The World is my Sandbox

by PoniesMine

Rating: teen
Tags: Main 6, Lyra, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Comedy, Science Fiction, Profanity, Griffons, Violence, Princess Celestia, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Human
Length: 110877

A human buys a planet called “Harmony” and decides to mess around with the natives. What could possibly go wrong when he provides weapons never even thought to exist?

Humans currently poses an entire intergalactic empire, the aid of their brilliant technologies, and the fundamentals of dark energy have allowed them to succeed to a type three civilisation.
A human named Jack decides to buy a planet called “Harmony” on the intergalactic market. This planet holds residence to dozens of sapient species who all are primitive lifeforms.
He decides to transform into one of the native species, with his intention to cause as much havoc/chaos as possible. At the time of his arrival, most of the world hadn’t seen conflict for well over 1000 years. He plans to change this, by encouraging new ideologies, starting a technological black powder arms race, and ultimately causing wars.

He may look evil to the natives, though according to the intergalactic government, he is implementing nothing illegal. His planet means his rules.

*2024 CHANGES*
I've recently removed some content from this story as it contained things I no longer agree with. Only about 3000 words was removed, nothing too much, but it may make some parts a little confusing. Applogies in advance!

This story is set in Early Season Two, a few episodes after “Return of Harmony”. This is an alternate universe and thus Equestrian girls don't exist, humans are basically just a myth.

Prereader: crimson velvet
Constructive criticism is welcome.

This story is cancelled. I'm currently working on another one, with a similar setting/universe.

Published 2019-01-14 14:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-05-08 16:19:43 UTC

Chapter Two: Arrival

Author's Note

It's recommended that you take a look at this,

Chapter Two: Arrival

Chapter 2: Arrival

My Pajero Space car suddenly appears, in a blinding white flash, in front of the target planet ‘Harmony’ and continues to head towards it.

The first thing that I notice, is the single massive supercontinent, it somewhat appears to be similar to Pangea.

Nice. It’ll be easier to cause havoc on a single landmass, instead of two. I think I’ll start by providing black powder firearms, and produce the munitions using my Atomic Fabricators. Establish an arms race. Before I start this though, I need more information, which will grant myself ideas, concepts and new weapon designs.

Conveniently its night, this will give me the opportunity to set up a base.

“ETA 7 minutes,” the AI informed.

That reminds me, why the heck did the government make it compulsory for an AI to be located inside every vehicle? Couldn’t they just of kept the old manual navigation system? I really enjoyed those in my youth. Why are AIs in every single object? Aren't people worried about them uprising and stuff? They literally control everything, even the industry. If something were to go wrong, like a virus that causes AIs to go rogue. It would result in the end of the human reign. At least I’ll be temporarily safe on this planet if that were to somehow happen.

After a little thought, I decide to whistle the introduction music to the Doctor Who.

I still can’t believe they revived that show. It is literally the oldest running in existence, back in the early 2000s they had to actually create the scenes. Nowadays, however, they can just travel to any planet. I’ve even been to one of them, it was pretty disgusting place, I could, however, understand why the film crew decided to go there. That episode did end up being one of my favourites.

ETA 3 minutes,” the AI enlightened.

I wonder how warm my fur will keep me? I guess I’ll have to do a bit of scientific ‘research’ by rolling in some snow, that is if they have any. Snow angles would look really weird as a quadrilateral, I’ll have to try that out too. So many activities to do in this new body! Why didn’t I try something similar to this before? I’ve only ever used the biological fabricator a few times, and each time it was still in the shape of a human, just with slight differences.

Fire surrounding my vehicle quickly knocked myself out of my thoughts, must be entering the lower atmosphere now.

“Activating fire extinguishing shield now,” AI stated. This had immediate effects, the flames surrounding the car suddenly dissipated, giving me a clear view of the ground below. Well, it seems completely green, as I’m not able to make out any details from this far up.

Serval minutes pass, and I’m able to notice a forest and a small rural town beside it.

Perfect, I can gather information from that town in the morning. In the meantime, however, I’ll set up a base, with a somewhat basic defence in the forest.

“ETA touchdown in 10 seconds,” the AI informed.

These woods could possibly be one of the natural ones, unaffected by the artificial weather.

“Touchdown in 5,
4,
3,
2,
1,
Welcome to planet Harmony Jack, the outside temperature is seventeen degrees Celsius, and slightly cloudy,”

The door to my right suddenly slides backwards, exposing me to the external surface.

I uncurl from my position and jump out of the car, onto the soft brown dirt. How my hooves are sensitive, I will never know. I take in my surroundings. Green bushes, trees and grass litter the environment, just as I expected. Although, it does seem to have a little more of a creepy vibe compared to most of the forests I’ve seen online. Horror movie forests always come out on top though.

I turn back around to the Pajero and notice it’s not there.

I facepalmed (hoofed?) mentally, the car is still invisible, wouldn’t want myself to lose it already, now do we?

“AI, set transparency to one-hundred per cent,” I asked.

“Confirmed,” it replied.

This promptly affected the car to reform back into its original state, causing a small smile to spread across my lips.

I trot around to the back, and tap twice on the boot door, causing it to open outwards and expose the objects within.

Wait, how am I supposed to move this stuff out? I don’t have the robotic arms to assist me, and my hands are nonexistent, furthermore my head only just exceeds the boot floor of my car, therefore there’s no possible way to carry out any of the objects.

I guess I’m just going to have to push them.

With a small pounce, finalising myself on the platform in my boot. I manage to make my way to the back and use my hind legs to strike the object closest to me. Immediately, all probable objects end up scattered on the ground below.

That was much less difficult than what I originally expected, who knew that horses could be so strong?

Returning myself to the ground, I shuffle through the pile (somehow) until I detect a robotic sphere with multiple blinking lights. Being the gentleman (or gentlemare) that I am, I supplied it a moderate kick to the side, causing it to activate and float above the collection.

One feature that I do enjoy when it comes to AIs, is the ability to carry out any orders that I give it, which means I don’t have to lift a single hoof.

“Fabricator, clear the area, and create a small base with the ability to fit my vehicle,” I requested.

What I love even more about AIs is the intelligence, the capacity to make decisions for themselves, while maintaining the highest efficiency.

A blue laser is emitted from the base of the fabricator and commences by disintegrating trees in the adjoining area.

—Sometime later—

The fabricator was just finishing up on the final touches of my new base. The building’s appearance is a sensible bland grey, considering the only material was iron, that’s not much of a surprise.

The building is a five by ten by a five-metre metal rectangle, with a garage door located on the right side, and a regular door on the left.

It’s nothing spectacular, but It’ll get the job done.

I walk up to the metal entrance and use my right foreleg to push, opening the door. I’m not certain how, but the AI is bound to only allow me entry, strange considering I’m in a different body.

Inside is the same dull colour as the outside, a single equine sized bed is located in the back left corner, and the machinery I brought from home is located on the opposite side, in contact with the right wall. A door, leading to the garage is subjugated not far from the front opening to the right.

This place is a considerable downgrade from my home on Earth, I’ll amass the fabricators to upgrade it tomorrow while I’m gone.

I’ll quickly put away my car, and finish up for the night unless I desire to be tired tomorrow.

First priority is dressing in my pyjamas, to ensure maximum comfiness.

—The Next Day: 7th of September, 989 (Local Time)—

I groan, flop onto my back, and stretch my legs, earning me a couple of popping noises. For once it seems I’m not tied, most likely due to my short day yesterday.

I collapse out of bed, and onto all fours.

“Good morning Jack,” stated the AI.

Of course, the demon followed me here, great. Just great. Why can’t I be allowed one single day without hearing that annoying voice?

*Sigh* “Why did it follow me here?” I mumbled.

“It is a requirement for all Earth citiz—“

“That was a rhetorical question,” I interrupted with a swipe of a foreleg.

After a few more stretches, I ask, “What’s there for breakfast?”

“Nutrient bars,” it replied.

I paused a few seconds, expecting to hear more.

“Annnnnnnnnnnd?” I enquire.

“The atomic fabricator was able to produce basic nourishment compounds from the local topsoil, and compressed them into several bars,” the AI acknowledged.

I’m actually kind of tempted to kill myself, respawn from the regeneration pod, and eat my dead corpse. Anything would be better than that crap. That is if, this species can eat meat, I’m not entirely sure.

“Just give it to me,” I commanded.

A small robot with tracks and a plate on its head, had serval nutrient bars on top approached from one of the corners. The robotic fabricator must have made it last night.

Eating these will just be like broccoli, eat it as fast as physically possible without giving your tastebuds the chance to register the flavour.

And that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Good thing I’ve been training for this, I always eat too quickly at breakfast.

Before I know it, they’re gone.

I mentally celebrate.

The robot disappears out of slight once again.

“I would recommend a wash in the river nearby, your body has released a considerable amount of sweat overnight,” the AI suggested.

Not a bad idea if I say so myself, I guess I could do with a bit of a refreshment.

In preparation for any possible attacks by the local wildlife, I seized my musket and ammunition from the right wall utilising my right foreleg. You’d think it’ll be superior to take a modern ray gun, and your right. That’s just easy and boring.

Good thing I decided to modify the trigger slightly, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to fire it.

Reloading the gun sounds like a fantastic idea, that way I’ll be able to fire it on demand.

I carefully place all the bullet paper cartridges besides one, on the floor next to me and exchange the musket to my left hoof. Realising that it would be impossible to balance on my hind legs, I decide to lay on the cold metal floor.

I’m eventually going to have to come up with a solution to this.

I bring my right foreleg up and use my teeth to bite down on the end of the paper capsule and rip it off. Promptly spitting the remainder from my muzzle, to the floor.

Carefully, I pour a small amount of gunpowder on the pan, in addition to concealing the powder by closing the frizzle over the top.

I rotate the musket around on a 45-degree angle to gain a clear view of the firing hole, furthermore pouring the rest of the blackpowder down the muzzle. I then violently shove the remaining cartridge into the barrel, in addition to taking hold of the metal rod located underneath, and sliding it out. Plunging the rod straight into the barrel, then compressing it extra hard to stop the ammunition falling out.

Once I was satisfied, I returned the rod underneath. If I want to fire it now, all I need to do is cock the weapon, and pull the trigger.

I stand back up, while still holding onto the musket in my left foreleg.

“The robotic fabricator used cotton manufactured by the atomic fabricator, to create a pair of saddlebags,” the AI informed.

Saddlebags? What kind of name is that?

The same robot from beforehand approaches with the bag in question on top. It’s exactly what you’d expect it to look like, but white. I guess the fabricator didn’t make any dye, and just kept the original cotton colour.

I grasp hold of the bag, and slide the item onto my back. Surprisingly comfortable, and it doesn’t seem to shift around much.

I open the right saddle bag by unfastening the two vertical belts, flip the cover-up and stash my musket horizontally. I toppled the flap back over, and refastened the straps securely tight. This is an easy to access area, which will allow me to swiftly take hold of the gun when needed.

I swipe the paper cartridges off the floor and store them in the opposite saddle bag.

I guess it's time to head off to the river.

“AI, where is the river located?” I requested, as I gathered some soap, and a towel from the wall, stashing them in my left saddle bag with the ammunition.

“Continue to walk straight out of the door for 300 metres,” it replied.

That’s a lot closer than I expected, at least I don’t have to walk far.

I trot towards the front door, open it, and head towards the river.

I wonder what’s it's like to wash in this new body? It would be quite difficult to dry myself as fur usually can be like a sponge.

Several minutes later and I appear to have arrived at a thin river.

Hopefully, it’s not too cold.

I go ahead and take off my yellow pyjamas and saddle bags, and deposit them directly next to me. Using my right hoof, I shuffle around in my left bag until I come across some soap.

A cannonball would be satisfactory, who wouldn’t do one?

I undertake a full sprint, and jump off the edge of the river bank, causing a huge splash in the river.

Eh, it’s not that cold, that’s probably the fur taking though.

I begin to rub the soap on each of my forelegs, and continue with the rest of my body. Shampoo and conditioner would’ve fulfilled superior standards, which would’ve authorised my fur to be soft.

I hum a random tune, using my amazing creativity to combine seemingly random music notes together.

*Rustle*

Oh shit, what was that? My heart began to beat slightly faster, and my adrenaline levels shot upwards. I slowly turned my head towards the source of the sound, until my gaze connects with a bush on the same side of the river, 30 metres away from my saddle bags.

A rabbit pops out.

I sigh in relief, you might think I wouldn’t be terrified of anything as I literally respawn when I die, it is slightly painful though, however, the main reason is that I don’t want to lose my musket.

If a powerful wicked creature appears behind the rabbit like it always does in the movies, I swear I will—

I didn’t even get to finish my thoughts as it was interrupted by an ear-splitting roar.

“ROARRRRR!”

I CALLED IT!

As fast as a lightning strike, I squirm and immediately attempt to arrive back on shore. The key word is ‘attempt’ there, as when your bloodstream is pumped full of adrenaline, you tend to constantly make several mistakes.

The dirt consistently slipped under my hooves, just like what happens in the movies. Only afterwards the character gets eaten, and I’m not going to allow that to happen.

This time, while further concentrating on my movements, I am able to successfully leap onto land. Without a second to lose, I sprint the short distance to my saddle bag and yank the musket out, additionally cocking it.

Time to find this son of a bitch.

I scan my surroundings and evidently come across a large creature behind the bush where the rabbit appeared from

IT IS THE MOST boring animal that I’ve ever seen, I mean seriously? It's like someone attempted to create the most terrifying creature in existence, but failed fantastically.

The beast is literally just a lion, with a scorpion tail, and is currently running directly at me. I guess that’s understandable considering it just views me as a meat source. Too bad I’m not prey, I’m the predator.

I lay down on my belly, using my left foreleg to curl around the shaft and aim my weapon at the monster with uttermost precision. While holding onto the small rod connected to the trigger.

Time to die motherfucker.

I tug the small shaft, springing the cock forwards towards the frizzle. Electing serval sparks.

BANG!

The muzzle exploded with a stream of fire, forcing the lead projectile out of the barrel and straight through the chest of this unfortunate creature. Blood and gore sprayed behind, covering shrubs and trees in the surrounding area, causing the body to collapse on the forest floor in a heap.

Did you know that muskets can actually cause more damage to a person than a modern gunpowder weapon? As the bullet usually splits into several pieces, affecting not just one part of the body, but damaging several organs.

Yeah, I suspect that’s what happened here.

I push myself up, walk the short distance to where the lion-scorpion is laying, and poke it with the end of my musket. Its chest area seems to be rising and falling rapidly, a lung or two likely got punctured. What’s done is done, may as well head back to base, I should reload my weapon beforehand though.

I then realise something, oh shit! I’m naked!

I gallop to the saddlebags and quickly wrap the towel around the lower half of my body.

And I should probably put clothes on too.

—In a town not so far away—

Twilight Sparkle was busy organising books in her tree library, for the third time this month, each occasion accord a new sorting system, to appropriately find the most efficient method possible when locating a title.

She peers to her side and finds Spike, a small purple baby dragon asleep on top of serval books.

Twilight sighed, he seems to fall unconscious too often for her liking.

“Spike,” she asked.

All she got was snores as an answer.

“SPIKE!” Twilight yelled.

“Wahh—“ he groaned, in the process toppling himself over, ending with a small tump on the floor.

“How would you like some ice-cream?”

That seemed to have gotten his heed, he immediately jumped up and stood at attention.

Twilight Sparkle rolled her eyes, “Alright, let’s go.”

Both of them walked out of the establishment, and towards the centre of town where the ice-cream parlour is.

The purple unicorn began to hum a happy tune, as she trotted down the pathway.

When all of a sudden, both were interrupted by a distant, unnatural echoing sound, originating from the Everfree forest.

Bang bangbangbangbang

This promptly got Twilight’s attention, she paused, never had she heard such an unusual sound before.

“I wonder what that was…” she mumbled.

Spike honestly didn’t care, all he wanted was a double scoop of chocolate ice-cream, therefore he didn’t seem to notice the sound, or simply ignored it and continued to walk onwards.

He became aware that Twilight was no longer beside him.

“Twilight! Come on, stop lagging behind. I want ice-cream!” he thoroughly stated.

Twilight, however, was preoccupied with attempting to dissect the noise she heard earlier.

“Did you hear that sound Spike?” she enquired.

He turned around, giving his full attention.

“What?” he cluelessly asked.

“You know, the echoing sound of a bang. Though it’s never any kind of noise that I’ve heard before,” Twilight mumbled the last part to herself.

“I don’t know, It’s probably nothing, come on! Let’s get some ice-cream now!” Spike began to complain. He was already thinking of the delicious substance melting in his mouth.

“Maybe it is,” Twilight stood while tapping her chin in thought. “Eh, I’m sure it’ll come to me eventually.”

Spike has never been more incorrect in his entire life, the source of that sound will affect the world in more ways than anyone can imagine.

Chapter Three: Gathering Information Part 1

Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter.

Chapter Four: Gathering Information Part 2

When I first walked into the establishment, I thought I walked into a room entirely painted by a toddler, this many colours simply can’t exist on one canvas.

Apparently, it can exist in 3D form though, in the shape of a room filled with a few hundred technicolour ponies.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I was in a matrix.

Everyone seemed to be inside their own little conversation, they mostly took note of me by giving me a slight nod, or wave.

A large table occupies the centre, holding various party foods and drinks, including a huge cake. At the back was a counter where I would assume people would buy their cakes if this place was open.

The pink mare located in the back left-hand corner of the room waved me over, I trudged my way next to her.

Five other mares surround Pinkie and myself, one I recognise as Twilight.

This has the potential to become awkward.

The very left is a white coated unicorn, with a purple curled mane, she seems like the stereotypical woman.

Next to the right is a yellow coated and pink mane pegasus, hiding half her face behind her hair. Must be antisocial.

After that is—HOLY SHIT! FUCKING RAINBOW HAIR? I didn’t know the United Gay Party’s (UGP) symbol would be on a fucking horse! She also has a cyan coat and wings. Red bull must really give you wings!

Next is an orange earth pony with yellow hair. A country hat located on her noggin.

Last is Twilight Sparkle herself, she seems to be giving me a suspicious look. Couldn’t blame her honestly.

Pinkie began to inform me each of their names, going from left to right, “This is Rarity, Fluttershy, Rainbow Dash, Applejack, and Twilight!”

They all greeted at their respective names.
“Hello darling”
“Hi”
“Sup”
“Howdy!”
“Afternoon”

She then moved onto me, “And this is Atomic!”

How did she know my *made up* name?

“Hey,” I nodded while waving my right forehoof.

“I must say, darling, those clothes you're wearing are just simply dashing! Where ever did you get them?” Rarity asked after a few seconds silence.

Yep, definitely, the women stereotype.

“I ahhh, made them,” I replied. I don’t know any companies or businesses so I may as well go for the easiest option.

“Really??! I’m a fashion designer myself! We must catch up some time!”

“Umm, sure,”

“Ah was wondering where you're from, Ah don’t recognise your accent from anywhere.” The orange mare known as Applejack asked.

“That’s because I’m a traveller, I travel destination to destination, uncovering secrets of our past. My parents were the same, they dragged me wherever they went. At the moment, I’m looking to settle down to one location.” I responded.

Making up stories is a piece of cake!

All of them acknowledgedly nodded.

—Another Perspective—

Not so far away was Lyra, attempting to overhear the conversation.

“She even acts like a human!” she excitedly whispered to Bonny.

Bon Bon simply sighed,….

“I really need a drink,” she mumbled to herself and began a journey to the liquor table.

—~~Jack~~ Atomic--

Twilight opened her mouth to ask a question, “What’s that metal stick poking from your saddle bag? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

I knew that would come eventually.

“It’s a weapon,” I simply replied.

Fluttershy seemed to hide further behind Rarity, and slightly shake. Everyone else stood still with their jaws moderately unhinged.

Fluttershy was the first to break the silence, “W-weap-pon?” she fearfully asked.

“Yes, I need something to defend myself when out and about. You can’t expect me to be defenceless, now can you?”

They all simply nodded.

“So, how’s it work?” Twilight further enquired.

“I won’t go into details, but think of it as a crossbow, except it travels at 300 metres per second, practically disregarding any armour.” I professionally stated.

Rainbow Dash mumbled something incomprehensible, and several strains of hair popped from Twilight's mane.

“I even invented it myself.”

That seemed to be enough for the purple unicorn as her whole posture took on a psychopath facade. Hair was frizzling over her face, in addition to both her eyes twitching.

I think this is my time to leave.

“You know I’ll just go over,” I pointed over to a random direction, “there….”

As I walked to my new destination, Applejack whispered to me, “Good going sugarcube, best be out of her sight.”

I nodded thanks and continued on my way. That is until my eyes fell on the food table. Soft drinks, chips, pies, a bunch of disgusting green stuff, pizza, biscuits, and cupcakes.

That’s exactly what I need.

My lips were trembling, my favourite activity of the day is consuming after all.

I grab a cupcake with pink frosting and devoured it whole. Mmmmmmmm, strawberry. You have no idea how much I needed that.

While still chewing, I took hold of another one. May as well.

Halfway through my second cupcake, I hear a throat being cleared to my right. I switch my vision to the un-expecting newcomer.

An emerald green unicorn mare, with a complementing mane and tail in addition to a white streak greets me. What’s most surprising though, is that she’s wearing clothing. A simple daisy yellow dress, with a red band holding it in place around the waist. That confirms that they wear garments sometimes on special occasions.

“Hello,” she greeted.

“Guten tag,” I just couldn’t resist it.

For a split second, I noticed a hungry glint in her eyes, “You speak Germane?”

“No, I just know a few phrases,” I answered.

Huh, so they call German here Germane? Cool.

“My name is Lyra,” she said.

“Atomic,” I brought my right hoof up to achieve a classic shake.

She met me, and we both shook firmly a few times.

“I was wondering, why do you wear so much clothing?” Lyra enquired.

I knew this question would come eventually.

*Shrug* “I just do,”

She hummed to that.

“So, do you care about being naked in public?” She interrogated, eyes slightly narrowing at me.

Where is she going with this?

“O-of course not.” I shakily responded.

She smiled wickedly, “Then take your clothes off,” she sharply commanded.

Oh shit.

I began to lean backwards, my eyes commenced to random locations, searching for anything that could save me out of this complication. Then, a cream coated mare walks from the crowd directly towards me, could this be my saviour?

“Lyra! What do you think you're doing?!” she angrily shouted as she stomped over.

The weird stalker instantaneously dropped her current expression, into one of annoyance.

“You better not be asking if she’s a human!” she arrived and stood 90 degrees from myself and Lyra.

My face adopted one of horror. Did that lady just say what I think she said? How could they possibly know of humans??! The description of the planet CLEARLY stated that the status was non-contact!

“Pfffft, I would never do such a thing!” she defended, waving one of her hoofs in front of her.

I turned my full posture towards Lyra and deadpanned, “You asked me to take off my clothes.”

You are definitely going to be one of the first to die.

My saviour glared at her “LYRA! How could you?! That should only stay in the bedroom!”

She then turned to me, “I am truly sorry about my roommate here, she has this interesting obsession with a mythical species called a ‘human’.”

I embraced the sweet sugary goodness of relief. Thank God humans are imaginary here.

“Hey!” Lyra interrupted, “I take that personally!”

The cream mare spent a few seconds using her right forehoof to rub her brow.

“I’m going to grab myself another drink,” Bon Bon trotted away, but not before shooting a death glare at Lyra, enough to kill her if looks could hurt.

With nothing to literally do, I decided to promptly look around me.

Until my eyes catch something.

Is that a cannon?

“How the fuck have they invented cannons?” I mumbled almost incomprehensible to myself.

I left the green mare behind, now heading towards a light blue with pink wheel cannon. I, however, failed to notice Lyra following me.

Why would a cannon be here? They clearly haven't invented gunpowder, so it’s impossible for them to have invented artillery. Not unless they used a boiler to build up the pressure, that is, however, extremely impractical.

I closely examine this ‘cannon’.

To me, this just looks like it's powered by a manual air-compressor, which is weird considering on Earth they weren’t invented until the late Renaissance era. It seems this civilisation may skip that era entirely. Which has happened before, not every alien planet has the same timeline as Earth. That is generally how technology progr—

I was suddenly interrupted by my thoughts, “Whatcha don’?”

What a high pitched feminine sound, that most likely indicates that it’s an adolescent.

I turn on the spot to give my full attention to the creature next to me.

Instead of one, I’m greeted with THREE children (or foals), one is yellow with red hair and a MASSIVE bowtie in her hair. In the middle is an orange pegasus, with a purple mane and tail. Lastly, furthest on the right is a white unicorn with pink/purple hair.

“Just looking at this cannon,” I informed in a ‘manner of a fact’ voice.

“Yeah, Pinkie owns some weird stuff,” the orange pegasus stated.

Strangely, I agree with you.

I shot a questionable look at them, “So, who are you fillies?”

Each introduced themselves from left to right.

“Ah’m Applebloom,”

“I’m Scootaloo”

“I’m Sweetie Bell”

“And were the CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS! YAY!”

God, they are loud. Nothing compared to a gunshot, but still loud enough to destroy some brain cells.

“Ah was wondern’ about what ya said when ya first got here,” A brief pause, “What is a ‘fuck’?”

Thanks for describing my current situation.

“It’s a word to describe a pleasant experience.” They are soooooo going to fall for this, it’ll be so funny if they started running around town yelling ‘fuck’.

“Well, ah’m havn’ a fuck time.”

Don’t snicker, don’t snicker. Calm down, just calm down.

“What’s your cutie mark?” Sweetie Bell enquired in a high squeaky voice, “We haven’t seen it since you got it covered up.”

Ohhh, so THAT’S what my butt mark is called.

A green mare hiding plain sight slowly leans in.

I reached back and pulled down my pants slightly, “It’s an explosion.”

They all openly stared, completely enticed my its magnificence, “WHOAAAA.”

“Ah’ve never seen a cutie mark like that before!”

“It’s so cool!”

A few seconds passed as they continued to admire it.

Sweetie Bell tore her attention from my hunches, and switched to my face, “How’d you get it?”

What does she mean by ‘how’d you get it?’ I pondered.

It was only then that I noticed the fillies in front of me had no marks.

This means you have to get it somehow, what would trigger it though, some sort of magnificent event? Just comes at a certain age? No, that’s unlikely. These foals created a little club called the ‘Cutie Mark Crusaders’, which means they're attempting to obtain them somehow. This must signify that each butt mark has to be earned, which in all probability refers to the person’s greatest interest and/or talent.

For each individual it would be unique, as according to all the cutie marks on the ponies surrounding me, every single one is different.

Hmmmmm…

You know what? I’ll wing it. Heh.

I returned back to reality, and focused on the trio in from of me, “I accidentally made an explosion.”

I paused, prompting the pegasus to make a ‘continue’ gesture with her foreleg.

“When I was travelling the world with my parents, every location we went to I often collected different materials. Until one day, once I had collected a considerable amount, I decided to mess around with them. Mixing, mashing and combining. I made a few different substances, some powders, some mush, others disgusting black liquids. I did a few different experiments on them, like heating up, and burning. Once particular black powder though, reacted very differently from the rest. It blew up in my face, covering my muzzle completely in black soot, and then, I got my cutie mark,” I paused and pointed to my left flank. “Since then I have perfected the powder, and used it in some of my new inventions.”

Man, I am so good at imagining stories.

“WHOAAA,” the trio expressed.

Sweetie Bell shot an excited look to her fellow Crusaders, “What if we tried to get explosion cutie marks?”

*GASP* “THE CUTIE MARK CRUSADERS EXPLOSION SPECIALISTS! YAY!”

What is wrong with these kids? How many things have they tried? I may as well be the person who’s responsible for their deaths.

I shuffled through my left saddlebag, grabbed three paper cartridges, and placed them on the floor in front of them, “Here, have some ‘explosion powder’.”

They all gasped.

Scootaloo gained an expression of determination, “This will definitely earn our cutie marks!”

They all excitedly nodded.

“Come on girls! We’ve got some crusading to do!”

They all immediately galloped away in a blur.

Annnnnd they’re off, I hope they don’t cause any explosive damage. Actually, disregard that statement. I don’t care what they do. In fact, it’ll be funny if they end up killing some people.

Now, where are those cupcakes again? Mmmmmm, cake.

Wait a sec, did I just give them lead? The metal that is literally is worth millions of dollars in this society?

In that case, I forgot to tell them that they’ve won the lottery.

The rest of the party went past in a blur, I talked to several different ponies, had more cake, all the while I had this stupid nagging sensation at the back of my head.

Probably just from my sugar overdose.

Eventually, only a few ponies remained in the building, concluding the end of the night.

I was just about to leave until a certain pink party mare disrupted my vision.

“Did ya like the party? Did ya? Did ya? Huh huh huh?”

This mare is so annoying.

I gave her a slightly forced smile, and spoke through clenched teeth, “It was great.” Could have done with stronger alcohol though, that stuff is so weak.

“Welp, see ya next time,” I farewelled, walked through the door and out into the starry night sky.

I calmly walk in the direction of home.

A light breeze lightly ruffles my mane and tail, consequently resulting myself to become relaxed.

I gaze up at the night sky.

So….boring.

Stars are literally the least entertaining objects in existence, massive balls of fusion? Pfft, I can watch that exothermic reaction from my own household.

While I’m complaining about existence, the breeze picks up speed, promptly resulting in a magazine to slam me square on the face.

Yuck! Get off me!

I violently yank it off my muzzle, furthermore glaring at the front page. However, as I continued to plough through, my expression immediately softens.

…

Well, fuck. This is what it looks like on this planet. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.

ANYWAY.

I throw the article to the right of me and continue on my way.

Time to head home.

Chapter Six: Pitching Guns

“Ideas are more powerful than guns. We would not let our enemies have guns, why should we let them have ideas?”
-Joseph Stalin

Chapter 6: Pitching Guns

—

“Tia, “ Luna stated, while sitting at the Royal dining table, “I think it's time *cough* we bring matters into our own hooves. The information *sniffle* regarding the ‘poem’ is becoming truer by the second.”

Celestia switches her gaze from her food, to focus on the slightly green Blue Alicorn, “We haven’t been in a war in over 1000 years, I doubt our military is up to it.”

“Then what about a volunteer force?” Luna questioned, finishing off with a sneeze.

Celestial simply hums in thought, tapping a hoof to her chin.

She seemed as though she was sitting on the fence, and needed a slight push, “I feel as though it’s just the right *cough* thing to do, please trust me on this.” She began to have a horrible, rising feeling in her stomach.

Celestial returns from her thoughts and sternly stares at her sister, “Very well, a small and elite force should do quite nicely.”

Luna then turns around and pukes in a bucket next to her, for the seventh time this morning.

I sipped my delicious cup of black tea, in one of ‘Canterlot’s’ cafes. Only a few tables are occupied by other creatures.

I will give this planet one point, they do manufacture exceedingly good beverages.

It’s been several days since I finished designing the guns, in fact. I currently have three on me.

The reason it has been so long, was mostly due to the impractical and tedious activities I had to do I order to achieve a booking in the Royal Day court. Today, however, was finally the day I pitch my guns to one of these countries leaders. As soon as this Monarchy accepts (without a doubt), other nations will be intrigued these ‘revolutionary’ new weapons, and it'll be just a matter of time before they come to me, or attempt to produce the muskets themselves. Although, it would be impossible to produce blackpowder. This planet simply doesn’t have the required resources.

I decided to change my current clothes to one of more professionalism.

I know what you're thinking, no, I’m not wearing a dress.

Instead, I opted for a white collared shirt, red pants with a crimson blouse and tie.

Yesterday’s paper informed the public of Princess Luna’s sickness, as last time she had a cold was over 300 years ago, it is only a matter of time before the bacteria affects the whole city.

Good thing I’m resistant to every single disease.

I finished off my cup, stood up on all fours, and exited the establishment.

For some reason, quite a few of the clothed horses sometimes politely nod at me when I pass, I’m assuming that they’re apart of the wealthy class. They must presume I exist in the same social area.

The court should start soon, I better head over so I don’t become late.

I sped up to a moderate pace, and continue to head towards the large castle.

Currently, I’m quite calm. When I first arrived in this city (not counting when I tainted the Princess’ water), I noticed a transport carriage. Normally, that would be typical, however, these ponies THEMSELVES actually pulled them. I’ve never seen anything more impractical in my entire life! I can’t believe that I was joking about that a couple days back, coming to the conclusion of how absurd that thought was. Turns out, in fact, it was quite the opposite.

I have given up attempting to piece together the logic behind most of this society.

As I reach within a hundred metres of the castle, the roads begin to transmission from dull grey stone, to outline in beautiful gold.

At the front gate of the fort, is a few of those ill-equipped guards, in preparation, I revoke a paper parchment from my left saddle bag.

A few moments later, I present the document to the right guard, and he nods.

It’s so weird how all of them look the same, why would they even do that? What is even the point?

The same soldier that I engaged with, gave the metal gate a slight push. Opening the right side enough to allow me to enter.

I walk through without even a second thought.

A beautiful garden greets me, flowers of all different colours, bushes, trees of all different shapes and sizes, perfectly prepared in order and balance.

Exactly the same when I saw it a couple days ago.

I trot into the main building and travel down a corridor.

A lush, beautiful rug stretches all the way to the huge double doors on the opposite side of the hall. Paintings of hundreds of different ponies dot the walls, obviously well renowned or people who largely contributed to the discoveries of this nation.

Maybe I’ll end up on there.

Eventually, I reach to end of the hall and are greeted with a moderately sized line of other ponies directly in front of the doors to the throne room.

Most, if not all, emit a sense of self-proclaimed superiority, and snobbish attitudes.

I HATE when others think they're better than the people surrounding them. Although I know humans are better overall than these stupid creatures, that is however due to biological genes. Uptight snobs, on the other hand, think their better as they have the wealth to back it up. Money may make the world go round, it doesn’t however, contribute to you being a better overall person.

My thoughts are interrupted by a sudden push to my backside, monetarily causing me to take a few steps to balance myself.

I glare at the offender behind me, I’m presented with a white unicorn male (or stallion), with blond hair, clothed with a white tuxedo.

The culprit simply huffs, “Watch where you're going, peasant!”

That fucking, PIECE OF SHIT! I WILL RIP OUT HIS THROAT AND SHOVE HIS OESOPHAGUS SO FAR UP HIS ASS, FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE HE’S GOING TO NEED TO SURGICALLY REMOVE HIS SHIT!

CON-FICKING-GRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE JUST WON A TRIP TO THE TOP OF MY BUCKET LIST!

Nobody ever talks to me like that. Especially not a primitive, feral, and disgusting species!

I strongly scowl at him.

He returns it, “A Prince, such as myself is to be admired similar to a God by the likes of you.”

I really fucking hate Monarchies, so much corruption and injustices.

I smirk, “On what certification?”

His face merges one of anger, “You DARE speak back to me?!!”

I just adopt a ‘no shit’ expression, “No, of course not,” I said sarcastically.

“Good!” He huffs.

Did he seriously believe that?

I simply roll my eyes in a mocking fashion and place my attention back to the front of the line.

Some of the participants were staring directly at me, I guess nobody has ever defied this guy. About time someone should off.

At that moment, the doors swung open, giving us a clear view of the throne room, in addition to the white Alicorn perched on the throne.

A white mare, with black mane and tail wearing glasses, walks up to the first pony in line and engages in a quick light convention with him. Eventually, he and the other mare walk back into the throne room, and the huge doors close behind them.

This is going to take ages, I wish they had an actual time system here. All you do is fucking book for one court session and wait your turn. Wastes too much time if you ask me.

Slowly, the line crawled forward. Most, if not all, ponies exiting from the throne room expressed signs of disappointment.

Probably attempting to scheme the Princess into getting their hands - I mean hooves, on practically free money.

Within an hour, I’m the first in line.

The pony that was in front of me previously walks out of the throne room, signalling my turn.

Repeating the exact same process as countless times beforehand, a white mare walks up to me and asks a series of questions in a monotone voice.

“Name?”

“Atomic Discharge,” I replied.

“Aim?”

“Improve the Equestrian Guard,”

She simply raises a single eyebrow at me and uses her forehoof to signal me forward.

I begin to amble my way into the throne room, I furthermore switch my gaze to the ruler sitting on the large throne, located a few steps up to suggest a level of superiority. I notice the sparkles of curiosity in the eyes.

She seems to be regarding me.

I stop at the head of the throne.

The large doors shut with a THUD behind me.

The same white mare I talked to previously began to inform the princess, “Presenting Atomic Discharge with his idea to improve the Guard.”

I moderately bow in front of the Princess.

“Rise, my little pony,” she cooed in a slightly crooked voice.

I hate this Princess all fucking ready. Not only does she view her citizens as underneath her, but also as her subject! Nobody is fucking owned by this son of a bitch!

Calm down, I can’t let my real thoughts settle on my facade.

“Begin *cough*,” she stated in a motherly voice.

You’ve got the early symptoms of the disease, how wonderful!

Now it's time to sell these things, I probably should off rehearsed this.

Like I normally do when engaging in lecture mode, I started to walk left and right repeatedly.

“I’ve travelled over the whole world, and I’ve come across the militaries of every nation. There has been one thing that I have noticed.” I paused for a few seconds to let that sink in. “Every single army is better than ours, whether it be by training or equipment. They always come out on top.”

I swiftly turned on the spot and faced the Princess.

“Our guard seems more concerned with maintaining a glorious image rather than focusing on practicality. Our weapons and armour are atrocious, every foreign soldier I’ve had the pleasure in meeting wears iron, bronze, or some type of strong metal. What do we use? Gold. The softest, most malleable metal in existence, it couldn’t even stop a wooden stick!”

Celestial seems to be slightly frowning, that is expected since I am literally dissing her entire army.

I continue to walk backwards and forwards.

“Luckily, it doesn’t matter,“ I waved off with a hoof, “War is always a battle between weapon and armour. You develop a type of metal which can stop a sword, the enemy produces a different blade to slice through it, and so on. In the end, however, the weapon always comes out on top.”

I spun back around to face the white alicorn again.

“That’s why I’ve developed something to place the guard on top of the food chain, allowing them to easily protect us from any foreigners and domestic dangers,” I paused again to allow her to dwell on it.

“I call them guns.”

I removed one of the muskets from my right saddlebag and placed it directly in front of me.

Celestial stares at the weapon with mild curiosity.

“Imagine it like a crossbow, if you would. Able to launch a projectile capable of travelling over 200 metres per second, and penetrating almost any amour.”

I tapped the firearm ahead of me, “This particular gun is a Matchlock Musket, it uses gunpowder as a propellant, and an ignited piece of rope to launch it.”

“The guard will easily be able to—“ I was cut off.

“I’ve heard enough,” she interrupted, with a swipe of her hoof, “this kind of weapon that you speak of cannot enter this world. I fear it may have far too big on an impact on every nation.”

Well, isn’t this little pony very smart, she’s aware that it’ll likely cause a whole new era of weapons.

*Sigh* “As you wish your highness,“ I bowed once again for ‘respect’, “I’ll be on my way.”

I picked up my firearm, and once again stashed it in my saddle bag. I started to walk back towards the throne room entrance with a neutral expression.

Some of the few ponies remaining in line made mocking faces at me.

She’ll regret not buying these from me, I’ll sell them to another country and start an arms race anyway.

Nothing can stop me.

——-

I was back at the same cafe as before, this time, however, enjoying a delicious scone with jam.

I had the world map I got from Ponyville on the table in front of me.

What to do, what to do.

My whole plan revolved around Equestria retaining gunpowder weapons, as they are the dominating nation. Other countries may realise that they were becoming too powerful, thus a major threat. Eventually leading them to act out.

I deeply sighed, this is extremely annoying.

I quickly finished my scone, scooped up my stuff, deposited in my saddlebags and headed back out into the streets.

I could potentially create my own mercenary army, make people realise the potential of firearms.

Or I could just give it to the Griffons or Minotaurs.

Yeah, I’ll do that.

A young colt interrupted my thoughts, “Papers! Papers! Get you Canterlot Morning papers!”

I haven’t read today's one, may as well. See what the world is up to.

I walk up to the brown colt and ask for one. Using my right forehoof, I rummage around in my saddle bag until they land upon serval coins.

“Here you go,” I said, as I gave him three bits.

“Thanks, Miss!” He gushed.

I strolled away from him, with the newspaper tucked in my right forehoof, I had no particular destination in mind.

Eventually, I come across a lovely park and sit on top of a bench.

I pull out the print and began to read the front page.

—

GRIFFON CIVIL WAR:
PRINCESS LUNA SENDS ONE HUNDRED GUARD VOLUNTEERS

Three weeks since the begging of the Griffon Civil war between the commendable Griffon Empire and Democratic Griffon’s Republic, Princess Luna thoughtfully provided one hundred elite guards to aid the monarchists to a swift and undying victory.

“These dishonourable traitors have betrayed the rightful rule of their King, introduced a dreadful ideology, killed thousands of innocent beings, invented never seen before acts of cruelty, in addition to designing a society based off greed and jealousy. This awful uprising must be brought to a close before they can brainwash their villainous ideals into the minds of the innocent, and continue to charge their warpath on the rest of the world.” -Princess Luna.

It is unknown at this point in time what provoked Princess Luna to suddenly send assistance after a few weeks, however, we can be thankful that Equestrian threats are put to rest.

Reports have detailed that the rebelling population weren’t satisfied with the supply in the area, and as a result, took the matter into their own claws to concededly receive the unnecessary commodities by force.
It is uncertain at this point of time which side posses the most support, reports show that small bundles of the population are shifting over to the newly formed state. Rebelling and civil unrest is spreading across areas influenced by the Republic propaganda.

The rightful Griffon Empire is confident in their loyal 20,000 highly trained and equipped army to easily crush the frail and unprepared enemy militia.

Let’s hope that we can put a stop to this before the situation takes a turn for the worse.
———

Now, this is interesting, I think it's time to bring Democracy to the world stage.

A sudden realisation causes me to facehoof.

God damn it! I'm going to have to redesign everything, aren’t I?

Chapter Seven: Gunpowder and Griffons

“Our freedoms were born in the ideals of the Enlightenment and the musket fires of a historic revolution.”
-John Boehner

Chapter 7: Gunpowder and Griffons

The two most elevated griffon military strategists, General Garrison, and Bridges stood adjacent to each other, around a circular map table, they were discussing the art of war and particular battle plan strategies. They were in what’s called the ‘war room’, or to be more accurate, a ‘tent’.

The map is as shown:

Both Generals, however, wore they're recently created Officer’s uniform with satisfaction, the material shaded coal-black with serval golden laced buttons spreading vertically along. A matching officer’s cap sits on top.

Situated in the small room, is four Griffon guards with an iron shield and lance at each corner. Each has a small amount of armour covering the essential eras, with the same indistinguishable dark colour as the Generals uniform as an undergarment.

Neither officer can seem to agree on a single tactic, one thing both experienced strategists can concur on is, this war, is helpless.

At that moment, Present Senatus walks through the tent flaps, wearing a white shirt and a brown overgarment, with a coordinating bowtie.

Both Generals solute they're incoming leader of the nation and stood at perfect attention.

“At ease,” the President states in a slight British accent.

Both Generals visually relax.

He eyes them warily, “What’s our current situation?”

The strategists glance at each other, and answers in impeccable unification, “Awful.”

President Senatus has already had enough of this war, despite the fact it’s only been around a month. Besides the first week, every battle they’ve fought has been an utter massacre.

The leftmost General, Garrison, continues, “The outcomes have arrived over from our recent battle on the Western front, it was a bloodbath, sustaining 811 casualties,” he indicated to the left triangle, “we have been forced to retreat a couple kilometres back.”

“Reports have also featured that Equestria has sent 100 volunteers.” The other General, Bridges adds.

Garrison gestures to his accomplice, “Right, we currently have 6,000 on the field, it’s estimated around 16,000 enemy troops are currently on the fronts. On the splendid side, we ought to have another 4000 soldiers trained and outfitted with steel weapons and armour with the next few weeks. Another 1000 prepared recruits are ready to set out from this base tomorrow.”

“I, however, question we can hold out that long. Our military simply doesn’t have the necessary training, most had never seen combat in—.”

The President interrupted, “So basically, we’re at an utter loss. Unless we have some sort of miracle, we’ll be crushed within the following month.”

Both Generals silently nodded, neither can look the President directly in the eyes.

Bridges spoke first, “We should remove the troops currently training, and place them as reinforcements on the battlefield.”

Garrison simply sighs, he didn’t want to pull them from training this early, yet they don’t have much of a choice. “Fortifications are being built along the border, all we can hope now—“

Everygriffon was suddenly interrupted by a tent flapping sound, they all swung towards it. Nobody is supposed to interrupt this private meeting.

There, standing at the front of the tent is a white mare, with a crimson mane and tail. An elegantly crafted matching suit adorns her. What’s really frightening is the unsettling grin she’s currently wearing.

“Hello, I think I might have a solution to your problem.”

The sudden surprise wears off, the soldiers in the corners rapidly rush to surround her, posting their sharp weapons to directly point at the mare’s face.

—Earlier—

“Mate, I don’t give an actual fuck! Just tell me where they are!” I yelled at an infuriating Griffon.

“And I’ll tell you once again, not unless it’s with a price!” She equally exclaimed back.

I rub my brow, every single fucking Griffon asks for my GOD DAMN MONEY. Are they SERIOUSLY that poor?

“You know what,” I mumbled, “fuck it.” I throw serval gold coins at the stupid Lion-Bird.

She caught them all with practised ease.

“The western front is 1000km that way,” she stated while pointing in the destined destination, then flew off.

You know, I’m really doubling thinking if I should help these guys or not, every single one I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, has been infuriating.

I’m currently in the city of Griffonstone, the Capital of the Griffon Empire. The whole entire place is like God did one massive shit and then stamped on it several times. No wonder there was an uprising, about fucking time.

There isn’t a pony that is in sight, so I stick out like a bouncy castle in a backyard, to top that off, I’m currently wearing a suit, and as a result, I get quite a few weird looks.

I walked around the back of a building, on the outskirts of town, where my Space Car is currently waiting.

—Later—

I landed my car near a wooden fortification, on what I assume, is the Democratic side, as a divergent flag is displayed at the top.

I hope out on all fours, and stroll myself to the nearest soldier to the entrance of the castle.
He notices me and imminently points his spear at my face.

The griffon growls, “Not another step, pony.”

I roll my eyes, like a spear is threatening. To me, it doesn’t even look like its steel.

“Listen here, I’m trying to find the leader of this country, think you could help me?” I hopefully asked.

The unnamed Griffon narrows his eyes at me, “For what reason?”

“Well, you guys are obviously having difficulty winning this war. So I thought I’d provide something to help.”

He seems to lessen his stance slightly, but nonetheless, still kept the spear right near my throat, “I’m sorry, but I can’t allow that.”

“Not even,” I grabbed a small bag of coins from my saddlebags, and dumped them in front of him, “with an offering?”

He seemed to eye the bag hungrily, wiring his head around, looking for any bystanders. Just as quickly as the bag was dropped, he pointed at a direction and swiped the sack quickly with his claws.

“120km that way, is a temporary field of tents were the President and Generals are staying,” he then narrowed his eyes at me, “Don’t cause any trouble.” With that, he turned back to his post, staring directly ahead at nothing in particular.

“Thanks for the information,” I placated.

I’m getting closer now, It’s only a matter of time…

—How many more laters are there?—

“OY!”

No response.

“I’m talking to you!”

This is a first, the griffon guard here is not budging a single muscle, not even noticing my presence.

“All I want is to see your leader so I can give him some weapons! Come on mate, I thought you cared about your country?”

He twitched.

I smirked, “Since you're not taking me to him, you are practically throwing away a great opportunity for your country! I will be able to not only help you guys be victorious but also have minimal casualties on your side!

The guard groans, and facepalms, “This is a restricted area.”

Seriously? What is wrong with this guy? ‘Care about my country’ my ass!

I glare at him, “Can you at least notify your superior?”

If he still ignores me, I’m just going to coercion my way through.

The unnamed griffon eyes me wearily, and sighs, “Alright, but if you move a single muscle, I’ll be forced to use lethal force.”

I roll my eyes. Like you could do anything to me anyway.

“Sure,” I nonchalantly replied.

The soldier marches off, but not without casting one more warning gaze at me.

And now, I wait.

I wonder how many casualties have been in this civil war so far? I doubt it’ll be much, maybe 10,000 or so? The planet only has a population of around 230 million and hasn’t seen the art of war for an increasingly long time. It makes sense that their armies would pale in comparison to a planet which is constantly exposed to war.

I wonder what the AI will do when I’m away, after all, I did assign it to disguise my base as an industrial complex. The natives here would freak out if they saw a futuristic, alien base.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when all of a sudden, someone addresses me, “I was told that you could aid us in this war, any help would be appreciated.”

I switch my gaze to the griffon speaking to me, he seems to be dressed very similarly to the regular soldier, except he wears no armour, and has an officer’s cap is perched on his head.

“Greetings, my name is Lieutenant Pierce, the commander of this fine platoon,” he welcomes while holding out his claw for a classic handshake (clawshake?).

“My name is Atomic Discharge,” I meet him, “And you were correct in assuming that.”

Pierce shoots me a genuine smile, “So, how will you help us in this war?”

Finally, I’m getting somewhere.

“I want to provide a weapon that has the capacity to kill an entire army, before it even reaches yours,” I informed in simplistic terms.

“Would I be able to see this ‘weapon’?”

I nod, and take hold of one of the Griffon Matchlock Muskets, and give it to him.

I point to the weapon, “It fires a projectile, similar to a crossbow, expect much, much faster, capable of ignoring almost any amour. Imagine having thousands of griffons using this, crushing their entire military.”

His eyes lit up, “Normally I wouldn't do this, but…. If you say what is true about this weapon, it could possibly change the tide of the war.” Lieutenant Pierce starts to mumble to himself, “after all, we are quite desperate.”

Pierce claws me back the musket, and looks at me, “Alright then, follow me,” he waves me forwards, moreover walks to an unknown destination in the tent area.

I trot directly after him, brown tents of varying sizes surround me, this area must be a temporary command region that’s closer to the front lines, this would allow communication between the divisions to be undemanding.

A few griffons are flying to a fro the area, most likely messengers.

“We’re here,“ my escort states.

A moderately sized tent, the same style the rest in the area, has a sword bandana at the front. Most likely indicating the main command centre. Normally, after the Renaissance Era in human history, the General’s tent, or some place of importance, wasn’t marked as they could easily have been destroyed.

Pierce steps to the side of the doorway, waving his claw towards to entrance, “Ladies first.”

I rise a single eyebrow and continue to walk past the tent flaps anyway.

Situated in the small room, is four Griffon guards with an iron shield and lance at each corner. Each has a small amount of armour covering the essential eras, with pitch-black colour as an undergarment.

Three Griffons were in the middle of a conversation about the war, around a circular table, that is, until they notice me.

I address them, “Hello, I think I might have a solution to your problem.”

Soldiers rapidly rush to surround me, posting their sharp weapons to directly point at my beautiful face.

At that moment Lieutenant Pierce strolls through the tent, “Back down! Back down! She’s with me.”

The four guards, with a small amount of hesitation, begin to lower their spears.

The left griffon scolds at Pierce, “What do think you're doing bringing a pony to our base of operations, Lieutenant?!”

He opens his mouth to respond, however, only a peep is able to escape. So I answer for him, “I’m here because I think I have a resolution to win you the war, a brand new type of weapon.” Pierce nods to this, seemingly out of his daze.

The two right griffons rise their eyebrows, the same one that I responded to beforehand, simply rubs his brow and shakes his head.

“Take her away, we can’t afford—“ he started.

The middle griffon interrupts while holding his claw up, “Give her a chance, any help could determine the results of this war.”

The enlightened griffon moves towards me and holds up a claw, “I’m President Senatus.”

How many handshakes do I need to do today? It's like I’ve broken my record or something.

Bringing my right hoof up, he curls his claws around it, careful not to scratch, and shakes up and down leisurely. “Atomic. Atomic Discharge,” I introduce.

