one of Trottingham’s own rail armored engines of the largest sort…big enough to roll on both tracks…came stampeding down after them. On reaching the flaming ruins of the first mobile units, it simply shoved them aside and kept charging forward. The cannons needed more time to reload, and only the smaller, less effective shots fired that barely served to slow the rail unit. On reaching the middle, the rails gave out from where they had been destroyed by either side, and Fillydelphia figured it could attack from there. Unfortunately for them, they got a dreadful shock when the artillery unit simply derailed itself right there on the bridge---before two more large secondary engines roared from it and proper treads were deployed. It proceeded to continue forward at a much more lumbering pace, but not before firing additional shells into the distant fortification that knocked out the high-powered cannons. Only then did Fillydelphia realize how severe the attack was. Unwilling to risk the bridge, no mines had been deployed. There was no way to stop the armored unit before it broke the opposing fortified line. And within 40 seconds, that was exactly what it did as it used its armored bulk as a battering ram to smash through the defenses.

Now the night truly did light up. The Griffonstone soldiers made their true advance at this point; not just crossing the river in half a dozen points but now advancing across the bridge two abreast with fresh armored wagons. At the same time, the artillery on the Griffonstone side opened up once again, peppering the opposite shore to try and suppress any and all resistance. The Fillydelphians were caught off guard. Not intending to need to cover the bridge, they quickly needed to shift their artillery to hit it. The armored wagons were the highest threat now. But that allowed the Griffonstone infantry to be a bit more than easy targets. Now their unified charge was enough to overwhelm the misplaced defenders. After only five minutes of the renewed charge, the alarms went off as some of the Griffonstone infantry managed to reach the opposing shore. At the same time, the heavy Trottingham weapon, damaged but operational, continued to gut forward and shred artillery and barricade beneath it. A new armored convoy was right behind it, with the Griffonstone infantry backing them. If the assault was not halted soon, it wouldn’t be at all. For a brief moment, the attackers could see to winning the day…

But that was when more engine noises joined the ones already on the ground. These ones were in the air. In the darkness and smoke, the Griffonstone soldiers turned their heads skyward—fearful for a moment that Fillydelphia had somehow redeployed some of their airships south. Yet there was no sign of them, and when they turned their spotlights to the sky they saw nothing.

Nevertheless, just the same, it wasn’t long after that moment that artillery fired not from the ground but the heavens, and the bulky tank at the front of the charge suddenly erupted in twin balls of fire.

Stunned, more searchlights came on, and they saw them. They were slower and larger than their previous Cloudsdale counterparts, but nevertheless it filled with Griffonstone side with dread on seeing what it was. Flying armors. Ones large enough to carry artillery with them, and now buzzing about in the sky like colossal metal insects. The new and feared successors to the Wonderbolts: the Fillydelphia Sky Armors. Better known by the derogatory nickname that Trottingham had given them as being a rejected form of Wonderbolt—the Washouts.

Moniker aside, the advantage they gave on the battlefield was unquestionable. Artillery rained from the heavens and lit up the bridge. While the errant firing no doubt did some unwanted damage, it also accomplished its aim. It devastated the new Trottingham armored wagons, and they in turn could do nothing in response with their limited range. Within ten minutes whatever was left of the new armored units found themselves blocked in by flaming wreckage. The soldiers who had made the mad dash across the bridge were now hopelessly stuck out in the open; around the same time that the Fillydelphians had regrouped and opened fire en masse.

The Griffonstone forces on shore could do little to help the situation. Even if they had prepared with anti-air artillery, the Washouts were far too fast and small to hit save by luck. Their sortie only lasted ten minutes in all, but after that it really didn’t matter. The entire attack had been dependent upon Griffonstone taking the bridge. Without it, the momentum soon swung fully back in favor of the defenders. The infantry on the bridge were sitting ducks and what ones weren’t massacred were sent fleeing back across. And as soon as that was done, it was a small matter of turning the artillery back to the river. Within one or two volleys the frozen river was shattered into bits, isolating the soldiers who had managed to cross from all of their companions. The latter quickly retreated to save themselves; leaving the former to a brutal and swift doom.