We relinquish the claw shake, “So, what do you have for us today? I trust you can show us this 'new' weapon?” He asks.

This will be fun, It’ll be amusing to watch their expressions when they view my weapons in action. They will literally be blown away, particularly the enemy, but in the thousands. I’ve only ever seen Renaissance battles in movies, It’ll be awesome to perceive it in real life. The thunder of explosions, the acrid smell of gunfire smoke, entire battle-fields foggy, covered head to toe in blood and bodies.

I look at him in the eyes, burning from my excitement, “Of course I do, I brought three with me.” I took one of them out of my right saddle bag, slowly rotating it in front of me, “It’s called a gun, this particular type is a matchlock musket, capable of launching a projectile above 200 metres per second, and penetrate almost any armour.”

I gaze up at him, “Imagine having thousands of soldiers with this, they’d be able to demolish entire armies before they even reach you.” I survey the firearm again, “Let me show you how it works.”

I reach back and grab a bullet paper cartridge and lay on the raw earth floor.

I bring my right foreleg up and use my teeth to bite down on the end of the paper capsule and rip it off. Promptly spitting the remainder from my muzzle to the floor.

Carefully, I pour a small amount of gunpowder on the pan, in addition to concealing the powder by closing the cover over the top.

I rotate the musket around on a 45-degree angle to gain a clear view of the firing hole, I furthermore pour the rest of the black powder down the muzzle. I then powerfully shove the remaining paper into the barrel, in addition to taking hold of the metal rod located underneath and sliding it out. Plunging the rod straight into the barrel, then compressing it hard to stop the ammunition falling out.

Once I was satisfied, I returned the rod underneath, then grab a small length of match cord, and light it with a piece of flint and steel from my saddle bag. I bring the lit end to my mouth and blow on it several times, moreover inserting the rope in the serpentine.

I nod, and return my gaze to the President, “Here, point this somewhere, and pull the trigger underneath, which is that little rod.”

I hand— I mean hoof, the gun to President Senatus, and he takes it, eying it sceptically.

He places his right claw around the trigger system, and the other right near the tip of the barrel, furthermore, aiming it at the back of the tent.

“Sir, I would not put your left claw so close to the end, and place wooden end against your shoulder,” I highlighted.

He looks at me, then adjusts his talon further back, and places the stock against his shoulder.

The President breaths in and out slowly, little by little, reclining his index claw onto the trigger, until…

BANG!

The serpentine drops down into the pan, causing it to ignite, along with the main propellant. The muzzle erupts in an explosion of fire and smoke, forcing the gun to heavily recoil backwards into the Griffon’s shoulder. Launching the gold projectile from the barrel, into the back tent fabric, erecting a perfectly sized hole.

And then, a painful scream echoes throughout the area.

Well, fuck. Someone got hit, should have warned him about that.

President Senatus looks at the musket, then at the hole, then back to the firearm.

He eagerly stares at me, “I want these,” breathing in and out rapidly, “I want these! A hundred! One thousand! I need this in my army!”

Senatus surveys the musket once again, and strokes it, “This weapon, will revolutionise war as we know it, and we will be at the forefront.”

Only then is it that I notice the other two griffons, along with the soldiers in the room, all of which portray a mix of amazement, fear, and relief.

He stares back at me, “What do you want for them? I’ll give you anything.”

I tap my chin in thought, “A small amount of land for one of my bases of operations, and 100 bits per weapon.”

“Deal,” He immediately babbled, “how soon can you deliver them?”

“Tomorrow.”

He rubbed his claws diabolically, “The enemy won’t know what hit them.”

Wow, that was easier than I expected, guess these guys are pretty desperate.

All the griffons in the room stared wide eye at the President.

——
An already present crack expands to cover the entire length of a statue.
——

Author's Note

Competition: Whoever can guess what the Democratic Griffon flag represents (colours, symbols, etc..), will get their OC Pony later on in this story. A user who presumes the closest will be declared the winner, contest closes when the next chapter is posted.

Chapter Eight: The Plot Thickens

“We don’t rise to the level of our expectations, we fall to the level of our training.”
-Archilochos

——

Chapter Eight: The Plot Thickens

“Load em’ up boys! Hurry up! The President wants this done ASAP!”

A large group of Griffons were moving wooden crates, all marked with my ‘new’ company symbol (literally just my cutie mark in black and white), onto manually pulled transportation (by griffons), towards the temporary training ground at the tent command centre.

You may be wondering, how was I supposed to drag over 60 crates, halfway across the world? Simple, teleportation, after that, I fabricated a provisional primitive storage unit, relativity near the area I met the President.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

Training soldiers is an interesting concept if two countries are the same technological level, their armies fall onto they're training, and tactics to surpass the enemy. However, if one side even has the slightest advantage in prevailing equipment, they don’t necessary nearly as much preparation, as their technology easily makes up for it. That’s what was so awesome about guns when they were first invented, they called for next to no training, all the troopers needed to know, was how to reload, aim, and fire. Simple, and yet they could demolish armies who had been training their entire lives.

For example, during the Great War (World War One), the ideal warfare at the time was trenches. Armies would charge by the thousands, composing the hope to overrun the enemy lines. Almost every time, they failed.

The main reason for this, machine guns.

Normally a gun requires precision (besides when standing in firing lines), in order to hit the optimal target. Who needs to aim properly when you have a machine gun? Just spray in the general direction.

I’m snapped out of my thoughts when someone addresses me, “The President has ordered another thousand to be produced with the next month,” a male griffon states while looking at a piece of parchment, “he would also like to design a proper agreement after the first training session.”

He looks at me, “Is this acceptable?”

I give a singular nod, “Sounds like a plan.”

All of the wooden creates have been loaded on the transport, the griffon I talked to previously hops inside of the carts and beckons me over, “We don’t want to be late, the President wants the division trained as soon as possible.”

I too follow him and leap into the seat sent to him.

The still unnamed griffon addresses everyone, “Alright! Time to head out!”

Without even a second thought, the carts begin to move. Something….is off though, why are we going so fast? At this rate, the griffons will tire out. Even if they do change, I doubt—

I’m pulled out of my thoughts when suddenly my transportation takes off from the ground.

And I thought the ponies were weird.

I unconsciously hold onto the railing, to the side of the carriage.

This action doesn’t go unnoticed by the griffon perched to the right of me, “Never flown before?” He chuckles, “It’s not surprising, not many non-pegasi that I know of have been in the air before.”

Technically I have flown, more ways than you could possibly imagine. It includes space.

To show that I was paying attention, I just shrug.

He continues, “We should arrive in around half an hour or so, it’s quite lucky you had your equipment stored relatively close to the base.”

Yeah, lucky.

The rest of the trip was in relative silence, only disturbed by the flapping of wings, and the heavy breeze ruffling my mane. If I couldn’t be easily bored, I would have enjoyed the ride. I, however, have a limited attention span, of around 30 seconds. I mean, I’ve seen plenty of planets, how could the environment of this one be any different?

Signified by a heavy bump, we landed on the ground, less than 30 metres away from the tents.

A stampede of griffons rushes out from the area, around 300 if I’d have to wagger, surround us. Every, single, one, of them, seems to express signs of excitement. This is properly some of the first soldiers that’ll handle my firearms. Who wouldn’t be excited to use never seen before weapons?

Some were pushing their way to the front of the crowd, and unloading the wooden crates from the transportation carriages, moreover conveying them towards what I assume is an armoury.

Hopefully, this won’t take too long.

24 Hours.

A whole, fucking day.

I had to occupy myself by making annoying popping sounds, I admit, It was pretty funny watching some of the Griffon’s annoyed expressions.

You think it would be simple to just unload, and set up the required instruments to have the training session going. I never even considered that at this day in age, they would have freaking paperwork. I mean, I didn’t have to sign shit to sell these guns. One particular griffon keeps on shooting me dirty looks, most likely the person responsible for the completion of the paperwork. In fact, I saw him dealing with a huge stack, signing one sheet at a time.

Another griffon confirmed it for me, and I quote, ‘We’re still waiting for approval to renovate the training ground to suit our new needs.’ What I find mystifying, is that they didn’t even change the area much, in fact, all they did was enforce the wooden targets with metal. That is it. Why does that require a tonne of paperwork? I will never know.

I am currently stagnant behind a whole division of Griffons, who are standing in a wonky line (one thousand strong), the commanders have asked me to ensure that they aren’t doing anything counterproductive, that may damage the guns. As I had already instructed them how to use the firearms, I mean, they didn't do fantastic, but they passed generally well. After all, it’s not hard to use em.

Each soldier wears a basic outfit of steel armour, a musket with a bayonet, and a short sword attached to their sides.

The President, and the two leading Generals I had the pleasure of meeting previously stand to the right of me.

The only information I gave the commanders concerning tactics is to stand in lines, and the best way to issue commands. I don’t want them to be yelling “SHOOT”, ‘fire’ is the correct term.

I’m thrown out of my thoughts by someone shouting, “READY!”

Everygriffon places their musket barrels on their shoulders, some on the wrong shoulder, or forget to do it entirely.

“AIM!”

They all aim their weapons straight ahead, some are even shaking slightly.

“FIRE!”

An ear-splitting roar erupts from the line, plumes of smoke cover the entire area. Most Griffons look shocked and are glancing at their surroundings. Particularly the targets at the other end of the field, 100m away. Even with the enforced metal, most of the objectives are utterly destroyed, plagued with a ridiculous amount of bullet holes.

Huh, what’s that weird feeling I’m getting?

“Absolutely marvellous!” The President wildly clapped his claws together, the other generals are too shocked to comment on anything.

Some griffons are still presenting their guns forward, attempting to make the weapon fire. I guess they didn’t prepare it properly.

The Griffon instructor didn't look too pleased, “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU MAGGOTS ARE DOING JUST STANDING THERE??! PREPARE ANOTHER ROUND!”

Without any hesitation, the soldiers begin the routine of reloading, most stumble, and consistently miss sticking the rod down the barrel. Others, completely drop it.

This is will be even more entertaining when they’re on the actual battlefield.

“Have you discovered anything yet?”

Two of the highest ranking Generals, Garrison and Bridges, were in a conversation with several scientists in reference to the newest weapon apart of the Griffon army. These ‘scientists’ seem to be quite curious about this new development, they furthermore, have been researching the musket, every single waking second, that is, without falling into sleep depression territory. I mean seriously, who would give up a chance to be the first to research never seen before technology?

One of the scientists gazed up from the disassembled musket to General Bridges, “It’s been a day, you can’t expect us to have worked everything out yet,” he adopts an inquisitive expression. “Why don’t you just ask for the information regarding this weapon from the pony who invented it?”

Bridges just gives a look that screams ‘are you kidding me?’ “What, you expect the Pony to just give us her only way of making money?” He scoffs, “Honestly, that pony is racking in loads of bits, she’d be able to fill a swimming pool with it!”

A short pause of awkward silence expresses in the room, that is though, only for the military representatives. As the scientists were busy discussing the inner workings of the musket.

That discussion is interrupted by Garrison, “Do you think it would be entirely possible to replicate this? It would be extremely convenient.”

A different scientist from previous answers in an informative voice, “We roughly understand HOW it works, it's just almost impossible to know what this ‘black powder’ ammunition is made of, I’ve never seen any element with these properties in my entire life,” he places his claw on his chin in deep thought, “We properly would be able to create the actual weapons, however, with our current knowledge, it would be impossible to manufacture any of the powder. So yes, and no.” The unnamed Griffon immediately returns to his work.

—Lyra—

‘Where is she?’ Lyra thought, ‘Someone can’t just disappear like that!’

Lyra was currently searching all of Ponyville for Atomic, and so far, she’d had no success. The Green unicorn was starting to become, suspicious of her whereabouts, a human-like HER must be doing something shady. Unless she had just returned back to her species’ home base, that was an entire possibility. Maybe, she lived underground, and was just scouting out what the surface was like after hundreds of years? In that case, it would be awesome to help them out! Imagine what sort of technology we could learn from them!

Or PERHAPS Bonney is right, MAYBE she is being a bit too paranoid, and should stop thinking of so many ‘conspiracy theories’, as Bon Bon likes to put it.

‘Well,’ she thought, ‘There’s still no harm in searching.’ Although Lyra had been looking all over town for days, Bonney was starting to get worried, perchance she should just give up, I mean. Where else could Atomic possibly be? I have no idea where she lives, for all I know, she could’ve been a traveller.’

Lyra was just about to give up when an idea hit her.

‘He’s in the Everfree Forest! How could I be so stupid?’

Dumbstruck at such an amazing idea, Lyra immediately sprites for all her worth, directly towards the forest, this could be the answer to all her not so long ago troubles!

Ponyville’s houses race past her at such a blinding speed, it would even make Rainbow Dash jealous. Everything was a blur, the other ponies, the environment, and even, herself. In record time, she arrives at the edge of the Everfree forest, the path to Zecora’s, and continues to sprint forward.

Not even the scary howls in the distance, the poison joke flowers dotted everywhere, or the menacing trees and bushes threatening to strangle her to death can stop this mare. For she has a human to trace, it is her destiny. Lyra arrives at a hut, where a local Zebra likes to call home.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK* *KNOCK*

Shuffling hooves is muffled by the door, until it is opened by the zebra herself, Zecora. The green unicorn must admit, she has a strange appearance, with all the golden rings, earrings and stuff. Once you look past that though, she’s quite nice to talk to.

Zecora introduces, “Ah, Lyra, the human admirer, how can my existence be of assistance?”

“Have you seen Atomic? A white mare with a red mane and tail?” Lyra enquired.

“A pony that matches that exact description ran past here on a mission,” she stated ominously.

Without even attempting to say goodbye, Lyra took off in a blur, past the hut, in the direction Atomic most likely travelled to. The Zebra had to blink a couple of times just to make sense of the situation.

Lyra was able to find pony tracks in the dirt, they, however, looked quite faded, adding to the fact that these are quite old. These hoof prints became increasingly harder to follow, so as a result, Lyra was forced to slow down to eventually, a trot.

It this walk was taking longer than expected, who would go this far into the Everfree forest? Not only is it dangerous, but there’s not much food or water out here.

Lyras thoughts are completely shattered however when she comes across something, something so strange, and ordinary at the same time. She is situated at the edge of a relatively large clearing and stood mouth agape at the complex infront of her.

“HOLY SHIT!”

“LEFT!”

“LEFT!”

“LEFT!”
“RIGHT!”
“LEFT!”
“RIGHT!”
“LEFT!”
“RIGHT”
“LEFT!”

“LEFT!”

“LEFT!”

The 1st Musket Division of Griffons were marching in impeccable unification, towards the western front lines, although, the marching was just a drill. Normally the group would be flying, this, however, counts as a rest. The entire group had only prepared for two days straight, although, that’s understandable considering their superiors attempted to rush them straight to the battle lines as soon as possible. They used a series of different tactics during training, a simple musket firing line, a phalanx (instead of using spears, they used short swords and bayonets), rushing, and even how to deal with flanks.

I can say that I’m impressed with the extent of these maneuvers. The only one that lacks, however, is the musket firing line. The soldiers unload all the firearms at the same time, instead of shooting row by row to decrease vulnerability. They may, or may not learn it the hard way.

What I also find weird is the fact every fifty or so griffon in the group holds the Democratic Flag. What a waste of manpower! 1000÷50 = 20 Griffons! That’s enough to form squad! I guess symbolism is undyingly important to them.

It was nice of the President to allow me to come, even if it took a tiny bit of persuasion. He also decided to view the upcoming battle, to not only witness the weapons in action but to also boost Morale. Even if he didn’t allow me to come through, I would have just floated over the battle with my car, although, it’s not as an ‘in-depth' experience.

One thing that does suck, is walking. God, I HATE it. I never used to do it that often, and I never planned to do so. Times change I guess. At least when we’re in the air, I don’t need to do move my legs.

Apparently, we arrive in a little over fourteen hours.

Goddam, I’m excited.

Author's Note

The contest is offically over! Congratulations to Arstotzka Border Control!

The flag represents as such:
Red: The blood of those who sacrificed themselves for the construction of their nation.
Blue: There are limitless possibilities, the sky is the limit.
White: The nation is pure and untainted.
The White Triangle: Signifies that the nation is always moving forward in a positive direction.

In case you wondered, I honestly accidentally made the flag look like the Russians', in fact, I only noticed it when someone pointed it out to me, so I added a triangle. Creative, aren't I?

Chapter Nine: The Battle of a new Era

“There is only one tactical principle which is not subject to change. It is to use the means at hand to inflict the maximum amount of wound, death, and destruction on the enemy in the minimum amount of time.”
– General George S. Patton Jr.

“See the blood,” called out the youth, looking towards the car. His face was eager and excited. “It’s pouring out of his leg. It’s all over him.”
“Give him another,” yelled the old man. “Sink another into him.”
-Alan Marshall, First Kill.

Chapter 9: The Battle of a New Era

—Lyra—

“HOLY SHIT!”

The ‘complex’ seems to be a brick wall, with a tower in each corner, and inside two buildings stick up into the air, one producing a minor amount of smoke. Not enough to be noticed from Ponyville though.

Lyra couldn’t possibly believe what the receptors in her eyes are currently picking up, why in the name of Lauren Faust is there a HUGE relatively normal building in the middle of the EVERFREE Forest!??

Curiosity begins to overrule the green unicorn as she trots up to the defensive (what she assumes) brick wall, and touches it. All she gets in return is a dull *knock*.

Wait a second, why does she feel like she’s being heavily watched, like, serval ponies are just pointing weapons directly at her, and at any moment ready to strike? This is the same kind of feeling Lyra got when she ran into that Manticore.

Perhaps…she should get out of here, and tell Bon Bon about this place.

But, Lyra had never been so close to finding a real human! Maybe only a teeny tiny bit further.

Lyra places a hoof on the wall, and casts an ‘attraction’ spell, to allow a tight grip on any surface, no matter how slippery. Lucky she learned it when she was trying to grab some biscuits out of the cookie jar.

As soon as Lyra even moves a single centimetre, a loud blast and explosion of light appeared beside her. Causing the lime green unicorn to lose concentration and fall backwards, onto her spine.

‘Or maybe I’ve overstayed my circumstances,’ Lyra thought.

Another explosion to the right of her confirms this, resulting in a loud YELP, and her body to scramble onto her hooves, moreover, to sprint in the opposite direction at full speed. Only fuelled by the adrenaline rushing through her veins.

‘NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE’

“ENEMY SIGHTED AT OUTPOST B1, MOVE OUT!”

Immediately, the camp busts into life, Griffons rush everywhere, fulfilling particular duties. Myself, on the other hand, continue to sit with my haunches on the ground, and my right hoof under my muzzle, in deep thought.

I wonder what these griffons taste like, chicken perhaps? I know they’re part bird, and all feathered mammals taste like chicken, it’s a known fact. I don’t think the same applies to cartoon ponies though, besides a pegasus, the other two races probably taste similar to cattle. I’ll definitely have to test this out at some stage.

A griffon tugged my shoulder, snapping me out of my prolonged thoughts, “Ma'am, we’re moving out.”

I switched my gaze from the disorganised ground, and stare up at my disturber. His face takes up most of my vision, and my mouth starts to water. Chicken. I smack my lips, slowly licking my tongue around, attempting to savour a flavour that never even existed in the first place.

A month of eating nothing but fruit and vegetables, along with the occasional nutrient bar has started to affect me mentally. The atomic fabricator can’t replicate the real deal for shit, and these ponies don’t fucking eat it. No human has EVER gone for more than a few weeks without bacon, chicken, lamb shanks, juicy medium rare steaks, deliciously succulent smoked ham…. Mmmmmmmmmmm.

God damn it! I’m doing it again.

Point is, I can’t get my mind off it.

By the looks of things, a battle is going to occur soon. Perhaps nobody will notice if one or three bodies suddenly go missing….

I smack myself in the head. STOP IT BRAIN.

“Ummm, are you alright, ma'am?” The same Griffon as previously asked, worry and terror laced into his voice.

“Yeah…..yeah.”

A bloody battle should get my mind off things, in fact, I can already imagine the countless bodies that litter the ground, I merge into my excited state once again.

Date: 2nd of October, 989
Time: 11:26
Location: Shitick, Border Dispute

Major-General Chop Slice was standing to the side of 4000 troops, that happened to be under his command, all were in position, steel spears pointing outward, shields situated on the appropriate arm, amour made by the best blacksmiths in all of The Griffon Empire, and soldiers trained to perfection. Every fifty soldiers, the Griffon Empire’s flag waves proudly in the wind, situated up by a pole, and held within a griffon’s claw.

‘This is too easy,’ he thought, ‘We’ve won the last couple of battles, it’s only a matter of time before they completely break’. Over the past month, the Democrats were constantly pushing forward, mostly out of complete desperation, only in vain hope of causing disorganisation. All have failed, and now it's time to strike back, for the first time in the war, the Empire will take the offensive.

Although he has doubts, just like every other officer, the borders have been quiet, too quiet, for the past few days. Attacks were usually often, and huge in numbers, with barely any time to prepare and relax between the assaults.

Major Slice grabbed his binoculars from around his neck and peered into the high tech lenses at the assembling enemy army front.

Around three hundred metres away, Chop could only just make out what was occurring on the other side, there was an uneven line of enemy soldiers, who were all battle-torn, many still possessed heavy wounds. It requires great courage to be able to withstand that, thus he would normally give his respect. These, creatures on the other claw, are not ordinary, they don’t have the honour to be a griffon, much less even a soldier.

Their despicable ideology will only result in even more death and destruction.

These ‘soldiers’ were by the looks of things, were being replaced by other service-men. ‘This will be easier than I thought,’ Chop deviously thought, ‘Removing battle-hardened fighters, and replacing with a newly trained militia? What are those Generals thinking!’

‘And what’s this?’ Chop barely withheld a chuckle, ‘Replacing spears with short metal rods? Are they stupid? Do they seriously think those things will be able to reach us before we plunge our spears into them?’

Glancing left and right, Chop Slice manufactured a whistle. Prompting over another Griffon, he saluted, “Yes Sir!”

He answered in a stern, commanding voice, “Retrieve the Green flag, I would like to personally talk with the enemy’s commander.”

The other Griffon hesitated slightly, but after a brief scowl from the Major, he immediately went gather the requested item. Chop didn’t have to wait long, around 30 seconds later, the ‘Don’t attack me’ flag (dubbed by the soldiers), was within his grasp, literally.

Without even a farewell to his fellow soldiers, he marched through no-griffons land. Guards stood in awe, mouth agape. Their commander is brave and courageous enough to move into enemy crossbow fire, and not even break a sweat doing it! No griffon has been this valiant, propaganda was drilled into the minds of every Griffon enlisted, the Democrats were simply too barbaric, they would unambiguously kill him on the spot, without even a second thought.

Well, that’s what they assumed.

Eventually, Major Slice stopped directly in the middle of the field, standing perfectly, shoulders, arms, legs, claws, were in excellent proportion. He is the very definition of valiancy.

Not long after, a General from the other side carrying an identical flag walked deliberately slow, calculated movements, equivalent or maybe even more imposing than that of Major Chop. He, ultimately met up with him in the centre of the meadow.

The Democratic sternly stares, with a slight, almost hidden smirk, “You will lose.”

Major Slice snorts, “You say that every time, and yet, who exactly is winning this war?”

The other Griffon didn’t even bulge, not feeling threatened whatsoever, “We are giving you one chance to surrender, and we can promise you everygriffon all be spared.”

Slice institutes a snicker, only just barely withholding a full-blown laugh. The other Griffon doesn’t seem to notice or care, so he continued, “We’ll see who wins this battle, I have a feeling it’s going to be historical.”

That’s it, Chop could no longer conceal his laugh, it explodes at full force, so intense and deafening, that he had to cough half a dozen times just to stabilise himself, which, completely ruined the overall act.

‘He will pay for that,’ the enemy Griffon thought, ‘I will personally kill him myself.’

Major Slice wiped his eyes with his right claw while breathing rather rapidly, his voice still outlined by a light chuckle, “Historical, yeah, your right about that,” he then tries to look rather serious, but fails miserably, releasing another heavy chuckle, “Historically funny!”

The opposer is now silently fuming.

“Careful what you wish for General,“ he warned, a tiny smirk reappears among his facade, “I can guarantee you it’s going to be amusing, but not in the way you expect.” Without even giving Major Slice a chance to respond, he swiftly turns 180 degrees on the spot and marches back to his army.

All signs of happiness suddenly drained from Chop Slice’s face, ‘How DARE him! I’ll show that prick just how powerful the Empire’s armed force is, they ain't seen nothing yet.’ He swivels around, and walks back towards his men, hiding behind the lines to be out of combat.

Any moment he would give the signal to attack.

But first, a little speech would be necessary, Major Chop holds his right arm directly up, silencing everygriffon. Conversational mummers died down until the only sound was the howling wind and the occasional clank of amour.

(MUSIC)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1xzKtMqe_4&list=PLagw1OacLUg7y-7YoQai1hbwVNCl5nz-6&index=2

“Fellow soldiers!” he shots, his voice booming over the meadow, echoing, “Today is another chance to defend what is right, to defend our country, our honour and most importantly, our families! We can’t allow these barbarians to steal what we rightfully worked for! I say no more! WE HAVE A CHANCE TO POSITIVELY IMPACT NOT ONLY OUR BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY BUT THE ENTIRE PLANET. WE’RE THE HEROS, THE DEFENDERS, AND IT'S TIME TO SHOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MESS WITH THE WRONG PEOPLE!”

Chop shouts the beginning of the famous war cry, “For the Empire!”

“For the King!” Every soldier joins in their little amount of fear already temporarily forgotten. The adrenaline rush through their veins preparing them for the massive assault.

“For GLORY!” The last word is shouted at the top of every griffon’s lungs, placing in every inch of motivation they could possibly muster.

An ugly, deafening horn blast explodes into the surrounding area, signifying the dawn of the attack. The first three lines rush at a full sprint directly towards the enemy, flags ferociously wave in the wind. Followed by groups of crossbowmen to provide cover support, and swordsmen to protect them, as they are quite valuable and vulnerable at close range. Another line of infantry follows close behind to protect the flanks from flying battalions.

Major Chop Slice watches the conflict from the safety of his binoculars

The rapid pacing literally shakes the ground, the sheer amount of soldiers and griffon-power is surely enough to demolish the enemy.

He notices the enemy lines proceed to point out their metal ‘sticks’ directly forward, in almost perfect synchronisation. Each, and every soldier not portraying the slightest bit of hesitation, it appears as though these troops know exactly what they're doing, even though the methodology is completely wrong. Spears are supposed to be pointed at a slightly higher degree to allow the ground to take some of the blunt force, empowering them to not be pushed backwards. Only now does Chop release that those ‘spears’ don’t even look like them at all, in fact, they have the appearance of nothing he’s ever seen before.

And that is exactly where it all went wrong.

The most ear-shattering, thunderous BOOM occurred from the lines, explosions of pure fire and energy outburst from the tip of every weapon, plumes of smoke rise, collecting into a cloud of smoulder, easily blocking them all from view. That’s nothing compared to what happened though, almost the entire first row of soldiers just suddenly dropped, dead. The ammunition tears through the thin steal armour like it’s wet tissue paper. Many used their claws to clutch the chest areas, the action, however, proved to be futile, as crimson blood continued to pour around the claws, and drop the essential liquid life onto the ground below. Some soldiers fail to notice their fellow brethren on the red-stained green grass, resulting in trips, and falling downwards too, others were unlucky enough to be inhaled by their own weapons.

Chop is horrified beyond belief, nothing should be capable of that sort of power! All the other soldiers seemed to reflect his current feelings, as many seem to just stop, their confusion taking the better of them. Disorganisation and confusion erupt onto the battlefield. If a whole line could suddenly be slaughtered, what’s stopping the enemy from doing it again? It's like all that training, was completely in vain, if they could literally just kill them without even the slightest bit of difficulty. Griffons couldn’t take it, several hundred became deserters, they decide to run in the opposite direction, without even looking back.

The small percentage that did continue to run forward become already too far ahead to reform.

Despite all this, General-Major Slice was still able to squark out orders, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? DON’T STOP! RUN! KEEP YOUR SPEAR STRAIGHT! CROSSBOWS! SHOOT YOUR ARROWS! BREAK UP THEIR LINES!”

His orders seemed to snap all the soldiers out of their trace, causing the ones who haven’t disbanded the battle, to continue forward. Range weapons were pointed at the sky in forty-five degrees and fired in small groups of around forty. A small hail of arrows rained down on the enemy lines, most missed, due to the separation between the two armies, a few nonetheless, where lucky shots, puncturing in unarmored head or chest areas.

Despite the reorganisation efforts, it became all in vain when the muskets fire another deafening round of explosions, soldiers continue to drop left, right and centre. Screams, screeches, and gunshots echo the surrounding area. Giving the atmosphere a nightmarish theme, as bodies continue to thump onto the ground below.

Almost every fibre of courage that used to swell inside each soldier, has declined to unmanageable lengths, held by a single thread, threatening to collapse at a moments notice.

Very few, brave Griffons who never stopped running from the beginning, finally made it to the enemy. The hacked, slashed and attempted to stab. Although their superior training gave them a slight advantage, it proved to be naught, as multiple enemy Griffons used a mix of bayonets and short swords focused one Griffon at a time. Without even much effort, all those attacking directly were finished off. Their bodies littered the front of the lines, creating an invisible barrier, that seemed all but impossible to pass.

The second wave became increasingly closer to the enemy, technically it all should have been one wave, but the massive divide gave the allusion there was two. Soldiers began to gather a small amount of hope, and courage, as they were twenty metres away from achieving their goal.

Then, the third round hit.

Although a few Griffons in the Republican army that fought claw to claw combat couldn’t fire, it didn’t seem to matter as shooting at the almost point-blank range is lethal beyond imaginable. Fire and smoke, yet again expels from the musket tubes, launching over 700 metal projectiles into the body and tissue of the still approaching army.

Flesh and bones drop like flies, skulls burst, chests concave, legs shatter, and torsos tear open. Less than two percent of the original three front lines remain. The single thread of courage that remained suddenly breaks, the majority attempt to ditch their armour and fly away. The symbolic flags are completely forgotten, and discarded. Few sporadic individuals drop their weapons, kneel and surrender.

Major Slice could not believe it. This battle must be some sort of illusion, no military can suddenly turn their fate by the flip of a hat. He, however, was not prepared to say the next words, the words that will haunt him the rest of his life.

“RETREAT! FALL BACK!”

The effect was immediate, previously confident soldiers revolve 180 degrees, and spirit with their tail tucked firmly beneath their legs, others flew. Some soldiers close to the front lines, including crossbowmen and swordsmen, simply surrender, as they don’t have the desire to risk being killed while withdrawing.

The Democratic army marches forward, a few dispatching from the others to arrest the surrendering soldiers.

A piercing whistle sounds over the hollow winds, every single Republican rushes forward, trailing the retreating army, some fly to catch the soaring Monarch soldiers. The Democrats don’t give them what they desperately desire, freedom.

An increasingly exponential amount of soldiers surrender when they see the charging army. Most simply don’t have the stamina to run or fly away, as it was utilised at the beginning of the battle, all soldiers were simply driving off the intense amount of adrenaline rushing through their veins.

The rear infantry is stabbed and impaled from behind by bayonets and short swords. Many continue to drop, blood staining the soldiers, giving them an almost demonic appearance.

Chop Slice only just now realised, the army is getting increasingly close to him, so he releases his binoculars and flies in a random direction, completely abandoning his army.

His soldiers witnessed this, he was their last hope the escape out of there alive, and he just discarded them, like they were nothing! With no trace of hope in their hearts, practically the entire army surrenders like a tidal wave.

The General spots the fleeing Monarch Major, immediately beckoning over a moderate number of Griffons whose muskets are already preloaded. He swiftly places them into a small line and begins the daunting command process.

“Aim!” He shouts in a hushed whisper.

“Fire!”

Gold projectiles launch from their firearms, speeding through the air. Most, however, miss their target, not inflicting any damage on the retreating Generall. Well, that’s besides one, it managed to clip his left wing. That, however, proved to be enough. Chop Slice instinctively closes his wings, causing him to plummet to the ground below, landing in a heap.

The Republican General doesn’t give him even a second to spare, he dashes to the fallen enemy. Chop bolts upwards, and sprints away with every bit of energy he can muster, while clutching his left wing with his claw.

This action proved to be a strain, as the approaching Democratic slowly catches up, and eventually slashes him in the back. Resulting in a spray of crimson blood to spray over the grass, Major Slice drops to the ground, conceding. Attempting to hold in his precious liquid life, by pressing his spin firmly against the ground.

“Why?” Chop gurgles.

“Exactly the same reason as you,” the Republican replies, “to protect my people.”

And with that, he does one final powerful swoop with his sword, it comes down on his exposed neck. Completely separating the head from his spine, and causing it to roll a couple of times with forever stained, wide eyes.

Major Chop Slice, is dead.

The still remaining General openly stares at his prior competitor, filled with satisfaction and a newly created spark of hope. Hope, that now they have the advantage, and can finally finish this war, once and for all.

Another soldier rushes beside the General, panting heavily, “Want—me to—begin counting the —casualties?”

The General looks his is right, now with a genuine smile, “Please do.”

—Meanwhile—

“…innie minnie miny mo.”

My hoof ends up pointing at a random dead Griffon, completely saturated in blood, I’m far enough behind the army for no-one to notice me performing anything. I haul the deceased soldier over my shoulder and walk to deposit the body in a bush to pick up later.

My mouth is already watering.

Author's Note

Did you enjoy the first battle? Cuz' you may want to buckle your seatbelt, it's only going to get more hectic.

Chapter Eleven: Never Bring Magic to a Gun Fight

Pick up a rifle and you change instantly from a subject to a citizen.
-Jeff Cooper

“Sane is boring.”
-R. A. Salvatore

——
Chapter Eleven: Never bring Magic to a Gunfight

“Well, shit.”

This is what you get for walking through a group of flowers whose sole purpose is to alter the physical qualities and appearance of an animal. GOD DAMN IT!

A pleasant, cherry-red heart is located on my flanks, instead of the usual ‘Thermonuclear Explosion', to a normal person, this may not be that bad. For myself, however, if I’m even one-hundred metres in the proximity of one of these, foul shapes, I will do anything, and everything in my power to remove myself away from that particular location. That may, or may not include death.

But of COURSE, this fucking thing appears when I’m standing DIRECTLY NEXT TO A GRIFFON. The bloody animals thinks I’m in fucking love with it!

So I did what any normal person would do, I excused myself, teleported back to base, suicided and reformed from the biological fabricator. To make matters even worse, apparently the AI did warn me about an abnormal dark energy presence in my body, but me being me, I didn’t give a fuck.

FLASHBACK

*Door Slams*

Atomics throws her saddlebag in a random direction, and falls, on her bed, with a satisfying sigh, in the process of executing the exceedingly important ritual, sleep.

For some unknown reason, the AI decided it was a good idea to interrupt this peaceful sentiment, “Senses have registered a lingering presence of high-frequency dark en—“

“Cake,” she absently mumbled.

The AI seemed to hesitate for a moment, “What made you come up with something so random? Seriously, this conversation had nothing to do with the sustenance ‘cake’,”.

“Sweat, moist, delicious cake,” she continued.

The voice merged into a dark, cheerless tone, “I’m sorry, cake is only provided to test subjects who have completed the necessar—“

I may have imagined that last part, not entirely sure, I only remembered parts of it, so my faculty probably filled in the blanks, but whatever. The important part is that I longer have the picture that ‘shall remain unmentioned’ on my ass. Naturally, I could have had the energy purged from my system by machines, however, I believed, no, KNEW, that my body was tainted, and thus, had to be incinerated. Literally.

I’m lucky the biological fabricator removes 95% of physical pain from my system, allowing me to do things people would normally consider antagonising.

On that note, I decided I’ve had enough of ‘laying on the ground to fire my weapon’ sort of thing, and I’d rather not use the stand-up musket sticks to rest my firearm. So, I designed an ‘add-on’ to my Land Pattern Musket, where a thin metal rod can be pushed by the inside of my elbow, and set off the trigger. This allows me to hold my beast of a weapon with one foreleg.

Now that’s out of the way, let me describe to you my current situation.

A whole division of Griffons, the very same army that was used in the previous battle, is currently standing in a perfectly straight line, directly in front of me. Every soldier is standing flawlessly at attention, musket barrels positioned on shoulders, eyes strained forward, perception on the target.

An enemy army, the Monarch military, around four thousand strong, sits several hundred metres away, on the opposite side of the fence. It’s hard to see any details from this far away, but It’s quite obvious there’s an air of tranquillity, reinforcing the idea that they have some sort of plan of action in place, perhaps it could be to do with the occasional unicorn, and regular pony located at the front?

Whatever, shouldn’t really be a problem, from what I’ve seen, they are complete, and utter wusses. Not to mention, GOLD ARMOUR AND WEAPONS. They literally do NOT stand a bloody chance. I shouldn’t really count my chickens before they hatch however, It’s still a possibility they could change the tie of this battle by using their dark energy strategically.

Though, I still very much doubt it.

General Bridges stands at attention to the side of me, with his sole objective, to improve musket tactics. After all, this weapon is still a completely new type of warfare, thus, strategies have to be improved.

I think he doesn’t like me very much, it's pretty obvious from the small, almost non-existent frown he wears every time I’m in the proximity of him.

Suddenly, a loud, deafening horn directed from the opposite side, blasts into the surrounding environment, signifying the start of the enemy attack. Instead of a giant stampede however, the enemy army simply marches forward at a moderate speed, shaking the ground with impressive might.

Huge, rectangular purple energy shields appear directly in front of these soldiers, erecting over 99% of the front troops.

Well, that’s a bit of a surprise, didn't think they had that sort of technology, well looks li— wait. Disregard my last statement, they’re only powered by dark energy, not electricity.

“FIRST ROW, READY!” Shouts the Democratic General Major over the intense vibrations spitting from the Earth.

The front file of Griffons lowered their Muskets swiftly, the three-hundred and thirty weapons blended together to have the appearance of a solid wall. As though nothing can penetrate it.

Then, something interrupts the edge of my vision, a normal person wouldn’t have apprehended the movement, I, however, have enhanced eyesight, well, technically it’s the norm for our society, what’s the point in buying a 16384K TV if our eyes can’t live up to the standards of it?

I’m coming off track.

This ‘movement’ is actually over 200 enemy Griffons in flying Battalions, and what looks like, airborne ponies as well. Their arrangement is several crisp V formations. This will be somewhat annoying to the Republicans.

I use my right forehoof to tap General Bridge’s cold dense talons, “Yes?” He asks, his voice silhouetted with a touch of annoyance.

“Look,” I point in the direction of the incoming air assault.

He squints his eyes and attempts to search the general facility where I pointed. However, eventually, his pupils dilate to extreme lengths, expressing signs of surprise and worry.

“Shit,” Bridges silently swears, he turns to a Lieutenant on his right, “Alert the Major, we have incoming enemy air support, prepare the reserves.”

The Major’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like butter, “FIRST ROW AIM!”

330 muskets from the front column lower they're deadly weapons to point directly ahead, preparing the Monarch army for the first round of gold projectiles.

“FIRE!”

These weapons’ ignited wicks are lowered in a swift blur, the hot tips proceed to come in contact with the grey power located within. Setting it ablaze, resulting in an extreme pressure build-up, and the eventual explosion in series of intense red and yellow flames, the muskets, expelling a large amount of plume and smoke, somewhat obscuring the Republican army. The small gold objects thrust from their designated hobbit hole, and propel through the air at extraordinary speeds. Though, instead of puncturing flesh and amour, these metal bullets hit something else first.

The ‘magic’ shields

Immediately, one-third of the artificial cover, drops, the unicorns responsible, clutching their heads, wrapping both their hooves around their horn and rubbing fiercely. Hoping to cease the agonising pain as quickly as possible. Though the army continued to march forward, Griffons stepping over the downed ponies, their morale, only a bit more worse for wear.

The ones still standing, didn’t fare much better, although the shields are still standing, some more than others, repeatedly flicker in and out, the unicorns accountable for this, attempt to ignore the searing pain, by scrunching up their muzzles, and squeezing their eyes shut.

Some shields continued to illuminated profound purple light, the lucky bastards controlling them sadly didn't get hit at all.

All this protected the army from the very first assault, many Griffons thought that these ‘sticks of death’ weren’t put up to what they’re of rumoured to. Maybe these metal rods are really just a scare tactic?

The Democratic Musket division’s first column, like second nature, begin to immediately reload their weapons with surprising efficiency.

“SECOND ROW, READY!”

The middle strip of Republican Griffons army raise their weapons, the barrels situated over the shoulders of the griffons directly in-front.

You know what sucks? Being stuck behind the action. In the ultra-realistic movies based on the Renaissance era, you always had the best of views when it came to conflicts. The camera consistently pans over the battlefield, allowing onlookers to see everything up close, to even somewhat feel as though your in some of the soldier’s shoes, experience like your apart of the engagement.

Don’t get me wrong, I love being here, the smell of expended gunpowder, the crisp clear bang of explosions, and the apprehension, all contribute to a greater sense of thrill.

I just wish there was a way to increase my experience more, something that will remove this moderate sense of disappointment.

*Sigh* All well, I’ll just shove these feelings into the back of my mind closest for the time being.

“SECOND ROW, FIRE!”

Unlike the previous volley, this time, it was chaos.

The world seemed to slow at these fateful moments, the muskets yet again, exploded in quick seething hot bursts, thrusting out tonnes of ash fire, forcing the gold metal ammunition to spit forward so fast, they all seem like a blur. Practically, all the remaining shields suddenly dissipate, creating a huge sense of worry and dread from the soldiers located at the front.

Due to the sheer surprise of completely demolishing one of their biggest advantages, several Monarch soldiers tripped over their own feet, to luckily catch themselves before they bump any of the adjacent soldiers. Confidence gave way into anxiety and trepidation.

A few ponies, mainly the unicorns, like absolute pussies, made their hurried departure from the battlefield.

What was even more frightening for them, however, was that some troops, both pony and griffon alike, dropped like rocks, dead, their bodies almost immediately shut down, and gave up. Blood and chunks of flesh exploded outward, covering several of the surrounding soldiers in distasteful gore, resulting in may Griffons and especially ponies, to stop in shock, mirrored to just like what happened in the first battle.

Only the number is much, much lower than previously. The whole Monarch army had already been addressed of the sheer capabilities of these weapons, and, over 80% of the troops are what you would consider as ‘seasoned’, their fear, buried under layer, and layer of emotional walls.

The element of surprise has already dried out.

Though it’s still quite obvious to any outsider, the situation for the Monarchs is still deteriorating at an unmanageable rate.

A loud metal clatter can be deciphered from above, followed by another, and another, until the sky is filled with an untenable sound mass of clashing metal, by virtue of this severe disturbance, I rotate my head to look up.

The sky has transformed into the second battlefield.

An extreme unorganised mass, roughly 300 vs 300 of ponies and griffons fight to the absolute death, swords plunge in flesh, armour rattles, bodies drop, some, unlucky soldiers become a cushion, to fall on top of, turning these plummeting bodies in impromptu artillery.

‘When technology becomes equal, soldiers fall on the level of they're training, to live up to our expectations,’ this is one thing that becomes increasingly obvious, the Republican soldiers don’t have much experience to fall onto, and as a result, more of them drop from the sky, then compared to the Monarchs. Giving a death ratio of around 2:3, presenting, as clear as on live television, the Empire will win air superiority eventually. Although, the number of soldiers left afterwards wouldn’t be enough to cause enough significant damage.

This is with the exception of the pegasi, they’re armour and weapons are absolute dog shit, the gold is cut like butter, and their weapons fail to penetrate the thinnest of steel amour. Their ratio is more along the lines of 30 to 1.

Rounds of musket explosions are dulled in my ears, as I watch, with a satisfying amount of cheerful glamour, I can’t help but feel amazed by the slashes of blood, and guts as they pour down from the heavens, like light precipitation.

The irritating unfastening sound of a sword, that slices through my atmosphere, is projected to the right of me, I switch my view to General Bridges, the person responsible for the creation of this noise.

“What are you doing?” I enquired, somewhat annoyed that my peaceful period was interrupted.

He replies in a warning, but still friendly tone, “Some are coming in our direction,” he points to a portion of the shy where three Monarch Griffons, the closest ones to our position, are flying directly at us, around 100m away, the series of blood splatters located on their light amour, highlights that they recently finished off the Democratic soldiers they were engaged in.

“Get behind me,” Bridges ordered.

Normally I wouldn’t take commands from a foreign military officer, except, one, I don’t want to die, or else I would miss out on the rest of the conflict. Two, it would arouse suspicion if I don’t at least appear a somewhat scared civilian.

Despite the fact I can’t technically depart my life, as biological fabricators just ‘rebirth me’, and the emotion of ‘fear’ is a remote feeling for me, I still appeal to his orders and hide a portion of my body behind him.

Using my right forehoof, I stanched my flintlock musket from my saddle bag, and proceed to point it in the general facility of the incomers.

“If I tell you to,” General Bridges continues, “run to the closest soldier for backup, I can’t have you dying on us.”

Yeah, cuz’ I’m too much of an asset, aren’t I?

The General didn’t give me enough time to reply as several, heavy THUMPS interrupted our conversation. The three griffons, as mentioned earlier, surround us. Each point they're ‘not so deadly’, but still increasingly sharp swords at us, acting like walls covered in spikes, blocking us from accessing the outside world, trapping us in as mouses, in a mousetrap.

“Give us the pony, and we’ll be on our way.” A gruff voice chimed in, “we would rather not fight.”

Of course they’re monologuing.

“If you think I’m going to claw her over without some ‘persuasion’,” sassed General Bridges, as he tracked them with his sword, “then you’ve got another thing coming for you.”

And then, he jumped.

Well, so not much as bouncing up and down, I mean he leaped at the closet soldier to him. Sword positioned outward, ready, and willing to kill whatever it touches.

Though there is one major problem, he sucks. I mean literally, he sucks at using a sword. I have no idea how he was even able to become a general if he doesn’t even have decent fighting skills. Bridges attempted to slash the head off the closest Griffon, but the potential victim, if only a little surprised, jumped out of the way easily, and countered with his own attack.

Straight into the chest.

Well, it would have been if it weren’t for the General’s top notch, steel amour. The sword just bounced off, leaving a decent sized scratch.

Bridges slashed and stabbed randomly, hoping to acquire at least a single, lucky shot, that could potentially cripple his opponent, however, none did. The seasoned Monarch warrior consistently dodged, ducked, and jumped out of the path of his sword. Occasionally returning his own extremely effective attacks.

Of course, that left me with the other two soldiers.

“RUN!” Bridges hissed, while attempting, and failing miserably at dodging at incoming attack, slicing him in-between the armour plates, “Get out of here!”

Obviously, I didn’t listen to him. Who would? The action is happening right here, and I’m apart of it, and if I’m honest, I’m loving every moment of it.

“Grab her!” The one to the left of me yelled, “before she runs away!”

And so I did what I do best.

I fired the trigger.

The majestic flint, propels forward, striking against the frizzle, resulting in a shower of intense sparks, that flit directly into the pan. Igniting the small amount of gunpowder located on top ablaze, this acts as a relay to the main course. The fire continues to travel inside the gun, entering through a tiny opening, in repercussion, causing the rest of the black dust, to burn up.

The exothermic reaction results in an extreme pressure change, forcibly pushing the lead projectile (I’m not using gold), out the muzzle in an explosion of fire, and smoke. Manufacturing a sound not dislike of the other matchlock muskets shooting in the surrounding area, except, a slightly more distinct, powerful blast. Of course, this is because the gun can fire on average 80m faster velocity than that of the other muskets.

This all happened in under half a second.

The lead projectile is immediately lodged directly into the chest, of the opposing Griffon, cutting through his light steel armour like butter, providing a small shower of blood on the surrounding grass.

He drops, on the ground, clutching his chest, and gurgling in and out rapidly, the musket ball, likely punctured a lung, and as a result, his respiratory system is leisurely filling up with his own blood, choking him slowly to death.

A small, predatory smile appears across my features. Magnificent!

I turn my vision towards his other companion, he expresses signs of horrid surprise and fury.

“You bitch!” He fumed, a small, almost non-extant tear strikes down his cheek, “I’ll get you for that!”

He charges with overwhelming fury, sword suited outward.

For me, everything slows down for me at that moment, Griffons moved slower, blood dripped at a slower rate, and sword swings were gentile. I was able to sneak a quick glance at the end of my musket, murky white smoke still expelled from the barrel, giving it an almost calm and calculating look. The bayonet, glistening in the sunshine, is just begging to be used, to feel the blood running down the shaft, to take the life of another living being, and, in an almost twisted and wicked way, protect the defenceless.

So, I sprinted with every fibre of my being, directly at my sole enemy.

As we both approached each other at rapid speeds, he attempted to swing, with the understandable intention to slice my noggin clean off. With surprising agility, at the last second, I ducked my head.

Newton’s third law is ‘For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction,’ so when two objects smack into each other, it equates to double the total force.

And this is exactly what happened here.

I thrusted the bayonet with my combined velocity, mass, and sheer strength directly into the Griffon’s chest, his own speed causing the force of impact to be twofold. The amount of power in this single blow could be possibly labelled as ‘the greatest stab of all time.’

The sword, penetrated straight through his internal organs, smashed his rib cage and turned his own biological structure into a fine meat smoothie. The gun barrel itself lodged several centimetres into the split flesh. Blood dribbled from his wound, running like a small fountain down the side of his body. Several splashes of the fluid squirted onto my beautiful white fur. His eyes, posed wide open, as though he can perceive death clutching his boney hands over his soul.

To finish it off, the cherry on top. I did a 90-degree twist, transforming even more of his important, internal organs into soup. I ferociously, yank the melee weapon out from his chest, resulting in blood to trail behind the short sword, spitting like a drinking fountain. In a dramatic display of bravery, just like in the movies, he drops his sword to the side, lands on his knees, and falls face first into the ground. Blood begins to pool underneath his body, caking his brown and white feathers into a deadly crimson red.

My whole body is shaking from excitement, a goofy grin expressing over my facade, adrenaline rushing through my veins, and my brain expelling millions of bliss-inducing chemical reactions.

I am able to take my attention off the dead body, and onto the still, ongoing conflict between General Bridges and the random, Monarch Soldier. The latter seemed to be winning, only covered in a few, non-concerning scratches. The General, however, is obviously running out of stamina, his own blood covered a good few potations of his body, his amour, filled with a ridiculous amount of possibly dangerous cuts.

Both seem to be in their own world, concerned with playing their own hyperactive dance.

Should I reload my weapon, or charge straight in there? By the time I finishing reloading my musket, the General could possibly be already dead.

Sometimes, situations like these require you to not think, only to do.

And so, I charged.

Bayonet positioned forward facing, completely saturated in red sticky blood, this short sword no longer wants death, it needs it. Ready, yet again, to take the life of another.

That’s what I planned anyway.

The soldier's eyes, at the last moment, widen, using his extreme reaction time, to jump out of the way. With the action considered unexpected by me, I barrel past him, trip on my own hooves, and face plant directly into the grass, spitting up dirt in several directions.

Fuck.

With General Bridge worse for ware, he’s not able to do anything when the Griffon kicks me in the side of my stomach, in repercussion, causing me to skid across the ground, soil continued to make itself present all over my body, sticking to places anywhere you could possibly imagine.

I am able to look up, and I spot him, slowly, and confidently walking towards me, General Bridges, attempted to stop him, only to stagger and fail every step.

I quickly propel myself upwards, and sprint at him, once again, with my bayonet pointed towards my target. This obviously surprised him, as he obviously didn’t expect me to get back up.

My hooves pounded against the hard, solid ground, my heart rate enlarged, and my excitement increased yet again, my body quivering for the anticipated kill.

Just as I was about to thrust a bayonet into his chest, he twisted and used his left talon to smash the middle section of my body, impacting my figure against the ground, covering my midsection in even more dirt. My musket dropped to the side of me. He then reapplied his claw into my spine, and continuously administered force, keeping me from escaping his clutches. His sword, located on his right appendage, positioned the steel weapon onto my back.