When the sun finally rose the next morning, the sky was grayer than ever and the landscape stained red with fresh blood. Amid the sea of bodies being washed down the river or left to rot, no one cared one way or the other about two privates in particular who had died side-by-side next to a now-broken gin bottle. Much less their sergeant who had been blown apart not 20 meters away.

As the survivors, now a little more demoralized and far colder and sorer, slunk back into their hiding places, the only sign of emotion came from their commanding officer 3 kms away from the front line—cursing at how she was supposed to explain this to Trottingham.

“So you didn’t hear the news, yet?”

“What kinda news?”

The rancher paused in the middle of her work, letting her pitchfork idle. It may have been night out and oil normally used for lighting was being conserved for both heating and the war effort, but now that the agriculture of Appleloosa was fully under the administration and management of Trottingham no one could be too careful. Sure enough, the rancher had stopped herself just in time to see a Trottingham overseer walk by, giving her an unfriendly look while shouldering his rifle.

Her partner snorted as he kept digging with his own pitchfork. There were about twenty of them in all at the moment; working late and overtime to empty out every last bit of scrub still left in the fields at this time of year. The Trottingham government had even splurged on bringing out their new industrial bailers and mounting them onto wagons for just such an operation, and nearby a locomotive with a whole fleet of cars was waiting to snatch up their gains as quickly as possible. Since before noon of the previous day they had been throwing the hay into the bailer, and now past midnight they were still at it on a double shift.

A miserable lot, but it beat the alternative. And Trottingham had made the alternative quite public to the first batch of workers that tried to evade the new pogrom.

“What’re you so scared about? It ain’t like saying what’s going on is going to change anything.”

She snorted as she resumed bailing. “These big fellas are more gorillas than human folk. Some of them look all day for a reason ta’ shoot ya’. Give some horse swallor ‘bout how it’s demoralizin’ or whatever… Anyway, Fillydelphia’s got its own air cavalry up.”

“No kiddin’, huh?”

“No kiddin’. Heard it myself durin’ my water break from one of them loud-mouthed bureaucrats they sent us. Griffonstone ain’t movin’ another step now.”

“Heh, I reckon’ not. You don’t seem too happy, though.”

“Why should I be? Fillydelphia gets its ass out here, you know what they’ll do? Have us spend half the day bailin’ hay for them too.”

“Hey!”

The voice was sharp and angry, and caused both ranchers to turn and look. Sure enough, the soldier from before was practically gnashing his teeth at them.

“You got time to talk, then I’ll be happy to give you another hole you can gab out of! Hurry it up and get this hay bailed! You’ve had all day!”

Both ranchers frowned and returned to their work. “You haul your ass over here and do it, muscles…” one grumbled. “What the hell they need all this hay for anyway?”

“I dunno. I heard they’re runnin’ low on corn feed.”

The first rancher paused, looking up in puzzlement. “Say what? Outta corn? I thought all those fields were up north. Heard they had a bumper crop this year in spite of everything. Even the Trottingham folks left it alone.”

“Not anymore. Some of the feed…it went bad. They can’t find out what or how it happened, but last train that came through? Carrying 1500 head of cattle. Lost all but 37 on that feed.”

“What in tarnation…?!” the rancher practically shouted in spite of the earlier warning. “That ain’t no bad feed I ever heard of! They had to be sick! It’s gotta be the hoof-in-mouth!”

“That’s what I said but they’re swearin’ up and down those animals weren’t sick when they went on the train.”

“Bullspit. Someone’s just covering his or her neck. And with good reason.” She turned back to her work. “If I was dumb enough to lose over 1400 cattle, I’d deserve to get my neck hung with or without Trottingham bein’ here.”

“Well, it don’t really matter if it was or it wasn’t. Trottingham thinks it was. That’s why we’re stuck workin’ double shifts hauling all this outta here. They only trust the hay that ain’t got brought in yet now. And they got ta’ move it fast if they got us puttin’ it on a train. They must’ve dumped so much corn they’ll need to start slaughterin’ soon.”

“Hey! Hey you!”

Both ranchers froze. It was the sound of the soldier again, and he sounded angrier than before. Fearing he had picked up on their conversation again, they turned to him.

His gun was out now, but he wasn’t looking at them. He was glaring at someone else.

“Get the hell off of that! Right now!”

It wasn’t long before two other overseers also pulled their weapons. The ranchers, puzzled, turned and looked around. However, the rest of the workers were just as confused as the rest of them. None of the weapons were trained on them.

“You know…it’s very funny…”

A new voice had joined in. Yet the moment it spoke…the second the ranchers heard it…something changed inside them. Something about the world itself had altered. The two ranchers, who had been sore and complaining until now, forgot all about their tiredness and irritation. That was unimportant now. All they felt was cold…and not from the weather. From dread. As if the mere sound of that voice had brought out all the dread, terror, and fear they had ever felt in their lives and was now choking them with an icy hand.

Even hearing only something so simple, they were now gripped with paralyzing fear.

If any of the ranchers could have looked back to the soldiers, they would have seen now they too were immobilized—no less stricken with terror than the rest of them. Against their will, they found themselves looking to the source of the voice…even as they felt they were suddenly trapped in a nightmare, in which they found themselves looking toward something they already knew would be a horrifying sight.

“People think that if you want to spread misery, pain, and death…that you should just go around slicing off faces and ripping out throats…”

Their eyes finally focused on the bailer. In particular, someone on top of it. Straddling it and reclining like it was some sort of couch.

Yet this was no person. They all knew that instinctively; regardless of the fact that she had a large pair of wings that gently stretched out behind her.

“But that’s far too quick. Oh, it’s fun in the right situation, but you’ve got to appreciate slow, painful, torturous deaths…”

The figure turned her head, and when she grinned her green and red eyes, filled with malice and madness, seemed to gleam as each of her teeth shone like pale lights.

“And sometimes the oldest methods are the most appropriate.”

The forests of Equestria were literally hundreds of miles from the nearest front line in the current war. Nevertheless, there wasn’t a member of the Fillydelphian detachment slowly making its way through the understory that wished they weren’t there instead of here.

Fillydelphia had avoided Equestria and their border with it as much as possible during the eight year stretch following the Lunar Fall, and with good reason. Of the nations that had managed to survive the successive waves of the Light Eaters and Nighttouched, they had gotten the worst. Their rapid militarization was necessary for survival both from opposing countries as well as the threat of the unworldly monsters constantly at their doorstep. And while it had been half a year since the endless night had finally broken, the people who were left had no less terror of the place.

Yet that, of course, was the least of their worries now. Everyone in Greater Everfree was up in arms and confusion after the message had gone out from the supposedly long-dead Equestria, but even before that it was clear something was still very wrong in that former nation. The swarms of Nighttouched that were rumored to come out even during the day. The living shadows that took people away never to be seen again. The constant lights and echoes from beyond the mountains, coupled with the sight of shooting stars and lights lingering above the sky or streaking past it. And, of course, the persistent rumor that all those strange and monstrous individuals who had turned into something inhuman once those strange symbols appeared on their hands had originated from this place and had now returned to it.

There was nothing the people of Greater Everfree feared more than the unknown now, yet at the same time its leaders knew that the wild north was a chance for a path to new power and technology that had only been dreamed of. Either way, the land had to be claimed—and no one could be sure it was safely claimed unless it was their nation that claimed it.

The bulk of Fillydelphia’s assets were on the war effort and they had two fronts to fight on, yet they still had “splurged” on this detachment. Each one was very well armed and supplied for a month-long deployment in the thick forests and uneven mountains if necessary. A company of five horses was with them for additional supplies and even two pieces of anti-infantry artillery. The thirty soldiers in all clearly meant business, and were constantly taking notes and making adjustment to their personal maps for reconnaissance updates—paving the ground for future incursions as necessary.

Six weeks ago they would have followed the old railways, as that provided the easiest path through the mountains and forests that would take them toward the former urban areas. Yet those had since been blockaded and, in some cases, guarded. Fillydelphia was forced to find new ways in, which wasn’t easy. The terrain itself was very hard to navigate even before it had been overgrown and most of the Fillydelphian border with Equestria was against mountains. Nevertheless, there was a strip of land further northwest that provided access. After multiple recons and a few sorties to extend the old Fillydelphian border back to its proper demarcation, they had made their move.