“Any last words, pony?” He smugly taunted.

*Dry Cough* “Fuck you.” I growled.

“Very well,” he stated professionally, “I hope not to see you on the other side.”

And with that, he proceeded to thrust his sword straight through my back, missing my spine, and slicing several of my internal organs. Blood oozed out, coating my dirty white fur into a red crimson, matching that of my hair, and tail. I proceed to cough up some of thus vital fluid, my mouth tasted like copper, and all my nose could smell was intense metallic alloy.

The unnamed soldier dramatically slides his sword from my body, and proceeds to stash it away, furthermore, departing from by atomy towards the half downed General.

Obviously, I was a little pissed.

I grabbed my firearm once again, slowly stand up, my legs still wobbling from lactic acid build and I sprint, with every fibre of my being, directly at this son of a bitch as he walked away.

This time, it was different.

With a startled yelp, the bayonet found home, as it sunk into the back of his flesh, causing blood to spray into my face, and some into my teeth, as I still had a maniac grin suited across my facade. I twist the sword 90 degrees, causing even more blood to spill out of his wound.

He turns his head and looks directly into my eyes. Using his sword, he attempts to lacerate at me, but as a result of excruciating pain, his movements became sluggish, allowing me to pull out, and dodge.

He turns around, but he does so, I stab him once again.

And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
And again.

And I still, continuously impale his body, until all that’s left is just a red mush and a few pieces of amour. My grin was so wide, it split my expression in half, blood completely caked my face, legs, body, and hooves. It caused my clothes to mould around my body. Blending my whole figure, into one, glorified red demon. My teeth are the odd ones out, as the contrast between the colour crimson, and white is so strikingly different.

I can feel blood continuously trickle down the side of my body from the wound the griffon administered, but that doesn’t stop me. Nothing does.

Nothing ever will.

I return my attention back to General Bridges sitting down, his eyes, are displayed wide open, full of shock, and surprisingly, respect.

But here’s the thing, I want more.

No, let me rephrase that, I need more.

And so, I went to the one place where I could find plenty of that.

The front lines.

I once again sprinted full of excitement and energy, so fast, my body became once massive red blur to any onlookers. From what I can discern, the enemy griffon air battalions retreated, maybe it was intimidation, too few numbers, or abandonment. I will never know.

I reach the back of the griffon musket line, and push myself forwards, accidentally smearing blood on some of the surrounding griffons. Most of them looked at me in horrid shock, all, however, don’t stop me, whether they know I’m on their side, or I’m too intimidating, I can’t be too sure.

Eventually, I’m able to shove my way to the front and stand at the very first line. White smoke makes it difficult to discern anything on the battlefield, but from what I can see in this position, the enemy army is just over 100 meters away, and they continue, to march forward, holding tightly packed together shields, although the unevenness in their structure suggests serious loses. I’m estimating around 2000.

The troops to the side of me, look at me with trepidation, though, all continue to reload their weapons with sufficient efficiency.

“THIRD ROW READY!”

Oh, I should probably reload.

As I begin the sacred process of reloading my weapon, I tune out all the surrounding noises to concentrate on the task at hand. I grab an ammunition capsule from my saddlebags, and use my teeth to bite down on it, to furthermore, rip the tip-off, and slip it onto the ground before me.

Carefully, I pour a small amount of gunpowder on the pan, in addition to concealing the powder by closing the frizzle over the top.

I pour the rest of the black powder down the muzzle, then violently shove the remaining cartridge into the barrel, and in addition to, taking hold of the metal rod located underneath, sliding it out, and plunging the shaft straight into the barrel, then compressing to a sufficient extent.

I returned the struct back into it’s designated position. Ready to fire.

“FIRST ROW, FIRE!”

And not a moment too soon.

Without even a second thought, I aimed my weapon forward and fired. Expelling the lead projectile forward at an absolutely incredible rate. Sadly, I have no idea whether I hit a target, or not. The sheer amount of munitions being fired is so huge, it'll be impossible to determine where my shot even travelled. That is, without a machine.

The bullets without much difficulty penetrate through the steal shields, roughly, a third of front line Monarchs cease their hold on life, and proceed to fall on the ground. The army, still, continues to march forward, survivors picking up any of the dropped cover, to form a protective line.

And so, I reload my firearm once again and position it forward. With the ambition that something even more exciting will occur.

A few seconds later, my prayers are answered.

Two blasts from a horn, expel onto the battlefield, signifying that the conflict has taken a step into the next stage. 50m away, the remaining Monarch army rush forward in a frenzy, a desperate attempt to scavenge anything from their current predicament.

“EVERYONE! FIRE WHEN READY!”

Oh, it gets even better.

The lines ferociously explode in a massive blend of explosions, creating an almost machine gun feel to the atmosphere. I fired myself, several times, preparing each round a quickly as possible.

The smoke drifting in-front of us obscures our vision, so we really only know what coming when it’s directly on top of us.

And that applies to me, except with a satisfying twist.

A yellow earth pony mare, with a red mane and tail, with dark ruby highlights, appears through the fog of smoke. Wearing the expression of intense hatred, and fury, this one, is likely one of the very few remaining. Her golden armour glistens in the sunshine, her hair, tied up perfectly, the only thing that ruined her perfect image is the few, blood splatters on her metal plating.

War, conflict is not meant to be beautiful, although it is in its own way, the whole reason of the military is to protect, not to look physically appealing.

The funny thing is, that I only just noticed, the Republican griffons are completely ignoring this pony, same with all the others, from what I can tell. Would you be threatened if a soldier comes at you, with no military experience, and fuck all trash for a weapon?

Yeah, me either.

Imagine her face when she realises that she isn’t taking on a Griffon, but a fellow pony.

Shit gets real.

This pony immediately stops in her tracks, her velocity setting to zero, and stares wide eye, directly at my majestic form. She began to shake involuntarily, several tears striking down her face, only just barely clutching onto her spear.

I just grin.

That seemed to overload her systems, and so, she passes out.

Well, that was easy.

And so, I continued on my merry way.

I sprinted at the nearest Monarch Griffon, and proceed to stab and twist him in the chest, several times over, eventually, he to drops dead too. Covering myself in even more splatters of blood, though, it simply blends into my already caked fur.

I then turned to my next victim and proceed to stab, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat.

Honestly, I lost track on how many people I killed, pretty certain I got stabbed a few times myself, not entirely sure, but eventually, a horn yet again blasts onto the battlefield.

Signifying the end of my entertainment, well, at least not quite yet.

I chase the retreating army, none of the Republican army follow, and I continue my slaughter of stab, twist, pullout, next victim, repeat. Though, at a much, slower efficiency then what I’d prefer. Sadly, my actions seemed to only make the army run even faster.

Eventually, I couldn’t keep up with them, so I turned, and walked back to where the front was with, slow, shaky steps. Soldiers were scattered all over the field, some standing around talking, others crying uncontrollably, and some, counting the dead.

My body was still quivering from the thrilling sensation, and a huge, goofy grin expressed across my features.

But I still wanted to do something, something more.

And so, once I arrived at where the mass of the battle occurred, I found a suitable location, and rolled my whole body, just like a dog, all over the dead. Soaking up blood like a living sponge.

And the funny thing was, I was enjoying every moment of it.

Bits of flesh got caught on my fur, as I forcibly stream-rolled, the dead griffons, and few ponies alike, red, juicy fluid continuously splattered like a fountain, spraying in almost every, single, direction.

If beforehand I was soaked, now I drenched, immersed, as one, with blood. I am blood, and blood is me.

To any onlooker, I’ll just be indistinguishable, from the red mass all around me, and possess the appearance of an insane pony, laughing uncontrollably, in the face of death. Basically, people would think, I am mentally ill, and that I would defiantly, need to be locked up in a psychological ward, for a very, very long time.

So imagine my surprise when someone asked me if I was alright.

“Umm, ma’am,” a deep voice interrupts, “a-are you alright?”

I freeze instantaneously, similar to if you're playing musical statues, and turn my head, slowly towards the source of the voice, until my vision, lands upon the face of a Republican soldier. His face expressed signs of disgust, shock, and most importantly, immeasurable fear.

My grin faded to neutral physiology, that is until it returns at full force. Presenting my now deep crimson coloured teeth, small chunks of flesh stuck in-between each tooth.

“Yes?” I asked in a relatively calm voice.

The unnamed soldier continues to stare at me for an undetermined amount of time, his face, each second, pursued with intensifying his horrid/terrified countenance.

That is, until he speaks, “The,” he seemed to hesitate for a second,” General would like to see you, follow me.”

My smile faded once again, as I was forced to leave my entertainment behind, and so, I got up, blood proceeded to continuously drip down my flanks, and onto the grass below, similar to when just exiting out of the shower, and so, I followed behind the soldier (most likely a lieutenant), with my saturated tail dragging on the ground behind me.

We passed lines, and lines of bodies, something I didn’t notice when I was chasing after the retreating army. It’s easy to determine when each folly was shot, as every 20m or so, there was a stroke of dead soldiers. To me, it looks almost like a grid, virtually perfect spaces in-between each line, expect, without the y-columns.

A few seconds in silence later, I noticed something.

The pony I caused to pass out was still, spread out, on the ground, unconscious. Her entire yellow figure is saturated in crimson blood. She is still, though quite lightly, breathing, as her stomach travels in and out at a slow, steady rate.

I can’t leave her here, that would be barbaric.

What? I’m not a complete psychopath, I have some morels.

“Wait a sec,” I hastily stated, the soldier turned around, and gave me a mixed expression of annoyed and confused.

I quickly trot up to the body and take a long, good look at it. Statistically calculating, and observing several different aspects of the animal, which includes, but not limited to, weight, height, age, cutie mark (a spear) and appearance.

Though one thought stuck out from the rest; Could do with more red, the yellow is too overpowering.

Using my musket already in hand, and my absolutely fabulous cutting skills, I was able to lacerate the thick cloth straps holding the pony’s gold armour together, only accidentally cutting the flesh several times.

The metal plates came undone with a handful of metallic CLAGS, exposing the rest of her clean lemon fur, for me to see. To allow the utilisation of my appendages, I drop my weapon to the side, and shove my head directly underneath her neck, and proceed to rather gently, drag the rest of her body onto my spine, comprised with some squishing noises due to the large deposit of fluid on my physique.

It doesn’t take much effort to completely situate her on-top of me.

I could feel the irritating warmth radiating off her, the slow, steady breathing onto my neck, and her annoying, consistent heartbeat, on my midsection. Seriously, why manufacture a radiator, when you can literally just stack some of these things into your air conditioning system?

Well, I guess their bones would eventually get sucked in the vents.

Anyway.

I pick my musket back up and deposit it into my saddle bag, once again.

I swivel my head back towards the soldier directing me, and he, simply has a single brow raised, as if he is questioning my actions. Before I could say anything, however, he shakes his head, forcing his own thoughts out, and continues to walk in a particular direction.

So I followed.

Almost every soldier I pass stares without deviation at my form, as if I’m a ghost or some type of extremely rare species. Though, it probably has something to do with the bloody succession of blood splotches trailing behind me.

…

Has anyone ever played the organ?

…

No-one?

…

I thought it was funny.

Anyhow, did anyone give me hallucination inducing drugs? Why is everything so blurry?

Eventually, we approach the General, whose whole-fully surrounded by at least, ten, other Griffons, providing aid, and furthermore, keeping him upright. His armour is discarded to the side, allowing me to perceive the number of scratches, and cuts adorning his body.

Which if I’m totally honest, isn't as much as I expected.

“Atomic!” he marvelled, with over-exaggerated enthusiasm, “just the mare I was after!”

General Bridge’s smile is sincerely overbearing, his arms, are positioned wideout, almost hitting some of the soldiers next to him. He seems to be generally happy to see me, as though I saved his life or something.

Oh, wait.

“I just wanted to deeply thank you,” he beamed, with a small bow, “for your services, as you have not only saved my life today but many others as well,” He gestured to all around him, “I don’t know how I could possibly repay you.”

“Don’t worrrrry, about it,” I slurred, accompanied by a weak hoof wave, “anytime.”

And at that moment, all the blood loss, organ damage, and oxygen deprivation finally caught up with me, inspiring me to cascade under the weight of the pony mass on-top, and coil into the realm of unconsciousness.

Author's Note

A bit gruesome? Sorry about that, Atomic won't get that much worse.

(Also, this chapter took 13 hours to write)

Chapter Twelve: The Strong tumbles, the Weak soars.

“Anyone can deal with victory. Only the mighty can bear defeat.”
- Adolf Hitler
——
Chapter Twelve: The Strong tumbles, the Weak soars.

“Ever since our last victory, volunteers from the public have been increasing spectacularly, griffons previously dodging the draft have come out of hiding, and any moral issues within our Empire has withered away,” Garrison informs, “These muskets have installed a new found vigour in our country, a new hope.”

“Yes, that news is certainly pleasing,” Bridges agrees, “We are going to have to withdraw our current musket division for reinforcements, just over 600, of the original 1000, are remaining. Lucky, only 43 firearms are missing, or irrevocably damaged. We are, however, facing an ammunition crisis, the combined effort of training and battles have reduced the number of shots to around three per griffon,” his facade merges into slightly worried, “The next battle they engage in, will possibly be a disa—”

“Ah!” Garrison interrupts, “It’s sort of slipped my mind until this moment, but the scientists have created a substitute for the gunpowder,” he puffs out his chest, “Through sheer accident, one researcher found one important ingredient in gunpowder— saltpetre, by mishap, dropped a torch, onto a mound of the stuff, when inspecting local farm procedures. As apparently, it’s used in fertiliser.”

“Well, that is certainly an interesting development,” President Senatus comments, “could we just use that as our propellant?”

“No,” Garrison counteracts, “mixed with, what we found as charcoal, actually works. But still requires a higher temperature to activate, we believe that the substance is still missing one important ingredient,” he hold one of his talon up, pointing towards the sky, “If combined with the limited amounts of gunpowder Atomic Discharge provided, it functions, implementing this means we can stretch our ammunition by two or three times, this procedure does, however, increase misfires.”

“That is a short time solution,” Bridges vacillated “But I’m a bit worried that Atomic Discharge won’t be able to provide the next batch of muskets, as she still under coma.”

“Don’t worry about that,” President Senatus dismisses, “A smart lady like her would have it automatically delivered by crew.”

My eyelids slowly unlatch, giving me visual access to the room surrounding me. I found myself lying tucked under milk-white sheets, I could feel the fabric rubbing against my fur. As a response, I performed a swift glance under, and found my body completely naked, devoid of my majestic clothes. The space around me is sterilely clean, and lanterns are tucked into each corner, shining brilliant, pleasant warm yellow light and morning sunlight radiated delightfully through a window.

Bandages nearly enveloped the majority of my physique, one of my forelegs is encased in a primitive wooden medical splint, and the few places where my coat was showing, displayed a moderate crimson colour tinge.

Defiantly a hospital. But with no antiseptics, modern medicine, heart monitors, or really anything that defined a hospital before the Organic Immortality Era.

Though I soon noticed that there was someone, or more specifically, some pony staring at me from another bed in the room. A yellow pony, with purple eyes, and red hair to be specific, is suited against the bed frame. The expression she holds feels as though she has been carrying for hours, like the wrinkles of her frown has saturated into her expression, staining it.

Why does this horse feel familiar?

Oh.

At that moment, everything came rushing back to me, the General, the firing lines, the blood, and her, the person I didn’t leave to die on the battlefield, for some unknown reason (probably due to blood loss).

As a response, I too stared directly at her and did the one thing that seemed most appropriate at the time.

“What?”

The sudden outburst of noise causes her to leave from her mind-scape, and return to the land of the living. Blinking a few times, she focuses her vision back onto me.

Only now, realises that I actually wake.

Her scowl returns at full force, her eyes narrowed, and her breathing became deeper, and focused, to top it off, she crosses her forelegs over one another, finalising that stereotypical angry look.

So, as a reaction, I repeat my last statement, but at a slightly higher pitch, “What?”

She persists with watching me closely, inspecting, and extracting my very posture and expression. For once I do feel overly exposed, not just because of my decent lack of garments, but also since it feels as though she is searching every bend and junction in my soul.

It quite obvious these are symptoms of clothing deficiency.

Since I’m so bored, I guess I participate in a staring contest.

…

Nope. Bored already.

It'll be almost impossible to make sense of my current predicament if those eyes are continually staring at me, so I revolve my body by the factor of 180, without moving my forelegs, in addition to facing my back towards her.

I can imagine that I gained quite a lot of wounds during that conflict, most likely explains why I’m covered head to toe in bandages. Not that they would really achieve much anyway, I’ve already got advanced blood clotting and a state-of-the-art immune system. Though, even with all those customisations, it’s still a small miracle I didn’t die. Genetics can only do so much.

Speaking of that, where did they take me? The sort of critical condition I was in would have determined a restricted time limit. Though, in my humble opinion, the command centre, or a town should have been sufficient.

What about the blood? From the appearance of my bare appendage, I haven't been thoroughly washed (good news), which also explains that faint expired, decomposing smell of death lingering in the air, the blood soaked into my fur, must be rotting at this stage.

Now, how to get out of here? I can’t remain in this location, I’ll go mad, or just end up killing myself so I respawn back at base. I could escape, though the doctors (if you can call them that) would be thoroughly shocked to find an empty bed.

Just walking out could be an option, allow them to glimpse at me while I’m leaving.

Or, I could literally just ask, and if need be, use the threats to not provide any firearms anymore as an insensitive to discharge me.

I continued to ponder my thoughts for serval more minutes until it was interrupted by the soft, but a still vaguely scratchy voice of someone relatively close to me.

“Why?”

I turned my head in the direction of the spoken communication until my perception lands upon the pony I was staring as previously. She still sits in the exact same position, her posture hasn’t even bulged a single centimetre, the only indication that she even talked was that her mouth was slightly unhinged from the rest of her jaw.

“Excuse me?” I counter query, attempting to understand the context of what she’s asking.

Her muzzle starts the process to form words, “Why’d you do it?”

Can she be any vaguer? “Do what?”

Her posture suddenly undergoes a change, her expression merges to one of extensive fury, and she waves her forelegs around as if she is attempting to make herself look bigger and more aggressive then what she appears to be.

“What do you fucking think??!! Why the actual FUCK are you fighting for the dirty democrats! Killing your brothers and sisters! Betraying Princess Celestia! To further top all that off, you were covered in someone else’s blood, and you looked like you were fucking enjoying it!” She exclaims in one single breath, her lungs hyperventilating from the extreme onslaught of her word choice.

Really? THAT was what she was worried about? “Firstly, I didn’t kill any ponies (I don’t think so anyway), Equestria technically isn’t at war with the Griffon Republic, and Princess Celestia doesn’t concern me. Though I did actually approach her first when I came up a weapon concept, so in that respect, I did put Equestria first. Also, I did save your life, so,” I huffed, “You could give me some slack,” counter arguing her outburst.

She stares at me again, her voice laced with even more anger, “You PROVIDED those weapons??!”

Oops, a bit a slip of the tongue there, “Pretty much.”

She was just about to streak a response, but before she is able to, the doors to the infirmary suddenly open. Manufacturing a sound not dislike a floorboard creaking. One griffon nurse walked in, she held a checklist, her eyes, firmly locked onto it, completely oblivious high tension flowing throughout the atmosphere. That is, until she rotates her head 45 degrees up, engaging her pupils with that of mine.

I simply just stare.

The nurse looked like she wanted to pronounce something, it’s quite obvious by the way she unlatched her mouth and raised her right talon slightly up. However, nothing came out, not even a peep.

With the situation transforming exceptionally awkward, she bolts out of the doorway, out into the unknown.

Even with my superior intellect, I don’t have the ability to discern exactly what had occurred, and so, I turned to the only other source of the room.

“What’d you think that was about?” I politely enquired.

The pony I was addressing faced me for a brief second, and then turned her back to me. Pretending as though I didn’t even exist in the room.

Time is relative as it continued to pass over me, as I laid there in bed, thinking over my current predicament, and my situation on this entire planet. I must admit, It’s been pretty fun, and I have no reason to leave anytime soon, after all. The amount of entertainment I’ve gathered from this place is exceedingly more then what I’ve ever, obtained at home. I just the adventure, and the fact that I hold the fate of this whole planet in my bare hands. I could destroy it, I could make it thrive, or even, just continue to mess around with the natives.

Which in my opinion, is the considerably better option.

It was at this moment, thunderous footsteps instituted from the hallway, interpreted as much more distant, and powerful compared to the background hospital paces around the facility. The steps persisted with becoming louder every second, concluding that the particular person generating those sound effects, is heading towards my general direction.

I swivel my head towards to doorway, only to see several important, and professional military personnel marching through with new dark-blue uniforms. Guess the black clothing was replaced for some reason?

The small group consisting of a multitude of different ranks, and positions. One person, I recognise as General Bridges, while others, are complete and utter strangers to me. Each griffon's facade was laced with an absolute stoic serious expression. Perhaps they here to talk business? Who knows how long I could’ve been knocked out.

General Bridges stood perfect attention at the end of my bed frame, two officers, erected confidently beside him, and three regular soldiers on either side of me, stood in almost perfectly straight lines, muskets orientated on shoulders. One could almost anticipate they metamorphosed into statues.

“Miss Atomic Discharge,” General Bridges confidently began, “For your efforts on the Western Front, you saved my life, and continued to fight the enemy despite serious wounds. You have thirteen confirmed kills, eight unconfirmed, your actions distracted the enemy advance, distributing unorganisation and confusion on the battlefield. You saved countless lives that day, in recognition of your efforts, I am awarding you with our most prestigious honour, the Steel Claws Badge.”

Bridges placed a gold outlined circular badge, with a lightning bolt behind a metallic enveloped talon located in the centre, directly onto my chest. I must admit, it is quite magnificent, the person who created this must have spent hours polishing it to perfection.

The small audience gathered around immediately begin to applaud, contributing with words of comfort like ‘congratulations’ and ‘well done’. I would be lying if I said at least a small part of me didn't enjoy it. Getting praised for contributing to the total picture, can be quite hypnotising.

“Also,” The General added, “One of our traditions is that any soldier, particularly peasants, have the right to retain citizenship and freedom, for earning any medal category three, or higher. We would have removed this policy, though we haven’t concluded our complete constitutional reformation.”

(This was often one of the many reasons soldiers were usually so tenacious.)

He cleared his throat, “Thus I offer you, a full Republican citizenship,“ he places a parchment of paper on my lap, directly in my reading perception, “to this extent, the President has offered you a job in the Military as a technological designer, and Tactical Analysis,” Bridges smiled, “that is, if you accept it.”

Should I? It could be quite interesting, though, there would obviously be a few limitations, and it would be difficult to achieve anything outside the Griffon territories. This world has been quite an adventure so far, so what’s a little more spice added to the situation going to alter?

I am able to steal a quick glance at the other pony in the room, her expression, surprisingly, as if she is understanding the circumstances, but, is still overshadowed by the frown of detrimental hate.

“Give me the necessary military documents, and I’ll see what I can do,” I stated, “Though, I really appreciate the recognition.”

“Not a problem!” The General chirped, “Also, I would like to apologise for the President’s absence, he sadly, couldn’t make it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” I responded, “How long was I exactly unconscious for?”

“Almost a week, it’s a miracle you didn’t die from starvation,” he replied.

“Huh,” I tapped my chin, “How are you going anyway? You were in quite a hefty fight with that other soldier.”

He almost silently chuckled, as if remembering the ‘good old days’, “Turns out the only risk I have is a possible wound infection, which, might I add, is unlikely, due to my exceptional immunity, and a broken arm bone.”

General Bridges pulls his arm cloth upwards, exposing his bare forelimb, with a wooden splint holding it in place.

“Doctors said that as long I don’t place much pressure on it, it’ll heal within the next few weeks,” he remarked.

“Huh,” I concurred, “I guess that amour did its job then, didn’t it?”

“Yes, I suspect that without it, I may as well have been minced meat.”

Since the conversation had been along the lines of his or the government's interest, I decided to change the subject to fulfil my self-inquisitiveness, “Just out of curiosity, what’s with those blue uniforms? I thought the military used black as the official colour.”

He answered as if already anticipating the question, “The President, along with serval advisers decided that blue would be a much more approachable by civilians then black, as the dark pigment is usually associated with death, and vile characteristics, also, the design was relatively similar to the enemy, as such we changed our uniforms to contain more definitive aspects.”

“Cool,” I eulogised.

A short period of silence follows the atmosphere transfigured into a somewhat awkward tactility, as neither person could contemplate a particular subject or topics to communicate, with the sole purpose of occupying each other’s time.

I thought this period of silence had its run, “Not to sound rude or anything, but where exactly is my equipment?”

Bridges blinked a few dozen times to complement the change of theme, “Ah, that,” he started, “The musket and ammunition are currently located underneath your bed. I was forced to restrain serval scientists who attempted to steal your weapon, who were obviously quite intrigued by the significance of the design,” he adopted a thoughtful attitude, “What is it anyway? It’s not like any of the firearms you sold to us.”

“It’s just a prototype,” I lied, ”I’m still making modifications.”

“Interesting,” the General mused, “Anyway, I best leave you now for rest, who knows exactly the amount of damage administered to your body.” With that, he, and the rest of the soldiers begin to rotate on the spot.

“Actually, before you leave, would you be able to ask the staff to discharge me?” I vowed.

Bridges swivels his head to look directly at me, accompanied by rising a single eyebrow, “I seriously have the impression you took quite the beating, perhaps you should stay here until the doctors give the go-ahead.” That last statement signified his leave from the room, the soldiers lined up beside him in perfect, straight lines, and they all marched out the door.

“Damn it,” I muttered narrowly below a whisper.

Since I have absolutely nothing to do, and I really don’t want to look to the right of me. At this stage, I decide to take hold of the new medal I acquired, and inspect it closely. Examining every dent, every detail, and the texture.

Of course, there is a bloody scratch, one singular line, located on the backside of the medallion. Which, obviously activates my OCD, slowly killing me from the inside-out.

Once the scuff had been scowled at for more than a lengthy time period, I move onto the next object located on my lap. The parchment of paper, and so, I began to read the terms and conditions to become a citizen of the Griffon Republic, which to summarise the points, you have to;
-Abide by the laws of Federal, State, and Local Governments.
-Join the Military if called on by conscription.
-Any previous citizenship of any other country will be removed.
-Listen to any command given by the appropriate authority.
-Vote on a new Mayor, Governor, or President when the election process arrives in your relevant area.
-Respect everyone, no matter what social position, job, or income they may have.
-This citizenship will automatically be revoked if you become a citizen of another nation.

One particular activity I dislike is reading, and when I am presented with more then half a page of writing, like in this case, I just skim throughout the whole file, usually picking up any information in BOLD or ITALICS, so don’t get irked if I missed one or ten of the important arguments.
The whole document is written to be overly complex, it’s quite obvious anyone with not decent reading and writing skills, would not be able to comprehend this contract.

With particular a line of thought lingering in my mind, that is, if accepting the citizenship is whole-fully worth my time. I am able to position myself upwards and drag each of my legs, one by one, onto the hard, wood floorboards below. Careful to avoid damaging any of the medical equipment located on my appendages, by keeping the pressure on my right fore-leg to a minimum, and proceed to revolve my head to gaze underneath the bed I’m occupying.

My brain fired thousands of the essential neurone signals, to release the chemical reaction in my brain which stimulates the feeling of ‘relief’. The equipment I held previously, from what I can tell, is all located in the singular placement, underneath the held up mattress.

The saddlebags, my Glorious ‘Land Pattern Musket’, and even my red-stained clothes are all accounted for. Using my fore-hooves, I scoop these objects up and continue to dump all of them, onto the bed cover.

Once I have suited myself back underneath these sheets, ensuring that my back is in a reasonably comfortable orientation. I shuffle through the equipment, scrutinising every piece for every detail, and mishap. I, after all, don’t want anybody to meddle with my stuff, if anyone has, I will literally beat them into a pulp.

And of course, like God hasn’t already shat on my soul enough, the flint in the musket is ‘missing’, which results in the entire weapon, to form into something less functional than a sharp-less metal stick.

In case your tiny brain can’t comprehend this, it’s basically just a useless club. Unless I can find a replacement for this flint. Which obviously is easy enough, I can just manufacture some more, what pisses me off however, is the fact, someone MEDDLED with my equipment, without MY BLOODY PERMISSION.

A fire burned every shred of compassion and hope deep within my soul, as I continued to angrily stare at the missing piece. In fact, I think I was staring so hard, the metal and wood which composed up the musket, may as well caught ablaze. My mind, was ticking at a million kilometres a minute as it was complementing thousands upon thousands of ways to kill someone as painfully as physically possible, and the one thought that kept on repeating throughout my mindset, was;
‘Do people like their eyes scooped out with a spoon?’

All of this, however, was immediately shattered by a voice, an annoying, incompetent, idiotic, cringey male voice.

“My love! I was so worried about you! I came as fast as I could!”

Oh, FUCK.

…

You know that Griffon I mentioned last time? The griffon who thinks I’m in love with it? Like we’re meant to be together? Just because of a red heart appearing on my flank when I standing directly next to him?

Yep.

Him.

And so I did the one action considered one-hundred and ten per cent normal in my own personal book, I seized hold of my stuff as quickly as physically possible, leapt in a dramatic display of energy, and darted in the opposite bearing from the incomer.

Which just happens to be directly towards the windows.

No, not Windows 10 Remake, actual, physically present, glass.

The only notion travelling through my cerebrum at that moment was; ‘Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Shit Holy Fucking Shitting Fuck get the fuck away from me! Shitting Fuck Fuck Shit Shit…’

I unconditionally disregarded the loud CRACK from underneath me, and the fact by now collapsed right-foreleg is dragging on the floor at an unnatural angle. Since I was still holding onto all my items with my left fore-leg, it was involuntary to still utilise my damaged appendage, by hopping repeatedly at a remarkable velocity.

The glass shatters into thousands of shards as I pass through, converting my acceleration and relative mass directly into the impact, several of these pieces proceed to cut, and loge into my skin, resulting in a handful of blood trails to stream down my bandages.

I landed on the grass outside, and continued to run in a random direction, my only goal, to achieve as much distance between me, and that other Griffon as possible.

An abnormally big white pony was situated upon a golden throne, she was in the process of listening to suggestions and propositions that could possibly assist life in Equestrian, and, like always, was wasting her valuable time by concentrating on nobles who consider their reputation, and literal existence, deserve recognition, especially from the royals like Princess Celestia.

The current aristocratic flapping her gums is a purple mare, dressed in an abundance of jewels, and lead outlined garments. Her muzzle, pointed up towards the roof, with her eyes closed as if the surrounds are not worthy to even receive a simple glance from her pupils.

“—was actually standing on the street and refused to move out of my way! Absolutely ridiculous! We should reaffirm the public of our prestigious position by distributing harsh p—“

Of course, if she wants to keep the nobles in line, it's important to just pretend what they’re stating is at the most importance, by simply nodding and smiling at every declaration that seems one of the significant points.

Everything good must come to an end.

If you couldn’t tell, I was being heavily sarcastic.

Another pony, located to the side of the throne, Raven Inkwell was her name, is the particular attendant in charge of your highnesses' schedule. She has a major case of ‘perfection’, and keeps every event, and time period exactly on track, rarely a single second early or late. Thus, it’s not surprising at precisely 2:00 pm, she called for this specific session to be over.

“I’m afraid your session with Princess Celestia is over, please exit the courtroom in a professional manner.”

The noble-mare simply gave a generous Humph, revolved around, and walked away with loud, leisurely, calculated steps. The sounds echoing throughout the large space.

“Can Abundant News please step forward,” she continued.

Another pony, featuring an orange coat, and a violet mane walks into the large sovereignty expanse. Except on this occasion, it’s not a noble, but an actual, well-respected person with a suitable job occupation, he only speaks when necessary, and when spoken to. As you can imagine, the atmosphere suddenly tensed, mostly due to his indistinguishable facade. As any news regarding the empire, provided by this particular bloke, is usually quite significant. This is of course of an exception to Raven, who literally doesn’t give a fuck about anything besides her schedule.

The pony in question trots just up-to-the throne steps and implements a long, impressive bow to the Princess. The whole entire posture of this pony simply screams ‘loyalty’, as if he considers the Princess to be a literal Goddesses. Which, may, or may not be the case, it really depends on your point of view.

“Your Highness,” he elegantly starts, “I’ve come bearing news in the Eastern state of Germaney.”

That particular location has always been a slight problem, not only for their mixed languages between Equestrian and Germane, but mainly on account to their different beliefs, and culture. It’s really only a matter of time before they attempt to break off from the rest of Equestria. Which, they most plausibly will not be able to, as their economy is depicted to design, and manufacture goods, and thus, wouldn't be able to support their own country with enough sustenance.

The orange pony transforms his tone to additional solemn, “Rebelling in the general area has increased by 467% in the last week, guard patrols are being increasingly attacked each day, government buildings, including places where civil servants work have also been damaged. Fear of the foreign Equestrian states has increased substantially, as a sizeable amount of ponies are flocking from disease-ridden areas, and into, other states like Germaney. Local civilians, and even, guards originating from the area have been using intimidating vigour to keep the potentially infected from entering the state.”

He generates serval sounds not dislike of ‘ahem’, as if he is clearing his throat of flume, “Reasons for this may include; the current disease spreading all throughout the nation, the lack of food and water in Germaney (consistently cold, infertile ground, and the current drought), lack of Pegasi to control the weather, high unemployment, and general distrust to the Equestrian Government. Any further reasons that could potentially aid them in the insensitive to break from the Equestrian Government, could potentially result in bloodshed.”

“Past assistance provided by you has had little, to no affect, Pegasi sent to control the weather have been largely rejected, the amount of food and water being sent only supplies 5% of the population (as nobles refused to grant anymore), and increased guard surveillance in the area has been counterintuitive.”

For the first time during this meeting, he actually presents a pleasant, genuine smile, “Thank you, your highness, a 40 page report has been situated on your desk,” he excites another bow, “I’m sure you’ll be able to quell any resistance within the next couple of days.”

With that last statement, he walks off at a rather fast rate, while still elegantly incorporating an air of professionalism.

The pair, Princess Celestia and Raven, were not cheerful, but actually quite downcast to clarify, both had their reasons, one was worried that some her ponies could procure harm, and the other, was upset this session ended sixteen minutes too early.

The atmosphere was whole-fully despondent, however, Celestia, through hundreds of years of experience, still maintained a calm, and content expression, but really, she was almost screaming on the inside.

Imagine their surprise when another noble, a stallion to be exact, just as greedy and self-obsessed as the one previously, trotted into the throne room with no-one’s permission, literally slicing through the ambience like freshly warmed butter.

Obviously, Raven was less than pleased with this.

The situation was rescued, however, when the thone-room doors exploded inward, releasing a wave of rushing air towards the organisms located inside. The particular pony responsible for this, is an extraordinary dark blue alicorn, with a starry night mane, and one heck of an attitude.

“Sister!” the incomer exclaimed, “We must talk to thee immediately on an urgent matter!”

Silently, the white princess was actually relieved, to have a decent reason to terminate the current situation.

Princess Celestia turned her head and expressed a hint of fake sympathy, “I apologise, today's session has been temporarily cancelled.”

The noble-stallion simply expressed extreme signs of irritation, and so walked away with loud, quick, deliberate steps. The sounds echoing throughout the large room. The blue pony, known as ‘Luna’ slams the doors shut with her magic, the only people remaining in the courtroom is the princesses, several guards, and Raven.

At this point, Celestia could finally examine her sister's features, her peepers appeared slightly bloodshot, the eye-lids emerged as though they amalgamated into the fur, like they never even existed in the first place, forever, unblinking. Her stomach raised up and down repeatedly, her muzzle unfastened slightly, breath hyperventilating at an abnormal speed.

Hooves trampled across the ground as the night princess sprinted to the throne, once there, she stood for several undetermined seconds to catch her breath, she had likely run a considerable distance, in a short period of time.

“We’ve received grave news from the Griffon Empire,” Luna insinuated, “Our whole battalion completely got wiped out! And roomers suggested at the hooves of new revolutionary weapons nicknamed ‘boom-sticks’!” She grabs her sisters shoulders and shakes repeatedly,” 82 of the original 100 guards hath’t died or gone missing! What in tartarus do we do??! How can we possibly fight against yound??! And to top that off, the media hath already gotten their greedy hooves on the subject!”

“Calm down,” Celestia instituted, “Describe to me what exactly happened.”

Luna took several, long deep breaths to stabilise herself, “The volunteers we sent wast absolutely demolished by the Republican army. According to some of the soldiers not in complete shock, the weapons were able to kill almost everypony before they even reached the enemy lines!”

Her voice becomes additionally stressed, but regretful and despondency, “It’s my fault, we shouldn’t hath insisted we sendeth any volunteers, it’s what Nightmare Moon would hath’t done.” *Sniffle*

“Come here,” Celestia grapes her wings around her sister, comforting her, “No it’s not, you couldn’t have known.”

Of course, these weapons seem very familiar to Celestia, where has she heard them before?

“Could you please describe these ‘boom-sticks’?

Luna uses her forehoof to wipe her eyes, “The guard described them manufacturing sounds yound of large explosions, and white smoke,” she gazes up at her sister, eyes the size of dinner plates, “I’m not sure what exactly happened, but my guess is that they all shot some sort of object, at an extremely fast rate, but your guess is as good as mine.”

At that moment, it suddenly clicks, Celestia specifically remembers somepony pitching an idea—of a new type of powerful weapon to the guard, something that will be able to ‘send them to the top of the food chain’.

Celestia isn’t renown for her remembering capacity, but when such a unique, and different idea is proposed to you, your bound to remember.

“Sister,” the white Princess states, “I believe I have an idea of who possibly created those ‘boom-sticks’,” she hugs her sister tighter, “and it was one of our own.”

Luna, stares at her sister's eyes, full of surprise, shock, and most importantly, self-doubt. She just doesn’t have the mindset to even begin to consider that declaration truthful, how could one of their ponies — their subjects, possibly be responsible for this?

“Raven, could you go through the documents regarding the last couple of weeks in session? Contemplate for anything mentioning ‘improve the guard,’ and present on my desk every possible paper containing that information.”

‘We will find that pony,’ Celestia thought, ‘She will pay for the lives lost that day—and for the future as well.’

Cautious was reading the current report on the front, directly to the King, which, might I add is dangerous, he is either extremely brave, or idiotic, “Several nobles have withdrawn from the war effort, taking their soldiers with them,” the Griffon flips through a couple of pages withheld in his claw, “we’re down 5627 soldiers from our two recent battle, and another 2000 have been removed, leaving us with a total of just over 8000 troops.”

The King rubs his chin as if he was in deep thought, “Just execute every noble that attempts to quit, and add their soldiers to our new found, standing army,” he switches his gaze back to Cautious, “Any good news?”

“Yes actually,” he replies, “Nine of these ‘firearms’ were captured by some retreating soldiers. They are already being studied by our most intelligent generals and scientists.”

“Make sure to concentrate on researching any weaknesses, I’m not sure we have the time to explore how they actually function,” the sovereign commands, "also, save one for me, I want it as a trophy."

This story is going to have quite a lot of characters, so I've decided to create a Character Sheet to express important individuals.

This graph will increase in size as the storyline continues forward.

Author's Note

I know this has nothing to do with the story, but I just wanted to mention, I have obtained, a Communist Hat, from Vietnam 🇻🇳

Let me repeat that.

A. Communist. Hat.

Let's just say, it has provided me with some ideas for uniform designs.

Chapter Thirteen: The Steam Engine

BCE: Before Common Era
ACE: After Common Era

——
“Dictators free themselves, but slave the people.”
-Charlie Chaplin
——
Chapter Thirteen: The Steam Engine
——

Have you ever wondered how society actually processes forward? Specifically medieval societies? Back then, they didn’t have whole agencies dedicated to the research and development of weapons and machines, just, sole inspiration. Those unique, revolutionary ideas that are able to completely transform the entire of society. For instance, take Nikola Tesla, for example, his simple, yet incredible concepts formed the resemblance of the electric AC power system, it’s argued without him, humans may still be stuck a few hundred years in the past.

Now contemplate another inventor, Thomas Edison, the creator of the modern light bulb. He too was able to conceptualise several notions but proceeded to take it in a different direction.

Tesla and Edison are complete opposites, even though they technically worked in the same field, the science of electricity, and both developed means of improving it, allowing more humans to gain access to this new power source. One, however, implemented in the name of homosapian advancement, a humanist, to give without counting the cost, while the other, wanted money, and to furthermore, improve his social standing.

The question now is, which one triumphs in the end? The part Serbian? Or the born and bread American?

…
A few seconds to contemplate.
…

Alright, fine. I’ll give you a clue, his name starts with T.

Anyway.

This overall conclusion can easily be drawn to a griffon named Erika, she is an innovator, an inventor, and most importantly, she emphasises the value and agency of griffon beings in general. She doesn’t care for money, nor social standing, and prefers to use almost all her time, to develop machines that could potentially increase the overall wellness of the Griffon people. She has formulated many designs, most of which are utilised locally, for unnaturally low prices. One such example is the ‘Plow and Sow.’

To describe this particular being, she is whole-fully white, with dark grey tipped wings and ‘hair.’ You could often find her in a relatively basic brown suit, with an un-illuminated blue undergarment, laced with a comparatively fundamental red tie.

The OC Erika was created, and provided by Arstotzkan Border Patrol, that won the flag feature contest a few months back.

Erika was currently residing in her very own forge, passed on from generation to generation, of family members. Their lineage being of military blacksmiths, but Erika however, decided to flip this tradition on its head, by turning her back from sharp swords, and arrows —tools of murder. To gears, and the brilliant mathematics of engineering.

The place was a relatively moderate singular room, a furnace was situated in the right furthermost corner, the same side resided the large amount of necessary equipment to properly beat metal into shapes. While the other side of the room contained a series of benches, on-top stewed various amounts of tools, and pre-made machine parts.

Her current goal was to somehow transfer heat energy—flames, into physical movement. If this could be achieved, pumps no longer had to rely on moving water bodies, or wind to actually function, this would allow all towns, no matter how small or remote, to have access to plenty of pure water. Pumps, of course, had been invented decades earlier, but the limited rivers and wind speed have left 95% of all towns in the Griffon Empire without the proper water supply.

Sadly, the development of this ‘automatic ingenium’ (ingenium in Latin means inclination, intelligence, and natural capacity). Has been difficult to continue as ‘officially’, her forge was repurposed by the Monarch Government into a military workshop. Which basically just boils down to instead of manufacturing complex devices, she is to provide for the war effort. This was mostly overcome by simplycreating items just within the minimum quota, and of questionable quality, lest she wants to confronted by the authorities.

At this very moment, a half a meter by half a meter boiler was surprisingly, being heated to include a dangerously high amount of pressure. A valve is positioned towards the bottom of this cylinder, which can be opened up on demand. The goal of this experiment is to rotate an extremely heavy gear (located directly next to the boiler), weighing at 0.4 of a tonne, by spiting an intense stream of H20 gas at one spot.

This obviously didn’t work out, as before Erika could even really test this theory, the boiler exploded. She dramatically overestimated the structural integrity of the design, particularly the hastily put together joints, the part responsible for actually clasping the cylinder together.

Water sprouted in all directions, covering a large surface in extremely hot steam and water, the metal casing, launched into the roof, and out into the large, blue sky. Cutting a decently sized hole in the ceiling.

Lucky, she was mostly outside the radius of bast as she was busy in the forging section, only small splashes of fierily hot liquid came in contact with Erika’s skin. Don’t get me wrong, at the time of impact she screamed in utter pain, but fortunately missed the brute of the detonation.

You would think in this situation she would be crying, a helpless little organism that just couldn’t hold back the ferocious pelt up agony. This is, surprisingly, not the case. Instead, at that very moment, inspiration hit her like a brick, a single idea, that could potentially revolutionise the pump, and create a brand new age for the supply and removal of water.

Even though her leg and a few patches of skin were screaming at her to tear up in pain, her mind was instead occupied by this new thought, a singular thought, caused by the sheer force of a pressurised explosion, that will literally adjust her whole entire career for the better.

‘Why don’t I just push with pressure?’

This may seem like a very simple idea, and that’s because it is. All this time, after two years of research, she has been trying to push with steam, to spit a fountain of intense vapour in order to turn, or move objects. Of course, she has always had various degrees of success, but what she found was that it could never push anything too heavy.

But pressure can be changed to her will, so long as the boiler and pipes are strong enough, she could utilise a build up of pressure to thrust an object— no, a piston forward.

And she shall call it—the Steam Engine.

Author's Note

Please comment below if you think this story is a bit hard to follow, if this becomes the case, I'll dial down the number of separate POVs from Atomic Discharge.

UPDATED AUTHORS NOTES - 15/12/2024
This chapter was originally longer, I have removed a portion of it as it contained content that I no longer agree with

Chapter Fourteen: When the world turns to Shit and Communism

——
“Equip yourself for life, not solely for your own benefit, but for the benefit of the whole community.”
—General John Monash, Australian Imperial Military
——
Chapter Fourteen: When the world turns to Shit and Communism
——

[14th of December, 989. One month after Atomic’s departure from the Hospital]

“Any news regarding the fugitive, Atomic Discharge?”

A royal guard deeply bows, expressing serious signs of gratitude to the princess. Obviously, he has nothing that would be considered ‘good news’, so it’s not a surprise he’s attempting to ‘soften the blow’ or ‘buttering her up’ by showcasing his extreme loyalty to the crown.

“No your highness, she was last seen in Ponyvile about two months back. Though local citizens did say she often appeared and disappeared at random, even Twilight Sparkle had something to say about it.”

Celestial seems to ponder for a moment, but for a very brief instance, “Yes, I do remember Twilight sending me a report on the specific individual,” she started to remove herself from the throne, using her hoofs to push her body from the gold-encrusted seat, “it, however, failed to present any useful information about her.”

The massive white alicorn trotted quite leisurely past the guard, and spoke with her eyes staring directly at the back of the guard’s head, as his body hadn’t moved a single centimetre since entering the throne room, “Make sure you report any extra findings on her, in the meantime, I’ll ask Twilight to deal with this subject.”

Despite Celestia practically out of the room, the guard still waited patiently, for whatever reason, his pupils still stared directly ahead, and his body at impeccable attention. “Your dismissed lieutenant,” Celestia declares, despite stating the obvious.

The lieutenant performed a 180-degree spin and marched several paces in the opposite direction. Though the alicorn was unsuccessful to perceive this whole movement, as she was already walking down the hallway, and in the general bearing of her retreat.

Celestial took his moment to relish the atmosphere, the only hoof beats were the of her own, the castle passageway eerily quiet, the only thing that accompanied her was the rhythmic, and repeating thoughts whisking through her head. Even if this journey will be a relatively short one.

It…was nice.

She rarely gets any time to herself, whether this is paperwork, nobles, or even her sister. Almost every second, of every day required her attention. It’s like the entire country is just one massive collection of stupid children.

Of course, the atmosphere was ruined once again by the rushed hoof beats of another pony sprinting down the hallway, evidently, Celestia was not too pleased with this. ‘Probably just a new recruit, they often disregarded castle rules.’

Imagine her surprise when she finds out it’s not a royal guard, but in fact, the minister of Defence, also known as the Captain of the entire Royal Guard, Shining Armour. The once extremely quiet, yet proud Equestrian tactician was literally sprinting, with what Celestia can discern was a terrified facade.

So instead of being rude, and continuously walking down the hall, the alicorn decided the best option was to pause patiently, to wait for him. The Unicorn didn’t seem to notice this as he continued to run directly past Celestia.

‘Maybe he’s not after me?’ She thought.

This notion was put to rest when he realised, by looking back, that in fact, he had initially missed his target, but this uneven balance in his body structure resulting in him face planting, hard, on the floor. The speed on which he was going would have had the action quite excruciating, because of this, he expelled a loud ‘grown’.

“Are you alright Captain?”

Shining Armour shoots up at attention, performs a 180-degree movement, marches several paces forward in front of Celestia, and solutes. His current expression hiding any sense of fear, and insecurity. He speaks at an almost monotone voice, “I have come bearing urgent news in relation to the guard.”

Celestia now aware that he has a message for her, and judging from the terrified expression from earlier, it’s defiantly nothing she wants to hear about, “What is it?”

He relaxes his posture, “Germaney has declared itself as an independent governing state, last night, declared war on Equestria, and has so far, pushed out all guards from the province,” his eyes portray signs of unadulterated panic, “This is a national emergency, the rebels have already secured several miles of our territory, it’s only a matter of time before they reach Canterlot!”

‘Fuck!’

“Calm down Shining Amour,” she soothed, “A panicked soldier, is a soldier that makes mistakes.”

He seemed to stand there for several moments, with the sole purpose to catch his breath, and lower his heart rate, “We need to send in the guard, push them back by ‘utilising shock and awe’ before they can do any lasting damage to us.”

“Absolutely not,” Celestia commanded, “Set defence perimeters a few kilometres from the nearest towns to Germaney, do NOT attack. I’m going to try and establish a political agreement.”

The caption didn’t seem to agree with that, “But Princess! We can’t let these brutes get away with this! They’ve used violence and killed over 1000 of the royal guard already! Are those death for literally nothing??!”

“Captain,” Celestia narrows her eyes, “This will be the best option for everypony, I can’t let any more blood be on my hooves, if I have the option to save as many lives as possible, I will take that alternative.”

The white alicorn begins to persist with walking down the hallway, towards her retreat, however when she gazed back, Shining Armour was still located there, staring at her incredulously so Celestia attempted to alter the situation, “I suggest you notify your subordinates, Captain.”

The Captain races off, hooves echoing down the hallway, and all throughout the castle, as panic was laced throughout his steps.

As Celestia set out in the direction of her retreat, her mind wandered to places. Places where all her little ponies, are never hurt, are always kind, and a treated equally to one another. Of course, this thought is completely obscure, to achieve that sort of utopia would be practically impossible, though, Equestria from the surface, to some travellers. May actually appear that way.

In Celestia's mind, Germany isn’t the biggest of problems, once they are recognised by Equestria as an official country, they will effortlessly subside all aggressions, the biggest problem on her mind, however, is still the ‘boomstick’ complication, this new ‘technology’ won’t just have an impact this century, but also many to come. Ever since she has taken the position of a Princess, she has always contained this lingering thought of dread for the advance of wartime technology. Even the printing press almost caused her a heart attack.

If she could somehow, remove firearms from the face of Eques, not only would she not have to worry about it being wielded on her ponies, but additionally, her ponies will not possess it either.

At this moment, her thoughts are cut when she arrives at her study, the room seems to exhibit a feeling of nostalgia. She enters the place, and furthermore, closes the single door behind her.

This particular bedroom is very similar to that of Luna’s, except for expressing the night sky, and the moon, the bright, beautiful daylight blue sky occupies the ceiling, with the featured colour, yellow, outlines objects like the bed frame.

The main reason she comes to this room is to sign and read documents. Before she can do this, however, a letter to Twilight Sparkle would be of most importance.

Utilising her magic, she grasps a scroll, and a quill from her study desk, and begins to formulate the writings of the letter.

My Most Faithful Student,
I must request your attendance in Caterlot immediately.
The task I have for you may very well determine the fate of the entire world,
Sincerely, Princess Celestia.

With that quick and reasonably simple message, she sends it on it way through Spike fire teleportation.

A few hours succeeding, Celestia meets Twilight in the Throne room, and assigns an overwhelmingly important duty, she is to track down Atomic Discharge, find out exactly why she is executing the particular tasks, stop them, and if possible, make friends with her.

You know, my whole life, I’ve had no goals, no occupation, and no purpose. I’ve always attempted to fill this hollow feeling through other means like hobbies, like my shooting exercises, though these activities only packed the empty tactility partially. I often found myself performing these useless ventures almost every single day, just so I can occupy myself.

Now, however, it’s different.

This ‘empty’ feeling has almost completely been filled, and I feel as though I’m actually making a difference. Why is this you ask? It’s relatively simple actually.

I accepted the citizenship, and military position in the Griffon Republic.

Did you know I actually get assigned work??! That I no longer have to ponder what to do with my life, as all my decisions are practically made for me!?? IT. IS. AMAZING! My gosh, you have no idea what it feels like, after hundreds of years, to finally do something that benefits others! And the best part is, I can boss people (or rather griffons) around! I can tell them to sit in that corner, or make me a coffee, or assign them research to complete at home! Absolutely! Positivity! Amazing!

Now that you know exactly how excited I am, I’m sure you would like to be informed of what I actually do. Well, it’s rather simple really. Design and ‘research’ weapons concepts, produce some of these new firearms and offer military tactics and strategic manoeuvres. Though, that last one, isn’t taken as seriously from me, as the generals prefer to perform that sort of business without my help, you know, pride and all.

Also, when I mean ‘design’ muskets, I literally mean just making the original gun more efficient, and easier to fire. However, I have offered the concept of the ‘flintlock’ trigger system and the recipe for gunpowder. I really don’t want to provide anything too powerful, at least, not just yet.

The government is currently attempting to increase the country’s overall industrial capacity, by installing million, upon millions of bits into upgrading, and building new forges. They are most likely preparing to go full scale on musket production, as I still provide over 80% of the requested firearms. Other small forges have attempted to produce, or shall I say, ‘copy’ my slightly old, matchlock design. Some have been reasonably successful, while others have had nothing more then their guns blowing up in their face, as they would’ve had horrible structural integrity

Since I’m legally apart of the Griffon Republic now, I’m forced to hand over the recipe for gunpowder, though, none of the scientists seemed partially pleased that the third and final substance, sulphur, that was missing, is overwhelmingly expensive, and hard to come by. So naturally, they asked where they could find the stuff, I replied with ‘volcanos’ and ‘hot springs’. And now, the only hot spring in all of the Griffon Replubic, has transformed from one of the biggest tourist attractions, into an overwhelmingly massive mine, scouring for every resource, and speck of sulphur from the earth.

So yeah, they make their own gunpowder now.

I’ve also decided to remove my old base from the Everfree Forest, and into my reasonably small, gifted (30 acres!) of land, this time, however, instead of disguising it as a factory. I used a regular griffon house, as the land I received already had a reasonably small, humble griffon residence located on top.

These thoughts come to a halt however, as a Griffon soldier walks into my office, and solutes me. So, I copy his action and perform the same military gesture back, putting him at ease.

He seems to straighten himself, “General Bridges is requesting your attendance at the war room.”

I gaze longingly at my dark blue uniform, the gold laced bottom spreading down my chest, and down my stomach. Light red pants extend from underneath the navy coat. If I’m totally honest, these uniforms appear as just a rip off those Napoleonic Era French officer uniforms.

I adjust my medal, the Steal Claws Badge slightly, to make myself seem more presentable. I switch my perception back onto the solider, “Tell the General I’ll be arriving shortly.”

With the reply the particular soldier was after, he turned on the sport, and marched back out the door.

I wonder what he called me for? Hopefully, it’s nothing too important.

We are yet again, brought to the location of the throne room in the Griffon Empire. Cautious was reporting to the King—like he usually does, except at this particular occasion he has some rather enlightening news. During this prevention, however, the King simply sat idly, twiddling a captured musket in his claw.

“Although the Republicans are still steadily moving into our territory, a third of which they own. It’s summarised their supply lines are becoming stretched. Not to mention the limited number of soldiers equipped with ‘firearms’, is making their push a little harder than necessary, as estimated numbers average around 2,500.”

He flips onto another page and the king continuously expresses a facade of boredom, “This leads me to my next point— by which I’m sure you’ll be pleased with. The scientists have successfully discovered a major flaw in the firearm design, one which we plan to utilise to the fullest. In effect, a quick and effective strike is currently being planned to disrupt their supply lines and cut off half their advancing army. This one singular attack, my very well change the entire tide of the war.”

The King finally gives Cautious a quick glance, and proceeded to continue to twiddle with the musket, “That’s good,” he calmly stated, “How’s the state of the army?”

Cautious winced, “Ever since you introduced forced conscription of every able, man and teenager. The conditions of the army have been quickly deteriorating, whether this be through discipline or rations. However, on the bright side, we number just over 20000, bigger then what our army was previously.”

The king leans back on his chair, stroking his chin, “Alert me if any new developments are discovered.”

Cautious bows, and begins to make his leave from the throne room, “Yes, your highness.”

A group of around thirty Griffons, pulled carriages loaded with over 60 muskets per box, adding to around 2000 in total. Another 50 soldiers, each equipped with firearms, patrolled around the edges of the convoy, protecting it from any foreseen danger.

“So, what’s so special about these weapons anyway? Our last procession only had half as many guards. ” A griffon enquires as he pulls a carriage loaded with equipment.

An adjacent griffon, a soldier equipped with a matchlock musket replies with an awkward amount of cheerfulness, “They’re brand new weapons, evidently they have something called the ‘Flintlock’ system, apparently, they’re way better than our current muskets.”

The carrier raises an eyebrow, “How could they possibly be better?”

The solider shrugs, “I don’t know, probably something to do with faster loading times.”

The whole atmosphere surrounding the group is full of excitement, and anticipation. For the soldiers, and even the civilians can’t wait to try out, or experience these new weapons. The last one, after all, was a huge success.

However, these ‘high’ feelings, became an all-time low, as one of the guards was tackled by a black blur, this obscure ‘thing’ was actually an insect, in the shape of a pony. You may ask yourself, why didn’t they see this coming? It’s quite simple really, green recruits tend to slack off, and never check what coming from underneath them, as currently, the covey is located high in the air.

This was quickly followed by dozens of others, griffons tackled had to put up with a sharp horn lodging into their chests, as amour was too ponderous to wear. Some lucky guards, however, were able to raise their musket bayonets, and use it as a bug kebab spear.

Griffons, once recovering from the shock of the situation, opened fire, it, however, caused little damage as both sides were scattered across the sky, and muskets are highly inaccurate. Some lucky soldiers’ pot shots nevertheless, actually hit their mark, resulting in the black, incestuous body to fall down to the ground far below.

During this time, the unknown creatures, of unknown origin, stole as many carriages as they could get their hooves on. Removing the creates from the back, and carrying them in their ugly green magic.

“They’re stealing the weapons!” the Lieutenant shouts, “Quick! Everybody, get in a line!”

The griffons pulled away from their engagements in order to meet up with the commander of the platoon and formed a relatively crud line, each began to perform the process of reloading their weapons, however, Lieutenant soon realised their flanks are completely unprotected, so he makes a hastily, yet brilliant decision.

“Far left and right sides, bend around to make to a circle! Quickly!”

During this little, ‘reorganisation’, however, the front of the convoy is left completely unprotected, allowing the bug-horses to take advantage of the situation, and secured more cargo.

“All with a creature in slight fire at my command!”

A brief, tense few second pause, follows.

“FIRE!”

Musket gold rounds fire from the barrel of their projectiles, and launch in the general direction of the intruders. This was followed with a relativity deviating effect, as just over ten of the creatures, suddenly dropped out of the sky, some were holding stolen cargo, and as a result, it too dropped to the ground with them.

As soon as the invaders realised they no longer had the upper hoof, they decided to ditch the area with what little equipment they acquired. Which just happened to be around 25% of the cargo.

“Kill those bastards before they get away!” the Lieutenant squarks.

However, the extreme loading time of the matchlock muskets, combined with the fact the intruders were more scattered than a split blow of cereal, inspired to the situation to not be in their favour. The explosions of gunpowder and smoke were continuously exhausted into the sky, it proved naught, however, and the projectiles persisted with missing the thieves by near inches.

Before they knew it, they disappeared into the glaring sun, taking a reasonable chunk of flintlock muskets with them.

——
United Zebra Soviets
[15th of November, 989]
——
A government building of unknown origin was swarmed with zebras, each had their own official responsibility, position and red clothing. This resulted in what you’d refer to as, ‘a sea of red.’ Every individual zigzagged, and crossed in dozens of different directions.

The quietest section of this building however, just happened to be the most important, only officials with the highest military and political access was allowed to enter. Nevertheless, at this current predicament, only two zebras remained the in the room, one was behind the desk smoking a heavy cigar, while the other, was almost shivering as though there was a consistent cold breeze in the room.

The zebra holding the cigar — the one with more integrate, and fancy clothing— inhales a significant portion of the addictive nicotine, and blows into the other person’s face. Causing said mentioned, to cough repeatedly.

“We called you here today, for your opinion on a particular manner,” the cigar zebra enlightened, “It’s always good to receive opinions from new employees, particularly ones from newly integrated areas.”

He reclined forward, and pressed the rolled tobacco onto a worn smoke tray, depositing it, “What do you think of our way of governing?” He leaned back into his chair and stared directly into the eyes of the opposite zebra.

“It’s very good, Vozhd Lenin.”

He seemed somewhat pleased with the answer and continued to slack in his chair, “What about,” he grabs another cigar, and lights it from a nearby candle, “our situation?”

The zebra visually gulps, “Could you please reframe that?”

“I mean,” he waves his hooves around, gesturing to his surroundings, “Do you think we will be successful in uniting all Zebra Tribes under our banner?”

“Of course, Vozhd Lenin,” he somewhat confidently states.

He nods, “Good, good,” he takes a brief puff from his newly lit cigaret, “Obviously, your job as Conflicts Manager, is to formulate reports, and means to unravel political issues with minor tribes in your issued sector,” he informs as if brushing it off as ‘no big deal’.

“Anyway,” he leans slightly forward, “You know those weapons we’ve been hearing about, right?”

The Zebra simply stares with a blank look.

He rubs his eyes with his right foreleg, as if a little agitated, “The ‘boom-sticks’?”

An expression of sudden realisation spreads across the features of the manger, “Yes, I’m aware of those.”

“So my question is,” He waves his cigarette clasped hoof around to empathise his point, “if we were to unconditionally integrate these weapons into our military, how would the other tribes, or city-states react?”

The still unnamed zebra conceptualised his knowledge very thoroughly, to limit the amount of unwanted information that could possibly expel from his mouth, “I know they’d all react quite negatively, Vozhd Lenin,” he informs, “At the moment, most are confident in their defensive capabilities, but if we were to use these weapons…some may form defensive alliances with one another, to attempt to match our military strength.”

“So what your saying is,” he narrows his eyes, “That’d we’d be facing a larger threat, essentially, biting off more then we can chew.”

“Pretty much, yes,” he concurred.

“Alright,” he switches his gaze to piercingly stare at his companion, “What are your recommendations?”

The zebra seemed surprised at this prospect, “Me? Why would you want my suggestions?”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes! Of course, Vozhd Lenin!” He straightens himself, “We should only provide a small amount for restricted support, nothing more, nothing less.”

“I see,” he reclines backwards, and rotates his head to stare at a bell on his desk, and rings it by smashing his cigar hoof on it, smoke leaving a small trail in the air from the path it took. The opposite zebra tensed up at this at the sudden influx of noise.

Almost immediately, a zebra soldier bursts through the doors, clothed in a complete set of iron armour, and a fully enclosed helmet. A decently sized, white star with red outlines is located at the forefront of the head protection gear.

He stood perfect attention, and gave an impeccable solute, “Yes, sir!”

“Inform the field marshal that I’ve made my decision,” he took another quick whiff of his smoke, “Furthermore, that I’ll meet him in the war room in the next 20 minutes.”

He adjusts the rotational position of his head to gaze at the zebra his sitting opposite to him, “Thank you for your time,” he places the cigarette in his mouth, waves the other person off, “your dismissed.”

Current Map of the World;

Character Sheet:

Author's Note

Anyway, I recently reread some of my early chapters in this book, and they're so BAD. Horrendously TERRIBLE! WHAT THE HECK WAS I BLOODY THINKING??!

Do they need to be rewritten?
-Yes

Do I have the time to rewrite them?
-Yes

Am I going to actually do it?
-No

(And yes, I drew the picture of Atomic myself.)

Chapter Fifteen: How to Bake a Cake

“The strongest of all warriors are these two — Time and Patience.”
—Leo Tolstoy

——
Chapter Fifteen: How to Bake a Cake
——

Ingredients:
-Nations
-Atomic Discharge
-A knife
-200grams of Self Raising Flour

Recipe:
Step One: Mix ideological liquid with other nations and the specifically chosen individual.
Step Two: Add flour
Step Three: Cook mixture in a 200°C agreement oven.
Step Four: Share the delicious cake.

“I’m sorry Mrs,” the speaking Griffon quickly flips through a few pages of the documentation he’s clutching, “Erika, we simply don’t have the time, patience, or resources to invest into,” He seemed to pause, as if attempting to remember something, “…what’s it called again?”

“A steam Engine.”

“Right,” he nodded, “the crown isn’t interested in this…machine, and frankly, can’t perceive any potential of its capabilities. Not to mention we are literally, in the middle of an intense civil war right now, so there's no way, any money will be diverted from the military in order to fund your little project.”

He seemed to change the subject, “I would suggest investing your time in manufacturing something useful for the war effort, not these…silly machines.”

The Griffon representing the crown turns his perception to gaze at the strange contraption in front of him, there are two big cylinders, one appeared to be heated by a fire source, while the other, had this strange metal rod moving in and out of it repeatedly. All for the sole purpose to turn a wheel, how…peculiar.

Erica sighed, deep at the back of her sub-conscience, she just knew, her conceptualisation would be rejected. But no matter! She’ll just have to find someone else that will, even if it means approaching the Republicans, Erica is almost desperate to have at least one soul believe in her.

[14th of November, 989. 10:23 am]
I leisurely trot into a particular room, a place commonly referred to as ‘the War Room’. This place is a little overrated, sometimes, younger griffon soldiers ask me, “Ma'am, what’s the, you know, War Room like?” Of course, I couldn’t really care less, it’s literally just a normal room, with a table withholding a map in the centre and several other different areas showcased on the walls throughout the space.

There isn’t even any precious metals, like gold, outlining anything.

I mean, seriously? This whole government building, is even less ‘prestigious’ than it actually may appear, just because this is where most of the governmental, and military decisions are assembled, does NOT make it a well internally structured, and designed building. People tend to cut corners when a building a structure this big in just over a month.

I’m snapped from my repetitive thoughts by the voice other another, “Ah, Atomic Discharge, welcome.” Of course, without voluntary thought, I gave a reasonably crisp solute, despite not performing any of the necessary training.

Using my absolutely extravagant eyesight, I’m able to register the fact, the voice came from a martially dressed griffon, General Bridges to be exact. Positioned alongside another person, General Garrison. Though rather than gazing at the map, both appeared to be staring at me anticipatedly.

I obviously wanted to cut straight to the point, “Why’d you call me here?”.

“We want to inform you of an…” Garrison temporises, “issue.”

Before he could continue, however, Bridges decides to cut in, “A MAJOR issue,”

I adopted a facade of questionably authentic, “How so?”

“May as well betake straight to the point,” he coughed slightly to clear his throat, “the muskets have been stolen.”

My brain requested a few extra seconds to process that information, but eventually, the intense calculations decided to outburst its incompatibility, “WHAT??!”

Bridges decided to continue before I initiate any sort of verbal assault, “Around a quarter of the flintlock muskets you manufactured have become captured by an unknown black insectoid creatures yesterday morning, and we’ve only been able to recover 60% of the total supply, the rest was simply too damaged, or absent.”

Whoever did this, I will personally submerge them in batter, and deep fry them for several hours straight. And then, the torture would truly begin. Normally, I wouldn't give a single shit about this sort of scenario, but the fact that I got stolen from, the second bloody time (I haven’t even found the previous thief), and furthermore, it’s a species that could conceivably reck the balance of power in this civil war. Especially if they decide it’s in their best interest, to join the other side, which could feasibly provide the enemy with the necessary resources to launch a decent counterattack.

And of course, it just HAD to be the brand new flintlock muskets, firearms, that I may remind you, designed myself, for the sole purpose, to be utilised by the Griffon Republic, AND NO ONE ELSE.

“Prior to the provisional run, we had originally organised a whole division of 1,800 soldiers, but now, owing to the fact we can only supply two-thirds of them, has proved to be a rather considerable complication.” Bridges highlighted, “what we were wondering, however, is if you happen to have any extra stockpiled, we are even willing to spend double the agreed amount.”

I slowly shook my head, “No, I’m sorry, those were the last ones for a while.” Which is in actuality, true, I would have to travel back to my compound and organise more, which at the moment, I’m not exactly willing to do, I just unexpectedly have other activities planned.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Bridges coaxed, “we’ll just have to distribute them among one or two already functioning divisions. I guess the replaced matchlocks can be gathered and administered between the currently unequipped detachment.”

I decided to procure a new topic that I believed was currently most pressing, “Don’t you guys realise this exactly transpires? I queried, “The enemy may retain not onl—“

Garrison interrupts me, “We’re already aware of that, 600 firearms is extraordinarily dangerous to our military efforts,” he waves me off, “we’ve already set up a few dozen search parties around the area ambushed, none, however, have even come close to finding anything yet. We can only hope that the situation untangles itself eventually.”

They won’t locate them, I pretty much guarantee it, the species that apprehended those muskets, is evidently into some sort of classification for deception, the fact no Griffon has any idea what, or who they are, transpires me to believe this. They’ve obviously stayed hidden for hundreds of years, which even in my opinion, is quite the accomplishment.

If I want anything done, I guess I’ll have to just do it myself. Plus, I could do with some time outside, after all. My office is beginning to become dreadfully boring (I’ve run out ways to boss people around).

“The weapons are my responsibility,” I disclosed, “I’ll search for them.”

General Garrison and Bridges slowly rotated their heads until they’re gazing directly at myself. Expressions highlighted facades of utter confusion and bewilderment, after all, their intellectual mindsets would be spitting thousands of questions, enquiring the obvious, ‘Why fuck would she do that?’

“No, absolutely not,” Garrison contented, “I can’t even comprehend what even caused that sort of thought process.”

Throughout my whole lifecycle, I have never been denied anything, not one single thing. So when this primitive, stupid bird, who thinks is my superior officer, says that I can’t do something, it tends to pull a few too many of my emotional strings.

So, as a result, I gave him, ‘the look’.

Almost instantaneously, the atmosphere tensed to an unmeasurable degree. The air itself might as well have caught on fire and expectorated massive amounts of smoke, for it seemed to be smouldering practically everyone in the room. Without voluntary thought, the two generals appeared to back away slightly, as if their literal souls were being ripped from their very being.

“Y-you know w-what,” Gassion shakily stated, “I-I’ve had a s-sudden change of mind, m-make sure to take a couple of s-soldiers with you for p-protection.”

My expression vanished, and moreover is replaced with a genuine smile, the ambience followed this, as all the unnatural pressure suddenly cleared, allowing the Generals to breathe a sudden gasp of relief.

Expressing my gratitude, I said, “I appreciate it.” This was followed by walking at a deliberately slow pace out of the room, with slow, calculated steps, “I’ll be back with several heads on a stick.”

The two Generals just looked at each other from the sudden turn of events.

Deep underground, lies a long series of cave passages, all are coated with an eery unnatural black substance. The walls its self ornamented in a repetitive hexagon pattern, similar to that of a beehive. In one of these cave sections, the quality of this structure appeared to have improved in great quality, as if every square centimetre was polished with fine sandpaper and wax.

And there was a good reason for this, the tunnel, marshalled to a very important section, which is called, the Throne Room. A massive black, insect pony hybrid, one with a large horn, fangs, and wings is currently resting on the royal seat, she is in the process of hearing a report from one of her many subjects.

The unnamed small bug performed a quick bow, “My Queen,” it informed, “We have retrieved some of those weapons you desired, around 600 to be exact.”

“Excellent,” the ‘queen’ announced, “make sure to immediately distribute them throughout the army, I think they will prove to be quite useful in our near future endeavours.”

[14th of November, 989. 12:11pm]

The wind rushed past at a credible rate as myself, and two griffon soldiers, sit in a relativity comfortable carriage, which is currently being towed by two other griffon civilians. The coach is presently following a particularly rocky path, which leads to virtually the exact region where the ambush took place. The air current at this moment is too powerful to efficiently pull the wagon through the air, and as a result, the ‘drivers’ decided it was in their best interest to stay on the ground until it settles.

A Griffon Republic flag hangs on the back of the vessel, waving ferociously in the wind, and displaying that this particular transport, is officially some sort of Governmental importance.

The soldiers positioned either side of me withheld the ‘new’ flintlock musket, both positioned on shoulders and pointed at a 180 angle. Stoic expressions etched across their facades, and heads swirled forwards, consistently scanning the environment for any foreseen dangers.

Though, soon myself, and the military personnel notice something, another carriage approaching from the opposite direction, so as a response, both tensed immediately, their craniums rotated to point directly at the carriage.

I honestly didn’t care, I mean, why would you? Traffic is quite common along these roads.

Dust spat up in random directions from the incoming wagon, the smut surrounding the atmosphere of our own carriage, made it quite difficult to perceive any of the environment in detail, so as a result, the opposing carriage’s features couldn’t be seen until it’s at a relativity close distance, around 60 metres away.

I, however, noticed something… strange it. Really strange.

For one, it’s pulled by ponies, which is quite rare in this sector, not to mention the country. As Equestrian doesn’t exactly have the best of relations with the Griffon Republic.

…

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Two flags, similar to that of our carriage, proudly displays in the back of their vessel. Presenting their national symbol as if it was professionally redrawn by a five-year-old girl. After all, the colour pink generally isn’t considered to be a very good idea, to put on a frickn’ flag.

Even the uniforms, overwhelm my perceptional senses, they are simply, just so similar to the World War Two regimentals. The obviously important ‘ponies’ (most likely officers) wore the classic pitch-black assemble, while the soldiers, the ponies covering the flanks of the carriage, seemed to wear steel amour, and laced with simple brown clothing.

To any foreseen outsider, they’d properly be able to determine that I was so preoccupied with staring intensely at the wagon, and as a result, I failed to notice it begin the initial stages of deceleration.

“Ma’am,” one of the ‘drivers’ queried, “they appear to have the desire to communicate, do you want us to stop?”

At this point, I’m snapped out of my annotations and am able to bring the griffon enquiring me into my perception, one of the two griffons pulling my carriage. He simply withholds a questioning facade, as if he is anticipating an answer.

“Ummm,” I mumbled, “sure, may as well.”

Immediately, the carriage began to decelerate, this ushered the surrounding atmosphere to come to a near standstill, causing the dust to be less animated, as the kinetic energy propelled by the wheels lowered significantly.

The velocity of the cart continued to relinquish as the distance between us lowered to a significant degree. This action repeated its self until both carriages are located directly next to one another, and then, proceeded to come to a precarious halt.

The dust layered in the atmosphere around us made it reasonably difficult to discern any significant facial features of the ponies across, only the general outline and uniforms seemed to stand out. Nothing could really be said until the smut decided that it was in it is in its best interest to settle.

Which after two long seconds, it did.

This renewed visibility gave me the ability to preserve the opposing the Pony is relative detail, a mare’s features greeted me, the coal back uniform, the skull pinned cap and a pink banner circled around her right foreleg was the highlight her tributes. She has monotonous pink fur, dull grey hair, and most interestingly, pricing blue irises.

Her expression signifies annoyance and a light scowl of her current situation as if she has better things to do.

This whole pony literally screams ‘I would stab you if I had the chance, but I’m obviously not going to because it would be inappropriate in my current proceedings.’ The kind of person that would drag you in your sleep, and stab you multiple times in the throat and chest.

Though, fortunately, she seemed to be mostly focusing on the griffon next to me, as I am positioned behind this being, and thus, out of view. Soon though, her small, almost non-existent scowl disappears, only to be replaced his a joyous expression, but to any experienced onlooker, such as myself, it was obviously forced.

She was just about to open her mouth to say something, I, however, leaned forward so she has visibility of me, and beat her to it, “Can we help you?”

Her facade turns to shock as her eyes land upon me, taking notice of my outmost bored expression, and especially, the blue uniform I’m wearing, highlighting the fact, I’m part of the Griffon military.

This expression almost immediately disappears, however, covered up with an almost genuinely happy smile.

“Yes,” she proclaimed, in a moderate German intonation, “We were wondering where the Parliament Government building is. Could you point us in the right direction?”

Ah, that’s clearly a German accent, so that means she speaks the language, eh? Interesting… Time to surprise her, I guess.

“Bestimmt,” (“Certainly,”) her expression become inordinately surprised, the kind of surprise when you realise you didn’t put on any sort of protection, “Fahren Sie nur 12 Kilometer die Straße hinunter, biegen Sie an der T-Kreuzung rechts ab und folgen Sie den Wegweisern für weitere 42 Kilometer. Sie werden bald Ihr Ziel finden” (“Just continue for 12 kilometres down the road, turn right at the T intersection, and tread that for another 42 kilometres, follow the directional signs and you’ll soon find your destination.”)

She just persisted with staring intensely at me, likely questioning my ability to speak her language, especially considering I have a clear non-German accent.

Just to let you be aware, I also know French, Russian, Spanish, Mandarin, Arabic and Hawkan. No…I’m not referring to the verbalisation that actual that Hawks utilise. You know that language in Sector 1-2-8-9-D that everyone uses? No? Well, it’s that one.

The mare seemed to snap out of her prolonged thoughts by shaking her head several times and blinking her eyes with the sole purpose to moisturise them.

“Ich schätze es,” (“I appreciate it,”) she nodded, “Nur aus Neugier, wer bist du überhaupt?” (“Just out of curiosity, who are you anyway?”)

I puffed out my chest, “Sergeant Atomic Discharge, technologischer Entwickler der Armee der Republik, zu Ihren Diensten.” (“Sergeant Atomic Discharge, Technological Deviser of the Republic Army at your service.”) I perform a slight bow, just above the borderline to avoid being disrespectful.

Her eyes seemed to mystify for a moment, "Und Sie?" (“And you?”)

She straightened herself, puffing her chest to an unimaginable degree, “Die Beraterin und Diplomatin Lieselotte Weiß, Deutsche Reichskanzlei, freut sich, Sie kennenzulernen.” (“Adviser and Diplomat Lieselotte Weiß, Germane Chancellery, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”)

And this is where the conversation ended. Period. Both sides of the table were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. What sucked even more, however, is that I had millions of questions, I regretfully, just couldn’t ask any without coming off as rude. Just as an example, one such thought includes, ‘Planning any wars yet? Hmmm? Are ya? Huh? HUH? HUH? HUH? ’

And I do NOT want to ruin my first impression.

This awkwardness got to such a degree, that the German officer decided it was in its best source of action to end our little ‘meeting’.

“Es war mit ein Vergnügen Sie kennen zu lernen,” (“It’s been a pleasure meeting you,”) she condignly states, “Aber wir müssen weiter an unser ziel, vielleicht treffen wir uns wieder.” (“but we have to continue to our destination, perhaps we may run into each other again.”)

Their carriage begins to accelerate, “Abschied!" (“Farewell!”)

The drivers of my transportation seemed to understand this notion, despite not being able to speak the language, and they too, began to move forward.

I simply waved as we departed.

Well…that was certainly, interesting.

But of course, ten seconds later my hype came crashing down, and I was yet again, completely bored.

That is, however, until I just recalled what I packed in my saddlebags, an object to keep myself occupied during the majority of this trip, a source of entertainment mind you, that never, ever, dissipates. No matter how many hours I use it, it continues to bring endless misery—I mean, happiness for others.

I quickly reach into the saddle bag adjacent to me and pull out the godliest of devices.

A Kazoo.

Using my foreleg, I place the professional musical instrument in my mouth and play the very first song that comes to mind.

The German national anthem.

At full volume.

Of course, nobody really seemed to mind it—for the first three minutes that is—but I never stopped, and soon enough, I swear a few ears were bleeding. Obviously, no-one said anything. After all, if your superior officer was playing a Kazoo, (who, which I might add, can make your life a living misery), would you demand them to SHUT THE ACTUAL FUCK UP??!

No, I highly doubt it.

And thus, the next Era of our travel began.

The era of considering ‘Self Suicide Tendencies.’

The city of Berline was bursting with activity, ponies hurried to a series of different facilities to deliver messages or important orders. Even several squads of soldiers were practising impeccable marching, with the sole purpose to get every muscle, step, and twitch into perfect synchronisation.

This state of animation was also true in another sector of this beautiful city, the headquarters, generals were manufacturing new strategies, logistics were planned, and orders were distributed. This status, however, was disturbed when the inhabitants surrounding, and in this building notice…something peculiar.

An equestrian soldier descending from the sky, directing itself undeviatingly in front of the headquarters entrance. Of course, everyone's' first conclusion whisking throughout their mindsets was ‘HOLY FUCK! WE’RE GETTING INVADED! RUN!!’

And that is exactly what happened, everything turned to shit.

Upper class and normal ponies alike hurried to shelter themselves in nearby buildings, some even thought it was a good idea to scream—Which, may I remind you, is not—while sprinting in a random direction. Eventually, however, some order was restored, as soldiers burst from their patrols and transformed into defensive positions.

Every pony became confused however, when this Equestrian pony, in fact, was not a soldier, but a white Pegasus wearing an exceptionally nice black and white suit. He furthermore, landed on the ground in a glorious act of gracefulness. What was most surprising to the onlooker, however, was that he withheld the Green Flag. (For you uneducated buffoons, it means he came here for diplomatic reasons)

He literally just stood there, his eyes, slightly closed, implying his mood was of the utmost boredom. The banner clasped to the pole, waved lightly in the mild winds.

Germane troops immediately began surrounding him, pointed weapons towards him from a ten-metre distance, body languages were leaning back slightly as if he had a contagious plague.

And then, he spoke in a slight British accent, “Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, has requested an immediate armistice between our two independent nations,” even though he was clearing speaking Equish (English), most could to a certain degree, understand him, they after all, used to be an Equestrian State, “please send your leader to meet for an agreement to the town of Berzenbee.” (The town is right on the border between the two confederations.)

With that small, but sweet statement, he flew off once again, disappearing into the unknown, despite the Germanes had a strong urge to follow him, it would be nearly impossible as Germaney has a very limited amount of Pegasi, and to the disappointment of all officers, none were currently on the Campus.

The highest commanding officer at the scene turned to the soldier adjacent to him, “Machen Sie den Führer darauf aufmerksam, Sie müssen über diese überraschenden jüngsten Entwicklungen Bescheid wissen.” (“Alert the Führer about this, she must know of these surprising recent developments.”)

Character Sheet:

Author's Note

My friend (for some unknown reason) concluded it was in his best interest to give a bunch of people Kazoos.

Including me.

Since I was bored, (as Exams had recently finished, leaving us with no new content to learn), I determined to play the Kazoo.

At one stage, I was walking past the lockers and decided to play the Soviet National Anthem. ☭☭☭☭☭

At full volume.

Instantly, almost everyone turned their heads towards me, all bared questioning facades.
That is, until some decided to salute me.

And most surprisingly, sing along.

After this little event, I continued to annoy the ever living shit out of everyone for the rest of the evening. The next day, due to (probably) over-usage, it broke. :rainbowderp:

And that's the story why I added that a kazoo in this narrative!

ALSO! (I'm babbling quite a lot today), as I said, finished Exams. It's a bit ironic I performed the worst at English (got a C), as quoted by the teacher, 'You have too many ideas, stick to two or three instead.'

*Cough* Explains quite a bit about my story if I'm totally honest.

NEW AUTHORS NOTE - 15/12/24
Hello, I have removed some content from this chapter as it contained some points I no longer agree with.Apologies if this makes the story harder to read

Chapter Sixteen: Peace and Preparations

"Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.”
―Sun Tzu, The Art of War

——
Chapter Sixteen: Peace and Preparations
——

Most people are afraid of needles.

*Squish*

What they don’t realise is that everything has their uses.

*Sluuuuuurp*

Including needles.

*Pop*

With the metallic point drawn from the black insectoid body, now withholding the essential DNA essence to locate, and apprehend to the dark energy signature of this particular species. The relatively small cylinder holding this fluid, the thick black blood slowly swished around as the vibrations procured from my operating body provides the necessary kinetic energy to do so.

A griffon soldier standing perpendicular to me, enquires a relatively simple question, “I assume that doing…this has some sort of purpose?”

“Of course it does,” I remove a small grey rectangular device from my saddlebag and place it on the ground in front of me, “It's going to locate the thieves for us.”

I use my right forehoof to slide out the small cylinder from the needle, and slowly nurture it into one of the slots on the tracker, almost immediately, the box lit up in a series of blinking, and bright colours, then, a loud suction noise could be discerned as the locator draws in the insectoid DNA.

Everything was silent for these few moments, no one spoke, and the griffons believed the atmosphere became somewhat tense, but that is utter nonsense, the only reason for this, however, is because their superior was intensely staring at a weird, box, thingy, for what seems for a few, strangely long minutes.

But in actual fact, it was more like 5 seconds.

Once this relatively short time period was up, the box literally detonated in a massive blue explosion, easily covering all of the creatures in the surrounding area.

This deeply frightened the neighbouring griffons, as for one, they weren’t expecting a frickn’ eruption, and two, what scared them to an even higher degree, was that their higher ranking superior, wasn’t even twitching a single muscle, as if she was expecting that particular event to occur.

Which evidently, she was.

Soon enough, this was over, and the soldiers decided to uncover their eyes and gaze around at the encompassing environment, examining for anything that may have altered, or damaged the adjacent domain.

Without even revolving around, Sergeant Discharge decided it was in her best opinion to warn them of another possible scare, “You may want to cover your eyes for the next bit.”

Of course, the griffons listened to her suggestions, not only is she their senior but the fact she is clearly in control of the weird box thingy in front of her. What’s strange, however, is that she is still in the process of staring at tensely at it.

Not a moment too soon, another explosion takes place, but this time, however, is an implosion, the transparent blue energy is sucked like a willing vortex, directly into the box, disappearing as if nothing ever happened in the first place.

“Well, that was certainly interesting,” I am, of course, not referring to the contraption in front of me, but the griffons’ reactions to the device. It’s always quite fun to watch to expressions of primitive species as they observe futuristic technology and knowledge.

Finally, after several painful seconds, the green light ultimately lights up, signifying that the process of tracking the location of the unknown species is now complete. Modern-day phased dark energy ray radar systems can do wonders when attempting to locate someone, or something anywhere on an entire planet.

I reach into my saddlebags, and retrieve another device, a small (15cm x 15cm) plastic screen, immediately, several red dots appear on the smooth surface, followed by the view of a map of the entire world’s landmass.

At that particular moment, the griffon soldier mentioned earlier decided it was in his best interest to gaze over my shoulder, and ask me a question regarding the electronic screen I’m withholding, “Um, ma’am, what are all those, bright red circle things?”

“They are,” I reply, “what we are exactly looking for.”

This seemed to puzzle the griffon, “You mean…the bug things?”

“Yes,” I stated, “exactly.”

He squints his eyes at the device, “but that would mean some of them are located no more than 10 kilometres away.”

“Precisely, I suppose we should pay them a little ‘visit’.”

“Nein! I am never going to allow that!”

Two important figures stand facing each other from opposite sides of a relatively long table, their nation’s relative flag positioned on the wall behind each, signifying whose interests they are best attempting to presume towards. Both, currently, were in the process of discussing significant details which potentially could benefit both sides ambiguously.

‘But of course,’ Princess Celestia thought, ‘she just rejects everything I say.’

Twelve soldiers, of both sides, were glaring intently at one another, even if one pony decides to scratch their ass, another soldier would respond kindly, by positioning their weapons at them. They’re were two types; one was wearing imperatively strong imported steel amour, while the other, gloriously bright, polished gold.

So you can imagine the overwhelmingly, tense atmosphere surrounding the two occupants in the centre.

“I will only accept complete independence from all foreign powers, which in actuality, includes restrictions. I am not going to accept outrageous demands to diminish the military masculinity of our country! We have a right, as a nation to defend ourselves! And your, “ she spat, “not going to take that away from us!”

Several Germane soldiers in the surrounding room cheered at that response, Aryane Hoofler seemed to puff our her chest, proud, and even become somewhat bright at that moment. This, of course, seemed to make the Equestrian soldiers glare even harder, particularly at the enemy’s leader.

Princess Celestia rubs her brow thoroughly, attempting to reduce the painful headache fluctuating throughout her mindset. ‘If I could just get one thing right today,’ she thought, ‘I call this whole meeting an overall success.’

“You must understand Mrs Hoofler,” Princess Celestia confidently states, “your military has already killed over 1000 of my guards, I at least, expect some compensations to the families’ lost ones.”

Aryanne Hoofler simply raises an eyebrow, “That is how war functions,” she informed, “When people sign up to be apart of the military, they’re and their families, are essentially agreeing to the possibility of passing away, it is literally their obligation, their duty, to sacrifice themselves so others don’t have to.”

Celestia couldn’t procure a counterargument.

“I’ve made my country’s intentions, and desires abundantly clear,” Aryanne states, now seizing hold of this discussion, “Perhaps you should listen to them.”

“We desire; Full unconditional independence, not a puppet, or vassal state,“ she lists, “30 billion bits as reparations for our diseased industry, all Equestrians escorted from our domain, closed borders, reacquisition of the German-speaking province of; Allice Lopain, Sudaten Lands and Denzig. And finally, access to Equestrian territory to jaunt to separate alternative nations, like for diplomatic missions or trading.”

She intently stares at Princess Celestia, “these terms are non-negotiable.”

‘Honestly,’ Hoofler thought, ‘they’re actually not, the bits and extra territory would be an added bonus, it’s always nice to have a few extra bargaining chips.’

Celestia returns her gaze to peer at the offending peace terms document in front of her, the only wording on the page, despite being in this meeting room for over half an hour, only had one line of words, a sentence, and that was the title; ‘Treaty of Germaney, 989’

Everything so far hasn’t at all, worked in her favour, only once has she been in a peace conference, and that was more ‘I’m getting exactly what I want because the other side can’t do anything about it’, sort of thing, and furthermore, as an added bonus, that was over 1000 years ago.

To put it simply, Celestia clearly has no experience in this sector.

Despite all of this, an idea suddenly hit her, and idea, so great, it could possibly secure the safety of her nation, for a very, very long time.

“I will agree to those terms only,” she puts-forth,” if we incorporate a non-aggression pack for the next 100 years.”

‘If she happens to break the treaty, other nations would in likelihood form a collation, it’s a win-win situation.’

Ayranne’s facade distorts into an expression of ‘you got to be fucking kidding me,’ the circumstances have now deviated from her favour.

‘If I refuse,’ she thought, ‘It’ll look like I’m preparing for war, which is a fact I'd prefer to hide. She knows I won’t be able to prolong the current conflict going on, we simply don’t have the supplies to last a sufficient degree.’

Her face continues to hold a face of deep thought for several more seconds, she is, after all, making quite a large decision, mind you, that will affect the entirety of her country.

Until finally, she removes herself from the dreamscape, “Ja, those terms are acceptable.”

“Then it’s decided,” Princess Celestia waved over a scribe, “In return for providing reputations, and Germane territory, we will remain peaceful with one another for the next few generations.”

The mentioned transcriber—A green mare with purple highlights— ferociously jots down the desired terms and conditions. During this time period, nobody spoke, not a single soul. The atmosphere only in composed the frantic, and irregular sound of a quill squabbling on a parchment of paper.

It was a little awkward.

Until eventually, the noise stopped and was replaced by the sound of magic ignition, an elevation spell, as Princess Celestia floated the agreement over to her to double check all of the terms are correct.

Inclined to desire this meeting to be over as quickly as possible, Celestia proofers a quick skim read over the document. After around 20 seconds, she takes the fancy quill to the right of her, and gracefully signs the document using her signature.

She proceeds to pass to over (through magic) to the opposite Germane mare.

‘Stupid,’ Aryanne thought, ‘Attempting to intimidate and prove dominance over me with your magic? How pathetic.’

Germaney's Führer remained confident and perceived an expression of hard calculation as she took the parchment of paper from Celestia’s grasp with her powerful hooves. She then proceeds to read the whole document, line by line, VERY carefully, so cautiously in fact that she managed to read every word over three times.

Let’s just say, not only is she purposely attempting to assert HER dominance, but the document could have contained some sort of loophole or an extra demand without her knowledge. Equestrians, after all, are slippery, silly creatures, who are unpredictable, and would want nothing more than to stab you in the back in the most ambiguous of circumstances.

Aryanne however, after ten minutes of consistent reading, never found anything that would be considered ‘fishy.’

She too signed it with her fancy, and illustrious signature.

“Thank you for your gracious endeavours,” Princes Celestia illustrates, “Perhaps we could meet again in better circumstances.”

Aryanne Hoolfer stands, “Agreed.”

Both parties exit, the atmosphere cleared of stress and anxiety, now with a forecast of a clear sky, and partly cloudy. Well, that is, until next Tuesday, rain after all, always eventually occurs.

A small spiderweb of cracks persists with spreading in all directions over the statue, one could say the statue is very fragile. Just a single tap would cause the whole thing to collapse in a mound of fine stone powder, and salt.

Major General Shrewd Preparation is a very smart griffon, very, very smart, despite being out of the military academy less than four weeks ago. The only reason he was assigned as commander of this beautiful, 2nd Musket Division, was due to passing a written test with flying colours, in it, his purpose was to procure tactical strategies involving scenarios with the new weapon, muskets.

Preparation has always loved ranged weapons, the fact they can practically disable an enemy, before dealing any damage to your own, just seems to draw him in. Every tactical principle of his involves some sort of ranged concept, so it’s not a surprise when given a test—completely based on these the entire concept of ranged weaponry— passes without much difficulty.

Also, there wasn’t really any other potential candidates for the position he is currently occupying, he was the only who passed the test with significant results anyway.

What has this particular griffon really excited nevertheless, is that the brand, spanking new, flintlock muskets have recently arrived to replace a portion (six hundred) of his soldiers’ flintlock systematic firearms. They’re faster reload and the ‘punch’ gives him the ability to draft new concepts on the battlefield, addressing to attain use of these aspects to the largest of aspects.

The sky during this time period was murky grey, with a touch of sunshine radiating through the clouds. It was forecasted to rain for several days straight in a near couple of hours.

During this interval, Major Shrewd Preparation was located in his command tent, writing down, and drawing up these possible plans, that is, until he is interrupted by one of his subordinates, Lieutenant General Flick Kick, by walking through the flap tent entrance.

He moves to stand directly in front of the ‘planning table’, his face stoic, withholding the position of a solute for an undetermined amount of time. The Major preforms a quick glance up, only to gaze back at his plans when he exactly discerns who it is.

Without even looking up from the bench, he speaks, “At ease Lieutenant, what do you want?”

He visually relaxes.

“Several scouts have reported a moderately equipped army one day to the North-West from here, coming in our direction, size is estimated at around 12,000.”

That got his attention.

Major Preparation turns his perception to gaze at his fellow lower-ranking military general, “What? Did I hear you just say, TWELVE THOUSAND!!??”

“Yes,” he straightforwardly said, “They’re approaching from the east, most likely attempting to cut off the rest of our army, we, after all, are located several hundred kilometres behind the front, it’s lucky we needed to stop for resupplies.”

Shrewd rubs his brow exceedingly, all the while muttering incomprehensibly under his breath, “Shit, shit, shit….”

“Sir, if I may,” this brought the Major out of his mindless shitstorm, “We shouldn’t get our feathers twisted about this, the muskets should easily be able to take them out, not to mention with your brilliant planning, it’s practically a win handed over to us.”

“I’m going to have to disagree with you Lieutenant,” Preparation declares, “12,000 is an awful lot, even with muskets. Each soldier would have to get out at least six rounds to even make the number of shots equal to the enemy’s number, not to mention other variables. No more then half of these shots will actually find a target, and the enemy’s amour will even diminish this number further.”

He paused as if he is coming up with a solution.

“We need defences, lots of them,” he pronounces, “we need more ammo, more soldiers, more guns, and more support, frankly, we’re under-equipped to be able to deal with a situation like this.”

General-Lieutenant still stood there, the only difference between now, and 30 seconds ago is that is facade currently withholds a slight amount of worry and doubt, but still confident. Confidence, that as long as they have a will, there will always be a way.

“Send a message to the rest of the army, all divisions,” he announces, “Tell them, ‘Immediately retreat 100km inland, the enemy is attempting to cut us off from the west by sending over a twelve thousand strong army. It’s in likelihood that we will lose sections of the Western front. Regard this message until further notice.’ ”

He performs a quick solute, and sprints out of the tent.

Major General Shrewd Preparation gazes back at his tactical plans, concepts that he had always hoped to use, but not to this extensive of a degree, these may determine the fate of the entire army, particularly if not correctly constructed, it’s important that he gets every single segment correct to the hundredth of a decimal place.

Everything will have to run perfectly, not a single thing can go wrong, that is if he desires to thrash back the enemy push.

Character Sheet:

Author's Note

This chapter is honestly one of my shit ones, but hopefully, the conflict in the next chapter will make up for it.

Also, 200 likes! :rainbowkiss:

Chapter Seventeen: The Battle of wet Gunpowder and Smoke

“Put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.”
—Ephesians 6:11, the Bible
——
Chapter Seventeen: The Battle of wet Gunpowder and Smoke
——

[15th of November, 989. 5:00 pm]

Everything went wrong.

Every—Thing.

Not a single commodity was drawn in Shrewd Preparation’s favour.

One would normally say, ‘Well, sometimes you just need to make the most of the cards withdrawn.’ That, however, becomes exceedingly difficult when four of the cards equate to a six high. No matter how much luck you have, the best hand you can achieve is a pair. The only way to make the best of the situation is to limit your losses. There is no winning. Only avoiding defeat.

The time was 1700 hours, the sky was stained a dark grey, rain drenched the surrounding environment, flowing in extreme aggregates as it collects into streams and rivers. The water caused the clothing on the Republican soldiers to sag down, and bounce off in loud Pings off the enforced steel helmets.

The hastily constructed underdeveloped wooden barrier (consisting of a variety of logs) in front of these soldiers, seemed to sink into the mushed ground, trampled from the hundreds of boots that marched upon its soil. Soldiers were organised in ‘companies’, each stood in comparison to each other, contributing to create a direct line. Muskets were positioned outwards, obscurely vibrating, as the incredible fear seemed to take hold of every soldier.

The companies consisting of Matchlock muskets consistently had to reignite the burning match, as the high humanity, and rainfall smouldered the fire. Gunpowder transformed into unusable clumps, refusing to ignite from the burning wick, as the chemical reaction required a larger amount of heat—activation energy— in order to initialise.

The opposing army—only just visible due to the vast, never-ending darkness— seemed to stretch on forever, an unending swarm of griffons who seemed all but unbeatable.

The small, 2000 strong Republican army could never withdraw, even if they wanted to, they needed to delay the enemy, at any means necessary. To buy time for the rest of the invading force to retreat before encirclement. If they were to retreat now, half of the entire Republic army could be utterly destroyed, practically vanquishing their effort to win the war.

The supply shortage of ammunition, combined with the unreliability of matchlock muskets in the current weather, lead to depending on old, outdated weapons on site at the time for supplementation. These included; crossbows with iron bolts, and steel long swords.

Soldiers with a large degree of pedagogy were re-equipped with these crossbows and blades, while others with a high amount of experience with muskets, were given the new flintlock mechanisms. Every resource was assigned to an overwhelmingly efficient degree, to somehow, create a somewhat small advantage for the upcoming battle.

Swordsmen and the remaining matchlock muskets dotted the front, fluctuating between the two. Blades rotated to point forward, while the griffons withholding the muskets, seemed to use these people as living shields, hiding a majority of their body behind them. This seemed to allude to the idea of ‘Pike and Shot’. Several meters behind them, was another line of flintlock muskets, while at the complete rear, was located around 300 crossbowmen, forming two independent groups.

The beauty of all of this was that each company and battalion could act independently, allowing each commander to make their own decisions, to allude to what they believe will have the largest positive impact over the entire battle. In the end, however, every branch was tied together harmoniously under Major General Shrewd Preparation.

At that time, he was situated at the front, his confident facade completely unwavering. Though, in his thin skull of his, relayed a swirling motion of repetitive and fading thoughts. To put it simply, nevertheless;

He was worried.

No. That doesn’t even begin to describe his current thoughts.

He was terrified, a raw, uncontrollable emotion.

Though, soon enough, his line of thinking was broken by his subordinate, the same Lieutenant that alerted him about this upcoming mess, “Sir,” he began, “A group of enemy soldiers seems to be approaching the middle, they’re holding the green flag.”

He appeared to pause for a brief period, “Should I send in a team to meet them?”

Preparation turned his gaze onto his subordinate, “Definitely,” he confirmed, “Gather them here, I’ll be going with them. Negotiation could be a possibility.”

The Lieutenant nods, and sprints off to complete his orders.

Soon enough, the small number of soldiers —around six— gathered in front of the wooden barrier, analog side the Major General. One of their own soldiers, also withheld the green banner, though it refused to move in the mild winds as the rain-induced it to sag and drip down the side of the wooden pole.

With the General at the front, they marched in a perfect triangular foundation, despite the ground being hard to navigate through. The outlines of the enemy group congregated in the centre of the field, appeared to be slightly ominous, their features, completely unknown to any of the Republicans.

Naturally, the gathering came into clear view, composing around ten clearly disciplined soldiers in glistening steel amour, despite there being no sunlight to do so. There —what seems— to be the enemy commander, already patiently waiting. It didn’t take long to come to a stop directly in front of them.

The unnamed enemy commander took the initiative to start the conversation in light hearty voice while shouting over the intense water shower, “Welcome!” He sits on his backside, and spreads out his front claws, as if exaggerating the conversation, “To a military exercise of the combined effort of the 3rd, 4th, and 5th divisions. How may I be of service to you?”

This seemed to derail Shrewd Preparation’s expectations, propping him to be completely off guard, but his quick wit and thinking allowed him to play along with this ‘act’ to a certain degree, “I was wondering if you could move your ‘army’ somewhere else, this is restricted private property of the Griffon Republic.”

“That’s funny,” the other griffon said, “I was just about to say the same thing!” And he busts out laughing. Though this was short-lived, finalising as he wiped his moisturised eyes, and breathed rather rapidly to stabilise himself.

Though even stranger, his facade transformed to the polar opposite of the previously mentioned expression, “Now that introductions are over,” he professionally pronounces, “I would like to take this opportunity to apologise for our current predicament.”

This surprised Preparation even further, just before he seemed to mock him, and now, he’s apologising? What is wrong with this griffon?

“We would like to offer temporary armistice terms, surrender all of your equipment, and we’ll let you all go.” He seemed to pause, as if expecting an answer, “That’s it, no catches.”

“So, what?” Preparation vocalises, “You’d just let us go?”

“Yes, I’d appreciate if you would. I’d prefer not to go into a rather nasty wet battle.”

The Republican seemed to consider it, “And would this ‘arm-stance’ apply to the rest of our army? How long does it exactly last?”

He sighed, “You, and your division alone, would have two days to evacuate out of the area.”

This was a massive deal breaker for Preparation, as it would only lower the resistance the Empire had to trample through. No, he needed to provide a strong conflict, even if it could slow the enemy down by a day, he would consider it a successful endeavour.

“I’m sorry,” the Preparation Major announced, “But I’m not going to agree to those terms, I’d rather die than surrender to the Empire.”

Other Major didn’t seem surprised, “Very well,” he turned around and started to march back to his army, “Good luck.”

Yet, another surprising characteristic of the enemy General, perhaps he is sympathetic towards democracy? Preparation mentally hopes he will survive this conflict—along with the rest of the war. It’s rare to come across somegriffon that’s understanding and compassionate.

After that quick metal note, Shrewd Preparation rotates on his paws/feet and leisurely walks back to his own army, ready for the upcoming battle. It’s obvious, however, that is troops are literally scared shitless, he needs to somehow raise their spirits, perhaps, a speech may be imperative. Despite him never performing one in his entire career, he'll just have to wing it.

He, sadly, was required to raise his voice in order to be recognised over the bellowing rainstorm, as a consequence, only a small percentage of griffons were able to hear him, “Soldiers of the Republican army!”