Two days had passed since then, which was the farthest they had ever managed to go in nine years. Tensions were high. Everyone frequently watched the trees for potential hostiles as well as the shadows for lingering Nighttouched. The trip had been peaceful, but entirely too silent. Far too little of the forest had been safely repopulated by wildlife. And now that winter was here, and they found themselves struggling not to crunch snow or send any echoes thorough the understory, the silence seemed to be the greatest enemy.

At present, the bulk of the detachment was navigating a rather jagged and crooked pass cluttered by trees and dead branches. It was clear larger Nighttouched had stormed through here in the past, leaving it a struggle to navigate over all of the forest debris. Due to the sharpness of the terrain on either side, only four scouts had been dispatched. The rest moved in a train, although they were finally emerging to where the landscape grew more regular and even.

Realizing they could safely fan out again, the lieutenant gave a silent signal in the form of a fist gesture. Those behind him quickly spread it, and all halted. They took positions against trees or hunkered down, while the officer motioned for her two sergeants. They moved up alongside her as she crouched by a fallen log

As they fell in alongside her, she pulled out a map and unfurled it. She quickly pulled out a pen and visually traced to a series of Xs on their route, before she marked another one.

“Alright,” she spoke in a whisper just loud enough for them to hear, “looks like we cleared it. Here’s where things get fun. We head east by northeast here for another six kilometers and we’ll hit what looks like a former farmhouse. From there we’ll transition to this road right here and start making our way north to Canterlot.”

“What if they’re watching the roads?”

“Based on intel, they can’t have more than four hundred in the whole city. They’re spread way too thin to cover all roads. This one’s just an old farmer’s wagon trail. It should let us get well away from the rough terrain, if nothing else. Remember…keep your eyes peeled for any other buildings or facilities that look like people have been using them. Especially ones with any strange lights.”

“Ma’am, should we really be setting any big fires this far in enemy territory? Forest or no forest, they’re going to know we’re here once we do.”

“Primary objective is to destroy anything they could use to make more weapons or monsters. Secondary is recon. If we run out of incendiaries, that just means we can head back all the sooner. And I don’t know about you, but I’d prefer torching whatever they’re planning to sic on us next before they have a chance to do it.”

The sergeant didn’t argue as the lieutenant pulled up the map and folded it. The three began to rise to separate and carry out the latest order, when a noise went through the forest. It was unusual and low, but also loud enough for not only them but everyone else to hear. A large crack. Not quite a gunshot or explosive, but more like a massive whip had been snapped.

At once they froze, and both they and everyone else was on high alert. Unusual as the sound was, it hadn’t been that far away. No more than 200 meters. Maybe closer. The lieutenant, going into full “combat mode”, turned and gave the orders.

In moments, the detachment had come to life. Almost everyone hunkered into position and deployed their rifles. The few nearest the horses, with practiced speed and skill, started to detach and deploy the anti-infantry artillery pieces. Everyone else fell in around them in a protective formation and started to scan the forests about them. They became as quiet as the grave. Fear and anxiety made the air a bit colder and sharper, but their fingers and toes tingled as they struggled to hold their breath and waited for a sign of something. One or two with binoculars got them out and started to sweep the landscape ahead. After a few moments, sweat started to bead up on brows.

Another crack went out. This one was closer---around 100 meters. Half of the soldiers turned to the source, but even clear of the uneven terrain the forest was still too thick to see that far. The anxiety level rose a bit higher as the smell of ozone started to waft over the detachment.

A rifle stiffened as one soldier spotted something near one of the trees. However, she halted herself right before she could pull the trigger as it vanished just as quickly. Again, silence—aside from said soldier nervously inhaling and exhaling.

Then it happened.