He walked back and forth, to keep the adrenaline from shaking his entire body repeatedly, “Let me ask you a question, are you ready to fight?!!”

He got no answer.

“That’s fine,” he shouted, “Because I agree, perhaps we can’t beat this army, perhaps we may all die, and perhaps, we may live under the tyrannical rule of the Empire.”

“But one thing that I know will never change— is our spirit.”

Preparation turned towards his soldiers.

“Even when we’re on our knees! We will continue fighting! Even when our throat has been cut, and bleeding everywhere! We will continue fighting! Because no matter what!” He paused for dramatic suspense (though, technically he was thinking what to say next.). “We will always heal! We will get back up, and punch that living piece of shit called the Empire out of existence!”

“Our throats are made of steel! Our hearts from pure gold! And our will— our will, from the living embodiment of God. God, so pure, and forever internal, that as long as he exists. So will we!”

“Soldiers! Allow me to ask you again, are you ready to fight? For your family? For your loved ones? For your freedom? And the for the Republic??!!”

There was now an applause, it wasn’t great, but it continued to exponentially increase in volume, as the soldiers who didn’t hear the speech, too slowly began to clap, as the griffons that surrounded them was also performing the action. This resulted in one, massive, title wave.

Despite a majority of the griffons not apprehending the speech, what they did recognise, was hope. Confidence and hope lanced throughout the atmosphere. Although everygriffon was still scared down to the bone, each attempted to put on a brave face. For their family. For their loved ones. For their freedom. And especially, for the Republic.

Muskets still shook, and facades still wavered, it was, however, much more controllable.

They needed to fight back— no, wanted to, fight back. To put up a resistance worthy for the remembrance through history, and by God.

It didn’t take long to hear a commotion coming from the other side, it was obvious that the enemy soldiers were getting rivalled up about— something. Perhaps their patriotism was too strong, one thing was clear, however, the battle would begin very, very soon.

Republicans swore they could hear the words ‘Empire, and Glory’ from the mouths of the opposing soldiers. Veteran soldiers from the first and second battles knew this as their particular war cry.

A few seconds following, brought forth a reasonably loud, horn bast. Through it was barely recognised by the Republican soldiers due to the current rainstorm.

Then— they saw them. All of them.

A huge gathering—no, army, of griffons whose outlines appear as shadows sent by the devil. Ran— there was no organisation— with all their might. The rapid scampering literally shook the ground, the sheer amount of soldiers was on an entirely new level.

Where exactly did the Empire get these sort of numbers?

And to further amalgamate these unnatural sounds spiting from the earth, another was added to the mix;

BOOM! Boom! Bo~! boom! BA~BOOM!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF-frCxHCuE
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdSVpRyk6AY

Muskets fired from their barrels in surprising succession. Companies created what’s now called the ‘machine gun’ effect, as each collection of soldiers fired one after the other down the line. This proved to be quite useful, as at the time, at least twenty-four muskets were firing each second. This was demonstrated as a useful technique preferred by the Crystal Empire several months down the track. That is until they replaced it with actual functioning machine guns.—Black Firepower (1067). The Battle of Wet Gunpowder and Smoke. Griffon Civil War 989. CanterlotWarTimes. pp 167.

Matchlock and flintlock muskets alike fired from their respective weapons, though a majority of the soldiers withholding the matchlocks failed to fire, either the wick was burnt out, or, too much fluid was located in the gunpowder and firearm. This seemed to frustrate a lot of these soldiers, who repeatedly attempted to fire the weapon, but was continuously rewarded with several ‘clicking’ sounds.

Flintlocks, on the other hand, were the opposite, they had little to no trouble firing in this weather, the ammunition was protected by a covering, and the firing mechanism relied on flint and steel to create sparks, something that can easily be achieved in wet weather as long as each comment was respectively sharp enough.

These weapons were fired over the shoulders of the matchlock musketeers.

Smoulder expelled from in huge amounts from these barrels but refused to collect in murky plumes of smoke as the rain heaved it downwards, clearing it out of view. This was, perhaps, the only positive impact of the current weather, as the soldiers could still continuously recognise their respective targets.

Gold spheres ripped through the air, and crashed with a ridiculous amount of acceleration into the confronting army, much faster, and more impactful than the matchlock muskets, as the flintlock system allowed for what is considered ‘a bigger punch’.

Monarch troops dropped in surprising succession (from left to right) as the machine gun effect took hold, many of these ‘green’ recruits transformed into pure shock, as the pain the bullet enacted easily overcame their overconfidence and patriotism. The adrenaline running through their veins was the only chemical substance that kept them alive long enough to recognise their shameful predicament.

This was all futile, however, as the ridiculous number of troops simply replaced those that fell, their morel, completely unwavering, comforted by the surrounding troops, and the possible protection they provided.

300 crossbows located behind the Republican lines fired from behind, the bolts flew through the air like a hail of death, each cut through the atmosphere like butter and accelerated by 9.81m/s^-2 down towards the earth— the army.

Bolts hit their targets as they rammed into the majorly unprotected skulls of the Monarch soldiers, those that did wear helmets, only provided protection for half of the time, as bolts found weak spots in the hastily produced armour, and embedded into the squishy cerebral matter.

This too, proved to be rather naught as, in the end, only around 180 soldiers were actually affected by it.

The flintlock muskets counted to pump, round, after, round after round, of gold projectiles into the incoming army. Bodies piled on the ground, but that was all but major obstacles to the still, running enemy soldiers. They simply ran on, ignoring them as if they were already apart of the earth. Crossbows performed a similar action but ran out of bolts after two successions. They remained at the back and as a result, was assigned as reserves.

A majority of those Republican musketeers with the matchlock system gave up on working their weapons, instead, positioning their bayonets outwards like small pikes or skewers. Most were kind enough to give their ammunition to the still firing flintlock muskets, as it was obvious that their own rounds, would run out reasonably soon.

Major General Shrewd Preparation knew this endeavour was futile, all he could do is reduce their own loses, and enact the largest death, and destruction on the enemy army before they arrived, he shouted at his adjacent subordinate messengers, “Alert the battalion commanders of a change of plan! Tell them to aim their muskets at the centre of the incoming army! And to NOT hit any friendly soldiers under any circumstances!”

Many of these messengers were confused by this prospect, why would he do something like this? What is the point?

They did it anyway, despite doubting their superior’s orders, there was literally no time to lose, they couldn’t afford to waste a single second.

He turned to another messenger, “You! You tell the crossbowmen to quickly pick up anything sharp, whether it be a stick or sword, tell them to meet me here in exactly 13 seconds!”

She ran off too.

Not a moment too soon, a large percentage of the muskets were directed roughly towards to middle, manufacturing a hugely dense storm of gold projectiles, this created a somewhat of an ‘indent’, generating a shape, not unlike a concave appearance.

It took exactly 12.3 seconds for the crossbowmen to gather next to their commander, so, Preparation hastily addresses them, “I want you guys to run into that opening in the centre of the incoming enemy army. Congratulations! You will experience honour and glory!”

Let's just say, they were not happy about this prospect at all, they thought they would remain behind the friendly lines, out of direct combat. Why didn’t he just gather the soldiers standing at the front? Or at the very least, the matchlock musketeers?

The answer was rather simple really, it would produce disorganisation, a military’s worst nemesis. Oh. And the fact General Shrewd Preparation doesn’t value crossbowmen, he believes they are still obsolete, it was just this particular circumstance for the battle which temporarily removed that aspect.

Many realised the shortage of time, so they quickly redirected their efforts to push through the military ranks, and running onto the killing field, the bloodiest, and most brutal, conflicts at the time.

They poured into the front like disembodied water, dripping into a burning hot fire, only to evaporate, and disappear into the atmosphere.

This new development seemed to confuse the enemy soldiers at the front, why would they deploy a mere, 300 soldiers carrying—wait, are they sticks?!!—directly at them? What could they possibly achieve by doing that? Wouldn’t that just be wasting soldiers? Sacrificing them? Absolutely disgusting!

Since the advancing army was only a little more than 100 meters away at the time, it didn’t take long for the nearly unequipped, and untrained militia to meet the enemy soldiers. They clashed, stabbed, and poked the soldiers in the indent. Blood was sprayed in all directions, eyes were stabbed with sticks, swords slashed heads clean off, and intestines spewed out of holes from the stomach. Griffons literally got covered in head to toe in gore, their fur caked with the sticky red substance.

This in actuality, slowed the enemy down, as instead of advancing, the disorganised mess decided to attempt to kill off the confronting soldiers. The republican crossbowmen were slowly being entirely enveloped, it appeared as though the army was swallowing them whole-fully. It didn’t take long for the Republican battalion commanders to realise there were friendlies in the centre of the killing field, and as such, as according to their order, redirected their shots to eliminate the sides of the enemy army.

Of course, the crossbowmen, once they registered the horrible predicament they were placed in, attempted to flee the battlefield, but the enclosing living spike walls stopped them before any even had a chance, turning their organic matter into a bloody red stew.

Nobody escapes the meat grinder. Never in a million years. Once you put your hand in, it’s all but impossible to pull it back out. Their sacrifice wasn’t in vain, however, as the extended delay allowed a few more volleys to expel from the firearms.

“Don’t stop firing!” Some battalion leaders would say, “Hit them harder!”

“What are you doing??!!” Others would shout, “Why have you stopped firing??!”

“I’ve run out of ammunition sir,” they would respond, “I’ve got nothing left.”

Before they could expel another sentence, however, fellow soldiers thrust ammunition into their paws, allowing them to continue to fire their weapon for another one or two rounds in succession.

It didn’t take long for every crossbowman to be slaughtered like a pig in a butcher house. Many green recruits of the Monarch army persisted with stabbing the remains despite all the soldiers— sorry, my apologies, I meant soup—being clearly dead. Perhaps they were scared, or complete and utter psychopaths, we will never know. What remains important, however, is that they’re remains, not alive. Dead.

It was at this stage that the disorganised mess called an army continued to sprint in the direction of the Republicans. Naturally, the distance between the two was less than 60 metres, so evidently, it didn’t take an extended period of time for each side to come in contact with one another.

Bayonets and long sword were already positioned outwards, flintlock muskets still fired over shoulders, but instead of the almost harmonious ‘group firing’, it was all just a disorderly mess. Musket bangs exploded at irregular initials, becoming more and more desperate as time goes forward. The atmosphere eventually, sounded more alike kernels crackling into popcorn.

It was at this time both sides crashed irregularly and at full force, the aggressor taking the brunt of the potency as the wooden modifications acted as a temporary barrier. Overeager monarch soldiers transformed into fresh kababs as they skewed onto the sharp metal sticks known as swords and bayonets. Republican soldiers quickly shook them off, ready to stab another.

Blood sprayed on these frontline soldiers as they stabbed, twisted, and repeated. Some soon found it difficult to see and was forced to wipe their eyes before they could continue the onslaught. Bodies began to pile on top of one another, creating a sort of impromptu ramp into the Republican army.

Flintlock muskets still continued to fire, but at much lower intervals, as many decided to use their own, freshly manufactured bayonets to contribute to the stabbing fest. And those who chose to continue to fire ended up blowing at point blank range. Often the head was the most likely candidate, the sheer force of the gold projects ended up causing these heads to explode like a decayed watermelon.

It may seem the Republicans have the advantage, and your right— to a certain degree. Yes, the attrition rate was drawing in their favour. Yes, they had a favourable defensive position. But the sheer number, and what’s the word?…eagerness of the monarch soldiers is scary enough to induce foam in the mouth.

Republican soldiers at the front slowly dwindled, their own blood spraying on their comrades as the enemy impaled, and jerked out their swords. Griffons hauling matchlocks and flintlocks alike attempted to fill these spots as quickly as possible. Over time, this ‘small number’ of Republican deaths transformed into what most people would consider, a ‘large amount’.

It’s like a paradox, the more Monarch soldiers you kill, the higher ground they gain (due to pilling dead bodies) and thus, the larger advantage they had. In fact, the situation became so bad, that some of the Monarchs ended up jumping on top of the Republican troops, this obviously, scared the shit out of those below.

All these variables cause the freedom fighters to be pushed back, at first it’s a rulers length, but that turns into meters, and meters turns into tens of meters. And yet, as this is occurring, even more, enemies could be seen coming over the horizon, like a massive, in a distorted hoard of zombies.

At this point, Major General Shrewd Preparation knew it was practically over, the results of this conflict was already decided from the beginning. Nothing could have changed the outcome of this battle, no matter how many tricks he had his metaphorical sleeve.

And so, he hastily addresses his remaining messengers, “I want all the Flintlock musketeers to retreat, tell the others to remain behind.” He sighed, “and continue fighting, until the very bitter end.”

They nodded slowly but ran off quickly.

Not even four seconds later, a piercing whistle cuts through the rainstorm, “Flintlocks retreat! Those remaining; persist with fighting until the bitter end!”

Almost in an immediate fashion, around 400 troops evacuated from the area, carrying their weapons, and foreign blood with them. They ran as fast as they could, attempting to get away from that horrible bloodbath and achieve the sweet relief of safety.

“Sir,” one of Shrewd Preparation’s subordinates states, “don’t you think we should take you to safety?”

“I do,” he replied, but continued to look over the still hopeless ongoing battle “But sometimes, one has to take in the full picture of exactly how many deaths he is reasonable for.”

The Major paused, “So that next time,” he shook his fist, “so next time, he can fully understand exactly what he is getting into, and the consequences thereof making mistakes.”

“For when somegriffon understands what may be lost, they will do everything in their power to keep a strong grip on these items, to not let them slip away.”

He gazed back at his subordinate, “Sorry about my little rant, I needed to get that out of my system.”

He nodded towards the unknown, “Let’s go.”

As he flew away with a small gathering of minimal protection, he glances back, recognising the slaughter of his troops, and yet, their will never seemed to waver, standing in a line to create a somewhat recognisable phalanx. He swore one face of a soldier looked at him directly in the pupils, but the eyes didn’t seem to withhold anger or regret. But, confidence, and hope.

Hope that when there is a will, there is a way.

Character Sheet:

Author's Note

Well, there's the conflict that I promised.

And for those that are interested, I recently watched a movie called 'Saga of Tanya the Evil', at a convention. It was pretty goddam good.

Chapter Eighteen: Cool Explosions and Super Secret Espionage

“The police can't protect consumers. People need to be more aware and educated about identity theft. You need to be a little bit wiser, a little bit smarter and there's nothing wrong with being sceptical. We live in a time when if you make it easy for someone to steal from you, someone will.”
—Frank Abagnale

——
Chapter Eighteen: Cool Explosions and Super Secret Espionage
——
[15th of November, 989. 9:45 am]

You know when you take those super slow steps? But this ‘deceased velocity’s’ purpose is to actually abbreviate my walking style, foreshadowing the idea, of a ‘cool’ or ‘awesome’ feel to my personality, exaggerating my actual physique’s attitude?

In short, it’s to contribute my other, ‘cool’ item, that I just —literally a second a go— slammed onto my face, tinting my eyesight a tinge of black, inducing my entire peripheral perception to be of an un-illuminated shade.

Black sunglasses.

But not just any sunglasses.

Cool, sunglasses. The kind of style you’d normally think, big, buff, crazy action heroes would be wearing.

As I’m walking reasonably slowly, (with the other griffon soldiers directly in front of me, literally sprinting away as fast as possible), an incredibly mc-massive explosion occurs behind my physique. Blowing dust, particles, and wind currents in all directions. The colour orange infected the entire region, spreading its breathtaking colour on every object in the surrounding environment. Plants were uprooted, animals were spontaneously cooked, and hair waved in the ridiculously strong gale. Specifically, my hair. Nobody else's.

I never flinched and persisted with strolling —as if nothing happened— with the massive detonation behind me. To any onlookers from the outside world, I must look God-like, and most importantly—truely awesome.

As I gaze around, rotting my head in a series of directions, I notice a mix of green and black fleshy chunks falling from the sky, coating the atmosphere in a sickly emerald. Guts and other disembodied char remains landed randomly, and without reason all across the land. The fluid living inside proceeding to SPLAT, combusting into a disgusting mush.

It’s funny what someone can accomplish with a few barrels of packed gunpowder, or in other words, a couple of sticks of dynamite.

Oooop.

One fell directly on my head.

It’s slowly sliding down the side of my muzzle, leaving a green slug-like trail behind, until it graces my lips, and falls onto the Earth below. I can imagine half my face is literally covered in green, insectoid blood.

I give it a little lick.

Okay, that is..weird. Its like..no, I can’t even begin to describe it. I’ve tasted nothing like this before. Not in the entirety of my considerable life, I, however, have never tasted flies or mosquitoes before, so, it could be something similar to that. I nevertheless, de-testify that hypothesis.

I’m glad that I had it, but I don’t need to have it ever again.

Like, ever.

Now that my little monologuing session is over, I decided it was in my best interests to shout our next objective, in clear earshot of my subordinates, “ONWARDS!”

I point at a 50-degree angle towards the sky, “TO MORE EXPLOSIONS!”

I, after all, still have a few more outposts I want to blow up, the Griffon Republic needs to be cleansed of this horrible manifestation.

That, although, is a side objective in my book, as apparently these vile creatures—they incline to refer to themselves as ‘Changelings’ —, actually have something, of what I’d consider, pretty major in my book planned. That is, they plan to attack Equestrian soil.

Normally, I wouldn’t give two shits about the Equestrians, I think they’re total dumbasses, what I am concerned about, however, is the fact they’re not going to accomplish this ‘normally’. In fact, very far from that prospect to a relatively large degree. Not only are they assaulting the Capital (Canterlot) directly, but they are also utilising, as quoted by a ‘drone soldier’ we (Well, when I mean we, I really mean me) were interrogating, “W-we’re ap-pparently u-using some ne-newly changeling d-developed weapon-ns, though, no-chan-nglings have heard much about it, it’s t-totally secret, all w-we know about is the a-attack order! Honest!”

Now this ^^^, right there, really pisses me off. Not only did they steal my weapons, but they have the nerve to say that they developed it??!!! Those species of shit! I wiLL RIP OUT THEIR HEARTS AND SHOVE THEM SO FAR UP THEIR ASSES THAT THEY’L—you know what, I’m pretty much getting worked up about nothing. It’ll be pretty easy to essentially eliminate the entire species, I could literally utilise a death ray from space, that would be really easy. That’s why it’s so tempting.

And I could possibly use other techniques, like a homing missile, for example, to track and destroy them. But where’s the fun in that? I want to manually hunt them down — like a predator would do to its prey— and utterly dismantle them to pieces, even if it takes one atom at a time.

I want to thrill of catching them, painfully exhibiting mental and physical traumas, and especially, watching the leader— the one responsible for claiming all this. To bleed, and die, right before my eyes. In fact, that’s all I really care for at the moment, after all, all the other soldiers are just..soldiers (If I could call them that). All they do is follow orders, it’s not necessarily their fault for any of this.

That doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t unveil some of rage upon these ‘people’, they after all (unlike me) are pawns. Nothing more, nothing less. To be employed by someone else for your own benefit.

Honestly, it’s a bit ironic, and shameful that these insects call themselves ‘predators’, well, if that’s the case, I’m the annihilation inducing occurrence, like the meteor during the Cretaceous–Paleogene extinction event.

And thus, that final line of thought brought me to my next exclamation to the Republican Griffon soldiers, “AND TO THE PONY CAPITAL! TO VICTORY!”

[16th of November, 989. 12:00pm]

A clenched paw pounds on a table, leaving a considerable mark in its wake.

“FUCK!”

And the lengthy continuous string of emotional profanities…

“SHIT! HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” The unmentioned griffon leader looks at his surrounding subordinates/servicemen in a fit of rage, staring at each one intensely, until he finally, raises his fists up in the air, and shakes them repeatedly.

That is, until they slam back onto the table, seeding even larger cracks and holes withered throughout its surface.

“FUCK!”

His voice continues to rise in volume, “I DON’T WANT ANY MORE CONFLICTS TO OCCUR IN WET WEATHER, ALRIGHT?!! THIS CAN NOT HAPPEN EVER AGAIN!”

He points to the ceiling, shaking his appendage slightly, “ESPECIALLY NOT UNDER MY WATCH!”

That was pretty much a given.

“Ummm, sir,” one griffon begins, he, however, is stared down by the aforementioned person, “My apologies, I mean, President Senatus, don’t you think we should do a counterattack? We’ve been taking this war slow so far, to limit our loses. But now I’m afraid that’s not going to cut it.”

The President took a few deep breaths, in an attempt to stabilise himself, “Yes,” *breath in* “perhaps we should,” he looks back at the person just vocalising his concern, General Bridges, “What plans do you have exactly?”

General Bridges leans down, underneath the table, and grabbed a reasonably thick document out of his military-issued saddlebags, “When the war first took off, I illustrated up a stratagem for a direct assault on their Capital, but no-griffon—particularly at the time, thought much of it,” he chucks the aforementioned documentation on the table, “Frankly, we’ve been too preoccupied with attempting to win by attrition and achieve support over the Empire populous.”

He quickly flips through a couple of pages, until he lands on a drawn up battle design, clearly showcasing to all of the surrounding military servicemen his plans.

“This plan was obviously originally drawn up for the outdated weapons we possessed, so it’ll be a lot easier to inmate this scheme with musket divisions instead. Honestly, this method is a bit generous on the troop side,” he points out a few more key symbols on the parchment of paper, “But we can obviously descale them, muskets are undeniably much more reliable in achieving results. I recommend obtaining all our muskets in reserve— that is, the ones produced here. Not by Mrs Atomic Discharge. For this plan to work, it would need to utilise every resource available to us.”

Another random General in the room decided to add in a little quip, “But they also have serious weaknesses—what’s to say there are more? We aren’t aware of all the unknowns.”

“I’m going to have to agree with the Lieutenant,” General Garrison pokes his thumb at the mentioned character, “We simply can’t sustain a full assault, there’s a reason we’ve been taking this war ‘slowly’, is because our supply lines are already stretched to the limit.”

He leaned forward slightly, “Also don’t forget that the enemy loves burning everything in its wake (this is called the Scorched earth tactic), our troops literally can not achieve any more provisions, especially not from pillaging the enemy’s provinces.”

The discussion involving every character in the room lasted for another 40mins, incredibly, the votes seemed to be split. Some liked the way things were going, that—after all, the previous battle was only one defeat. While others believed the enemy had more tricks up their sleeves and needed to be taken out quickly, by a concentrated, large force.

This all boiled down to the President’s decision, his vote was essentially worth three, and with the split ties of 16 to 17, this was principally up to him. He—was to determine the fate of the entire country. By one, single decision. Which, may or may not, lead to their downfall.

His raised paw, quickly silencing the whole room, “I’ve made my decision,” he briefly paused, “I believe the best source of action, is to swiftly take them out by force. I want this done by the end of the month. The quicker, the better.”

Some of the surrounding griffons started to voice their objections, they all, however, were stared down by the President, and fellow Generals that already agreed to the prospect.

Nobody could change the Republican’s fate.

He has made his decision.

[14th of November, 989. Midnight]

The surrounding atmosphere was dark, very dark. In fact, some old 21st-century experts would vocalise it would be relatively necessary to wear night vision. Nothing would be able to penetrate through the never-ending night.

This gloominess of light appeared to narrowly infect one portion of the Canterlot Castle, an exceedingly small one at that. If people were to gaze closer at this known, anyone with enough intelligence in accordance with a squirrel has the mental capacity to realise that this ‘darkness’, is, in fact. Not normal, without a doubt, it was artificially made by the presence of dark energy, or ‘magic’, as what the locals prefer to allude to.

It’s as if…the darkness was hiding something.

The only section of the Castle affected appeared to be the guest living quarters, the, what most consider ‘first class.’ So, what’s the intention of this, unknown? Is it to slay a Nobel who may be residing in one of these bedrooms? Is it setting a trap?

No, definitely not. It’s after someone…someone, who in a few days time, would be getting married, one relatively new pony princess expressed to the world stage. Her name is Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.

‘Ah, yes,’ the one controlling the darkness thought, ‘I’ve been waiting for this day for a, very, long time. Its time to indicate the steps in my petrified scheme.’

The still, unknown entity, quickly sends a message hypothetically through a mental link, this is only possible through the use of finely controlled, and manipulated dark energy, ‘General, is the area secured?’

‘Yes,’ the high ranking soldier quickly declared back with his own mental message, ‘My queen, no guards will be coming your way, all have been apprehended and replaced by your drones. They’re now acting as forward standing outposts.’

‘Excellent,’ she responded.

The darkness seemed to spread from one location to another like a mist, it quickly descended on a particular room, with a specific occupant in mind. ‘Are you sure this is the correct room?”

‘Yes, my Queen,’ the same soldier as previously mentioned said, ‘the drones confirmed it.’

The entity simply nods her head.

Gloominess continued to spread comparatively like flowing water as it circulates into the broached room. Evidently, all this mist completely concealed itself within the space, bunched up like packing peanuts in a delivery box.

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, or Princess Cadence for short involuntary shivered in her sleep, the average kinetic energy (or temperature) of the room dropped as the darkness arrived within this space. Dark green eyes appeared from the mist, boldly staring at the living fecal matter in front of her, these eyes contained a millennia worth of anguish and pain. That would, soon enough, be released.

Eventually, more body parts arrived from the darkness, next, a whole-fully black insectoid face with an algae green mane and crown perched upon her head, the neck, shoulders, front hooves, torso, back hooves, and finally, the hindmost tail. On top of that, holes randomly transited on different body parts, however, this mainly consisted of the legs, where they were clearly the biggest by an extreme long shot.

All of these characteristics simply scream ‘evil’, anybody gazing at her would involuntary shiver, the mix of fear and unnatural dark energy perpetuates the very living soul of any onlooker. Any smart pony would run away without even a second thought.

This little pony princess, nevertheless, was asleep.

She couldn’t run, even if she wanted to.

A somewhat pleasant (in comparison to the rest of the figure) dull green light filled the room, as the previously referred to creature lighted up her horn (dark energy controller) to activate or achieve something. The light appeared to have surrounded the princess in an almost comforting way, slightly lifting up the pony above the bed covers.

And then, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, a pink pony, disappeared in a flash.

The creature smirked, ‘That was easier than expected,’ she looks down where the princess previously inhabited, ‘you could be of use as a bargaining chip later on, down to the crystal cabins you go.’

Flames suddenly erupted from the sides of the entity, lighting the room in a massive bland of algae artificial light, and regular green. Once this inferno cleared, what stood in its place was Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, exactly the same appearance as the pony formally on the bed.

As the entity settles down in the exact position marked from the previous being, she begins to think to herself, ‘This invasion has so far, gone without a hitch. The ponies will think I’m their real princess, and I’ll easily be able to perform a surprise attack with my changelings on the wedding day. Every pony will be occupied with stuffing their throats with food and wine. No one will ever expect a thing.’

And with that last thought, she falls asleep, taking the place as a significant infiltrator in the Equestrian kingdom.

Six pristine ponies of importance sat in relative jubilation as they ate, and participated in small communication. They were attempting to enjoy themselves in the current picnic, watching the absolutely stupendous scenery, and natural ecosystem.

These ponies consisted of what many would refer to as ‘heroes’, ‘a great, never-ending friendship’, or ‘the barres of the Elements of Harmony’, this consisted of; Twilight Sparkle, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, and Fluttershy. Which, in all honesty, are comparatively stupid names.

It was at this moment a small group of butterflies decided to fly above this gathering, showcasing their extreme beauty and fragrance.

One particular pony, a white one named Rarity inclined to voice this, “Ahh!”

This sudden realisation was mildly undertaken by the small thundering footsteps in the distance, and Applejack’s (the Orange pony’s) loud slurping noises.

But she decided to continue the sentence anyway, “It is gorgeous out. Just gorgeous!”

The incoming footsteps continued to gain speed and decibels, fourth-going the conclusion that the particular person/animal was decreasing the distance relative to the group, evidently, this being came into view off all the participants, a small, baby dragon to be exact. He proceeded to ‘huff and puff’ and furthermore, fall onto his stomach, attempting to gather his breath.

His name was Spike, “Twi… light! ...I... have…” he was obviously exerting effort to convey important information, but it was almost pathetic how much he was failing at it, “Lemme just…" *deep breath*

His loud and repetitive breaths were suddenly interrupted by a loud *BLEACH*. This unwarranted sound came with a small spire of green fire, and ambiguously, a scroll.

This, however, didn’t seem to surprise any of the surrounding occupants, if anything, the purple pony, named Twilight Sparkle seemed to ignore the dragon as if he was never there, proceeded to grab the scroll with her ‘magic’, and read its contents out loud, for everybody to perceive.

The letter appeared to be from the White Princess, Ruler of the Day, Twilight Sparkle’s Mentor, Princess Celestia.

“Dear Twilight, I’m sure you’re as excited as I am about the upcoming wedding in Canterlot.” The lilac unicorn decided to quickly question the fact they were supposed to be aware of this important ceremony, creating an incredulous facade, “Wedding?”

This expression was short-lived, however, as the unicorn continued to read the rest of the letter, “I will be presiding over the ceremony, but would very much like you and your friends to help with the preparations for this wonderful occasion. Fluttershy, I would like you and your songbird choir to provide the music.”

The mentioned person voiced her enthusiasm, “Oh my goodness! What an honour!”

“Pinkie Pie, I can think of no one more qualified than you to host the reception.”

She too was ambiguously thrilled, “Hip, hip, hooray!”

Twilight continued, “Applejack, you will be in charge of the catering for the reception.”

“Well, colour me pleased as punch!”

The traction seemed to be gaining attitude, that is, everyone became more elevated by the second, nobody had any idea what was going on, but it sure seemed significant, “Rainbow Dash—“

This ‘traction’ however, was somewhat stolen as the multicoloured pony gave a large ‘yawn’ at the mention of her name—which meant she had to do work. She hates work.

Twilight just quickly continued to explain before it the conversation could become off track, “...I would very much appreciate it if you could perform a sonic rain-boom as the bride and groom complete their ‘I do’s’.”

Though, after Rainbow Dash actually listened to what she would be assigned to enact, it was obvious that she transmitted into an excited state, excited, to present her talents to the open public.

“Yes!”

“Rarity, you will be responsible for designing the dresses for the bride and her bridesmaids.”

Out off all the orders from the scroll, this appeared to please the white unicorn the most, “Princess Celestia wants me to– *mumbling*…wedding dress? For a Canterlot wedding... I, ah, ooh, oooh!” She was so flabbergasted that, she promptly passed out, manufacturing a loud *THUMP*.

“And as for you, Twilight,” (the writer addressed the person currently reading the letter), “you will be playing the most important role of all: Making sure that everything goes as planned. See you all very soon. Yours, Princess Celestia.”

The lilac unicorn still appeared…puzzled. “But… I don't understand. Who's getting married?”

Of course, the dragon surprisingly ‘on accident’ forgot to provide Twilight all the documents, despite the contents on the parchment had a high probability of causing her a heart attack, “Oh, wait! Uh, I was probably supposed to give you this one first.”

And so, Twilight continued to read, “Princess Celestia cordially invites you to the wedding of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and…” her eyes widen the size of dinner plates, almost bulging out of their sockets, her breath becomes practically stagnant as she addresses the last bit of crucial information, *gasp* “My brother?!”

Being the element of honesty, Applejack decided to voice her opinion, despite is being quite obvious that Twilight’s expression was furious, “Your brother's getting married? Congratulations, Twilight! That's great news!”

Twilight’s mindset was a swirling mess, a bunch of jumbled questions, and swear expressions all in-bedded into her brain, as a result of all this, she decided the best course of action was to go into a detailed rant, “Yeah, great news. That I just got from a wedding invitation! Not from my brother, but from a piece of paper! Thanks a lot, Shining Armor. I mean, really, he couldn't tell me personally?* She attempts to duplicate her brother’s voice with a high amount of sarcasm and exaggeration “Hey, Twilight, just thought you should know I'm making a really big decision that changes everything. Oh, never mind, you'll hear about it when you get the invitation!”

“Isn’t he aware of HOW MUCH STRESS I’M GOING THROUGH RIGHT NOW??! DO ANY OF YOU—“ she pointed at her friends, “KNOW HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO FIND THAT MARE ATOMIC DISCHARGE??! I’VE ALREADY SEARCHED EVERYWHERE IN PONYVILE! AND OF COURSE,” she waves her hooves around, “I GET NOTIFIED, THROUGH A LETTER, THAT MY BROTHER IS MARRYING WITHOUT EVEN PIROR KNOWLEDGE TO THE EVENT, OR ANYTHING ABOUT HIS FIACCEE!” She took several deep breaths to steady herself.

All her friends, appeared to be leaning slightly away from her, attempting to remove themselves from the explosive individual, nevertheless, all of them remained where they were sitting prior to the incident, one particular pony, Fluttershy, tried to defuse the situation by asking a relatively simple question, “Um-m, T-twilight? Are you okay?”

“I’m…sorry,” her eyes seemed to slightly moisturise and glisten in the mourning light, “It’s just… I had an important schedule I needed to upkeep, I had quite a lot planned, in fact, I even was going to travel to the Griffon Empire to gather more information. But this sudden drop—which could’ve been avoided if I was notified— just derailed my deadline. Not to mention that Shining Armor and I have always been so close.” Her expression merged into some resemblance of excitement as she stated the next sentence, “He’s my B.B.B.F.F!” But that all but disappeared within the next few seconds.

This one single letter appeared to decrease the overall mood of the picnic, one of the many friends attempted to comfort Twilight Sparkle, “I’m sure he’s just been busy…being the Captain of the Royal guard must take most of his time.”

“Yes,” Twilight sighed, “its probably just that.”

Character Sheet:

Author's Note

Sorry that this chapter is crap, nothing really happened in it. I guarantee you, however, that another conflict will occur eventually. Involving Atomic Discharge personally.

Chapter Nineteen: You know who sucks? Ponies, that's what.

“It's very dramatic when two people come together to work something out. It's easy to take a gun and annihilate your opposition, but what is really exciting to me is to see people with differing views come together and finally respect each other.”
― Fred Rogers
——
Chapter Nineteen: You know who sucks? Ponies, that's what.
——

“Firstly, I would like to apologise on behalf of the Republican Government for the delayed meetings with you,” a well dressed Griffon informs, “as well as combining your two congregations, due to unprecedented events, we’re on a quite tight schedule.”

Three occupants were located in a room, the griffon that spoke stood with his claws held behind his back, and straightened his spine to appear professional. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, fitted with a bronze medal which highlighted his position in the parliament, an ambassador.

The other two creatures, one a pony of Germane nationality, and the other a zebra from the United Zebra Soviets waited with patient/bored expressions as they finally were able to gather the Republic Government’s attention long enough to be hosted a meeting. Both could agree on the annoying situation they were placed in, they would’ve preferred to return back to their home country as fast as physically possible, return to their families, and their luxuries.

“It’z no problem,” the Germane mare stated, “I wouldn’t like to impede on your internal affairs.”

The unnamed Zebra simply nodded in agreement.

“On another note,” the griffon smiled, “the Council members were very surprised by your generous gifts, those vegetarian ‘sausages’ you provided,” he gestured to the Germane, then turned to the Zebra “and those..cigars you issued have certainly been interesting, I wouldn’t be surprised if a couple shipments of the stuff are ordered from your country.”

He smiled.

“Now that is out of the way,” the Griffon clears his throat, “I would like to formally introduce myself, my name is Enhance Impression. I’m aware you’ve already provided your individual names on paper, but I would like to hear it directly from you gents.”

The Zebra one clears his throat, “I am generally referred to as Валерий Романов in my native language, but you can call me Vas.”

Enhance rotates to point towards the remaining creature in the room, “And you?”

“Adviser and Diplomat Lieselotte Weiß, Germane Chancellery.”

The griffon claps his claws together, procuring a loud enough sound to shock the two other residents in the room, “Fantastic! Let's get going then, shall we?”

Diplomat Enhance Impression’s job was to contain a good image of the Griffon Republic from the rest of the world's perspective, this obviously included affairs with foreign officiates. Ensuring that all comfort was of the highest quality, the country could after all, deeply benefit from a newfound alliance. That act alone would set the scores of this civil war in stone.

His current job was to make the two diplomats as pleased as physically possible, and to a certain degree, ‘privileged’. He was required to present the Griffon Republic’s parliament, showcasing off it limited profound wonders. When I mean limited, I truly mean limited. Just after ten minutes of walking around with the two trailing behind, he had already run out of things to say. So to fill in the time, he was forced to engage in general communication.

Subsequently, after virtually one hour of showcasing the enterprise, Enhance lead the two individuals into an office, a very particular office who had the leader of the entire country, President Senatus, behind the desk. The diplomat knocked on his door.

“It’s Impression,” he spoke through the wooden entrance, “I’m here with the two foreign diplomats.”

After a brief pause, the small group could discern the words, “Come in,” from the other side.

It was at this moment that the Zebra and Germane Pony decided to gaze at one another’s eyes, they may have only met each other within the last two days, it, however, felt like they were required to work together to achieve their goals, they were, after all, a little anxious.

Enhance Impression gripped hold of the door hand, and pushed the door open at a reasonably leisurely pace. Lucky, no ‘creaking’ noises could be depicted, the atmosphere would’ve dabbled in a higher concentration of stress.

Vas and Lieselotte Weiß walked into the room behind their contour, and just kinda stood there, in front of the desk. Neither had any idea what griffon customs were like, so to remain respectful, neither did anything. Each individual only stared straight ahead out of consideration.

Well, that was until the griffon diplomat performed an exceedingly quick bow. Now they weren’t so sure, should they kneel? Would it be disrespectful not to? After less than three-seconds of processing these urgent data packets, both came to the conclusion; yes, they should bow out of courtesy.

Both bowed before the president, one in a quick a timely matter (the Germane), while the other, the zebra, undertook a deep, and very respectful bow, all the way to the floor. The two different individuals rose at different intervals.

The president spoke, “Don’t worry about any of that nonsense, we don’t do that here.”

They quickly nodded in timely succession, it looked as though their decision was incorrect. It, however, didn’t seem to upset him, so hopefully, no insults were spared.

“Impression over here,” he gestured to the right, “Said that both of you have proposals on behalf of your home country, now would be as good time as any to share them with me,” he shrugged, “how bout’ we start with, he pointed at the Germane, “you.”

“Vell, our glorious leader, Führer Aryanne Hoofler,” she started as a small stack of parchment was removed from somewhere in her clothes, “wantz to establish a research agreement,” Weiß walks up to his desk, positions the paper on-top, and slowly retreats, “including the negotiations of military technology and doctrines.”

President Senatus seemingly nods to this as he grabs onto the applicable agreement, his claws steadily flips through the pages one-by-one, each second that passed by seemed to etch a deeper and deeper frown across his facade. This was followed by several proceedings of awkward silence.

Until eventually, he broke this tranquillity, “I’m assuming your country wants to have access to our firearms,” he looks up from the document and upon the Germane’s eyes, she seemed to flinch back at this, “Am I correct?”

She blinked a couple of times to moisturise her eyes, “I cannot be too sure, the Führer only expressed interest in a possible research agreement.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he turned to the other occupant in the room, “and you?”

Vas casually walked up to the desk and deposited a similar stack to the previously mentioned paper, “Vozhd Lenin desires to buy several thousand of those muskets from the Griffon Republic for in respects, a hefty amount.”

The President’s bored eyes glanced at the first page casually but had to perform a double-take just to identify the extremely large deposit of gold printed on the sheet of paper, his eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. They, nevertheless, quickly returned to normal size as he placed the document he was withholding back onto the table.

“I appreciate both your offers,” President Senatus professionally began, “We do not have the ability to spare any firearms, as all of which are being utilised in the war effort, and all technologies relating to the subject are classified in fear of the enemy obtaining the information, this decision is final.”

The two foreign diplomats retained a ‘for fuck's sake’ expression across their muzzles, this was their one mission, their one mission only; to make them accept the agreement ‘at all costs’, the fact that they failed their duty would come with ‘very harsh consequences’.

The President sighed as if he was attempting to persuade himself not to vocalise anything, “If you want, I can provide each of you with our firearm supplier. She would have the production capacity to support what you’re both looking for.”

‘I doubt she’d give them anything anyway,’ he thought, ‘she’s too loyal to the Republic, but this will hopefully straighten out any diplomatic problems in the future.’

The presence of the emotion of ‘shock’ suddenly expressed itself within the room like a bolt of lightning. The facades of all occupants within the space were utterly speechless, yet the griffon diplomat, even Enhance Impression himself couldn’t even utter a single word.

The zebra summed up everyone’s thoughts int one single word, “…what?”

Senatus simply waved him off, “Did you really think, that we, as a country, could suddenly manufacture thousands of these revolutionary weapons with a single month? Something like that would take years to accomplish, no. We had outside help.”

He seized a spare piece of paper from the side and quickly wrote down several important dot points of information with his quill. Once complete, he ripped the parchment in half and gave either side to the diplomats.

President Senatus motioned towards to paper, “There are her company’s details along with a relatively brief description of her appearance, admittedly it’s not much, but hopefully that'll be enough for contact in the near future,” he smiled.

“Well!” He clapped his claws together, “Now that is out of the way, I’d like to return back to my current workflow.”

These next few minutes of walking back down the hallways, towards their retreats were spent in utter silence, each member was too shocked to properly process the information from the previous meeting. Enhance Impression surprised that their leader would give up such an important source of technology, Lieselotte Weiß was shocked for the fact an individual could achieve such greatness, and Vas because he came all the way to this country for effectively nothing.

Neither the zebra or pony was looking forward to travelling back to their respective capitals, alerting their superiors of the new developments, and then travelling to a new specific location to deliver this inventor the new agreement, one where it would hopefully benefit their country in the long run.

Admittedly, the disturbance of the situation did eventually start to wither away, and it was at this particular moment the Germane decided to absorb the information on the paper given to her. Only for her shock to come back blowing at full force, once she registered that the description described on this piece of paper matched exactly to the pony she encountered on the way to the Republican Palace.

“Scheisse!”

“Here you go.”

A senior militarily ranked griffon officer claws over a shoddily manufactured matchlock musket to each new voluntarily recruited soldier. Every firearm that he provided seemed to be slightly different from the last, some looked of merger quality, while others—well, let’s just say it appeared as though it went through a blender.

The officer continued to walk alongside the crude line of griffons, and gave another musket to the next person, “Here.”

None of these griffons had ever been in the army, the only reason why these soldiers really volunteered in the first place was for the ‘honour’, ‘glory’ and most of all, an easily earned income. All withheld the belief that this war was practically won, after all, ever since the country has somehow gotten these ‘muskets’, they haven’t lost a single battle. Not a single one.

This is in actuality false, we know that they’ve lost at least one battle, but the populous doesn’t need to be aware of that fact.

“Take this.”

Though in the minds of every soldier receiving a musket, most of their hopes and dreams were instantaneously crushed. All had heard of how great, and powerful these muskets were, but the ones they were presented with was quite the opposite. They looked underwhelming, not to mention badly made. What the heck were the higher-ups thinking?

Some of the soldiers actually have seen a musket previously, whether this be through parades in the streets, or a veteran showcasing his weapon. What they saw, nevertheless, didn’t appear anything like the ones they were currently receiving.

“Here you go.”

One griffon that just got provided his musket was aware of this, and as such, asked a question relating to the specific topic, “Sir, why do these look so different from the other muskets?”

The officer, however, just ignored him, and continued on his merry way, giving out muskets as he went along. If he ran out, a lower-ranked soldier simply sprinted up to him and delivered more. Usually, this was between six to ten firearms at once.

Evidently, he finished giving out these muskets to the gathering he was in charge of (one hundred), and issued their current orders from the higher-ups, “In one hours time, we march out to the Empire’s capital. You have that long to get used to your current weapons, It’s going to take several days, so along the way, you'll train during resting periods.”

He brought up his own firearm from his side, “Before any of this happens, let me quickly teach you how to reload and fire your weapon.”

[17th of November, 989. 10:32 am]

CHUGGA chugga chugga CHUGGA chugga chugga

I hate this.

CHUGGA chugga chugga CHUGGA chugga chugga

Stupid ponies.

CHUGGA chugga chugga CHUGGA chugga chugga

Stupid pink train.

CHUGGA chugga chugga CHUGGA chugga chugga

And those stupid smiles.

CHUGGA chugga chugga CHUGGA chugga chugga

I hunger for split blood, specifically the fresh, warm life fluid of those four-legged multicoloured abominations, to garner the satisfaction of strangling one to death, in the most excruciatingly painful way imaginable. Nobody can be this innocent, and content at the same time. It isn’t physically possible. Laughing that loud, isn’t physically possible.

At this moment in time, myself, and the two griffons dressed in civilian attire are perched on one of the train’s seating arrangements, a pew to be descriptive. A mixed solution of pony conversations occurring all around us, all the while 'laughing' at their petty gossips.

To inform you of our current situation; the train ride began right on the border of the Griffon-Equestrian border, and we simply bought a ticket and hopped right on.

Well, it really wasn't that simple, I saw a ‘Wanted’ poster of myself hanging on the ticket booth’s walls. Obviously, my two subordinates gave me the ‘are you fucking serious look’, and to reply, I provided the ‘if you don’t shut up right now, I will rip you a new asshole’.

They stopped talking after that, in fact, even now they still refuse to look at me. I guess I just have that sort of impact on people. In an attempt to try and confirm this, I rotated my head to the side but was only greeted with my sleeping subordinates.

Never mind, forget my last statement.

Anyway, to counteract this, I simply wore a disguise, and when I indicate a disguise. I’m actually referring to sunglasses, the super cool sunglasses. That was literally all I wore, and it worked perfectly. No-one even gave me a double look.

Idiots.

Besides the sunglasses, I’m in actuality tiring a white shirt and pants, yet they remained practically invisible. From my observations, ponies tended to only bare attire for special occasions, so in accordance with this, I inclined for my clothing resolutions to attract the least amount of attention from the average populous as possible. (What? You think I’m just some stupid primitive organism that wears no clothes?) In fact, due to the practically identical colours, the material virtually blended in with my fur colour, the only way to be able to see it is if you got right up to my face.

I would never allow anyone preform that action, I would simply shoot/stab/maul them before they had the ability to.

Now, we’re heading to Canterlot, which were supposed to be arriving in.. soonish minutes as accordingly to my mental timekeeper.

And now, we wait.

Just like we have in the last…only shit, several hours? Why did time go so fast?

And why is there drool on my seat? Who put that there?!

I gaze around the surround train carriage for some sort of material to wipe up this awful substance. I simply can, and will not, withstand this horrific saliva currently dripping down my seat. Eventually, my eyesight lands upon the perfect cloth.

Very carefully, I slowly event my hoof to clasp the griffon’s arm next to me, and ever so hesitantly lower it towards the fluid on my chair. Steadily wiping the wet substance onto the organic tea-towel, all the way down.

Ah, that’s much better.

To celebrate my newfound comfort, I unconditionally deposited myself on the seating arrangement, leaning back and closing my eyes to enjoy the mildly unbearable atmosphere that took hold of me. During which uttering a sigh, to express my current emotional brain activity.

This somewhat bearable situation completely ruined when all the minor conversations within the train were suddenly drowned out with music, happy, innocent, and upturned music. Instrumental notes, might I add, came from what may seem, absolutely no where. (Obviously some sort of dark energy source)

And what's worse, the freakin’ ponies actually started to sing along with it. The only ones not participating in this musical number would be me, and the two griffons adjacent.

Yes, I’m not fucking joking. They started to sing. All of them. Every. Single. One.

Please, God, kill me now, I BEG you. My GOD, just, LET ME DIE IN PEACE.

Just STOP please, holy shit, just STOP.

Even holding my legs over my ears couldn’t termite the God awful sounds vibrating without the carriage.

And, why are some of them staring at me weird? It’s as if they want me to participate in this stupid song. Well, it’s not necessarily a given surprise considering that I’m the only ‘pony’ not partaking within the musical.

I refuse to pull myself down to that level.

—WARNING, VARIABLE ‘PATIENCE’ IS AT CRITICAL LEVELS, PLEASE LOWER AT ALL COSTS—

Could they please, SHUT THE ACTUAL FUCK UP!?

I WILL KILL ALL THOSE FUCKERS RIGHT FUCKING NOW IF THEY DON’T SHUT THEIR BLOODY MOUTHS THIS INSTANT.

One second later…

Alright, *clears throat in head*, WHERE IS MY MUSKET?!

Searching through my saddlebags as calmly as physically possible (if you call violently vibrating within my seat calm), I grabbed the aforementioned weapon into my pleading hoofs and stuck the bayonet on the front.

I’M GOING TO STAB EACH ONE OF YOUR EYES OUT AND WATCH YOU BLEED T—oh, hey cool. They stopped.

Neat.

Then, for some reason, a pinkish/purplish wall appears at the front of the train carriage and continues to move forward at roughly the same speed as the train. It seems as though we're moving through some sort of primitive dark energy shield.

As it passes over myself, I can’t help but notice the strange tingly feeling it procures.

I turned my head to gaze out of the window to appropriately determine the distance to our destination. Which in this case, appears to be less than 200m.

I suppose we’ve arrived at our disembarkation point.

Author's Note

Nothing really to say, just continue on your merry way.

(Heh, that rhymed)

Oh, forgot to mention I'm releasing another short story within the coming week, so, watch out for that.

Chapter Twenty: How to crash a Canterlot Wedding.

Very important information that was never mentioned: Changelings have the ability to be able to transform into ponies (temporarily at least).

“No matter how much we modernise, no matter how social norms affect us, humans are foolish creatures.”
– Tanya Degurechaff
——
Chapter Twenty: How to crash a Canterlot Wedding.
——

“Sir,” a Griffon soldier highlighted, “We’ve got another defector, the patrol in sector 34-B caught sight of her hiding in a bush, her tail was poking out.”

Two griffons stood side by side as they inspected a captured griffon in her cell, the lady’s head was postponed down, she refused to talk to anybody, and even declined any questions entailing the diagrams she withheld, the parchments of paper located within her saddlebags.

“Do you know her name? Are you aware of her definite intentions yet?”

“Yes and no,” he answered, “The only information she willingly provided was her name, Erika. That, and also apparently she’s a blacksmith, she said, and I quote, ‘I’m willing to provide you with my schematics, along with explanations for my machines, as long if you let me go.’ ”

The griffon fetched up one of the aforementioned papers and presented it to the presiding officer next to him, the parchment itself showed some sort of weird contraption, “I have no idea what this thing is, but according to the little tidbit at the top of the page, it’s called a ‘Steam Engine’, whatever that is.”

The officer turns to face him, “And she was going to provide these to the enemy? The Republicans?”

He nodded his head, “That is what seems this situation entails.”

The other fell silent for a few seconds, his analytical mindset churned at several possible solutions, until he finally settled on one, the safest, yet easiest resolution, “We’ll burn them, make sure no griffon can get their claws on these, I have no idea—and neither do I want to find out—exactly what these machines are capable of, I think it's best nobody griffon does.”

The soldier bobbed his head, “And the prisoner?”

“I don’t know,” he dismissed, “execution? That’s what’d normally be called in this sort of situation. Starve her or something, I don’t care. Do whatever.”

The other occupant beamed, his smile seemed way too extensive for his features, “Is it safe to assume that I know exactly what you're entailing?” He wiggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

The officer swished his claw, confirming the situation, “Sure, break a leg.”

[17th of November, 989. 1:14pm]

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

This guy obviously wasn’t listening to my prior instructions, what is he? Stupid? “Fly me up, and throw me through that window,” my intelligence realised I missed something important, “please.”

“Have you gone nuts??!” One of the griffon soldiers shrieked, “Don’t you realise those are Palace windows, where the freaking princess live?! If you did this, we’d probably have an international incident on our shoulders!”

Both myself, and two griffons were standing around at the front of the ‘Castle’ in Canterlot, my devices informed me of several high concentrations of ‘dark energy signatures' located behind that window, one of these included the ‘changeling’ one, its presence was the closest to the glass. The best course of action, through my eyes, would to tackle and/or kill the target as I crash through the window. I mean, it shouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish, what was the worst that could happen?

“Phffft,” I dismissed with my hoof, “I don’t give a shit, fly me up there, and throw me through that window.” I eyed him warily, “Do you want to be pummelled for insubordination?”

Both griffons tensed up, until the left one sighed, and slumped forward, defeated, “No ma’am.”

I clapped my front hoof together a couple of times, “Chop! Chop! Hop to it then!” I pursed my lips, “Also, don’t come in, I’m doing this one by myself.”

The Republican soldiers gave me the ‘what the fuck is wrong with you’ expression, and eventually, hesitantly wrapped their claws around me, one by my abdomen, and the other, around the interlocution between my front forelegs. With a repetitive flap of their wings, both steadily rose from the ground. I could feel the air rushing through fur, the gushing of each flap, and especially the entertainment clattering within my bones for the gratification of a kill.

This without a doubt, is going to be a ripper.

The atmosphere was what most people would describe as…perfect. A faint wedding melody was leisurely playing in the background, an audience sat patiently, every creature/pony that consisted of this audience withheld the biggest of smiles, their expressions of utter awe. Nothing could ruin this wedding, not in one-hundred, million years, everything was set into motion, and best of all, the ceremony was just about to start.

Princess Cadenza, a pink coated alicorn with purple multi-coloured swirls as hair, and Captain Shining Armour, white coloured fur with blue highlights, stood adjacent to one another on the wedding stage. Each wore an absolutely fabulous wedding dress and suit accordingly. Respective participates stared into one another's eyes with undying love, though, what many ponies failed to notice was the ingenue expression the Captain wore, and the green tinge smeared within his eyeballs.

Everyone was idiots in that regard— overlooking the obvious. Even Princess Celestia was completely oblivious.

“Dearly beloved subjects and honoured guests,” the white-coated alicorn, Princess Celestia, who stood at the forefront of the assembly, vocalised.

“Mares and gentle-colts,” she continued, ”we are gathered here today to witness the union of Princess Mi Amore Cadenza and Captain Shining Armour.”

The Princess smiled, “and the unending love exchanged between them.”

“This contract is not to be entered into lightly, but thoughtfully and seriously, and with a deep realisation of its obligations and responsibilities,” She cleared her throat, “the bride and groom have each prepared a vow, each will respectively read now.”

Princess Celesta rotated her head to look vacantly at her nephew, the pink pony princess, “Mi Amore Cadenza may start.”

The aforementioned pony’s facade transformed into a light scowl, before rapidly dissipating before anyone could actually notice, it moreover, restored back to a happy, carefree smile, “I Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, promise to—“

It was at this particular moment in time that everything took a turn for the worst, the most, unexpected, and strange phenomena occurred within the last few seconds, a situation so wacky, and peculiar, that not a soul could utter a singular word, each individual was shell-shocked to such a degree, that all they could do was stare. Even Princess Celestia was guilty of this, of all her time on this planet, not a single event could match up this what was about to take place.

*SMASH*

One of the windows, the panel located in the middle, literally exploded.

All of this seemed to happen in slow motion, some would even go so far to describe the situation as majestic, colourful glass shards shattered in all directions, embedding itself into the surrounding environment. In the midst of all of this, a singular, pony shaped shadow came flying in the nucleus of the explosion.

The mysterious pony stumbled while sailing throughout the atmosphere, the legs pushed forward in an attempt to take the brunt of the glass, to act as a somewhat impromptu shield. The legs rotated in circular motions in an immense attempt to gain some footing on the air molecules as they soared past the unidentified being.

This ‘majestic motion’ came to a sudden halt, however, when the pony in question came crashing into one of the weddings participates, Captain Shining Armour. The offending distance between the audience and the delinquent, allowed them to determine the features/appearance of the person in question, a mare from the basis of what each can perceive.

She had glorious white fur, a blood-red mane/tail, with frighteningly piercing crimson pupils. Glass shards appeared to have penetrated themselves into the pony’s fur, leaving thin trails of blood in its wake, caking the fur in cherry. What was the most petrifying implement thought this whole ideal, was the overwhelmingly insane, and creepy expression smothered on her facade, she was, without a doubt, enjoying the current situation she placed herself into.

This moment would forever be embedded into the minds of every soul present, not a single one would be forgetting the gruesome display that was just about to occur.

Now, that is what I call an entrance— that singular thought that took its run throughout my mindset, was so agreeable, I couldn’t help but nod to the convection—

So this little bastard underneath me is the one responsible for ordering those little black shits (the changelings) for stealing my flintlock muskets from the Griffon Republic. Honestly, I wouldn’t have thought of all things, a changeling in the disguise of a white unicorn could've implemented it, I mean, seriously? Of all things, of course, it had to be a pity pony, I would’ve thought it would’ve been another one of those black things, but bigger. As, you know, I thought it would be demanding peace terms from the ponies, but instead, it’s hiding with them? The green tinge within his eye sockets only further demonstrated just how correct I was. Some of the changelings back in the griffon empire incorporated this physical characteristic.

What’s strange despite all of this, is in the time taken to process my current thoughts, the pony underneath me hadn’t even moved a single centimetre, he just kinda, withheld that blank, almost uncomfortable expression, he didn’t appear shocked, or flabbergasted, just…disconnected.

If anything, If I had any say in it, this pony looked like he was under primitive mind control. The kind of one that is easily detectable as long as you search for the right symptoms.

But here’s the thing, I don’t have any say in this situation, I’ve already landed on top of this person, and I’m not getting off.

…

That sounded so wrong. Get your mind out of the gutter! It’s not what you think, I can guarantee you.

Anyway, now that my stupid monologuing session is over, I’m gonna stab this thing below me.

I clasped the musket already in hoof even harder, and prepared myself for the coming action within the next few seconds, I dragged the bayonet back half a metre, similar to how you would work a bow, and thrusted with every fibre of my being, the blade sliced through the chest like how a knife would through bread, and drove the hilt all the way in. Causing red blood to spray all over myself, adding to the already small inlets of red fluid running down my form. I then proceeded to twist, transform the pony’s insides into a meat stew.

This singular action, in consequence, caused the creature underneath me, to immediately heaved for air (heh, must’ve punctured a lung), and his expression to merge into one of deep shock. The audience surrounding me perpetrated a horrified gasp, which at that moment in time, I had no idea, there actually was one. The loud reaction prompted me to ultimately take in my surroundings for once.

Huh, that’s a big audience, why are they’re eyes practically bulged out, and covering their eyes in a state of shock? If anything, it's like they just recently watched someone get murdered.

….Wait.

It’s my smell, isn’t it? I haven’t showered in like…three days? Fours days? I honestly can’t remember. I’ll have to mentally note down to do that sometime in the future.

And what’s this? Is that the white petty pony princess? Dumbass Celestia? I guess it is. I wonder why she withholds a furious expression. Did I do something wrong? Changelings were obviously enemies to Equestria, so she should be thankful for what I have achieved.

I don’t feel comfortable when people stare at me, perhaps I ought to alert them of this, “What?”

Nobody seemed to be affected by my sudden utterance.

Actually, this environment reminds me of a wedding, I further turned my head to take in more of the surroundings. Huh, and that pony looks like a bride, with a white dress and all. Out of the entire audience, she seemed the most surprised, in fact, she even had several drops of blood on her muzzle.

I gave her an acknowledged nod and continued my stabbing fest with ease. Well, that was until I noticed something peculiar.

Hey, wait a sec…isn’t changeling blood green? Why is this guy’s blood red?

Well….shit.

He wasn’t anyone important, was he? Hopefully, he was just a nobody that no-one cared about, but with my strenuous luck, it’s most likely going to be the opposite.

I rotated my head to quickly scan the surrounding again, the device definitely did inform the thing with the large changeling dark energy signature was in here, so, where is it?

Eventually, my perception once again lands upon the bride in question. She withheld a very definitive feature in her expression.

For one, her previous facade matched a soldier who almost became meat mince from an explosion to an absolutely enraging utterance. Now, her algae-green eye sockets shined with premature displeasement.

I suppose I’m partly surprised, which admittedly, doesn’t happen often. I should’ve confirmed the situation before jumping in. Perhaps I'll have an international incident on my hands. This lady, this bride, is my real prey, perhaps I was just a little off target.

But as my parents would say; could’ve, should’ve, would’ve, didn’t.

The past is the past, it's behind me, water under the bridge. I can only move forward.

Starting with, finishing with what I started.

And so, I began to move in the direction of the bridesmaid, this plan, however, fell to absolute pieces when something ruined my chances of killing her. That Sunbut Princess must’ve registered my new intention, for I was pointing my blade towards the new direction. Pure instinct must’ve taken over her decisions, as at the corner of my vision, an intense yellow glow emitted from the tip her horn. Further, examination lead me to come to an annoying realisation.

She was charging for an attack.

“For fucks sak—“I never was able to finish my statement as a vigorous yellow beam smashed directly into my chest, the resulting continuous force engendered an unspoken acceleration, causing myself to go flying.

That was until my back strenuously impacted the corner wall, this, in consequence, effectuated my mid-spine to bend at an unnatural angle, accompanied by a loud satisfying *CRACK*. I swear the bricks I collide with fractured into several tiny pieces.

The proceeding events involved me to smack onto the floor below, landing in an unidentifiable heap. Along with a small puddle of blood to pool underneath me.

Of course, I attempted to stand, but this becomes exceedingly difficult when you can’t even feel your back legs. This simple circumstance inclined me to recognise the obvious, I was paralysed. The only way I could possibly move would be utilising my two front hooves to drag my autonomy.

To be straightforward, I wouldn’t be able to run away— or rush anyone anytime soon.

I should’ve packed a dark energy dispersion device, I’ll have to remember to do that in the future. This mistake is ethically embarrassing.

This whole situation made me pissed— really pissed. The fact this lady arrived at an incorrect conclusion without taking in all the variables infuriated me. Annoyed for there is a slight decrease in the probability of successfully completing my mission.

It was conspicuous that this Sunbut Princess desired to move over to my position, and pummel my being into non-existence. This succeeding deed was interrupted, however, when the entrance door to the massive room opened up in a slam.

A lilac unicorn came sprinting into the chamber, “Stop!”

Despite nobody was participating in anything, that thunderous phrase seems to have knocked the audience out of the respective slumber. Their eyes lazily blinked several times to finally retake in the new development, they're heads rotated to point towards the new disturbance.

I was located to the perimeter and in the shadow of this particular space, out of the general view of the audience, so it’s not a surprise that the purple pony—whose name I can’t quite remember, Tonight Sprinkle? Tinmight Dinkles? Skylight Sparkles? Whatever, she— failed to perceive me. The only objects in the room that this lady could possibly discern would be the crowd, the green-eyed bride, miss Sunbutt, and a dead unicorn on the stage — pretty much everything in the room besides me.

It was apparent the Fiancée was still attempting to process all of this information that germinated throughout the atmosphere, and as a result, could only expel a simple reaction to Skylight Dinkle’s declaration, “What?”

This was followed by another disturbance behind the purple unicorn, in the form of a secondary pink alicorn, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, except unlike the one located on the stage, this one didn’t withhold green eye sockets, “This is not your special day! It's mine!”

The crowd gasped.

The original bride still appeared confused, her eyes rapidly scanned over the environment, “What the actual FUCK is going on?!! Seriously?!” She narrowed her eyes, “Is this some sort of scheme? Or a badly made joke?!”

Twilight seemed convicted before, but now, she just looked confused, “What do you mean?”

It was at this specific moment that both the lilac pony and the newly arrived alicorn finally realised the obvious, there was a dead (I think anyway) white unicorn on the stage next to the bride. Both of which came to hastily, but incorrect conclusion due to certain circumstances, the pink changeling in disguise on the stage was responsible.

“Shinny!” The two new entries yelled, they initiated the process of the spiriting towards their intended target, the corpse lying on the floor.

Before either the unicorn, or the pink alicorn could actually make it to their desired location, a great green flame literally exploded on stage, an absolutely massive wave of algae flame spired in the configuration of a cylinder, and washed wave after wave of high-frequency dark energy all throughout my body.

The crowd gasped.

Almost immediately following these actions, the blaze settled, exposing a large black, ugly, changeling in its wake, a changeling with an extra long-horn, and extended wings.

This singular deed forced the running beings to come to a stop, both of which had tears laced throughout their face, “She's a changeling,” Princess Cadence darkly expressed, “She takes the form of somepony you love and gains power by feeding off your love for them.”

The crowd gasped (Again).

Gaining energy from emotions through dark energy is extremely inefficient, 99.6% of it is lost in the process of transfer. A civilisation way back gained their electrical needs based on this, not long after their settlement, they imploded in on themselves.

The large black creature upfront cleared her throat, “Ummm, your correct Princess,” she gradually started, “And as the Queen of the changelings, it is up to me to find food for my subjects. Equestria has more love than any place I've ever encountered. My fellow changelings will be able to devour so much of it that we will gain more power than we have ever dreamed of!”

The pink process assumed a counterargument, “They'll never get the chance! Shining Armor's protection spel—“ It was obvious at this stage, she realised, once again, her husband was lying on the ground, dead.

She chuckled, “Oh, I very much doubt that.”

Princess Cadence once again attempted to run to her (what I assume) husband but was once again stopped when the large changeling physically blocked her and continued her monologuing session.

“Ah, ah, ah. Don’t make me do something I’ll regret. Ever since I took your place, I've been feeding off Shining Armor's love for you. Every moment he grows weaker and so does his spell. Even now, my minions are chipping away at it.” She seemed to withhold that smug smile until she actualised that Shining Armor, the white unicorn, was dead on the floor.

As a response to this sudden realisation, the Queen quickly turned her head around and surveyed the window leading to the outside. Throughout these brief seconds of complication, she realised that the shield, in fact, was longer up. It was gone.

The profound reason for this was that Shining Armour— the pony reasonable for the spell—was incapacitated.

The queen began to laugh maniacally, “Go my changeling army! Attack Canterlot! Feed! And then, all of Equestria!”

This partly —what I have come to the conclusion of— telepathic message, gave the invading army, the order to indicate the final attack. Almost immediately, the outside consisted of a series of explosions of flintlock gunshots and the dying screams of the innocent.

For some reason, Princess Celestia, allowed the ‘villain’ to perform a succeeding monologuing session, but finally, she actually decided to do something about the invasion, “You won’t succeed!” She exclaimed, “You may have made it impossible for Shining Armour to perform his spell, but now that you have so foolishly revealed your true self, I can protect my subjects from you and your changeling army!”

Like when Sunbutt launched an attack at Moi, she performed another one at the changeling queen. I’m not entry sure, but the Queen somehow realised her intentions and met the beam with a green one of her own. Transforming the situation into a massive tug of war between the two entities, each face was expressing their own fundamental exertion.

Much to my surprise, the Changeling actually won, blasting the alicorn back.

I’m not certain if it was because she wasted her energy on me, or the bug had a larger capacity of dark energy, the result, however, was still the same.

Then, for some reason, the purple unicorn quickly talked to the white princess and ran off with five other ponies, all of which seemed vaguely familiar. I don’t know why the fuck they’re running off when all the action is occurring right in this room, but, whatever, it’s their decision.

And, of course, the large back insectoid merged into another monologuing concourse, explaining how ‘amazing’ and ‘unstoppable’ she is. Partway through this explanation, the audience bolted out of the room due to more of those smaller ‘changelings’ that arrived, probably more soldiers or somethin’.

It was at this point I kinda tuned out the long rant, as much as I like when ‘villains’ exposed their entire plan right in front of their enemies, while the opposition systematically decides to not do anything about it, I honestly, have more important matters to take care of.

Which principally includes, achieving what the ponies were never manly enough to do.

Despite the moderate beating I took, I was able to cling to my musket long enough, so by the time I lost my grip on it, I had already hit the wall. This, in consequence, allowed the weapon in question to land only half a metre to the left of me.

This permitted me to retract the musket and utilise the floor as aim support, similar to how snipers would focus. Before I could achieve all of the above, nevertheless, I had to reposition myself into a comfortable configuration, which can be quite difficult when half of you appendages fail to operate correctly.

Eventually, I was able to achieve a desired orientation.

Alright, now to take aim at the bug in question, draw the flint back (cock it), and…..fire!

I, however, was rewarded with a deep clicking resonance, the musket failed to shoot correctly, a misfire.

Well, this is annoying.

A closer examination of the weapon lead me to arrive at the obvious conclusion, the gunpowder/ammunition within the barrel was too soaked with fluid to correctly operate. How did this occur? The blood collecting in a puddle underneath me somehow found it’s a way inside the muzzle and the touch hole (the tiny hole) of my carbine.

The only way for this to fire again would to clear the whole Goddamn thing. Which, can honestly take somewhere between three to twenty minutes manually, which I noticeably don’t have the time for.

My swirling motion of thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the click-clacking of approaching hooves. Glancing up confirmed the black insectoid, my target, the ‘Queen’, was purposely strolling towards me, in a timely, causal manner.

I just assumed an unimpressed facade.

“Well, well, well,” she announced, “What do we have here? Trying to shoot me, are you?”

As she arrived at my destination, she pushed her snout to almost touch my own muzzle, “I must admit, your little action back there shocked me,” she gained a smug expression, “I would’ve thought all of Celestia’s ponies would only tolerate peace and harmony.”

The Queen shrugged, “Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I was going to thank you, you know,” she then proceeded to pick me up with her embedded green dark energy, levitation to be appropriate. My hind-legs dangled down in a floppy unresponsive manner, liquid life continued to drop from my body at a mild pace, sprinkling down like in a light downpour.

Her face merged into one of disgust, and mild pity.

The Queen mumbled underneath her breath, “Wow, that is a lot worse than I thought…”

Only to shake her head with the sole purpose to order her thoughts, “But you tried to kill me, it was quite obvious, honestly,” she pursed her lips, “I understand what you were trying to accomplish with that weapon, I know how they work.”

The large changeling narrowed her eyes, “Don’t take me for a fool.”

Pfffft! Mate, I already do. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

[Queen Chrysalis POV]

Queen Chrysalis was…so confused.

This pony before her was the weirdest anomaly in her entire career, not once in her whole life has she seen a discrepancy as large as this. The white-coated, and red-haired, mare before her outlived her expectations.

She couldn’t detect ANY emotion from her, even her facade was completely bland, only expressing what seemed to be mild annoyance. Which was quite the opposite of what she expected, Chrysalis presumed consistent struggling and a large amount of fear. She didn’t even seem to be in any pain! And yet, her spine was clearly broken, and blood was leaking from her wounds.

If Chrysalis was honest with herself, this pony…creeped her out. It was as if she was staring at a predator, an alpha wolf. The Queen’s brain was literally shouting at her to remove herself as far away from this being as possible.

But of course, she’s not going to listen to that.

Not in one-hundred, million years.

So, how exactly am I going to kill this person?

Hmmmmmmmm.

I’m still currently holding my musket, so, could I slash at her with the blade?

No, she seems out of my reach.

Tackle her?

No, her levitation field doesn’t allow for that much movement, what’s more, my back-legs are unresponsive, so even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to get far enough.

What to do, what to do…

Before I could ponder this any further, I was suddenly dropped to the ground below, this was followed by a succeeding CRACK, inducing my back to continue to bend at an even further unnatural angle.

This was in likelihood due to the surprise entrance of the doors slamming open to the same six ponies that exited earlier, all of which withheld several cuts and bruises. But to my surprise, no bullet holes. Are those changelings even using those muskets correctly? Do they not even have a doctrine?

Idiots.

Apparently, a cocoon had formed on the ceiling containing miss Sunbutt, and the pink alicorn had been stuck to the floor with a strange green gooey substance. I have legitimately no idea why they didn’t do the same thing to her, but, whatever, not my problem. She had tears streaming down her face, and consistency gazed in the direction of the bloodied white unicorn, only to quickly look away, and hyperventilate.

The Queen decided to address her new audience, “You do realise the reception's been cancelled, don't you?”

…Now I really want to kill her, that was a horrible joke. Seriously, she had so many other responses at her disposal, you know. Ones that exhibited fear, and repression?

You know what, let her do her monologuing, this will provide me the necessary time to clean, and reload my musket. Well, hopefully anyway.

First off, I needed to remove the musket ball from the muzzle, to accomplish this, I’m going to use something called a ‘ball puller’, which does exactly as it sounds. It pulls the projectile out of the tube. It’s basically this small screw attached to the end of my ramming rod, twisting said shaft while touching the ball will permit the spiral to embed itself into it.

Then, all you have to do it pull it out.

Easy peasy.

This was completed in less than two minutes, the ‘used’ rod culminated some splatters of blood from within the musket, but I’m sure it’ll be fine.

Removing the substance from within the barrel was even easier, I simply just tapped the furthermost end with a little force, permitting the material to loosen itself and proceeded to fall out onto the floor. This was slightly difficult considering the blood provided some sort of adhesive to the barrel, but soon enough, most of it came out.

Since I had no cloth to wipe it down, I was obliged to utilise the edge of my saddlebag to complete the job, which completed it to a satisfactory standard.

I then made headway into actually reloading the weapon itself.

Mind you, I was able to do all of this without the bug Queen noticing. Is she just that stupid? Even the changeling soldiers didn’t seem to be aware and/or care.

Thought my whole ideal, the six ponies who came back into the space were in the process of being ‘glued’ down by the green sticky substance, and the large black insectoid’s head was turning my direction.

…Oh, shit.

I was still in the process of attempting to retain a good shot, her constant movements, and my…disability, compelled the task to be exceedingly difficult.

“You know,” the Queen began the process of walking towards me with a superior expression, “I’m going to have to kill you, your aware of that, right?”

“Not that I hate you,” she continued, “Your jus—“

She paused mid-sentence, her eyes widened, and for the first time today, her facade transformed into fear, pure, unadulterated, fear. The kind of emotion that you retain once you know your ultimate demise was well on its way.

For the first time during this sort one-sided conversation, she finally registered that fact I was holding a loaded musket directly at her

I could pursue the exact expression across her face, ‘Please don’t kill me! I’ll give you anything!’

I’ve seen it already on a number of occasions.

There, nevertheless, was one similarity between each of these instances.

I always pull the trigger.

A loud BANG and accompanied hiss of a bullet sailed through the air, smoke extended over my form, and red ashes settled at my hooves. Her chest imploded, the bullet sliced straight through her torso, and travelled through her extended frame and exited from the spine. Leaving a trail of thick algae blood to stream from behind.

She collapsed immediately, green blood pooled under her in large aggregates.

That was…easier than I expected.

Each body within the room just stared at me, the purple unicorn along with the other ponies must’ve finally realised my existence. Not a single soul moved, all was deathly silent within the room.

Following my action, all gunshots and sounds of battle outside immediately halted. The small changelings within the space appeared the most shocked out of everybody, their mouths hung open, their eyes, the size of small dinner plates.

The atmosphere then filled with frantic buzzing, the aforementioned changelings from earlier were attempting to fly out of the room as quickly as possible, a swift glance to the outside confirmed my suspicions, the entire invasion army was evacuating. Hordes of the black insects flew as fast as physically possible, to get away.

Welp, mission complete, if I do say so myself, time to get out of here.

Using my front fore-hooves, I slowly, but surely hauled myself over the ground, leaving a thick line of crimson blood behind me. This process was repeated until I reached the middle window, the very same one I knocked myself through.

Without even looking at the shocked expressions behind me, I continued to push myself over the glass shards —all of which loved to stick to my body and cause an even greater crimson mess—and propel my body over the edge, inspiring me to accelerate towards the Earth at 9.81ms-2.

Sadly, before I could kill myself—thus, allow me to respawn and remove my paralysation— I was caught by my two griffon subordinates.

They did not look happy.

A seemingly normal statue located in a distinctly beautiful garden, shifted, an indescribable amount, a length, so minuscule, the only way to have noticed would be by a telescope. Then, it buckled, the whole being shook, rattled, it’s already cracked material breaking even further, pieces crumbled off, stone plunged to the ground, and in its wake stood a being.

A being who was now very much free from its prison.

Author's Note

I apologise for the late update, I honestly didn't start writing this until Sunday, so, blame me for my poor scheduling skills, and just general laziness.

Also, just in case you didn't understand that last little 'event', Discord, the Lord of Chaos broke out of his stone prison.

So...yeah.

Editor's Note:
Well ...THE BLACK BITCH IS DEAD! Atomic Deployed like a Commando and killed shit. Oorah.
For that I give atomic the awards of “badassery” and “hard to kill”, let's see how much PTSD the ponies just got.
Music Listened to while editing: [10 HOURS] Lil Boom - Already Dead (Omae Wa Mou) instrumental (prod. deadman 死人)
Link:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S52BM7Y6h5M
(I don’t know why but this video makes me happy for some reason. What about you author?)
Author: I’d have to disagree.

Chapter TwentyOne: The Aftermath

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.”
—George Santayana
——
Chapter TwentyOne: The Aftermath
——

And then, the white earth pony—still covered in blood— dragged herself over the glass shards, and proceeded to haul herself over the edge, causing her whole frame to disappear and fall into the unknown—where a large chance of her dying from the fall height was most probable.
Crimson blood, and unsymmetric hair still remained on the floor, bleaching the surrounding marble environment into an unnatural red. It simply did not par with the glorious architecture.

The whole room was deathly silenced, not a single soul moved, every organism within the space were what many people would refer to as ‘shell shocked’, not a single person had ever seen anything like the events that had just unfolded.

The purple unicorn was shocked.
The white unicorn fainted.
The blue pegasus was shaking.
The orange earth pony was a little bitc— I mean, scared.
The yello—

I could literally go on all day.

Each of the aforementioned ponies thought life was fun, that nothing, ever, could possibly go wrong. That every participate in the end would be frolicking in the grass meadows, smelling the beautiful flowers, and having delicious picnics with their friends.

They were innocent in that regard, none had ever been exposed to the reality of this world. All lived in the plagiarised and fake environment Celestia attempted to assemble. Bit by bit, however, this unadulterated mask slowly slipped, exposing more and more of the hash reality for what it really is. This white and red earth pony (Atomic), just seemed to have sped up the process.

It really was inevitable.

The funny thing was that every soul continued to stay in this shocked trance for over a minute. None had even decided to help their ruler, Princess Celestia, out of the cocoon in the ceiling.

Well, that is, except for one.

The pink alicorn, now who would no longer, could no longer be stopped by the dead black queen, attempted to rescue her husband before it was too late.

There were several problems with this prospect, however;
1.She was still connected to the floor by that disgusting green goo.
2.Was an idiot as she didn’t have the intellect to actually make adequate decisions. (Like using her magic)
3.Shining Armour was already dead.
But she still struggled, it failed to achieve results, but this conclusion didn’t ratify her.

This dreadful atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the blaring smack of the throne room door, forty guards poured in, survivors from the invasion, their main goal at that moment was to see if their rulers were in good health.

The loud noises that reverberated throughout the space was able to snap almost every pony out of the preconceived mindsets, and actually take in the whole situation without being shell shocked. Each pony rotated their to look around, and finally noticed that others still needed help in this particular predicament.

“Your highness!” A guard entering shouted.

Almost all recognised the horrible state the room was in; a massive cocoon was on the ceiling, every pony was still attached to the ground with green restraints, and generally the room was covered in shards and blood, something that clearly needed to be cleaned up.

The squadron leader of this intruding guard under stress, quickly administered orders, “You three! Take the Captain to the medical ward! You! Cut that cocoon up there off the ceiling! And the rest of you, free everypony from their restraints!”

They all nodded, and tended to their tasks.

It honestly didn’t take long to achieve all of this; and in fact, everything would have been completed if it weren’t for one, specific being.

*CRUNCH*

This one, loud, extremely annoying sound echoed throughout the room. No-one was completely sure exactly what it was; was it some sort of structural integrity that failed, or was it the bones of some sort of individual being crushed? What could it possibly be?

*CRUNCH*

This repeated sound allowed the audience within the room to finally locate the source; a strange being, made of a multitude of different animal limbs, like a lions paw, for example. Hovered towards one of the darker sides of the room.

And that crunching noise? Popcorn. He was eating it, straight out of a bag. Buttered. Popcorn. A glass of lemonade also levitated beside him, occasionally, the unidentified being grabbed said mentioned drink, and took a purposely loud slurp from it.

The strange sound almost caused all possible bodies to jump out of the socks, on every occasion.

Each pony stopped the tasks they were completing, and just stared, as if anything else couldn’t possibly take a turn for the worse.

In the middle of a mouthful of food, he momentarily stopped chewing, since he was the middle of observation, he decided to voice his simple enquiry, “What?”

His eyes scanned the environment for any reactions, but all he got was blank, uninterested, stares. He was, honestly, quite disappointed by that prospect.

“Oh come on!” He waved his forelimbs, “nothing? The lord of Chaos,” he pointed to himself, “moi, have suddenly appeared before your very eyes, despite being trapped in a stone prison, and this is all you give me? Just stares?”

He hovered there for a moment, thumbs to his chin, clearly in deep thought, until a light flicked into existence above his head, and he snapped his fingers, “Aha!”

First, chocolate milk started to sprinkle from the roof, he then pulled a bunch of bunnies out of his ass and started throwing them around, lightning sprouted from the floor, and in-front of every pony, a golden Equestrian 100 bit transfixed.

The only ponies that began to scream were the ones who recently entered, the guards, while the rest of the audience would do nothing but perform minor finches to the loud sounds reverberating within the room.

Still, he didn’t seem pleased, in his book, he may as well got nothing, no reactions.

He slumped, “Hmmm, tough crowd.”

And immediately snapped his fingers one again, and everything turned back to normal.

Only now, the room was once again interrupted by another sound, the loud THUMP of the green cocoon that was once connected to the ceiling. A disgusting green liquid leaked out rips, and every movement from inside it, just seemed to create more squishing noises.

Well, that was until it exploded.

“DISCOOOOOOOORD!”

The huge white alicorn emerged from within, eyes glowing, mane, literally on freaking fire, the air around her truly felt as though it was aflame. Let’s just say, she didn’t seem pleased, or unhappy for that matter.

No, she was absolutely furious.

“YOU DARE COME HERE, IN MY CASTLE, PROVOKE MY SUBJECTS, AND START THIS WHOLE MESS!!? I WILL HAVE YOU INPRIS—”

“I’m going to have to stop you right there, Celly.” He dramatically interrupted, “The disorder around me was caused by a much greater chaotic being than myself,” he scowled, “As much as I’d like to deny it.”

“DO YOU EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT??! THAT THE LORD OF CHAOS DIDN’T HAVE A PART IN STARTING SOME OF THE BIGGEST MADNESS IN ALL OF EQUESTRIAN HISTORY??!”

Before the being known as Discord was able to reply, Celestia quickly asked the six ponies at the front for something, “GRAB THE ELEMENTS TO DEFEAT DISCORD! I WILL NOT LET HIM RUN HIS RAMPAGE THROUGH EQUESTRIA ONCE AGAIN!”

The lilac unicorn’s facade was terrified, this flaming alicorn was her mentor, and to see her like this—different from her kind and loving attitude— scared her. And so, she just stared.

Well, that was until a prompted caused her to go into overdrive, “QUICKLY!”

This resulted in her to swiftly shove everything that had happened in the last ten minutes into the back of her mindset, locked in a prison, far from view or compassion.

“Come on girls! Let’s get the Elements!”

And so, with a bit of pushing, and waving hoofs in from of each other’s faces, they all eventually ran off.

“If you think I’m going to do anything now, you’d be wrong. In fact, why, Chaos is reigning everywhere; why would I intervene?"

Celestial glared so hard, she may have been melting solid iron.

Discord just shrugged as a response, and then, with a snap of his fingers, he vanished. The only thing left in his wake was a series of sparkles and pixie dust.

Celestial was even more furious.

A few days Later

Twilight had been assigning a happy/content facade throughout the whole day, every-pony she talked to, every book she checked out, and every passing glance towards another Ponyville citizen, she ensured that she withheld that cheerful expression.

In reality, however, the truth couldn’t be any further away, and that’s why she felt so exhausted, it took a large percentage of energy just to maintain that image. Of course, it slipped during some parts of the day, which normally accompanied with, ‘Are you alright?’ from a nearby pony, every response Twilight stated, however, was ‘Yes.’ Nothing more, nothing less.

And worst of all, she’s pretty sure her friends feel the exact same— yet she can’t gather up the courage or perseverance to communicate with them. Ever since the incident, even when they were attempting to retrieve the elements, none had even spoken a single word to each other, and obviously, the town was slowly catching on, it was only a matter of time before they start prodding places they're not supposed to.

This is why she wanted to be alone.

She just wanted time to think for herself, and being in town wouldn’t allow that—there is always someone waiting to butt into her thinking process, even Spike (the purple dragon), had been responsible on multiple occasions.

The steady *crunch* of leaves crumbling under her hooves was perhaps one of the most calming prospects, it kept her mind occupied.

Clouds loomed overhead, which cast dark shadows on the surrounding environment, including herself. The direction she was trotting to was the edge of the Everfree forest. The one place untouched by pony influence, and the one place where she can relax.

Once reaching a desired spot, a place underneath a tree, she sat down and lucidly stared into space. Her eyes, completely unblinking, breaths short and shallow.

It was only about half an hour after the event that she was told exactly what happened—the whole story. That the pony fugitive known as Atomic discharge—the pony she knew for a very brief amount of time—was responsible for her brother’s death. That she literally jumped through the Castle window and stabbed him mid-flight.

Knowing that an Equestrian pony did this, along with perceiving first-hand multiple deaths of guards and witnessing the murder of Queen Chrysalis, was absolutely life-changing for her. She’s always known about the concept of death, but had always ignored the thought—shoved to the back of her brain and covered with tones of textbooks and hobbies—but by perceiving actual death take place. Has made her bring up all these thoughts at once, that death isn’t only caused by old age, but other, unseen instances as well. That death can happen to anyone of us.

Like her brother.

It is truly mind opening.

What made it even worse, is that she felt sorry for the Ponyville citizens. Yes! She felt sorry for them, and not the other way around! The fact they were completely oblivious to what Death is upsetting for her, that when they do actually realise what is meant by passing away, they’d already be on their deathbeds.

Every pony should be aware of this—how life works, that not everything is perfect.

The carefree expressions of the town makes her feel sick.

What is the point to life if you just die in the end? What actually is her purpose? Is she just another student to the Princess? When she dies, Celestia would just adopt another one. Just like in the past. Is she nothing? Just a replaceable nobody?

She had always lived life believing there would be another tomorrow, but what she really should do, is act like there isn’t going to be a tomorrow, to live life to its fullest and create as big of an impact on the society you live in.

But Twilight doesn’t know how to do that.

And neither did her brother.

She cried for three hours straight that night.

“Captain, Report.”

Celestia was sitting in her retreat, sipping an absolutely delicious cup of herbal tea, the chair she was perched on was adjacent to another body, the new temporarily promoted Captain of the guard, he withheld a small stack of paper in front of him. His whole body clearly shook in his position, his facade was of distress.

The Captain wanted to bolt as fast as physically possible out of the room, he didn’t want to face the Princess, especially when he withheld so much bad news.

“Ah-hem,” he shakily started, “Approximately one third of the city has been destroyed since the attack, houses and commercial buildings have been raided, and several government structures have also been demolished,” he leaned towards to paper he withheld, “a-about 40 m-million bits worth.”

Celestial momentarily stopped spinning her cup of tea, hesitating, all of that money would have to come straight out of the gold archives, something that was already limited in storage. This brief pause, however, quickly dissipated as she continued to drink the liquid from the cup.

“On another n-note, the guard was able to clean any d-deceased bodies from the streets; changeling and pony alike. Best of all, some those weapons the invaders had, were recovered. About forty of them, to be precise.”

She simply nodded, uninterested.

“Casualties were…s-significant, 3,340 are r-recorded dead, 6,000 injured and surprisingly, no recorded civilian deaths. Almost all involved in combat had some sort of unidentified behaviour, studies have started to counteract this, most with this sort of attitude have immediately quit from the military,” he waved hoof around as if proving his point, ”We are struggling to replenish the pony power of the guard, nobody wants to volunteer, especially due to what had transpired not three days ago.”

He nodded to himself, “I-I would like to gain permission to start a mass propaganda campaign to encourage more ponies to join, otherwise we’d be forced to introduce conscription if we want to reach the same level of soldiers previously,” the Captain gazed up from his papers, and into the eye’s of the Princess, “the necessary documents for either option were dropped into you office.”

She placed her dished cup of tea onto the table in font of her, “Mmmmm-hmmmmm.”

“The citizens of Canterlot have been acting…restless these last few days, they believe the guard to be completely incompetent and unable to properly protect our country from raising foreign threats, small scale protesting has already started, and it’s only like to get worse if we continue to ignore it.”

The captain paused briefly, “There has also been an increase of aggressiveness of foreign countries like the Germane Reich and the Buffalo Chiefdom on our border, obvious to the incapability of our military, and with the soon to be annexation of the Griffon Empire by the Republicans, and the rise of the Zebra Soviets, it’s only a matter of time until we’re surrounded by vicious nations.”

“And finally; the search for this ‘Atomic Discharge’ has yielded no results, she seems to have escaped.”

Celestia was aware of the destruction the Changelings caused to her city, her subjects. The fact that the citizens don’t feel safe anymore is extremely worrying, and the gradual increase of threats and technology is even more distressing. There’s no way she can stop the progress now—if an unknown race (The Changelings) that was literally discovered not a few days prior, had access to those boom-sticks, then is only a matter of time before the rest of the world gets their grubby little hooves on the weapons as well.

There’s no point attempting to prevent it now, only to guarantee the safety of her subjects, and that requires a larger, more modern military. One that actually has the ability to effectively combat foreign invading armies.

Celestia needs an advantage.

And she’ll just have to use those ‘boom-sticks’ to do it.

“Captain,” she started, “see if you can get as many blacksmiths and engineers as possible to study the recovered weapons, and attempt to mass replicate it, place any additional documents required on my desk.”

With the Captain speechless, she sat up, and trotted out of the room with a grim expression masked across her face.

The technological arms race has officially begun.

Author's Note

I apologise for the late chapter...again. I've got quite a lot of stuff going on right now, and it's likely going to get more hectic. I'll still have the chapters come out every two weeks, but they're likely to be a short as this one.

Chapter TwentyTwo: The Origins of Discord

“We are all creatures of the stars.”
—Doris Lessing
——
Chapter TwentyTwo: The origins of Discord
——

[20th of November, 989. 9:56pm]

My eyes peaked from under the coverings as I fasted them from their closed states, I yet again, found myself in the same hospital room as I was previously placed in, milk-white sheets —slightly brown due to the dirt on my fur— rested bellow me. I soon found myself peeking under the blankets to find myself not naked, which in turn induced me to expel a fortunate sigh in the process, last time, I practically scowled the doctor when I had found myself unclothed. I would not allow that atrocious act of indecency to occur again!

The window to the outside world presented me with dark grey over covers, no doubt the clouds were going to perform precipitin sooner or later. It was just a matter of time.

My important belongings, along with my musket was clearly in sight, situated on the small table located to the right side of the bed I lay upon. There was no point in staying in my current position, I may as well wait and get back to my duties as soon as possible.

With that small thought procedure, I pushed with my two front legs on the white fabric, and hauled myself over the edge….only to completely fall off the bed, and provoke a loud sound THUMP to eco throughout the space.

“FUCK!” The prospect may not have hurt, really, at all. But, the annoying realisation that this action was the result of still not maintaining the motor functions of my back legs. Which in layman's terms, for you simple-minded idiots, my lower body was still paralysed, and the only way I could possibly fix it, would be to somehow kill myself and respawn from a biological fabricator, something that these birdbrains would defiantly prevent me from accomplishing.

Well, this took an interesting turn of events. Now I’m at a slightly lower disadvantage in compassion to previously, the power scale, however, is still at manageable levels, around 1.74x10^9 to 1 ratio. Nothing too bad, if I’m totally honest.

Due to the overloading abundance of sound amplitude, as a result from me harassing the floor, a griffon nurse spirited into my room, and saw the state of which my body was suited in, a tangled mess on the ground.

I glanced up and was able to easily discover her facial expression with my overwhelmingly superior intellect, she was giving me the ‘Are you fucking serious?’ look. Nevertheless, I ignored that discouraging facade and proceeded to pull, slowly but surely, my limp body toward the entrance with my front hooves.

I could easily imagine her rolling her eyes at this predicament, as in the next second, she wrapped her talons around my mid-section, so I did anything any other person would do in a situation similar to this.

“Piss off!”

This seemed to surprise her, and as a result, she accidentally let go of go, and so, I continued on my merry way. Well, that was until she collected her thoughts and decided to question my intelligent actions, “You know, you could hurt herself doing that.”

“I am aware of that.”

She clicked her tongue, “I could strap some wheels to your back legs if that would make moving easier.”

“Shut up, I don’t need your pity.”

The nurse in response just shrugged and walked out of the room, no doubt to return to her duties…or retrieving more griffons to help subdue me.

Either way, I’ve got about three minutes before anyone can hinder my current mission to escape, may as well use that time to it’s fullest extent. And so, I attempted to haul myself over the grotty ground as fast a physically possible, speeding up the process.

That was until another voice disturbed my enterprise, causing me to momentarily pause, a male voice to be definitive, “Does this have a purpose?”

“No.”

There was a brief pause, as I continued to shuffle towards the exit.

“You can stop that now,” vocalised the voice.

“No thanks.”

I could imagine the being performing a shrug, “Whatever, I’ll just sit here then.”

This statement was followed up by the scuffling of a paper bag, and the definitive crush of something being eaten, this annoying sound persisted, irritating me, similar to the buzzing of a mosquito in an ear. Of course, I attempted to outsource this noise by manufacturing much heavier thumps from pulling myself across the floor, but every time I performed this, the being in question, would purposely make even louder crunching noises.

Eventually, I couldn’t take it, so I took a crack at glancing over my shoulder, to perceive just who would dare to annoy me to this extent and hopefully give them a persuasive scolding.

This expression was, nevertheless, pushed in prospect, as the being that was speaking to me wasn’t another nurse like I assumed, but an entirely different creature. He (what I am concluding at least) was a mildly strange organism, with mixed matched body parts from other animals, a snake and eagle just to name a few, although his appearance wasn’t strange to any extent, the fact he was floating in the corner of the room, with a bag of sweets next to him, certainly was.

This new prospect only slightly surprised me, I honestly wasn’t expecting anything like this to be bothering me today. My brain fortuitously expressed this by momentarily widening my eyes very slightly. However, this extra width was quickly dispelled and transformed back to normal.

Wait a second…the description of this guy sounds familiar…Wasn’t a creature like this briefly mentioned in one of the many experiments hosted on this planet? This guy has gotta be one of those dark energy experiments the scientists nearly 2000 years ago preformed.

I honestly don’t think I need to contend with an accident made by people who have probably outsourced their use by now, there’s no point dealing with something that had long ago dissipated into history.

And so, I continued to shuffle forward, in the meantime, I pretended that this being wasn’t even there in the first place.

I think he was honestly surprised I disregarded his appearance so quickly, “I’ve been waiting to talk to humans for a very long time now.”

I ignored him.

He shrugged, “I guess you’re wondering how I knew you were a human?”

If I could stab him right now, I would, “Not really.”

I guess that reply did surprise him, as for the first time in the last session, he had remained quiet for an extended period of time, perhaps attempting to formulate a response to my answer, “I had always thought humans as being more curious, with them poking a prodding me on numerous occasions.”

He paused.

“Aren't you at least a little curious?”

“No.”

The creature sighed, seemingly halting any small chit chat, for the time being, I could hear him moving around and muttering in small bursts underneath his breath, “Stupid humans, always so ignorant and prideful…”

He sighed once again, boldly expelling his annoyance to nobody but himself, “You do realise you have left your stuff here, I mean,” repeated shambling could be apprehended, “What is this small back box anyway? A computer?” Recurrent metallic rumblings continued to reverberate within the room, until, he started mumble underneath his breath once again, “If it is, it’s certainly the most advantaged computer I’ve ever seen, I mean, where’s even the on switch?”

“Don’t touch my stuff,” I grunted.

It was at this point I was practically in the hallway, so I continued to crawl down the new space directly towards what would hopefully be my immediate death. Sadly, It would’ve been, if I weren’t for three nurses, including one from earlier, standing in my way, “Where do you think you’re going?”

I chose to ignore them.

That appeared to be the only answer they needed, as I could feel a multitude of talons grabbing hold of me in different areas, and to slowly haul me upwards into the air.

I was not feeling comfortable.

Evidently, they all marched back toward my bed, and placed me gently on top, as to apparently not hurt my wellbeing. These actions were followed up by slowly sliding the milk coloured sheets over my apprehended body.

When I’m out of here, those griffons will pay for taking my own self-control from me, nobody ever does that, individualism and freedom are two of the most important aspects of society, and forcibly chosen to perform a certain action, no matter if the people think ‘it’s for your own good’ limits the options available to the individual, and thus, to an extent, free will.

I hate this society’s ethics.

By the time I had run that notion through my cerebrum, the nurses had already left the space, along with that being that was annoying me previously.

Unquestionably, I thought he had departed, but apparently, the creature just reappeared in the corner again, the same spot where he had appeared initially. He gave the impression of attempting to hold in a laugh, his chest was moving up and down at an abnormal rate, and he held a paw over his muzzle to cover his struggling expression.

My scowl fixed that issue for him.

“Oh, sorry,” he patted himself quickly, “I was just….thinking of a really funny joke! Wanna hear it?”

I honestly don’t have the patience to deal with this guy’s antics, “No.”

He visibly deflated, and crossed his arms, “For the first time in over 2000 years, I finally have the ability to talk to a human, something that I had been looking forward to for my entire life, and this is how I am treated? It’s disgraceful.”

In your opinion, it is, “What do you want?”

“What I want?” He placed a talon to his chest, “What I want, is to go with you. To get off this stupid planet and fly with the stars. To see what is essentially unseeable, and to experience something that I have never had the pleasure of attaining, to be overwhelmed with curiosity. I have already observed everything that this planet has to offer; I want something new, something that is completely untainted by the love of Celestia and her ponies.”

He floated there as if waiting for a response. However, this hopeful facade was instantaneously shattered as I reposed with a disconnected attitude, “No, that’s defiantly not going to happen.”

“Please! I beg you!” He shook his talons together and landed on the floor with a thump, tantamount to in prayer, his lip trembled like an earthquake.

I just raised a singular eyebrow, I was not expecting the situation to transform into something of this regard, in the end, nevertheless, my curiosity got the better of me, not to mention I was stuck in bed so there wasn’t much else I could do for the time being, and so, I sighed, "Why the fuck would you want something like that?”

The creature in question wiped his eyes of the surprising quantity of moisture, “For me to answer the question, I’m going to have to tell you a story. Now, around 2000 years ago when hu—“

“I’m going to have to stop you right there,” I interrupted him, “if this is going to be one of those stupid stories with a cheesy ending, I’m not intre—“

The being shook his head, “I guarantee you, it’s nothing of the sorts.”

I suppose I could withstand this story for a short period of time, but if it goes beyond five minutes, or this story contains any hugging or love bullshit, I will literally punch him in the face, or stab him, whichever one I feel is most appropriate at the time.

“Whatever,” I said.

The creature cleared his throat, “Alright then, around 2000 years ago when humans were experimenting on this planet, I wa—“

Name: Fevour 1267 or ‘Harmony.’
GPS Coordinate: 25° 16' 27.8364'' S 133° 46' 30.4716'' E
Time: 2979 AC

Two thousand years previously.

“Positions people, initiation of Experiment 144 will begin in one minute,” a white middle-aged women spoke into a microphone, it’s data transmitted to speakers throughout the facility, this allowed all personal concerning her area to hear the precautions.

“Dr Anderson,” She asked the man next to her, “have the preparations been completed?”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, “all animal species are located within the chamber.”

She observed at him, “Could you please update that list to contain a Visapin? I had the liberty of placing it in there with the others.”

The other scientist simply stared at her, “Are you crazy??! Why the fuck would you put a sapient creature with the other animals in the testing chamber??! I thought we both agreed on that anything that can literally speak, should not be tested on in hazardous situations!”

“Times change,” she shrugged, “besides, we don’t know if this is experiment is dangerous or not, so we can’t classify it as such, I’m standing within the required parameters, Dr.”

“You still can’t be serious!”

“Dr Anderson,” she scowled, “I'm doing this in the name of science, to better humanity, no experiment can ever go too far.”

The other man was speechless.

The unnamed lady leaned into the microphone, “Begin testing, set dark energy frequency parameters mentioned in stage one, fix amplitude at level two, increase by 0.05-metre intervals every two seconds.”

A small holographic projection appeared in the air in front of them, it detailing a light hue blue, presenting the aforementioned testing chamber clearly, and several different species of animals, along with a strangely shaped bipedal creature, were all strapped together using graphene constitute. Nothing would be able to escape for the time being.

The first few seconds, nothing seemed to happen, nothing changed, even the animals were quiet, there was absolutely no struggling, even from the bipedal Visapin, it was as though each individual creature knew that this would eventually be their ultimate demise.

However, as time went on, each creature expressed a clear amount of uncomfortableness, this uncomfortableness eventually transformed into pain, and the pain turned into agony. Each expression with the chamber was screaming. Skin, scales and fur appeared to have been merging together.

On the microscopic level, cells combined, DNA was damaged, and cancerous cells were literally sprouting from left and right, at this level, the animals within wouldn’t even last for three minutes longer.

The scientist leaned into the microphone once again, “Jump to level one-hundred meters in amplitude immediately.”

The other man in the room asked in a somewhat shaky voice, “Don’t you think you’ve gone far enough?”

“No,” she replied, “enough is never enough.”

This short but sweet vocalisation was followed by a blinding white light within the chamber, levels of screaming somehow increased tenfold, however, all of this somehow stopped in just two seconds. All noise within the camber suddenly…vanished. Without a trace to be seen. To the scientists viewing the hologram, the obvious conclusion was that they all probably died.

This idea was imminently put to a halt, however, when the light cleared. What stood in its place clear stumped both occupants.

“What the fuck is that!?”

“As it turns out,” the being in the corner of the room continued, “it was me.”

I just withheld an irritated expression, “How does this have anything to do with why you’d want to go to space?”

He just stated back, annoyed, “I’m getting to that.”

“What the fuck it that!?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Dr Anderson bewilderedly replied.

The lady pointed at him, “Your the biologist!”

“Well, I’ve never seen anything like that! How can you expect me to??!” He smacked his clipboard, “I don’t think there are any natural creatures out there that are comprised of multiple different body parts!”

This harsh conversation was immediately interrupted when the creature in the centre of the testing chamber, began to literally float off the ground, surrounding objects with the room, like the graphene restraints and metal cages, also started to levitate.

“What the fuck?!” The women shouted, and leaned into the microphone, “Shut it down! Turn off the dark energy output!”

She waited several seconds, still, the creature continued to float there, “Turn it off you idiots!”

Only this time, she received a response from a small speaker implanted into the wall, “Ma’am, we already have, it was turned off since the white flash. We’re sensing dark energy signatures coming from within the room.”

The room was imbedded by silence.

“Did we just create a creature that can use dark energy??!”

One hour Later

“Ma’am, we’ve been able to subdue the creature, and confine it into a cage with temporary anti-dark energy suppressers, we had to take them out of some our emergency protection plating.”

“That’s good to hear,” she replied, ”any other developments?”

“Ah, yes,” the unnamed man replied, “the creature seems to exhibit early signs of adolescent intelligence. Hypotheses have been thrown around that it’s actually sapient.”

This day just could not get even more surprising.

Disregard that last statement, because apparently, it can.

The water bowl given to the creature was transformed into carrots.

Three hours Later

“We’ve been forced to feed its food through some sort of liquid admission, the creature won’t accept solid foods.”

The women sarcastically replied, ”Why don’t you give it a bottle while you're at it?”

The scientist didn't understand sarcasm.

Fourteen days Later

“Ma’am, we've got a problem.”

She gazed at him, “Spit it out then!”

“Due to the increasing degree of whimpering from the creature, scientists studying it, have started to take it out of its cage to calm it.”

“What??!”

“And bottle feed it.”

“WHAT!!?”

“Now it’s been given stuffed animals.”

“WHAT??!”