They popped out from around the trees so quickly that one could have sworn they were there the whole time. The soldiers snapped to them in alarm, but they were fast. Faster than any normal human would have been at full speed on a running track. They charged right for the perimeter and, before anyone could realize what had happened, passed right through it. The stunned soldiers turned around, only to see them still streaking across and headed for the anti-infantry artillery just as it had been deployed. They tried to turn and fire…

Yet instead of gunshots, sounds like a jingling of ice crystals being knocked clear off of a roof rang out. And following it came cries of pain. The soldiers, stunned, looked back around and saw their comrades suddenly drop their weapons or fall to their knees. Their arms and hands were pierced and bleeding with blades of ice—razor sharp and fired like projectiles at them. Those who weren’t in pain looked up, and finally saw it. Figures in hastily-made winter clothing and camouflage were popping out behind the trees up ahead. Light was gathered around their hands, and when the light erupted streams of icy knives rained out toward them.

Some of the riflemen lifted their arms to fire, but that was when the next wave came out. Civilians looking like they had hastily dressed themselves in full-body crude armor, mostly made from cutting apart pieces of stoves, pipes, and furnaces, came out and began to barrel right at them like steam armors. The gunners opened fire on them, finally filling the forest with the sounds of gunshots, but it did little good. The crude armor served to dull and deflect the bullets, while their bearers didn’t even slow down as they ran in from all sides.

The soldiers who weren’t taking cover tried to go for their grenades or other weapons, but it was no good. Suddenly balls of multi-colored mist began to rain down on them along with the icy shards, and as soon as they erupted both their focus and concentration slipped. Everything entered a hazy, dream-like state and left them unable to even aim correctly at their attackers. The artillery soldiers finally pivoted their weapons out and nearly opened fire—only for their weapons to suddenly collapse into bits in their hands. The first wave, moving as fast as birds and as quietly as mice, had somehow fully removed critical components from them. Their greatest weapons were useless.

Finally, the armored people reached the detachment, and at that point the second part of the attack happened. To the surprise of the soldiers, people popped out from behind their armored companions and attacked with little more than their bare fists. Yet it turned out that was more than enough. Many of them looked like normal civilians and almost all of them were skinnier and less built than the Fillydelphian soldiers, yet their punches broke bones and sent the adversaries flying. One blow was all that was needed from each one to send the Fillydelphians to the ground, and a second blow was all that was necessary to smash their weapons. It was even worse when the armored ones joined in, as they were strong enough to seize the very horses that were supplying them and fling them onto their backs. The animals, panicked at this turn of events, quickly broke for it and took their supplies and ammunition with them.

In very short order, the gunshots ceased, and it was over. The lieutenant was knocked to the ground, sporting two broken ribs, as one of the armored individuals picked up her own rifle and snapped it in half. She tried going for her pistol only to see one of the crudely-disguised ones pop up and respond by sending a ball of fire onto her hand. She cried out in agony a moment later as she received enough of a burn to not only make her abandon the weapon but be unable to use that hand for some time. Only then, gritting her teeth in pain, did she look about and see the rest of the detachment was no better.

Before she had a chance to react or protest further, an armored figure seized her and yanked her to her feet like she was made of straw. Instantly, a knife went out and cut off her belt; relieving her of her personal weapon and supplies. Her pack came next. At the same time, she saw the rest of her unit, mostly in pain and some barely conscious, get the same treatment as they were stripped of weapons and gear. While this happened, they were soon surrounded by the rest of their attackers. They emerged from the forest now, and the lieutenant watched as a few of them unceremoniously threw the bodies of their four scouts at the Fillydelphian’s feet. Each one sported a blackened, smoldering mark on their clothing from where they had been hit by an unknown attack. She might have mistaken them for dead if it wasn’t for the small puffs of white mist coming from their mouths.

A scraping sound distracted her. She turned and saw the last of their attackers was drawing out a hastily-made travois pulled by dogs. Her own attacker proceeded to throw her belt and pistol on it. However, he yanked open her pack first before doing the same. As he rummaged through it, she felt herself grabbed roughly by one of the fists-only people. Her face was rather cold but not hateful as she rather roughly stripped her of her coat, gloves, hat, and scarf. Each were thrown onto the travois in turn. She was helpless to do anything but let them. She realized by now, as all of them had, that they were not dealing with normal people and that resistance was useless. And she knew why. Even though they were wearing gloves for the time of year, a glance to the hands of their opponents confirmed a glowing light from near the wrists or through the thinner fabric.