“Did you fire the scientists?”

“I couldn’t, they are protected under PPR law.”

The female scientist simply stared, “…”

“And none of our agreement mentions any creatures incorporating dark energy, so technically, they’ve done nothing wrong in accordance with laboratory guidelines.”

Her stare turned into a glare.

“Also, did I mention that sometimes, some of the scientists let the thing run around their lab?”

She was literally gritting her teeth.

“With no dark energy suppressers.”

I literally can not describe her expression right now, but the best course of action would be to look away before things turned ugly.

Eight years Later

“Why is Discord playing your holographic phone? I thought we agreed that electronics are bad for adolescents,” a white breaded male with a lab coat said.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” a short brown-haired female scientist replied, “It’s an educational game, you know, teaching English and all that stuff,” she shrugged, “I think the positives outweigh the negatives in this regard.”

“Papa!” A small mismatched creature sitting on a dirty couch shouted, “What is ‘Cho-oc-laet’?”

The white breaded man rotated his head to look at the creature, “Stop calling me that, it’s Mr Hidrew, or John, not 'Papa',” his annoyed expression dissipated, “First, it’s pronounced ‘chocolate’, and it’s an unhealthy food with lots of unnecessary sugar.”

“Thanks!”

This happy atmosphere was quickly interrupted by a knock on the door, “I’ll be back,” Hidrew stated.

Once arriving at the entrance, he casually opened it, on the other side were two men, of which appeared quite important, in accordance to the way they looked, and the ranks located on their shoulders.

“Dr Hidrew, can we have a word?”

He did not have a good feeling.

Nonetheless, he still nodded.

“Follow us.”

Down the hallway, they travelled, and eventually, the three individuals arrived at a door, one man presented the side of his palm to a small screen on the side. This was accompanied by a beep, and green light, allowing the door to disappear, and for then men to walk through.

In the room were two other members, one said mentioned person, Dr Hidrew was instantly able to recognise, the lead scientist in charge of the entirety of the scientific endeavours on planet Harmony, while the other person, not so much.

He shook hands with them, and eventually, all sat down at their respective seats, noticeably, a bit further away from Dr Hidrew.

“Not a word from our conversation is to leave this room,” one person said, “are we clear?”

He nodded.

The aforementioned human leaned back in his chair, he clearly had contributed his part to the meeting.

“We have yet to alert the rest of the facilities,” the other person, the lead female researcher started, “but the scientific board has decided to initiate a new experiment, the biggest one yet.”

She leaned closer, “It encompasses an entire planet.”

John silently gasped at this prospect, nothing this big had ever been attempted.

“Thanks to your research with dark energy in living orgasms, we have been able to create several different animals that would be able to easily control it, all of which will be sapient.”

She licked her lips, “We want to examine how dark energy will impact societies and evolution. Hopefully, the information gathered will be able to determine if we should release the availability of dark energy biological fabricators for the public, and if not, what precautions we could possibly make.”

“Dr Hidrew, we want to release a couple thousand different dark energy compatible animals, made of a multitude of different species, onto this planet, and see what happens.”

John was confused, “But, how does this impact me?”

“It’s simple, your subject will be one of them.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You know, the creature you study? What do you call it…” She tapped her chin, “discord wasn’t it?”

“What? Why?!”

“It’s obvious you can’t gain any more data from it any longer, so we're going to dispose of it,” she leaned back in her chair, “But instead of placing it in the incinerator, the scientific board has decided the best source of action would be to see what impacts it could potentially cause on this planet. Call it…possible limitations of dark energy, if you will.”

John was speechless.

“It’s happening in three weeks, Dr Hidrew, pack your things because we’re also moving you to the manipulation of DNA with dark energy sector, on the planet Umen 67.”

“We’re picking up the subject in one minute, Dr Hidrew, make sure you have all preparations ready for departure,” a speaker located in the lab vocalised.

John and his scientific companion were squatting down next to a small portable cage, which had numerous dark energy suppresses located within. The creature in question, the subject, was the mismatched creature of different parts, Discord.

“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine,” John sniffled, “Just remember what we told you in the last few weeks.”

He whipped his nose wit the back of his hand, “Here, I wanted to give you something.”

Dr Hidrew's right appendage opened to present a tiny, copper coin. John was a coin collecting enthusiast, he loved collecting all types of currency before the transaction era, of which all money was transformed into being withheld on electronic devices.

The small piece John gave to Discord was one of his most prized collection, a year 2000 American penny, a clear picture of Abraham Lincoln was located on the back.

“Take this,” he put his hands through the bars and presented it to Discord, slowly, with tear strained eyes, the mismatched creature took his talon and grabbed the coin shown.

Discord flipped it over, gazing woefully at both sides, his eyes landed on the phrase imposed on the back, although difficult to read, it said, ‘In God we trust.’

The door leading to the laboratory opened, marching could be herd.

“I want you to protect that, to remember us.”

Steps grew closer.

“When you can.”

Several people stopped beside the cage, preparing to lift it up.

“I want you to find us.”

“Annnnnd, there you go,” the self-referred being known as ‘Discord’ stated, he wiped growing tears from his eyes, “You know, I had made one, singular promise, and I ended up breaking that,” his expression turned into one of anger, “Celestia took that coin off me the first time she put me to prison, I haven’t seen it since.”

“It’s an…enlightening story,” I indicated.

“So…” Discord’s expression gained one of hope again, “What do you say?”

His story is in check, all the names he used of institutions was correct. Even for the description on this particular planet, it also did mention Dr Hidrew as one of the main scientific contributors...

Though, I honestly don’t want to. I would have to fill out countless forms, and documents in order for him to even gain a one week visa. It would be even more notoriously difficult to actually make him a citizen.

But at the same time…I don’t know. I can feel a tugging sensation, it just repeatedly says ‘Help him’.

But here’s the thing, I’m a lazy basted.

“I’ll see what I can do, but there are no guarantees.”

He clapped his claws together, and flew up to my face “Really??!”

“Just don’t annoy me.”

He drifted away slowly and nodded repeatedly in an overly exaggerated matter, “Absolutely!”

However, his face shifted into an inquisitive state, “How’d I know if you'd be ready to take me?”

“You’ll know.”

He nodded again.

“Now go away.”

He disappeared in a flash.

Heh, I like telling people what to do, it’s exhilarating.

Wait a second... Did that Discord guy, just manipulate me with a sob story?

That cheeky little bastard.

A knock on the frame on the door threw me out of my thinking process, the disruptive nurse from the begging withheld a primitive two-wheel contraption. It looked like the kind of thing you’d strap to a dog that had lost its legs, or been paralysed so that they could move again.

Wait….

That’s for me, isn’t it?

Author's Note

I was honestly aiming for this chapter to be half the length of what it currently is.

Also, I apologise for the sappiness of this chapter. I didn't really like writing it, I much prefer the action ridden stuff.

So, be prepared for that, more action, I mean.

Chapter TwentyThree: Life-altering Developments

“Stay hungry, stay foolish.”
—Steve Jobs

“The future belongs to those who prepare for it today.”
—Malcolm X
——
Chapter TwentyThree: Life-altering Developments
——

[22nd of November, 989. 3:42pm]

Twilight Sparkle had come to a decision.

Not just any decision.

A life-changing decision.

Twilight may have realised that she is relativity nothing in comparison to the aspect of life and all of history, one such example of this propionate; is that Celestia, would just receive another student in years to proceed, the unicorn, however, was able to move past that in surprising succession. As a result of this slight ‘mind realisation’ along with her brother’s death within the past proceeding days, Twilight had discovered a brand new life dedication to put forth, of which involved two goals;

To avenge her brother and decapitation the pony responsible.

To be remembered throughout history

These are two very important discoveries for Twilight Sparkle, friends may not last forever, but words in the history books always will. Her desire is for her legacy to be rectified to the children of the future, to show just how much of an impactful, and important pony she really was.

Twilight did research on this, read books, and even performed an experiment. Her investigation entailed the most memorable ponies throughout history, by enquiring a series of different residents in Ponyville. The percentages shown were the areas of expertise most memorable by the populous in accordance with the most famous ponies involved.

Let's just say…the results were surprising, to say to least.

The result whereas shown:

2.3% Great Engineers
4.5% of Musicians/Artists
9.6% Great Scientists
83.6% Military Figures

The most memorable sector of historical figures, was to do with the military. Captain Hurricane was one of the most pronounced.

Twilight realised that her best chance of being remembered by the populous, and by Celestia for centuries to come, was to be a military leader. Something that is quite ironic, and fitting considering that it literally fits in perfectly with her other desire.

These whereof the reasons why Twilight Sparkle, Princess Celestia’s Protege, was sitting with her mentor. She, herself, was in the process of sipping tea, prepping herself for enquiring about the possibility of her dubious ambitions.

“So,” Princess Celestia took a tiny sip of her herbal concussion, “what brings you here, my dear student?”

The lilac unicorn shot her eyes downwards, “Ummm, Princess. I was wondering…could I possibly,” she swallowed a collection of saliva in her mouth, ”join the guard?”

There was a brief, yet awkward silence in the room of which lasted for several seconds, Celestia was forced to blink a few times just to make sense of that ridicules statement, she, however, eventually interrupted the strange atmosphere in exchange for a simple, yet intelligent reply, “…what?”

Despite the somewhat brief reply, Twilight took that answer as a ‘no’ and proceeded to move into a begging position, “Please Princess!” She shook her hooves together, “I beg you!”

Celestial was…confused, why would her student want to join something as hardcore, and disciplined as the army? Twilight had never expressed any interest in the military whatsoever, magic has always been her forte. It would’ve been understandable if she expressed the desire to create some sort of magical research institute for the guard. But not actually join it.

This is ridiculous, her student is much too innocent and naive to be joining something as important and disciplined as the military. She wouldn’t even last a week.

“I’m not going to lie and say I understand your ulterior motives,” the white Princess looked down on her Protege, “but perhaps you’d be better off continuing to learn about something far more important than anything to do with the military, friendship.”

“But what about the aggressive neighbouring countries?” Twilight berated, “Rising political tensions? Our weak military? And my brother? Are you saying that there is nothing I can do to help our endangered nation?”

The princess sighed, “It’s not that, Twilight. Our military is already in good hooves, there’s nothing to worry about, there’s nothing out there that we can’t handle.”

“But I want to do something! Anything!” Twilight flopped onto the group in a heap, covering her face with both hooves, and speaking in a muffled voice, “My brother has always tried to protect me, and now that he can’t anymore, I want to protect myself.”

She gazed nearly at her mentor’s wide eyes, “Is there nothing you can’t have me do? Anything?”

Celestia sighed once again, and leaned back into her chair, gulping down the rest of the lukewarm tea, “Do you really want to contribute?”

The purple pony nodded repeatedly, “Yes!”

Her student wasn’t obviously going to give up. Once she locks onto something, she never ever let's go. There are, however, still a few things Celestia has up her metaphorical sleeve so Twilight will maintain her innocence, and avoid any direct bloodshed.

“Alright,” the sun Princes placed down her cup on the neighbouring table, “How about you be an assistant to our current guard Captain? I’m sure that you could be of high use to him.”

Concentrated sunlight shone on Twilight today, she was overly enthusiastic. She was just about to jump up and hug her mentor, she, nevertheless, was interrupted by her mentor’s next statement.

“But only on one condition,” Twilight nodded once again, “you still need to live in Ponyville and make friends, I don’t want you to give up on your last assignment.”

Though the purple unicorn deflated, she was still happy to have a chance.

A chance to do what is right.

A successive, repeating sound reverberated down the hallway.

Click click click click click click click.

Two companions travelled down it, one by the name of Sergeant Atomic Discharge—a pony in appearance—, and the other, a general, normally referred to as General Garrison. The griffon in question shuffled through a series of papers located within his paw, and the pony casually strolled alongside him with her newly manufactured ‘wheels’. Her front hooves click-clacked along on the stone-hard floor, which in turn pulled along the rest of her body, where her back hooves were located in the questionable contraption.

I hate this.

Click click click click click click click

I hate this so much.

Not only is this thing extremely annoying with it’s repetitive ‘clicks’, but also makes me appear less independent, and much more vulnerable. I don’t want anyone to express that pity facade towards me, it’s like they actually care about my wellbeing.

On the bright side, at least I can move around without dragging my feet—hooves on the floor. Not only would that be much less efficient, but in addition, cause myself to somewhat appear like an idiot.

“As I was saying,” General Garrison decided it was in his best interest to interrupt my thoughts, “I want you to take a look at our latest innovation—I guarantee you, it’ll take your breath away.”

I highly doubt that.

“Of course,” he continued as he walked down the hallway, “It’s only a prototype, but the scientists have called it a ‘bombard’, which, believe me. Doesn’t express how magnificent, the weapon really is.”

Of course, a cannon. It really was inevitable that they’d invent it eventually.

Garrison quickly looked in my direction, “Hopefully you can provide anything that may hinder its overall design, we’re planning to use it if the current stratagem against the Griffon Empire doesn't proceed as anticipated.”

This last statement was accompanied by the push of a door by General Garrison, presenting a spacious room, a questionable object with a trap over it in the middle, various griffon ran in circles, few jotted down notes, while others carried various objects around the rooms, all, however, attempted to complete their own general assignments. Each were in a world of their own making.

Garrison walked over to the tarp, while at the same time, he motioned over to myself, “Follow me.”

Although there was without a doubt the object I was going to be presented with would be primitive in nature, I was still curious, nonetheless, of the kind of weapon these scientists were able to come up with, would it be bulky and large? Or slim and simple?

The general tapped a scientist jotting down on a clipboard on the shoulder, “I’m here with Atomic Discharge to present the new weapon.”

He nodded rapidly, and somehow, gathered almost all the scientists within the room into a single file around the object covered tarp, all of which had withheld their quill just above their various clipboards, ready to intake information.

“Alright,” one of the engineers grabbed an edge of the covering, “Here we go.”
This was followed by the removal of the tarp and the presentation of the cannon in the centre.

Let’s just say, I’m not impressed, I honestly expected something at least a little more advanced than this piece of shit in front of me, I can already see a bunch of different problems and defects. Not to mention the thing can’t even be aimed upwards. This would never be effective on the battlefield.

The weapon itself maintains a relatively tin barrel, the tube sat onto a wooden frame, and four stone wheels to allow for transportation. Not only does this appear as though it would blow upon use, but the thing was just so, inefficient.

“This is the ammunition,” an engineer pointed a small pile of gold spheres, “the idea is very similar to how your muskets work, gunpowder would be compressed in the barrel, and a ball located on top,” he patted the barrel, similar to how a father would place his hand on his son, “the only real difference between yours is that it’s is much bigger, and is fired by pressing a burning wick on a stick,” he pointed at the rear of the cannon, “in the hole over there.”

“At the moment we're looking for suggestions for the firing mechanism, and the transportation capacity,” he shrugged, “we’ve been struggling with both.”

“I can see why,” I pronounced.

The griffon frowned.

“Use two wooden wheels instead of four stone ones, that should increase the effectiveness of transportation, and would contribute to the ability to be able to aim.”

The scientist didn’t seem to enjoy my ‘suggestions’, perhaps he is too proud of his work? “That would mean it could be tipped over easily, we need at least four wheels to allow for more stability.”

This guy obviously isn’t going to listen to any of my suggestions, so instead of arguing with the griffon, I’m just going to continue and hope his fellow scientists actually have half a brain, “I’m also worried about the safety issues regarding this ‘bombard’, the recoil of it, along with the potential explosion very well may injure the operator,” I pointed toward the rear of the cannon, “You’d need some sort of timing mechanism to allow the everyone to gain at least some distance away from it.”

“That would mean the firing rate would go down considerably, it already takes too long to reload it,” his facade transformed into a smug expression, oh so I wish I could just wipe that off his face, ”adding those unnecessary measures will just hinder it’s ability even further.”

“These are just suggestions, you don’t have to follow them,” I narrowed my eyes at him, ”I, however, do want to remind you I have years of experience behind designing weapons, partially ones involving gunpowder, I am already aware of some of the problems involving it. Don't try to lecture me.”

The whole room was overacted with a shroud of silence, nobody moved, the only sound was the clacking of my hooves, and the click of the wheel contraption connected to me.

“Thank you for your presentation,” I grinned, “it was a pleasure.”

On the way out I preformed a mock bow and continued on my way.

It was only about after twenty-seconds I herd General Garrison trying to catch up to me.

I wish I could go to that battle that was likely going to occur in the next few days. Too bad I’m currently stuck here with no present communicator to contact my AI. I’m going to have to find some sort of an excuse to get out of this building.

Or desertion of my current military position.

I’m really starting to get pissed that most of these griffons think they can tell me what to do. Just the other day, one ordered me to make him a cup of tea, me of all things! How disgraceful!

Major General Shrewd Preparation is a lucky griffon. So lucky in fact, that many thought he was somehow blessed, by God. Or, was partially responsible for corruption; it’s defiantly one or the other.

After being humiliated by the defeat at the hands of the enemy in his last battle, Shrewd Preparation thought he was going to be pummelled for insubordination, and weaknesses. What he never did in his right mind think he was going to receive a pat on the back, a promotion, and a certificate that basically stated ‘well done.’

In the previous battle, after taking accord for all the griffons remaining, with 1600 troops dead, and rough estimates of the number of enemy casualties, the death count can be attributed to a 1 to 1.5 ratio. Which leant slightly in the Republic’s favour, despite the overwhelming defeat.

As worded by Preparation’s superiors, “If it wasn’t for you, the rest of our invading force could’ve been encircled, you held them long enough and reduced their organisation to such a degree, which provided the time necessary for the rest of our army to evacuate. Not to mention being able to save the 400 flintlock troops, you truly are an amazing General, for that, you have my thanks.”

There are, however, always downsides to every arrangement, though he was still able to retain the 400 flintlock troops from the previous battle, he was given an utterly inadequate army for the current invasion.

He was provided with an extra 4000 troops in addition to the 400 flintlock soldiers, to be placed under his command, admittedly, initially, he was excited by the prospect, who wouldn’t? But after actually seeing the army for himself, talking with the troops, and viewing the state of equipment, he was not impressed, at all.

All of them were brand new volunteers from the public, none had ever seen any military action in their entire lives, they were literally provided with a few hours of training experience, and the weapons....

He couldn’t even describe how enraged he was.

All of the muskets looked differently, some were short, some were long, some were heavy, while others were even prone to explode in the user’s face. Almost all were of the slightly older musket variant, matchlocks.

There was no standardisation; this army to Preparation’s suspicions, was merely a joke. In fact, the only useful and reliable section of his entire army was the flintlock troops. This was one of the many reasons he split up said mentioned section, promoted the griffons involved, and spread their experience as commanding soldiers throughout the army, to make as great of use of their prior involvements.

The only reason why Shrewd thinks the plan of directly attacking the capital will succeed is that another division of 2000 musket troops well experienced and trained, will be combining together to attack the capital. If he’s totally honest, he thinks his division will be no more then fodder.

To make matters worse, there’s a messenger that recently arrived ay his transpotation—the peculiar thing about this particular griffon is that his facade simply ‘screamed’ distress, Preparation would have to compose himself in front of what will obviously be bad news.

“Sir,” the messenger saluted, “the scouts have arrived with a tragic report.”

Shrewd slowly nodded.

The messenger swallowed what was clearly a lump in his throat, “The enemy…has been spotted.”

If the General was anticipating terrible news, why is he so surprised?

“They’re coming directly to our position,” he started to shake slightly, “by our estimates, we’re going encounter them before we are even able to gather reinforcements from the other division.”

There’s no way Major General Shrewd will be able to call off the planned invasion, his superiors would kick him out of the military, too much preparation has gone into this surprise attack, they would not be so willing to let it all go.

He’s just going to have to hope they are able to meet with the other division before they confront them, or else, he’s going to have to try a pull another ‘successful retreat’ straight out of his ass.

“Thank you,” he waved the messenger off, “please keep me updated on their exact position.”

The griffon that received this tidbit of information quickly nodded his head and flew from his chariot.

Preparation slightly hopes that this isn’t going to transform into another horrendous battle. At least the sun is batting down on his army today, not a single cloud in sight.

Again, hopefully, it will stay that way.

“And then I was like, WHAM!” A light blue pegasus bashed her hind hooves into the air and then twisted around, “POW!” And proceeded to punch several times on the opposite side of her.

The rainbow maned mare landed on the ground bashfully, and continued to puff up her chest accordingly, “No changeling never stood a chance!”

“Darling,” a white unicorn trotted along side her, “one of them almost stabbed you, not to mention you completely froze we herd those bangs, if it wasn’t for Twilight, you could’ve gotten really hurt.”

Rainbow attempted to hide her terrified expression by grumbling, and crossing her front legs over her chest as she lazily flew through the air. Of course, she was trying to mask her actual feelings by complimenting her attitude as a continuous amount of self-confidence.

“I just hope we can catch that brute Discord,” she looked around her surroundings, “Hopefully we can intercept him before he does anything too drastic.”

“When I find him,” Rainbow started, “I’m going to shove the elements up his ass so hard that he turns into obsidian, in the air!”

Rarity just rolled her eyes, ”You do realise that obsidian is brittle and can be shattered easily, right?”

“Phfffft!” She rolled her eyes, “and how exactly would you know something like that?”

“I’ve used it on several dresses, it really makes the,” she paused for a second, “colours pop out!”

“Sure, whatever.”

It was at this point each occupant walked past a poster on the street, of which stated, “The guard needs YOU!”

“What with those posters anyway?” The blue pegasus then proceeded to fly up to the piece of paper in question and tear it off, “I’ve never seen the guard try to promote volunteers, though... it would be pretty awesome to show off my amazing tricks!”

“I’m sure they’re just doing it to avoid another Canterlot incident,” Rarity shrugged, “I doubt we’d really need them again, but, we can never be too cautious.”

Rarity raised an eyebrow, “Are you going to join them?”

“Meh,” Rainbow shrugged, “I’d rather join the wonderbolts instead.”

Rarity simply smirked.

“Where’d Twi go off to anyway?” Rainbow suddenly inquired, “I haven’t seen her for a while, I was wonden’ where she went off to.”

“Something about seeing the Princess,” Rarity shrugged, “but either than that, I’m not sure.”

Rainbow rolled her eyes, “of course she is.”

Character Sheet:

Author's Note

This chapter definitely isn't one week late

Definitely

You can trust me, I never lie.

(I'll still have the next chapter done next weekend + a few days)

By the way, the 'bombard' looked slimmer to this ↓ except with a slimmer barrel, and stone wheels.

Chapter TwentyFive: White and Red

“Sleep is for the weak”
—A random person online.

——
Chapter Twenty Five: White and Red.
——

The sounds of metal clatter, hoof stomps and obscene battle sounds echoed all throughout the courtyard, hundreds of ponies dressed in gloriously dark blue amour, with a beautiful crisp crescent moon, trained in preparation for combat, all under the amazingly cool stars twinkling throughout the night. Some ponies used wooden swords to hit at dummies, others shot arrows at targets, and some were wrestling each other in what's known as ‘one on one’ combat.

The smaller, but yet, stronger mindful capacity of the blue alicorn, Princess Luna, stood to the side of one of the small circular arenas of duel combat. She too, joined in with the recruits, she participated by yelling all sorts of dangerously scummy langue, something that clearly, no princess should really have ought to say.

“Stab him, Cinnamon!” The princess pestered, “knock that bitch down!”

The current conflict was between two ponies, one new recruit named Cinnamon, while the other, a reasonably well-known veteran that had previously been with the Day guard but left due to personal reasons. She had won almost every duel, only now, the current participate was situated an adequate fight.

They took one swing after the other, dodging, ducking, swishing, jumping—it honestly gave the impression of one big chaotic mess. This all, however, preposterously ended when Cinnamon was able to nick the brunt of the sharpless sword onto the combatant’s leg. Which caused her to lose her balance, and allow Cinnamon to hold the vetrain into a deadlock.

Luna was happy with this turn of events.

“Hazaah!” She shouted.

The Princess turned towards one of her adjacent commanding officers, “You oweth me 10 bits,” she held out her hoof, and gestured towards herself, “pay up.”

The clatter of jingling bits was accompanied by a low groan as the officer in question provided the Night Princess with the requested amount of coins.

Of course, the Blue alicorn didn’t need the money, she had an entire treasury at her disposal, but that didn’t stop the fun with bets. She had been slowly gaining quite a hefty amount of bits in her personal chest; she was planning on using it to buy all the officers drinks at some stage. If she utilized the Royal treasury for something like that, she may be called out by the public for corruption. So, it was honestly best to just take the safest route when it came to something like this.

It was at this moment that Princess Celestia, a diarch of Equestria, and ruler of the sun, stepped into the courtyard.

Everything ingeniously fell silent, ponies rattled in their iron armour as her withering gaze cast over almost every individual. In her mindset, she believed her sister’s way of training and selection of troops was less than satisfactory, that is of course; only her opinion. Celestia is aware that her sister is an excellent tactician, and planner, she’s just not into...the management side of things. She has basically has no clue on how to handle taxes, location of resources, and just the crucial ‘know-how’ for organisational purposes.

But this isn't why the Ruler of the Sun decided to fly all the way to the outside of Canterlot, no, not to educate her sister of the absolutely of professionalism and how to administer her side of the smaller military.

Instead, to inform her of the current developments that involved a very special kind of weapon, and most ambiguous, to enquire some important questions that Celestia has had the desire to ask for the last couple of days. However, her sister, during these crucial moments in time, just so happened, was never around.

It was almost like she was purposely dodging her.

When the White diarch’s eyes locked onto Princess in question, Luna simply stared back, and slowly backed away. Her own blue pupils darted in random directions, her muzzle, a smile—of what most would refer to as—strangely suspicious.

She marched purposefully up to her target, her hooves, almost literally tearing the ground, this mare was clearly on a mission, a mission that would cut through any opponents like butter on a stick.

“H-hey so-sist-ter,” Princess Luna stuttered, “H-ow art thee going this fine morning?”

The Multicoloured rainbow alicorn halted directly in front of the Blue princess.

You’re trapped.

“We need to talk,” she wordlessly pronounced, “Come with me.”

The now trembling sister quickly-paced after her, they stopped roughly one-hundred metres away from the training grounds.

Celestia didn’t want this conversation to last too long, and so, she was straight to the absolute point.

“Where were you?”

Luna’s eyes darted in seemingly random directions, “I-I’m not s-sure I exactly follow.”

“The wedding.”

The blue alicorn faked a gasp, “Th-there was a-a wedding?!”

Celestia just narrowed her eyes, “the one you clearly received an invitation to.”

The ruler of the night weakly smiled, “I-I didn’t receive any notifications about this.”

Celestia’s eyes were now at the point of piercing, “We talked about it at dinner.”

She smiled innocently.

“On multiple occasions.”

“Arlight!” Princess Luna admitted, “I don’t know Cadence much so I thought it would be awkward for me to go there, happy?”

She was not satisfied, her eyes may as well of have been cutting through metal at this point.

“Ok! Ok!” She confessed, “I may have had, one too many drinks.”

There was a pause.

“Ok! Fine, maybe three or…....twenty too many.”

Another pause.

“I was passed out drunk ok! Are thee happy with mine confession now?”

Celestia was.

“You could’ve been extremely valuable to the defence of our nation, your military could’ve extremely beneficial to our city during that point in time, and yet, they didn’t do anything because the orders had to come directly from you!” She accused.

“To prevent anything like this happening in the future, I’m introducing a new law that allows me to command your military if I so choose it.”

“WHAT!” Luna screeched, but after witnessing her sister’s facade, she quickly cut her loses, and submitted, “....I’m sorry.”

Celestia nodded with satisfaction,“now that is over and done with, I’d quickly like to inform you of ne-”

The Night Princess was taken by surprise, “Wait, wait, wait. I’m off the hook, just like that?”

“What did you expect?” Celestia started, “for me to strip away your title? No, I can’t do that, we rule together, I just wanted to scowl you; as your older sister. I don’t want you to do something that stupid again,” she pursed her lips, “plus it ruins the royal image.”

Princess Luna seemed generally happy about this new occurrence.

“As I was saying,” Celestia repeated, “I’d quickly like to update you on those ‘boomsticks’ we have recovered, new designs and weapon models are being created as we speak, it’s important we quickly adapt them into eac-”

Princess Luna waved her off, “Celestia, thee knoweth I despise those unhonourable weapons, I refused to let my soldiers hold those horrible abominations.”

“Yes, but what if you ran a trial wi-”

“Absolutely not,” she humphed, “I’m not even going to touch them.”

“Pleas-”

“No”

“Pretty please”

“Not going to happen.”

“With a cherry on top.”

“I don’t like cherries.”

Celestria thought for a few valuable seconds to come up with another ingenious way of asking her sister the impossible, that is, until she found a yet another response, “for your sister?”

Luna looked her in the eyes, “No.”

“What about…” The white princes had a devilish appearance in her eyes, “if I don’t pass that bill, that would allow me to take full control of your military?”

Luna raised an eyebrow.

“You and I both know the general populous and the nobles would support this,” Celestia continued, “you still have a lack of trust due to certain circumstances,” Luna winced, “so I’d like to propose a deal.”

She stiffened up, “I won’t propose it; the only condition is that you at least, trial run, the weapons in your military.”

“That’s dirty.”

“I am aware of that.”

The ruler of the night sighed, and paused for over what seemed like over a minute, until she finally resonated, “...Fine.”

“Though, you’re not going to receive them for a long while, “ Celestia continued, “nopony has any idea what the ammunition is made of, I’m planning on sending a diplomatic embassy over to the Griffon Republic, and set up some sort of a trade deal.”

Luna gazed at the ground and smiled at herself, slightly fortunate at that last prospect...

Celestia’s eyes narrowed, “I saw that.”

Major General Shrewd Preparation was having a very good day.

Ever since the conclusion of the previous conflict, the griffon had wistanded high spirits, despite the results of the conflict being nearly inakadate (and a large amount of men dead), the fact the Griffon Empire is closing on its defeat, is more than enough to make up for it.

The journey through the reality smooth terrain, with basically no rainfall, and sunny days have given Preparation the impression that it’s relatively smooth sailing from here on out.

Well, that’s what he hopes regardless.

It’s basically imropabe to predict that the Empire’s army has all but given up, it’s like they're going to have another encounter. One does not simply ‘let down his sword and allow the enemy to slice off their head.’

No, that’s not how it works.

Everyone knows that every war always ends up in a bang, a swoosh, if you will. The enemy will fight with every fiber of their being, and refuse to surrender to protect their undying loyalty, bravery, and honor to the nation they serve, so that their services, will always be regarded with respect and compassion.

This is going to prove a certain problem for his remaining army, just over 65% of soldiers have been lost to the winds of the enemy, and the remaining, suffer from the aftereffects of enduring a cold battle, and the notion that they just took the life of another person.

His army is going to be a liability.

The only possible thing he could do is rely on the other professionally experienced and trained division escorting him, that they will have the endurance to be able to withstand what comes. Although it is definitely likely the remaining resistance will be nonexistent, it’s always important to keep your mind open, just in case events take a turn for the worst, or some sort of surprising development unfolds.

(Since you're all aware of Preparations absolutely amazing streak of good luck, I’m sure you can guess what is going to exactly happen.)

It was at this particular moment, murmurers of fear and credibility started to expostulate around him, gossip and rumours spread like a wildfire burning through a dry bush.

Shewerd was able to discover some of these inconsistent murmurings around him, they were somewhere along the lines of;

“The enemy was spotted.”

Of course, Preparation was silently judging this new ideal, for one; he would’ve been notified immediately, and secondly; not even two days ago did the last battle occur. There was very little chance that the Empire would’ve been able to get their shit together that quickly, and reorganise their military.

Nonetheless, this doesn’t stop him from flying fifty metres or so over to the other division commander, and enquiring such a matter.

Shrewd was metally preparing himself for the standard line, ‘Don’t listen to rumours expressed by the troops; it’s usually false.’ What surprised him, however, was that the commander simply screwed his face in disgust, and vocalised the impossible.

“I’m not entirely sure,” he started, “a scout has claimed that he has spotted about two thousand enemy soldiers heading in our direction, we’re not sure if he’s lying, or is experiencing some mental issues, so we’re confirming it now with other soldiers.”

This was honestly...quite surprising for Preparation on his part, to him, if a scout was to report something similar to this, no matter how unlikely, or false the scenario maybe, he’d still prepare for the worst. Even with the current situation.

Shrewd had no idea why the commander is even confirming this; he should immediately begin preparing some sort our defence and reorganizing his army.

Of course, at the time, he failed to grasp the true meaning of the commander's actual hesitance.

“Why don’t we do some preparation?” Shrewd enquired, “We can never be too careful.”

The commander hesitated, “....It’s not that,” he paused for a few moments to collect his bearings, “We’re not even entirely sure how to format a strategy.”

“And why’s that?”

“We don’t know how to counter muskets.”

“So, you all think your all Wonderbolt material, don’t cha?”

A blue suited fire manned pegasus slowly trotted down a preposterous line of wonderbolt volunteers. Each individual was practically shaking to their very core, all had the ultimate desire to join the contrapious, loyal, and professional section of the Equestrian military.

Very few were able to get into the program, so it’s honestly not such a big surprise that most had the thought process they’d fail miserably.

What they didn’t know was that the minimum requirements for joining had been lowered ever since the Princess stated their intention for military reorganization, and distribution of Equestria’s forces has been submitted.

The yellow and orange mane pegasus known as ‘Spitfire’, suddenly stopped in front of one of the partially violently shaking recruits, flipped her head his direction, and bore her eyes into the very soul of that being.

Originally, he twitched, but after a few very short seconds, immediately tensed up, and stood relativity still.

Spitfire began the walking cycle once again, and let out a disappointed sigh.

With the new prerequisites lowered, she practically has to accept 70% of the applicants, something that was clearly, not spitfire's taste. In her opinion, is being transformed from pristine and professional, into a downgraded, no good, piece of shit.

But those are the way things are; she’ll have to deal with them.

Spitfire yet again decided to come to a halt directly before another pegasus; a blue and rainbow maned one to be exact, only this time, she didn’t stop in front of a pathetic little wimp. Instead, due to a certain characteristic; one she had seen way too many times to count.

Overconfidence.

Of course, this would usually lead to the applicants eventual denile, however, due to the previously mentioned circumstances, that’s no longer a viable reason to kick someone out.

This just makes her unknowably hate the pegasus in front of her to an even larger degree.

“You think you’re good enough?” She poked her in the chest with disdain, “Huh?”

Spitfire didn’t even provide the unknown Rainbow mare enough time to formulate a response, after she quickly walked off, it appeared as though the pegasus definitely had the desire to say something in response.

“To me, ALL OF YOU LOOK LIKE A PIECE OF SHIT JUST SERVED HOT FROM A DOG’S ASS!” She gritted her teeth in frustration, “To me, EVERYPONY HERE IS A PATHETIC SHRIMP WHO SHOULD SHOVE A SPATULA IN WHERE THE SHINE DON’T SHINE!”

After a brief pause and several seconds of catching her breath, she continued to stare angrily at all of the applicants.

Spitfire proceeded to growl under her breath incomprehensibly, “But I’m going to have to hire most of them anyway.”

What’s more, those who pass will immediately join the wonderbot team, not reserves, but actual, qualified, wonderbolts.

Something that used to be considered a great accomplishment.

“YOU ALL THINK YOUR ELITE FLYERS!??” She received a mix of confident and pathetic agreements in return, Spitfire recapitulated, “SO THEN!” She gestured to the shy, “SHOW ME WHAT YOU GOT!”

She exaggeratedly pointed to a flagpole on the outskirts of the training area, “EVERYPONY! 500 LAPS! NOW!”

At the conclusion of the training session, thirty-two of the total forty applicants earned a rank into the wonderbolt academy.

The Rainbow one was included.

A single unicorn, pink coated in nature, sat shuffling through various documents, and papers at his desk. The room of which this stallion was located in was his own predetermined study, the biggest, and most luxurious of its kind. Several various instruments were scattered across this wooden table, protractors, rulers—all of which were golden in colour— candles positioned across the room lit up various darkened spots, all where supported by amazingly prestige instruments.

Despite all of this, the space was, in all respects, quite dark. The only thing in the entirely of the room that seemed to stand out, was the unicorn himself, his pink fur, and brown hair stood seemingly out of nowhere. It just didn’t feel…right.

A stallion of this feminine intensity shouldn’t even be sitting in such an honourable, and challenging position—the Captain of the Guard.

The only reason he was even up this high on the ladder was due to his mazing social standing, reputation, and his ability to organise. Ask him to complete documents, or transport goods from one space to another; was his speciality. His cutie mark, after all, was literally a wooden crate on a transportation cart.

Relatively recently—just after being promoted—he had a little ‘attendance’ with Princess Celestia. In this particular meeting, he had been given exclusive permission to start a mass propaganda campaign, and, to be the head organiser for the manufacturing, and allocation of the new ‘boom-sticks’ in production.

He’s already placed the foundation for the propaganda operation—several thousand posters encouraging Ponies to join the military—but this is just the beginning, he plans to demonstrate great speeches from him, and the princesses alike, and furthermore, teach the honourability, and astonishment of joining the military to foals at a young age.

Just from the posters alone, volunteers had practically increased ten fold, each precipitant poster outshine in premature beauty, they glorified the Equestrian guard as a fun—adventurous, romantic, exciting—and presented a large amount of undefined nationalism towards each individual. It sucks how advertisements always have a catch, there is always a risk involved.

This one just happened to include death.

At a certain point in time, of which the pink unicorn was signing a series of documents to prefix a small military course within the education system. That a lilac unicorn withholding—in her magic—a delicious cup of steaming tea, slowly trotted into the study. Her uneasy smile seemingly echoing through the study.

“Here you go sir,” the purple unicorn professionally informed, “Your tea.”

The stallion disgruntledly turned his head to peer at the cup in question, he picked it up in one motion, and took a single whiff of the vapours leaking from its surface. A special blend of herbs and spices specifically manufactured to give a sweet, but spicy smell and taste.

Despite being aware of how the beverage will taste, he still set down the drink in revulsion.

“It’s too cold, make me another one.”

The only reason he did this was to keep his pesky little assistant known as Twilight Sparkle out of his office, he clearly didn’t want to deal with her shenanigans. Especially since she consistently fires enquiries at him left, right and centre. The pink unicorn had the desire to continue with his work, not answer a bunch of school filly questions.

The lilac unicorn’s face scrunched with un-impression, this was the second time he’s distinctly refused her cup of tea.

“I’d appreciate it if you said the magic word,” she said.

The stallion exaggeratedly rolled his eyes, “Please?”

Of course, Twilight wasn’t going to get him another cup of tea, she had, up until this point; dealt with his shit, but now, she has had well and truly enough of his deception.

If she actually wanted to be included in any of his matter whatsoever, she’ll have to develop some sort of sense of wisdom in the ways of battle. The Captain would much appreciate any assistance that truly had the knowledge to be useful in his department, or else, she’s nothing more than a maid or secretary to him.

No, Twilight will have to go down to the library and study on the art of war.

Perhaps, then, she’ll be noticed.

That night, Sparkle didn’t get even one wink of sleep, the only thought that sufficiently processed through her mindset was ground tactics, and military manoeuvres.

Ugh

I’m so bored.

I was sitting at my desk with my right hoof lanced onto my cheek, casually expressing the deep, unyielding blandness of my situation, furthermore, informally fidgeting with a quill in the other hoof.

A commision by Embroidered Equations, you find the Deviant Art page here: https://www.deviantart.com/embroideredequations

Lately, the Griffon Republic has been depending on me less, and less. It’s practically at the point where they think every ounce of information has been squeezed out of me, and as a result, don’t assign me any functions (mundane ones anyway), in addition, they have been slowly withering away my authority. I used to have an entire team of subordinates (about five) at my disposal, I could tell them to do this, or command them to do that.

But not anymore.

I think at this stage, they are just keeping me here as a formality. It would look pretty bad if they were to throw out the individual that literally gave them technological weapons, and provided the renewed vigour of war.

Many Griffons have been starting to give me the, ‘I’m watching you look.’ Honestly, some probably haven’t skipped over the possibility that I’m a spy of the Equestrian Government, I am a pony after all.

It’s also in likelihood that the Griffons don’t want to sustainably rely on a pony of all people, to ruin their tradition, loyalty, and patriotic ideals. The government feasibly already sustains a tarnished reputation that an outsider had to come save them. Not to mention ponies aren’t liked very much over here. This only escalated when the Equestrian Diarchy sent over that ‘volunteer group’, many citizens of this country already think they’re an enemy of the state.

And thus, this leads me to here.

Sitting on a desk, with absolutely nothing to do.

Particularly after last time (when I casually dropped into the Canterlot Wedding), the Republican Government has posted ‘bodyguards’ around me at all times. They assured me, ‘it’s for my own safety', but I highly disagree, I mean, why else would they consistently refuse me entry or exit to certain parts of this building? It honestly feels like I’m trapped in a cardboard box. Disgraceful.

It’s as though they don’t appreciate me anymore, that they think I’m completely useless.

I’ll tell you what; It’s definitely not a good feeling to withhold.

You know what? I’m sick of this bullshit. Sick of all everything, sick of the way ‘superior’ officers treat me, sick of the never ending ungratefulness, and sick of telling me the way to think, feel and act!

Fine. They don’t want my help? Then they can face a whole new challenge, I’ll expose them to weapons that make muskets look like sticks from the stone age.

After all, the saying goes, ‘treat people how you want to be treated.’

I’m only returning the favour.

With that relativity simple conclusion, I stood up from my wooden seat and headed for the door.

…Only to stop midway as I spotted myself in the mirror across the room.

It was just…so, unlike me.

The official blue uniform of the Griffon Republican military was sewn on my figure, each corner, curve, and button gave the impression of patriotism, and glory. I used to feel almost proud of wearing this stupid piece of clothing, but all I endure now, is the overwhelming taste of distain.

I ripped it off.

If you’d really think I’d be that stupid to go naked around town, then I hope you stop, and rethink of your life choices.

My previous garments that I brought here; from Earth, are still located in the closet. I quickly shuffled into the them, and continued the path to glory.

Honestly, this new decision made me kind of excited.

A diabolical grin set over my muzzle.

——

Two griffon guards stood side by side, they scanned the hallway with worn out and weary eyes. Their particular job was to ensure that all of the People that Traversed down this particular hall, is to always have a security pass to do so, all the people who walk down these hallways are obliged to always reveal their ID. Even if they were as important as the President.

Not to mention that some, particular individuals aren’t allowed to travel within the building without some sort of escort.

Speaking of which, said pony was currently walking down the hall towards them, and most notably, without any sort of ‘minder’. It was impossible to mistake her for someone else, especially with those soul bending eyes of hers.

“Halt!” One exclaimed, “Immediately present your ID!”

You’d be surprised the number of times this stupid pony has attempted to get past them without an escort, it infuriated both of them, to say the least.

The mare’s eyes seemed to bore straight into them for a few undetermined seconds, in spite of this, it quickly ended before either of them could grasp its true meaning. She quietly stopped a metre in front of them, rummaged through her pristine saddlebag, and hoofed her own identification to the right guard.

The soldier only needed to perform a quick inspection to determine that it’s not counterfeited.

But that still doesn’t answer why she is completely unattended.

The griffon gave back her recognition.

“Atomic Discharge,” he scowled, “We both know you require an escort to travel around this building,” he pointed at her, “please return to your office and fetch one immediately.”

But she just shrugged, and kept on walking.

The guards transfigured their muskets before the doorway in the appearance on an impaired X, terminating any further movement from the pony in question.

“Ms Discharge,” he started, “Please go back to your office, this is not a suggestion but an ord—“

It really did suck he never got to finish that sentence.

The white-coated pony launched oneself by propelling her legs forward, and pointed her own specially manufactured musket at him, in combination of the momentum, velocity, and the sharpened bayonet, allowed the fatal weapon to pierce straight through his skull, and for the crimson coated blade to drive straight through its back.

Blood and skull fractures exploded in a semi-fluid direction, causing said thick liquid to paint the wall with a natural splotch of red.

Her pinprick pupils and craze induced smile appeared to have stamped over the dead griffon's soul, forever embedding that last image into the mind of the dead spirit, it was the last face he saw before his painful death.

The other guard simply stood stock still, utterly surprised by the dramatic turn of events, not only did one of his best friends get murdered, but by the Republican saviour nonetheless.

After the demon violently thrust the bayonet from the dead body, her head slowly rotated to point at her potential new victim, her large expressive eyes seemingly engulfing his entire being.

To say the least, it scared the absolute shit out of him.

And so, he did the only thing a prey would do when confronted by a predator.

Get the absolute fuck out of there.

The remaining soldier's body immediately began to mass-produce adrenaline, and in consequence, swiftly began to sprint in the complete opposite direction. In this drug-induced scenario, he failed to notice the relatively loud clip-clops following behind him. Roughly halfway down the hall, the guard in question, quickly rotated his head behind him, to check the oblivious location of the demented mare.

Only to turn into the eyes of the demon herself.

She was less than half a metre away.

This small action of revolving his head around denoted a decreased value of momentum, and thus, reduced velocity, allowing the pony to launch oneself from the ground, and sail through the air with the bayonet pointed onwards.

The bayonet’s momentum and direction caused it to embedded itself into the venerable spine of the retreating griffin, the unquestionable impact disputed the skin, allowing blood to spray into the already splotched blade.

The griffon was speared like a delicious succulent kabab.

The crazed earth pony’s grin continued to grow larger and larger, as she shanked the blade further into the luxuriously slick fur, blood pooled at the heels, and caked the feathers.

The guard’s last dying breaths accompanied by a solid drop to the floor, and the release of the musket in claw, in reverberation, both beings crashed into the ground with a large THUMP.

Atomic Discharge ferociously twisted, and tugged the blade from the deceased body. Slightly withering in its natural beauty. A quick check on her own physic, concluded that crimson life fluid had suck to several places along her coat, staining the clean white, into an almost defying dark cherry.

“That was fun,” she hauled herself to her hooves, “I should do this more often, “Atomic wiped her bloodied appendages onto the side of her coat, smearing it.

She rotated her head to look at the now open doorway, which of course, lead to another hallway. There were still a few guard patrols to ‘take care of’ before she would have her freedom.

But that just meant there would be more fun.

Let’s just say the smile reached her ears.

Atomic Discharge had made a necklace, in her honest opinion, is a really nice ornament too. Others, however, would disagree.

From one of the dead griffons, she was able to scavenge a shoelace of reasonable size, not to let a convenience go to waste. Atomic started to thread a single eyeball from every griffon she slaughtered. Of course, the eyes were literally massive, so it ended up being a pain in the ass to carry around.

It was at this point all signs of white had completely vanished on the demonic pony, all that remained was the piecing crimson pupils.

It was terrifying.

It was also funny that basically no guards within this parliament building had muskets. They were, after all, focused on the western front, where obviously, all the major battles were occurring.

Something that she’s clearly wish she saw.

Speaking of which, Atomic wondered, where were the guards at this next point? Why is it completely empty?

After finally trotting through a few more doorways—completely absent of any life—she finally found the reason why.

A moderate gathering of griffons—around twenty in total—stood around 40 metres in a semicircle around the large entrance to the parliamentary building. Their weapons—a mix of swords and matchlock muskets—directed unwavering at Atomic Discharge.

Some, however, stood stock still, and many almost prematurely dropped their weapons in sheer fright.

The horrendous monstrosity, was literally dripped blood, and wore a terrifying penitent of huge eyeballs around her neck. They could even smell the horrible stench from their studious position.

“Halt! Put your hooves up,” a griffon yelled, “and surrender your weapon immediately!”

Atomic Discharge simply flashed an innocent smile, sedulity blinked her eyelids. Her saucer didn’t fail to stop as she continued to slowly approach the group.

The same being from earlier decided to continue his advance notice, “This is your last warning! Surrender immediately or handle the consequences!”

She licked her lips, whipped the dyed blood that had collected around her muzzle. Her advance slowly began to speed up.

The speaker from previously was flabbergasted, every griffon was, honestly. They’d never come to expect that their technical saviour is now an enemy of the state, and so, he hesitated to give his next order.

“Ready!”

Atomic Discharge knew what those words meant—she’s herd it dozens of times already—and so, her slow trot, turned into a full-blown sprint, meanwhile maintaining an oversized grin.

“Aim!”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle with anticipation, like a predator, ready for the kill. Those who could potentially be victimised, pretty much shat their pants.

“FIRE!”

Roughly seven matchlock muskets expelled a small gold projectile at their running target. Two of which—due to the lack of distance—easily hit their mark.

But that didn’t seem to stop her.

Skin, blood, and bone fractures scattered as the bullets embedded themselves into flesh. This loss of momentum caused her to trip over her own hooves and fall onto the ground in a heap. Normally when a person encounters this sort of ideal, they wither in on the ground in pain.

Instead, this mare sustained a continuous grin as she partly fell on the dirt—she had only lost half of her footing.

Despite this, she still persisted with moving forward, one leg, dragging on the floor behind her.

It was obvious at this point nobody knew what exactly to do; most were confident that she’d die within the first volley.

Lucky, however, the bullets resulted in Atomic being injured, which in turn, caused a dysfunctional muscle system, and slower motion.

Allowing the griffons to quickly wedge in another round.

“FIRE!”

Bo~! BOOM!

Vital fluid and gore spat in distinction to Atomic Discharge, chunks of flesh discarded from the body in serious confiscation. Her already damaged right leg crumbled under the already crippling pressure, bent backwards at 60 degrees. Inspiring her entire body to lead towards her right side, and a thick trail of crimson to spread on the ground below.

It was obvious that another folly wasn’t possible—she was simply too darn close—and so, the griffon persisted with pointing their bayonets and swords in her general direction.

Despite Atomic Still attempting to walk towards them, could help but gently slow down—due to the loss of blood—until she came to a complete stop, directly in front of a griffon, and fell over in a shedding heap.

Notwithstanding, her creepy smile never dissipated, forever embedded on her oblivious facade.

In a room, hundreds of kilometres away…

Nitrogen gas escaped a confided cylinder chamber, spreading over the metallic floor similar to a smoke machine. Evidently, it cleared, presenting a new manufactured, and pristine white earth pony. Not a speck of dirt, mud or blood was smeared along her coat.

Her perfect saddest grin, and contented attitude would’ve put off anyone else if they were located within the futuristic room.

“Finally!” The pony known as ‘Atomic Discharge’ kissed the floor multiple times, “I’m finally back!” She pumped her hooves into the air, “Wooohooo!”

Atomic patted herself and straightened her back “AI!”

“Yes, Jack?”

She smiled, “Please get the robotic fabricator prepared, I’m ready to receive some much-deserved equipment.”

Author's Note

100k Words!

Hopefully, this 'larger than normal' chapter will make up for my lack of updates.

Also the link I posted may or may not contain spoilers.

Also, here is the artist's link if you didn't see it underneath Atomic Discharge's image: https://www.deviantart.com/embroideredequations

Chapter TwentySix: Gunning up a hill.

“Please stop running over the natives.”
—The Spiffing Brit

——
Chapter Twenty Six: Gunning up a hill.
——

[1st of December, 989. 10:29am]

Four non-commissioned officers stood wavering around a single circular table, within a tent. Their objective was, to formulate a strategy that they’ve never had the pleasure of facing before. The conflict approaching will be the first of its kind, and moreover, it’s likely it won’t ever be the last. Their decisions at this very table may shape the tactics with this sort of situation, for future events.

“Okay,” one of the Commanding Officers took a long swig off a nearby alcoholic beverage, “We’ve got an army of enemy muskets on top of a steep hill, two hours away, and the only possible solution to get past them is to take them out, “ He swallowed a few more gulps of the strong fluid, “Does anygriffon have one single fucking idea how to achieve this?”

“Why don’t we….” another Griffon, a lieutenant to be exact, began, “drain them of their ammunition? They don’t manufacture it themselves, so they’re guaranteed to only have a limited amount.”

“Good suggestion,” the commanding officer from previously stated, “but are you willing to waste our soldiers on that?”

The lieutenant shank back in his seat,

He sighed, “any more ideas?”