Finally, the one with her pack yanked out a blanket and practically threw it in her arms, forcing her to catch it in a hurry. He yanked out her canteen and a single set of rations and did the same. The rest of the pack went onto the travois. She turned and looked to the others, and saw the same happened to them. It actually gave her pause. She, like the rest, had figured that they were merely being looted before the inevitable. And the thought of what the inevitable would entail had been a far colder feeling than the now-icy air they were exposed to. Especially since the chancellor had made no secret of what they had done at the conference a few months ago—exposing their true nature as some sort of otherworldly monsters.

“Lieutenant.”

It was the first distinct word that had been spoken since they heard the first crack, and it was so stunning that it caught the lieutenant off guard and made her instinctively turn to the source.

She found herself looking into the eyes of a man who had pulled aside his own hood to unveil a shock of long, messy, blue hair. Yet he didn’t have the appearance of civilian like they did, in spite of their unnatural abilities. This one definitely had been in the military, and he regarded her much as an enemy officer might.

“We counted 30 of you in all. Are there any more?”

For a moment, she was stunned. She had prepared herself so much to encounter vampires or ghouls or any sort of other monstrosity that she hadn’t expected something so formal or a voice so natural. A second passed in which she totally forgot about their abilities and found herself just standing captured before any other militia.

However, that also snapped her back into her own military mindset, and she remained quiet.

“Your silence isn’t going to be helping them. It just means we might use lethal force if we spot them and mistake them for a vagrant. Are there any more? Or any other platoons besides this one?”

Again, how “normally” this exchange was being treated caught the lieutenant off guard. Equestria was supposed to be a realm of eternal night and demons of darkness—not some common battleground in any other war. Yet she had to admit, if she didn’t know what Neighsay had passed on to Fillydelphia, it would have been hard to not see it as that. Looking at the people more closely, none of them appeared to be soldiers. Most were too young or too old, and it was clear they hadn’t used guns of their own because none of them would know how to use them. The looks they gave them were angry and fierce, but no more than from any other local village defending its home turf.

Yet once more, she said nothing. The man facing her sighed.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

With that, he suddenly reached out and seized her burned hand. She instantly grit her teeth in pain, but mostly felt a rush of fear as he yanked it in front of himself. Soon after he held his opposite hand over hers, and at once the full terror came in. This was it. This was what she had been expecting. This is where she’d find herself tortured, killed, or worse. As light began to gather around his other hand and shower down, her survival instinct kicked in. She ignored the burning pain as she started to pull away as fiercely as she could; for all the good it did. He held her easily without even struggling. The soldiers around her began to panic as well, and nearly broke to join in their last act of defiance…

Yet that was when she realized she wasn’t feeling worse. Quite the opposite. The immediate burning pain she had when her fresh wound was seized was dying down. Not because of numbness but pure relief. She hesitated, and looked to her grasped hand. Not only was it feeling better, but she noticed blisters from the attack were dying back into her skin. The redness and inflammation that had begun to form faded away. Her eyes widened as she let out a small gasp, before the light died down and the man released it. She yanked her hand back to herself and in front of her face; flexing it and looking it over as if a magician had just swapped it out for her real hand.

It was fine, however. As perfectly intact as it had been before it was singed.

“That’s all you get to keep,” the man announced, ignoring her hand and pointing to the few meager supplies both she and her detachment still had. “Which means the only thing you’re going to be able to do is turn right back around and get back to Fillydelphia as fast as you can before you starve or freeze. Don’t look for your horses. And if you happen to find them before we do, don’t try to regroup and come back here. We’ll take more than your supplies if we see you again.”

After saying that, he reached into his own coat and pulled out an envelope. He proceeded to thrust it into the pocket of her own uniform.

“That’s for the ones who sent you here. Make sure it goes all the way to the chancellor.”

Author's Note

As I mentioned in my blog, it's going to be a couple chapters catching up on the state of the world and focusing on the minor characters before we get back to Sunset and the ladies...although I was able to have a quick cameo from Midnight Sparkle in this one.