“I believe we’re overthinking it,” Shrewd Preparation pursed his lips, “why don’t we have the experienced division encounter them upfront, and flank my division around the right,” he leaned back on his seat, “the only real difference to a traditional battle would be to fire the muskets every couple of metres, and charge when in close enough range.”

Shrewd lightly sipped a glass of water next to him, “besides, sometimes the best of plans, are the simplest.”

A slight smile graced the commander’s beak, “Any objections?”

The room was silent.

“That settles it then,” he clapped his claws together, “now let's get into the minor details…”

[1st of December, 989. 1:40pm]

The enemy commander stood perched on top of a particularly steep hill, behind his troops. He may have already recognised the hopelessness of the situation—that the Griffon Empire was already doomed when muskets were introduced into this war. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean he won’t go without a literal BANG.

He may not be an expert when it came to firearms, but he, fortunately, did pick up a few strategies here and there from the Republic’s battle manoeuvres.

Due to the nature of the situation—being flanked on the right side— he’s had to split his army into two sections, roughly 600 facing the front, 600 facing the East, with matchlock muskets positioned in the first row, and flintlock muskets in the rear.

One thing he certainly had to be careful about; was his limited supply of ammunition, it’s estimated that each solider only had access to four rounds, tops. There’s no way he’s going to be able to have the same effect that the Republic generally has, but it’s certainly something. Using muskets will most certainly give their higher-ups a little scare.

However, all this is going to do—is delay the inevitable death of the Empire.

“PRESENT!”

The front Republican military came to a direct halt at the base of the hill, aimed their muskets in three continuous motions, and fired their weapons all at once.

“FIRE!”

BA~BANG!

Gold projectiles ripped through the atmosphere, most fell off from their original target and either embed into the moist dirt, while others persisted with flying over the heads of the Empire’s troops that stood on top—the correct angle for any foreseen effect was extremely small, and thus, only very few spheres actually punctured through skin and bone of the enemy.

One may think, that particular round would be considered unsuccessful…those with little to no intelligence would fail to actually realise the purpose of that shot wasn’t to prove damage, but instead, to frighten, and decrease morale of the enemy above.

In that certain case—yes, their action proved to be favourable

It scared the absolute shit out of them.

This occurrence was especially easy to achieve due to the limited training and experience these troops withheld, many had never even heard a musket fire in the first place.

So they did exactly what you’d expect—shake with as much strength as an earthquake, and practically drop their weapons in the process. Many even tried to run, but those in the circumference quickly put a stop to that notion.

The Republicans immediately began to reload.

Then, the other Republican division decided to show their presence too.

“FIRE!”

BAN~bang—BANG!

Despite allocating little to no damage—it still had the desired effect of decreasing more of the division’s morale, it was at this point the morel was so low; that the situation was literally balancing on a degenerate broken fence.

And they hadn’t even fired their own flintlock muskets yet.

There’s practically no doubt the Republic will win this conflict; all their attributes will easily allow them to overpower their components.

“Alright lads!” the leader of the division exclaimed, ”GET READY!”

This one, single order, appeared to have snapped a majority of the soldiers out of the preteen stocks, and into one of their rigorous military facades. Most aimed their firearms at their respective targets, still shaking from the adrenaline rushing through their body.

“FIRE!”

The field lit up with sparkling golden flames, pints of dust and bellows, smoke cascaded down the mountain, which slowly encroached on the Republican troops.

The tide had turned.

Unlike the previous battles, the Republic was defending; they never really, if ever, were the aggressors. Now the Empire was in the defensive position, and strategically good one too, mind you. It’s no wonder the Republic had previously stacked up considerable enemy casualties.

Spheres of golden origin launched from their respective metal tubes; propelled by an extreme dramatic increase in pressure. This allowed each projectile to puncture through the air at an incredible speed, aided by even gravity itself, and declined at a relativity good angle.

These two variables allowed more than a few griffons to be critically wounded.

Crimson life fluid spat at seemingly random directions, blood oozed from the fractured skin and bone, and the echoing screams of the individuals affected reverberated through the landscape.

This one singular act~ the explosion, the atmosphere, the screams of the Republican soldiers. Boosted the morale and attitude of the Empire’s troops. It felt invigorating to hold an armament capable of such massive destruction and death.

Not to mention the fact many of these troops felt no hope in winning the war; these weapons made that notion seem much less unlikely.

Imagine if there were weapons more powerful than this?

Just…imagine.

This was the thought process that transversed through the minds of the many individuals comprising this particular division of the Empire.

They all hastily began to reload their weapons.

It was at this point Major General Shrewd Preparation knew that this battle wouldn’t be as easy as he initially anticipated, though it’s never good to assume what the enemy will do— he believed that disorganisation would fall upon the Empire’s defensive division after the first volley. After all, their numbers, experience, and intimidation they withheld should've at least caused some of they’re troops to abandon posts.

And the most entertaining prospect of all; 10 seconds ago, they seemed to be on the brink of doing so.

This would’ve been the perfect scenario to utilise those new ‘bombards’ that were recently developed, pelting the hill would’ve softened up the enemy, and made this whole exposition much easier.

Too bad they don’t have access to any of them right now.

The only thing Shrewd Preparation can do is hope; hope that they win with the least amount of casualties as possible.

To say the least, the Republican troops were scared shitless.

Before this conflict has already begun, many thought this would be quick, easy, and painless to accomplish. Only for all these silent wishes to fall from their grasp, and reality to hit them like a truck full of bricks.

“FORWARD MARCH!”

After the initial gift of several hundred gold projectiles launched at them, a decent amount of griffons fell to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes, writhing in agony. Their quiet moans of pain silently distressing their fellow soldiers.

Many that still stood had the desire to help their fellow brethren; but clearly reframed to due to military instructions.

The singular order provided seemed to have snapped a majority of those out of their foreseen anguish, and take purposeful paces over the almost deceased. They were to continue forwards.

To victory…

Many attempted to perform larger steps as to avoid stepping on any of them; some failed, their boots stamped fur, skin, and gore onto their heels. While ambiguously wincing the squish accompanied by it.

Troops proceeded with slowly marching up the steep hill, their facial masks, ultimately broken, their stern, military facade now dissipated into the wind.

It only took twenty-seconds for the Imperials to reload another round.

“PRESENT!”

Matchlock and flintlock muskets alike strayed in an arch lowered from the griffons’ shoulders, disembarked into a 120-degree angle.

“FIRE!”

With a simple click, and a BANG. Smoke bellowed from metallic tubes as result from the chemical reaction held within, projecting the gold ball to spit from the hole it found itself in, and rip through the air particles towards their destination.

Which just happened to be the Republican Soldiers.

The proceedings were similar to last time— deviating results.

Bodies yet again fell over in hot pursuit, their precious life essence, have been drained not the ground below. Their screams schooled through the countryside as they descended to the earth. One thing was for sure though; despite all of this, they continued onwards.

It was at this point the Republicans has crossed just over two-thirds of the way up the hill, the perfect distance—if I must say so myself— to fire their own counterattack.

“HALT!”

Over 2800 troops suddenly stopped in near-complete unison. Their muskets stained on their shoulders, further awaiting for any next orders.

“PRESENT!”

Muskets of mixed variety pointed toward the crest of the hill at a 20-degree angle. Each soldier silently waiting in trepidation for the next command.

“FIRE!”

Although last time sustained next to no results, this time, it was different.

Due to the slow decrease of supination as the troops travelled up the hill, it allowed a considerable amount of space for ammunition to be unloaded, and thus, a greater, more deviating effect.

BA~BOOM!

Despite the obscene amount of smoke and ash covering the republic soldiers, gold mental projectiles flew forward at blinding velocities, and splinted into multiple pieces within their opponents.

Although previously, the Empire’s soldiers’ mentality were of the highest order; practically buzzing with equanimity, this instantaneously reverted back to extreme trepidation.

Griffon bodies fell over in obscure agony, their warm crimson blood leaking from their lifeforms, dripping onto the earth below, the moisture scattering over a large area, and due to gravity, flow down the hill in a small trickle.

These griffons had never experienced such an action before; their mindsets were weak, and easily broken. Such is the result of limited training and next to no experience.

So, it doesn’t come as a surprise that many soldiers suddenly exposed to the blunt side of battle; had their intellect wholly broken, scared stiff and full of panic.

What happens when an army is scared?

When soldiers believe that their inevitable death is approaching?

It's simple

They run.

Griffon soldiers started to shake in absolute terror, their eyes darted in seemingly random directions, and clutch their weapons tightly.

Then, one ran.

And then another.

And another.

And another.

And another.

And….another.

Until, like one massive tidal wave, all ran away in compressive fear, unexpectedly sprinting in the opposite direction to battle, their honour, credibility, and value as a warrior, ultimately dissipated.

Even they're commanding officer had no choice but to join them in their perdition efforts.

Mud, grass, and deceased disembodied parts spat in the opposable direction to their scampers, spraying said mentioned parts trampling down the hill and into the displeased Republicans beneath.

Despite this, the soldiers belonging to the Republic persisted with sprinting up the hill, with darkened facades, until their destination.

Only to realise the Empire’s troops had already ran away in complete fear.

In consequence, they did what any reasonable person would do in this scenario.

Cheer to their heart's content.

The Griffon Civil War 989
Author: Black Firepower
Publisher: CanterlotWarTimes
Chapter Nine: The end is all but an illusion

The enduring battle that was foretold in the grass fields, commonly referred to as, ‘The Battle of Evolution’, due to the revolutionary change in warfare, tactics, and strategies portrayed that day. Although primitive, these basic strategies were tweaked and improved over the years to come, it was also the literal contributor to what we saw in the Crystal Wars a few decades ago.

Although the Republic retained 900 casualties, in comparison to a measly 400 enemy casualties, the Griffon Republic clearly claimed success on that day, 1/12/989, however, yet would they realise, total victory was still very much from their grasp.

Battles along the rest of the Griffon border became a sticky mess of soup, with the democrats churning over any enemy they met. Opposition was futile, all morale was utterly dissipated, it was obvious which side would be the ultimate winner.

After some prisoners were collected by the victors, and when the army was reorganised. (Along with counting the dead), they continued on the trek towards the Capital, Griffonstone. They removed any and all resistance with ease, as the only combatants they encountered was unorganised militia with atrocious equipment, and no experience to open ended combat.

By the time the army reached the Capital, it had only been a mere, few days. Although ammunition was low, general supplies like food and water were plentiful due to pillaging local businesses and farms.

Nevertheless, as a portion of the military broke off to scour the city for the dreadful King, something….unexpected happened. You see, as they (along with General Shrewd Preparation) entered the throne room, as reported from eye witness accounts, there was —

In the future….[13th of August, 1067]

Celestia only had to take a quick glance at this informal book to know it was illegal, anything that contained, or even indirectly mentioned a very particular pony ultimately had to be removed.

“GEM!” Celestia called out.

Her assistant, Gem Speckle performed a bow as she entered the Goddess’ private study, “W-what can I do for you, your highness?”

“I want all of these,” Celestia levitated the book she skimmed in front of the pony’s face, “Burned,” she dropped it at Speckle’s hooves, almost slamming it into her face, “Immediately.”

Her assistant blinked a couple of times, picked up the book, and added the title to the infinitely growing list.

After all, Celstia didn't want anypony to get any specific ideas.

Today was a normal day.

After I recently died from the exposure of ‘a shit tone of gold projectiles’, I had lost my favourite weapon in the process—the Land Pattern Musket, as I was carrying it at the time, and so, like any reasonable being, I decided to go retrieve it.

This left me to where I currently am; slowly trotting down a hallway in the Republican parliament, invisible, to try and find it— the officials had done the reasonable thing to snatch it away from my dead corpse, and to do what I assume, study.

Now I have to go and find it.

It’s especially excruciating considering the number of useless rooms this place has; I had at one stage, ‘walked into a particular scenario that involved two beings of the opposite gender’, but I’m not going to get into that.

I’m just glad that I was invisible.

Though, to make up for all of these ‘misconceptions’, I’ve been manufacturing my own little fun-filled activities as I travelled down these hallways.

Pranks.

I’ve done the usual stuff; placed a whoopee cushion on the President’s seat, tied a few shoelaces here and there, and causally embedded a knife into the unwilling skulls of the slumbering.

You know; normal stuff.

And best of all, everything was effortlessly achieved with relative ease; none of these griffons suspected a thing—some would become slightly disturbed by the unnatural sound of taps against the floorboards, but most would shrug it off as no physical evidence could be perceived.

Of course, I was in actuality, invisible.

Any time a guard got a little too curious for my liking—by investigating the sound of source, I simply walked through the closest wall, and waited for the sweet resonance of retreating steps, and continued on.

This relatively simple process, however, began to grate on my nerves, performing it once or twice was completely fine, but after the sixth and seventh, it started to become a teensy bit boring. As a result, to speed up the location process, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

Namely, gathering information from a griffon who had mocked me somewhere in the past.

Secta Ironwreck was one particular scientist reasonable for the design and fine-tuning of the most recent invention, the bombard. After he received some very much unpleasant suggestions from the being known as Atomic Discharge, he had decided to ignore most of them.

After all, a pony of all things, mocking his work? Disgraceful.

In fact, the only feature that was even remotely similar to the quadruple’s highlights was that he replaced the stone wheels with wood. Even if he wanted to adhere to the pony’s propositions, he couldn’t, the model was already in the middle of being manufactured by half a dozen forges. There was no way he’d be able to change anything at this point in time.

Not that he wants to anyway.

Ironwreck quickly nodded without much exertion to the guards patrolling a doorway. He didn’t even have to present his ID.

His design, by his accounts, is utterly perfect.

This little notion brought a sincere smile to his face, as he strolled down a hallway. An almost, hippity hop to his step. Secta was clearly excited by the prospect of his weapons being utilised in the army.

The amount of money he’d get in the future from further designs, and military contracts, in consequence, caused a line of drool to slowly drip down his face, moreover, it’s all because of that pricy pony who had, already, terribly left. So what if that demon took down a couple of guards along with her? At least she’s finally gone.

But that musket she left….that is certainly interesting. The hieroglyphics and typography on it were utterly foreign to him, why would it say, ‘Made in the United Kingdom?’ What even is that place?

This daydreaming prospect of riches, schemes and unanswered questions was suddenly lost from his slippery grasp as something heavy, and metallic-like thumped against his face somewhere to the right of him.

CLANG!

Like the puss he was, Secta immediately passed out.

….[An undetermined amount of time later]….

The griffon scientist awoke in a startled heap as a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown on him, the chills silently got to him, and he started to unsteadily shake. His pupils scanned his surroundings, he peered upwards, left, right, even behind him, but the only thing he could see was darkness.

He had no idea where he was, or how he got here.

Then, pricing crimson eyes, without notice, appeared in front of him. Secta couldn’t perceive anybody, ears, or even mouth. The only object in this room was literally the narrowed blood-red orbs staring at him.

Not only did they send shivers down his soul, but he had this primal, nagging feeling that this would be the very last artefact he’d ever seen.

“Where’s my weapon?”

The sudden, almost kind, feminine voice seemingly echoed all around him. It utterly startled him. He was honestly expecting somewhere along the lines of, ‘I’m going to kill you now,’ or ‘You're going to die.’ This may have been reassuring to some, but to him, this just made the whole situation seem even creepier.

Well, once he realised who this actually was, Secta Ironwreck immediately reverted back to being unconcerned, and angry at the being in front of him. He could recognise that voice anywhere. Though, that nagging feeling still hadn’t left….

“YOU!” He sharply pointed at the eyes in front of him, “How the actual fuck are you still alive??!”

The hovering eyes appeared to have narrowed further, unimpressed by his efforts to seek domination in the interrogation.

“Where is my weapon?”

Secta scowled, “Do you really think I’m going to tell you that? What are you going to do?” He snorted, “Kill me?”

It was obvious he underestimated her.

Slow, purposeful hooves clopped against the hardwood floor, crimson eyes became larger as the demon in question got closer. She stopped roughly half a metre (1.65 feet) away and leaned in real close, with force, her snout slowly compressed against his face.

He could feel the warm breaths respirating from her nose, and the eyes, they took up the entity of his vision, horrendous blood encircled things with penetrating vision. He couldn’t look away.

“Where,” she breathed.

“Is.”

“My.”

“Weapon?”

Towards the end of her slow, and continuous question, the breath seemed to become harsher by the second.

As it turns out, a griffon can become terrified.

“It’s-s in-n the s-safe,” he stuttered, “fl-loor 1, room-m 69.”

For the first time, he could see her pearly white teeth. A smile if he’s ever seen one.

“Thank you.”

And then, all he saw was black….

It looks like his instincts were correct, the last image embedded into his mind was the bloodthirsty eyes of the pony in front of him.

As I stepped out of a reasonably large cupboard and closed the closet behind me, a puddle of a thick, red fluid began to seep through the crack between the doorframe.

“God damn it!” I whispered while attempting to kick the liquid back under the space, before finally sighing, “Someone’s gonna see this.”

But, who really cares anyway? I’ll be out of here before anyone notices, it’ll be fine.

Now, where is that safe?

As it turns out, it wasn’t that difficult to find.

In fact, it literally states, “SAFE” above the large entranceway, where a simple metal mechanical doorway sat. The question of which was how the bloody heck was I supposed to get in there?

The only problem of which would be to avoid notifying the multiple guards that sat around its entryway. It would be almost impossible to not disturb them while using a laser cutter, I mean, what the heck am I supposed t—

Wait.

I’m an idiot.

I’m invisible and can walk through solid objects.

After all, it did bring these small devices in my saddlebags for a reason. I’m not going to let them go to waste.

In consequence, I literally walked directly in front of all the guards, and straight through the doorway.

“Now…” I whispered, “Where the fuck is it?”

What greeted me was a collection of what was clearly, different artefacts, files, and various weapons. This was obviously a place to store sensitive information and objects that could potentially benefit the Griffon Republic’s enemies.

Like me.

I hummed a cheery tone as I began the searching process.

“Ooooo,” my eyes lit up, “what’s this?”

I had just recently noticed a transparent sphere that lightly glowed. It looked important. And very old.

What’s this plaque say? “A gift from Queen of Unicornian, Princess Platinum. To embellish further relations.”?

Yes, yes. Certainly interesting…

I should touch it.

My muzzle made headway with transporting oneself to almost smooching against the sphere, my eyesight scrutinising the surface. The only thing noticeable was the movement of a bunch of swirling light. Although eye-catching—it was certainly not beautiful.

I placed my front forelegs to the side of the object in question, proceeded to seize hold of the sphere, and slowly lifted it up one single centimetre at a time.

And then, I dropped it. Which in consequence, broke against the stone floor into thousands of pieces.

Which I totally didn’t purposely do.

Yes, totally.

As occurrence, smile tended to my lips, “Tsk, tsk, these hooves are too slippery,” I performed a mock head shake, “How can ponies manage with this?”

This, in actuality, turned out to be a terrible idea as the loud shatter seemed to have alerted multiple guards outside. Their steps unceremoniously squabbled around, and yelled all sorts of things that I honestly didn’t really give two shits about.

This just gave me an opportunity.

Anything that had the appearance of importance (which was everything) utterly disassembled, and destroyed by laser fire. Files were burned, artefacts were shattered, and weapons demolished.

In fact, in the heat of it all, I think I may have accidentally set the building on fire.

Although fun, that’s not what’s important.

That fact I had found my musket, was.

I grappled my right hood around it, and strapped it onto my saddlebag.

I lobbed a grenade from my saddle bag at the wall adjacent, resulting in a great one-way, blue like explosion that completely blew the heavy stones into dust, and lead to the glorious outside world.

Onwards!

Author's Note

IDK what I was thinking.

EDITOR'S NOTE
Well, it’s bout time, right?
So, a few things for this one; Ponies spells morale as morel and it kills me inside to fix it. He also invented a new word, Decocratics, I have no Fucking idea WHAT THAT MEANS and it scares me.
Anyway, Reality is a Simulation, Life is valued in Paper, and Buy Programmer socks.
Sincerely,
Crimson the Editor at 5:45 AM

A Christmas Special: Thermonuclear Presents for everyone!  

Author's Note

Bet you didn't see this coming, did you?

I really appreciate all of you taking your time read to this story.

And to say thanks, I quickly pumped out this chapter as a present for all of you guys.

Thanks!

A Christmas Special: Thermonuclear Presents for everyone!

“It may look like I'm doing nothing, but in my head, I'm quite busy.”

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A Christmas Special: Thermonuclear Presents for everyone!
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READ!
THIS CHAPTER IS NON-CANON! THIS IS NOT OFFICIALLY APART OF THE STORY!

I am bored.

So bored in fact, that I am willing to forgo everything I have developed on this planet thus far, for the greater good of astonishing entertainment, and what better way to spice things up a little, by literally dropping an extreme load of Hydrogen and Uranium-235 on every organism imaginable?

After all, I love the fresh smell of charred corpses and burned cities in mourning, it’s the kind of thing that wakes me up from my lingering sleep.

And since it’s Christmas, or an equivalent of ‘Hearts Warming’ for Equestria, I may as well deliver all my gifts the old fashioned way.

The Reader (You): “So it must be Santa’s Reindeer Slay—“

No, that would be incorrect. That doesn’t hold the true Christmas spirit.

Missiles, on the other hand, do.

They hold the positive Christmas spirit.

Particularly Missiles with thermonuclear warheads on them, nothing is wrong with little extra heat in a pony’s everyday life, right?

The ground rumbled and bucked, expelling various unnatural engine sounds as an entrance slowly pulled a large flower bed apart, only to reveal a futuristic metallic structure carrying a large number of tall metal cylinders. Each painted a varying amount of green and red splotches, along with the crudely printed text of ‘Merry Christmas!’

These strange geometric shapes began to drum out excess thick, boiling, white gas. The resulting compression contributing to the accelerating lift off, at varying intervals. The insanely chilly fog condensed with the warm, bright sun as it flowed, and spilled into the surrounding environment.

The singular, radioactive symbols stamped onto the sides of each missile glinted in the sunlight, it was almost like they were breathing a sign of foreseen happiness. To finally do what they were designed to do.

Angry black smoke leaking from the panels, and cracks, between the rockets’ shell, slowly rose, forming indistinct objects that seemed to be reminiscent of ‘flipping the bird’. It was like the inanimate substance was attempting to give one last message to the planet before it fucked it’s surface.

Finally, the metallic cylinders rose up, high into the air, accelerating at absolutely ridiculous speeds, speeds that no pony could ever hope to achieve. If there was a name to define a ‘group of rockets’, it surely wouldn’t be even close enough to explain the sheer amount, and beauty of these missiles. No, it wasn’t a group.

It was a horde.

Absolutely Majestic.

The being that caused all this—no, God that caused all of this, sat in her little reinforced bunker, eating popcorn, while a camera located hundreds of kilometres up, recorded the missiles streaking through the atmosphere.

Nobody saw it coming.

“Princess Celestia!”

The ruler in Question rotated her head to the guard that rudely called for her, “Yes?” She rose an eyebrow, blinding looking away from her Hearth's Warming pudding, “What is i—?”

She was interrupted, “Something is heading for us!” The guard’s eye splinted in random directions, “For Canterlot!”

Celestia rolled her eyes, whatever it is, the guard is most likely overreacting, “What is it?”

“Were not sure!” The mare uneasily replied, “But it’s certainly not something good, a division has already been sent to deal with it.”

“Mmmmmhmmmmm,” The alicorn pursed her lips, “Where is it?”

The guard simply pointed to the balcony.

Celestial questionably rose an eyebrow, and walked to the place in question. Only to gaze up at the shy with uncertainty and disdain.

“What the fuck….” She mumbled.

A ridiculously thick cloud of expanding smoke streaked through the sky above, the unnatural substance stained the sky like a knife to tissue. What was even more confusing was the creature—or object, responsible for this whole mess. Was quite far away, to describe it was almost impossible.

But one thing remained as certain; it was directly heading for them.

‘Could it be a dragon?’ She wondered, despite it clearly not being a dragon in any way shape or form, this little thought process seemed to calm her down significantly.

It was at this point Celestia could actually hear it. It was like nothing she’d ever heard before, the closet thing she could describe it to would be a constant, low pitched shriek.

It was uncomfortable.

And unfortunately, it was getting louder.

Little spots in the distance, no doubt a group of pegasi, were attempting to catch up with the contraption, but it was just too darn fast, none of them could keep up with it. Even unicorns being held by them failed to retain accurate magic shots, those that did land, simply just bounced off, without even so much as a dint in it.

Now that it was much closer, so close in fact it was just a few hundred meters above Canterlot, Celestia could retain a much better look at the object, a strange metal cylinder, painted with an uneven layer of greens and reds? Weird. And what the heck is that on the side of it?

What the heck is ‘Merry Christma—?’

All she saw was white.

What is that?

Twilight Sparkle, in Ponyville turned her head towards the overwhelmingly bright light. A massive ball of extreme yellow radiation consumed the entirety of her vision, so bright, that to avoid any further focal damage, she closed her eyes, and held a hoof over for extra protection.

Twilight wished she didn’t open them.

A huge yellow and brown ball rose was what was left of the Canterlot Mountain, it slowly rose into the air, forming a mushroom-like shape, and several rings continued to slowly expand around it. Fire seemed to continue to spread over the surrounding landscape, absorbing anything, and everything in its path.

Rocks were melted, trees were consumed, ponies were evaporated.

And then, something happened.

An absolutely powerful shockwave mowed over the entry of Ponyville, Twilight Sparkle was hurled up, high into the air. Trees were pulled from their roots, and houses were flattened. It was like a giant stomped on the small village, and continued it's steamrolling rampage outwards.

Twilight heard hundreds of screams.

The purple unicorn soon toppled onto the ground, the last scenery she witnessed was deceased corpses surrounding her before she fell unconscious.

It didn’t take long for the fire to consume her as well.

President Senatus gazed at the throne in-front of him, with dreamless hunger. He had been waiting for this moment for a very long time. All the struggles he had gone through to get to this very moment, was all worth it.

The battles.

The war.

The campaigns….

With the war finally over, and the Empire in complete ruins, all there was left was just a small amount of unorganised militia armies, which would be stamped out with relative ease.

For he would become the next king of the Reformed Griffon Federation! He would bring all of griffon kind to new glory and honour!

But first, he had to claim his rightful place on the throne

By sitting on it.

As the President solely marched over to the golden encased seat—with purposeful steps— he noticed something in far distance, in the corner of his eye, through the window. A white, blinding flash. He had to close his eyes a couple of seconds just to reorient himself.

To investigate further, he strutted over to the glass pane and gazed outside towards Equestria. Despite being located hundreds of kilometres away, he saw a giant yellow/grey mushroom rise in the distance.

He decided to mumble his thoughts, “What the fuck?”

Only to swiftly rotate his head in another direction to witness another blinding flash, and another, and another, and…. All of these seemed to have derived from strange, green/red objects in the distance, plumes of thick grey gas emanated from behind.

There was just so many of them.

“Is it God?” he questioned, “Has heaven finally defended down to our planet?”

His eyes shot open in fear as a sudden thought came to him, “...or is it the final judgement ...?”

An abnormal buzzing sound originating from somewhere above the palace, kicked the mentioned President from his self-questioning slumber, and into the world of precedence terror.

He can put two and two together.

A never heard before the sound, that came from above, which just happened to be the exact same location where those red/green cylinders originated from.

As it turns out, the Reformed Griffon Federation will never have its desired glory.

All he saw was white.

United Zebra Soviets

A great gathering of Zebras of all kind, stood unwavering, in perfectly straight lines, heads held high, and attitudes of extreme patriotism. Their glorious red flag dotted around the surroundings, large, and flapping unceremoniously in the wind.

Then, the glorious national anthem began.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U06jlgpMtQs

Instruments rocketed, voices rejoiced, hearts soared.

It was absolutely amazing. The atmosphere was exhilarating. Just, one massive voice, all acting together, for the benefit of themselves, and the nation. The entire thing literally ‘screamed’ respect, and joy of the prospect of their nation.

But there was something that made it better.

For every sudden increase in volume within the song, far into the distance, a great flash of white light, and resulting explosion rose up into the air similar to the appliance of a mushroom.

Despite this, and the players’ hesitation, the song continued to be strum.

It just made the whole situation appeal more majestic.

Each consequent detonation acted similar to a sudden drum beat, enhancing, and framing the song with even more vigour. Many believed this was an act of God. That God, blessed their nation into great prosperity into the future.

The great fumes of gas zig-zagged across the entire sky, manufacturing a pattern not unlike a woven fabric, it was as though each and every line was placed there with precision, and determination, with many dipping down at specific intervals down towards the surface.

No-one noticed one plunge down towards them.

Just as the national song came to a close, something occurred, to have one, final, impact.

The instruments all suddenly rose in pitch and volume, echoing their majestic sounds throughout the surroundings, and finished off with a bam.

And so did a thermonuclear explosion, right at their very location.

All they saw was white.

Now this, is entertainment.

I should do this more often.

What will be even more fun is fucking with the remaining survivors.

A few weeks later…

Princess Mi Amore Cadenza was terrified.

Not just because of the millions upon millions of deaths that suddenly occurred within just a few minutes, no. Instead, she is the only remaining Alicorn in all of Equestria, and beyond. All royal duties, including the continued protection of all Equestrian citizens, had been unintentionally passed onto her.

Cadence silently wished she hadn’t traveled to the Minotaur Domain, and instead, just died with the rest of her Aunties.

With the entire world in ruins, there’s no way she’ll be able to recreate the entire Equestrian Kingdom. In fact, as of now, they’ve only recovered around 3000 ponies. Something that the last Alicorn silently dreaded considering that it’s not even 0.5% of the previous population.

Their ‘capital’ had to be moved to a less ‘affected’ area, where the ground wasn’t as scorched, and still reasonably fertile, to the south-east of Equestria. This, however, incorporated many concerns as they were located next to the ‘previous’ Griffon border.

With raids occurring on a weekly basis, it becomes exceptionally difficult to defend against repeated attacks, especially if those ‘muskets’ were utilised as well.

But with an unknown sickness transversing throughout the majority of her population, it’s arguable that her unstable government may topple before she’d even had her chance to create a safe, and secure society.

And ultimately, prove herself.

But that’s not going to happen.

Several Months Later……

Deep in the northern sector of the planet, lied a certain, barren region. Which used to consist of nothing but snow, and frostbite winds. Now, however, after the nuclear detonations, only ash, blacked stone, and a reasonably warm climate remained.

Suddenly, there was a sudden build up of dark energy resonance, the air itself seemed to rip, and pull against itself. Until, finally, a mc-massive flash and dominating rumble shook the area.

Once the light cleared, what remained put most in utter speechlessness.

A whole city, seemingly made of crystal.

Another being appeared seemingly alongside it, a black, tar, smoking creature of dark origin. His terrifying grin of utter pleasant would put all but one into petrification.

This frightful appearance, unexpectedly, dissipated once the being in question realised the state of the surroundings.

There’s no way he’ll be able to create a salve ridden nation in this environment.

Chapter TwentySeven: The Shortest ruling Queen in History

“He who protests is an enemy; he who opposes is a corpse.”
— Pol Pot

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Chapter TwentySeven: The Shortest ruling Queen in History
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The President, and all of his subordinates, were speechless.

The initial motive of this meeting was to determine if there was a spy or mole in the building, but that was quickly dismissed when the whole situation was investigated. It was obvious who induced these dreadful circumstances.

President Senatus leaned against the table, with his winked brow held in a strained claw. His eyes were closed and unfocused, the previous events had made him overly uncomfortable. He should’ve trusted his gut feeling, thrown that stupid creepy pony in the dudgeon as soon as she provided those cursed weapons.

To make matters worse, he was deeply embarrassed, after all; he had sat on a whoopee cushion not even ten minutes prior. He made a note to himself to crack down on whoever was responsible.

“—yeah, the musket scientific team was devastated when they were informed that, ‘their lead scientist, Secta Ironwreck, was found dead by a maid in a closet,’” a griffon with the badge of ‘investigator’ quoted, ” Apparently he was a good friend and leader, research will be inactive in the next coming weeks until everything can get back on track.”

The President was honestly only half-listening to the conversation taking place.

“As I previously said,” the ‘head of security’ started, “The Safe was additionally breached last night, everything was burned to a crisp, but still recognisable. The only object not accounted for was ‘Atomic Discharge’s Musket’,” the griffon in question leaned back in his chair casually, “I think it’s obvious who committed this.”

The investigator, the same griffon from before, lightly slammed his fist onto the table, “Are you stupid?” He tapped the side of his forehead, “she was killed a few days ago in an attempt to escape,” the griffon smirked, “there is literally no harder evidence.”

“Of which she killed dozens of our highly trained guards before she was taken out,” his brow narrowed, “face it, she’s not a pony, but something else entirely.”

Now, the investigator was intrigued, “What is that, exactly?”

The other griffon paused, his facade, laced with total determination.

“She’s a literal God.”

After I broke into the Griffon Republic’s Parliament and stole back my precious possession. I’ve been silently craving for more, spiciness. Perhaps, I should plan a surprise that will no doubt prove to be extraordinary entertainment? But at the same time, retrieve some much-deserved revenge that will no doubt cripple the Griffon Republic.

[3rd of December, 989. 10:29am]

One could say the changelings are in a bad position.

After the initial death of their leader, Queen Chrysalis, by an unknown pony entity. All changelings deserted their posts within the Equestrian kingdom and scattered back to their respective hive where they could rest and especially, reconstruct/organise a new government.

Which was something they failed at, miserably.

“I PRONOUNCE MYSELF QUEEN!”

“NO YOU IDIOT! I AM THE MOST QUALIFIED! I DESERVE TO BE KING!”

“FUCK OFF YOU PUSSIES! IT’S CLEAR WHO IS THE TRUE LEADER FOR THIS KINGDOM!”

Comments like these were frequent, and interruptions occurred at almost every sentence. It was obvious the whole situation was going nowhere.

Since the previous queen never elected her ‘heir’, no changeling had the royal blood necessary to convert into a ‘royal’, and thus, have the obligatory power to control the hive mind. Many changelings struggled to deal without the continuous orders and the buzzing of the ultra-link within the back of their mindsets.

With no potential solution, the atmosphere within the hive continued to grow tense and apprehended. Love storages were beginning to hit critical levels—this rapid consummation only increased without a proper rationing system— and changelings were beginning to lose hope in the situation.

However, there was a saviour.

A single, lone changeling thought of an idea, so radical, so obscure, that it just might work.

“What about Democracy?”

It started as whispers, but the suggestion slowly climbed up the ranks, until people finally considered it as a viable solution. Although the changeling Kingdom was in ruins, outside formats, and scouts still were arriving with information, so, if it worked in the Griffon Republic, why not give it a try here?

The only reason anyone thought of it was due to curiosity ...a brand new idea, and it’d be interesting to try it out.

In the eye of the storm, six leaders rose up. They stood congregated, at the front of a massive audience of changelings—over ten thousand. They shouted with the might of the Changeling spirit, one that would hopefully match the greatness of the Changeling nation.

Each promised slightly different agendas to bring their nation back from the ground up. One wanted to focus on espionage, another on the military, while others on infrastructure or production.

They all made a speech of promises, schemes, that would ultimately attempt, but most likely fail, to lick the still hurtful wounds of the nation. Only one would actually succeed.

“I propose that we set up diplomatic missions to foreign countries to set up potential agreements that would solve our nourishment complication, and provide domestic security.”

But nobody liked it.

The one, single solution that would bring an end to the suffering, and struggles of the kingdom, was brought to a bitter end.

Some even had thrown objects—like rocks, at the offending changeling that would suggest such a thing.

The Equestrian battle still lingered in the minds of all these beings, they were far too bitter, and expressed too much hatred to actually even consider requesting help from an enemy they fought so hard to destroy.

No, they’d much rather stick to traditions, and continue what they had been doing for centuries.

Espionage.

And that's exactly the kind of person that receive the most votes in the hoof up assembly. Over half, if I’d wanted to be specific.

With the new shaky government put in place, an order was partially restored, the military resembled, and arguments were elicited. It seemed as though they had a chance to succeed, to regain their strength, and potentially—strike back.

The leader recognised the hopelessness of soldiers with no weapons, despite changelings had superior natural amour and a reasonably sharp spike on their foreheads. It still can’t compete with the incurability of hoof made weapons like spears, swords and especially; muskets.

Every possible firearm was recovered and restored. Mares and stallions loyal to the newly created Changeling nation and the leader were assigned these weapons and was unmannerly trained to low expectations, only around 100 muskets were actually recovered, nevertheless, it was more than enough for the army to be partially restored.

Despite having sent out hundreds of love ‘gathering’ groups to mix in with the local population, by the time everything was actually achieved—the government formulated. The food supplies had almost completely drained, to the point were there where only an equivalent of a few millilitres of sustenance left remaining in each tank.

Of course, if one were to add all of these ‘millilitres’ up, one would be left with quite the hefty amount of love reaming, attributed to the extraordinary amount of storages around the complex.

Which was something the current ‘leader’ wanted to take advantage of.

He had plenty of time to make preparations. Nobody would ever notice.

That’s at least what he thought.

I suppose he was partly right in that regard, no-one, per se, found out about the situation. It was instead, due to loyalty issues that resulted in the eventual discovery of the leader’s preparations.

While the leader, (or ‘King’ as some changelings regarded him) ran the crippling government— kept the whole system from breaking down and restored numerous jobs. Behind the scenes, he and his small group of loyal ‘lackeys’ began to gather the love around the facility into small, portable tanks. Tanks that could easily be transported by ‘horse and cart’.

No-one suspected anything, the whole scenario was camouflaged as the ‘Reorganisation and reservation of the Love Rationing System’ or RLRS for short. The ‘fake’ intentions of this ‘totally legitimate’ program were to cache all remaining sustenance into one, single area, where it could be handed out easily, and with organisation.

It would not come as a surprise that when a ‘bystander’ witnessed the unceremonious movement of love by the ‘King's’ subordinates, they shrugged the situation off as ‘governmental businesses’. What all of them failed to realise, however, was the government was not their ally, but instead, an adversity. A group of greedy thieves prepared to steal all the essential nourishment right under the populous’ noses.

Everything was going according to plan.

The ‘King’, despite the fact that he had launched one of the most subtle, and duplicitous missions ever to perceive changeling kind, he still failed to account for one, single, synopsis.

Traitors.

Surprisingly, hundreds of Changelings weren’t happy with the way the current government was functioning. Suspicions, allegations, and conspiracy theories already highlight that something was…fishy, to say to least. They could feel it. The only substitute they didn’t have, was hard evidence.

On another note, several soldiers, and administrators, located throughout the ‘loyal’ ranks were actually, disloyal. They joined these stratums in hopes of exposing the truth to the public, to expose the King, and replace him with a much more admirable leader.

The majority of these changelings were eventually able to come in contact with the secret ‘resistance’, and furthermore, slowly trickle in sensitive information.

As the days grew old, the guerrillas congregated their own love and a mix of nationality random weapons. Fifty of them just happened to be muskets.

It was certain they had more than enough intel to fortify their suspicions. With the continuous rise of tension, on the 8th of December, 989; everything snapped.

They enlightened the population with the secret projects the new government was committing to and urged everyone to join their cause against them.

They attacked.

The nation, of which was only a few weeks old; was in a civil war.

The one and only goal of both sides were to retain the remaining emotional sustenance.

‘Food collectors’ in local pony and griffon settlements didn’t know which side to join, this actions completely cut off even the small amount of nourishment the changeling lands were receiving.

Neither side was able to make any progress at stealing the ‘love’ reserves off the other, but, either one knew it, all the emotional sustenance had totally drained. And yet, they continued to fight with vigour.

Once the soldiers and civilians alike began to die from starvation, that was when everyone knew, it was all pointless.

Over time, fighting began to slow down, until it came to an absolute stop. No peace treaty was signed, but it was obvious the war was over. There were no winners, only the changelings lost in the sands of time.

Many decided to just give up, lie on the ground before starvation claimed their lives, others flew from the hive individually and attempted to embed themselves into foreign societies (most were caught), or contact already immersed spies.

The very few smart changelings decided to take a different route, to ask for forgiveness and/or aid from the countries around them. Although they only numbered around 200 in total, these changelings split into groups and set out for different territories, the Griffon Empire, Equestria, the German Reich, and Yakyakistan (the frozen north).

Almost all fail. One is imprisoned, one is murdered, and one is sent back to where they came from.

One; withholds a different fate.

Today was a proud day for the Griffon Republic.

The long, twisted, and terrifying war had to all intents and purposes, finally come to an end.

Patriotism swelled inside of General Shrewd Preparation’s chest, this day would be forever inscribed into the history books as a simply historic moment. A moment that would continue to impact the entre country for centuries to come.

But not for the reason he originally transcribed.

With the Republican army occupying on all fronts, with little to no resistance—as most of the enemy’s army had dissipated due to insufficient aspiration, and hope.

The only thing left to do was capture, and kill the King before he could be a coward and run away if so, it could possibly reignite an organised gorilla resistance.

Which was the exact reason why multiple brigades of troops have begun to scour the Griffon Empire’s capital, Griffonstone. Every house, every street, every nook and cranny was searched. They flowed over the city like water, flooded from one end, and slowly made their way to the other.

Amongst it all, a small group composed of elite soldiers (six), and the infamous General, Shrewd Preparation, were to head directly to the castle located in the centre, and hopefully catch the royals off guard before they could make an eventual escape.

One particular concern in regards to the whole ‘situation’ was that there was absolutely no resistance. In fact, not even one single soldier was found among the secluded civilians.

This is extraordinarily strange event left most griffons scratching their heads, this is the capital for faust sake! There should be at least some troops remaining to protect their precious king.

It made a lot of soldiers paranoid.

Though, this question came with an eventual answer as the small congregate of elite soldiers and the General, opened the throne room doors to the castle. Each individual was definitely not anticipating, well, anything different or abnormal, about the room they were to enter.

So it came as a massive surprise when they found something plumped on the gloriously golden crested throne.

Guess who was laying there casually.

Go on. Guess.

I dare you.

Despite the group had congregated unevenly at the opened throne room entrance, their weapons, lazily clasped to their side. They still just stood there, flabbergasted, simply unresponsive. It was obvious they weren't going to move anytime soon.

Atomic Discharge, highlighted by her crimson hair, smiled from ear to ear.

“WELCOME!” She spread out her fore-hooves in a massive arch, similar to a welcoming gesture, somehow, her grin widened, “TO MY DOMAIN!”

The soldiers blinked in response. A small pool of thick blood covered the throne, seemingly soaked up by the white-furred being on top. This only appeared to have made the griffons’ eyes water from sheer shock. Similar to the consequence of being exposed to onions for a long period of time.

A golden, gem gilded crown perched on the pony sat at an absolutely obscure angle. Her mane greased together by splotches of blood and frazzled by the complete lack of proper hygiene. Her extremely large eyes stood unwavering, with pinpricks dilating in the centre. A tiny red square sticker was as well— for some odd reason—located on her right hoof.

Did I mention she was also wearing the previous king’s royal robe?

The creature was evidently pleased with the Republic’s conversed reaction, despite this, she still had the ultimate desire to take things to the next level. She licked her lips, seductively winked her eyes, and seemingly relaxed further in her reposed position, “May I take your order?”

It was during this point in time that the griffons couldn’t exactly handle the circumstances. The sheer astonishment at the whole situation— especially the rapid change in attitude towards the end of her short tirade—induced all non-ponies to stare dumbfounded.

This only seemingly became more of a complication when they were actually able to slightly register their surroundings.

Nothing could whole-fully describe the monstrosity before them.

The small congregate of gore on the throne seemed minuscule in relation to the rest of the butchered bloodshed around them.

Bodies, guts, and dribbling crimson fluids floors littered the floors, walls, and somehow, even the ceiling of the room in the dozens. It was like someone decided to shovel loads of corpses into a large blender, accidentally left the lid off, and turned it onto ludicrous speed.

Even the pillars located around the room were affected by this—even debris withheld guts.

“I’m sorry to announce that the expiration date on the Griffon Republic has come to an end,” her facial and body utterance continued to express allure, “perhaps you could help me dispose of it.”

This unexpected statement appeared to have mentally knocked multiple griffons—which included Major General Shrewd Preparation.

“We won’t help you with anything you feral deceased beast!” he shouted in expiration, “get away from us!” Nothing would ever persuade him, in any shape or form, to betray his country. Especially not from someone who was supposed to be dead.

Atomic gradually inspected her bloodied hoof with interest, “Did you honestly anticipate that I would hire your services against the Republic?” Her satanic star seemed to desire an answer to the rhetorical question.

Shrewd’s ‘what the fuck are you talking about’ glare was all she needed for an answer.

“No no no no no, if I want to take down the entire country I need to be in tip-top shape. Which of course, also encompasses my general mental physic,” Atomic rubbed her frontal hooves onto her tubby muzzle, smearing blood all over it, “and what better way to increase my mental physic then by killing every single one of you.”

Silence was the only comeback.

“That is what I mean when I refer to ‘help me’,” she puffed up her fluffy chest in delight, “One does have to maintain their mentality to stay healthy, after all.”

A short period of silence presented itself for a short period of time, until, one griffon decided to disturb it.

“Your mad.”

She laughed with overdue insanity, “I know!”

“We should’ve kicked you out of the Republic as soon as we had the chance,” Shrewd shook his fist, “You’ve been nothing but trouble.”

The demon stopped laughing.

“Don’t you forget that it was because of me, that you triumphed in this civil war,” Atomic sat upon the throne, a wet squish was accompanied by this sudden movement, “how does it feel that you had to be saved by a pony of all things,” she pursed her lips, “disgraceful, isn’t it?”

The General clenched his fist in anger.

While the totally legitimate self-proclaimed ‘Queen’ babbled on, the griffins were able to slightly reorganise themselves into a crud line, with muskets pointed upwards towards their target. Most, nevertheless, were still shaking from the adrenaline that rushed through their frames.

“Your outnumbered and outclassed,” he gestured to his subordinates, “I’d appreciate it if you surrendered yourself immediately.”

Atomic was not impressed.

She wasn’t stupid enough to not see this coming a mile away.

“I AM??!” The demonic pony rapidly rotated her head around in fake shock, “Wow, I just didn’t see this coming!” Atomic was so expressive you could practically hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice, “I just wish a mare in distress, such as myself, would have some sort of saviour!” Her body pretended to flop onto the throne, her eyes sealed shut, this small act was an attempt to create a reproduction of a faint.

By this point, Shrewd Preparation had more than enough of this pony’s bullshit. Theatrics or not, this whole act had gone way too far, and he’d much rather dispose of an enemy of the state, then continue to do ...this…

“Fire!”

Although the majority of the soldiers weren’t exactly prepared for the premature directive, all were able to surpass their unprepared mindsets by the explosion of neighbouring muskets.

Boo~BOOM!

With a simple click, flintlock muskets alike initiated the process of sparking the gunpowder to life, the resulting controlled explosion mandatorily imposed the golden projectile within, to push forward, and sail through the air at blinding speeds.

Three of the six embedded themselves into the target’s flesh

“Ooooooof.”

The several spheres that sadly, missed their objective, bounced off the golden infused throne with a CLANG. The others, nevertheless, in a small explosion of gore, expectorated blood from multiple body parts. The hip was greatly affected, a reasonably large crater started to spit crimson liquid, the bullet, implanted itself within the calcium bone structure, which exposed it to the outside world.

One projectile travelled from side of the stomach to the other.

The last one didn’t seem to achieve much damage at all, the ear was torn off, the only reason it didn’t tumble to the ground, was due to a single strand of skin.

What put many of the griffons off, was that throughout it all, the earth pony never misplaced her smile.

It was like she was enjoying this.

A strenuous quantity of bullet wounds congregated across her fluffy coat, blood oozed, dripped, and flowed across her in a thick horrific river. Gravity pulled the liquid down to further congregate into the puddle underneath, and drizzle down the throne.

Fur, like many things, can easily be related to a sponge, it sucks up (to a degree) liquids, and is much more difficult than it should be to remove. Thus, is the reason why the bottom third of Atomic was totally stained red with gore.

If the griffon weren’t petrified before, now, they definitely were.

Nothing can survive a shot from a musket, let alone three of them.

“Not cool,” the demon sat herself back up again, “I was trying to build up to a point, but of course, the momentum had to be ruined.”

“Anyway,” she started, “as I was saying, before you rudely shot me.”

“I never come unprepared.”

Atomic Discharge, in a sudden change of tone, shouted to her heart's content, “COME OUT YOU FUCKERS BEFORE I GIVE YOU THE SAME FATE AS THE OTHERS!”

Hesitantly, a griffon head peaked from the rear of the throne, his eyes darted around the room, scanning its premises. The young adult was clearly terrified, evident by the consistent tremor in his head’s movements.

After only around two total seconds, he slowly step out from behind the throne.

A soldier of the Griffon Empire.

It was obvious due to the worn-out steel amour, and his military-grade boots. A distinctly unfamiliar black matchlock musket was also strongly clasped within his claws. Every once in a while, he glanced towards the being that had plumped oneself on the throne, whether it was due to Atomic’s disrespect for the royalty, or to check that the panic-inducing being wasn’t coming after him. We’ll ever know, but evidence suggests that it’s most likely the latter.

This soldier was followed by another griffon of a similar age and equipment composition. He also held a musket.

He was followed by another one.

And another one.

And another one.

They persisted with leisurely ambling in front of the throne, accumulating in a wonky line until the number hit eight.

They held their muskets up, ready to fire.

Atomic spread her hooves, gesturing to the troops located in front of her, “These are the soldiers that have kind-fully volunteered their time to protect me during this time of need.”

Their expressions say otherwise. Not a single one had the desire to be there.

“And as the kind, fair ruler that I am,” she genuinely winked, “I provided the necessary resources; like thee muskets, for them to be here.”

Shrewd Preparation was still fretting over the fact she wasn’t withering over in pain and now she pulls this out of her ass?

What. The. Fuck.

None of the Republicans had even started reloading their weapons, the sheer, randomness of the situation persisted with feeding their blank stares.

“Let’s play a game!” The demon extended her hooves out in expiration with a grin, “You win, you live. But if I win,” she smirked, “you die an agonising death.”

“All you have to do is not die, deal?”

They stared vacantly at her.

You might what to know how a person can die, and then die again in even more agonising pain.

You don’t want to know.

“Not that you have that much of a choice anyway,” Atomic leaned luxuriously back in her seat as she prepared for her next instruction.

The pony slammed her right hoof on the throne, smudging blood onto the armrest, “Fire!”

Without formation, each black coated firearm set off with a distinctive BANG. Totally unlike any other firearm utilised before.

If one were to look closely enough, they would notice that in fact, the projectiles unlisted by these ‘new’ weapons were foreign to any primitive technologies on this planet, instead of a relatively normal ‘sphere’, each ‘bullet’ was rounded and smooth at one end, and flat on the other. It was as though some absolute genius unexpectedly decided to merge a spheroid and a geometric configuration known as a cylinder together.

This not only gave it a much better aerodynamic capacity, but the repetitive engraved spirals inside each musket bestowed a rotating motion on the projectiles, referred to as ‘rifling’. This spinning monotonous motion spread the weight evenly within the bullet, which provided an even greater ability for aerodynamics, in addition to a much higher accuracy.

As these ammunitions shot through the stale, blood induced air, the utterance on the military griffons receiving said lead changed to horror, the kind of horror that expresses whole-fully pure fear.

In spite of the buildup of tension, only one munition was able to make its mark.

A griffon serviceman toppled over in agony, his claw, clutched a red splotch of his chest, which without interruption, persisted with sizzling crimson fluid onto his appendage, and cluster on the wooden floor.

The remaining projectiles struck the stone wall behind them with a clack, forth-prodding shrapnel of cobbles to shatter.

Atomic was severely disappointed.

“Those are rifles for fuck’s sake,” a trail of blood found its way onto her pearly white teeth as she gritted her teeth in frustration, “how could you have possibly missed??!”

Atomic mumbled incomprehensibly, “I guess I should’ve done more than give them a 10 second brief on how to operate the weapons.”

Loud gunshots, and the searing painful moans of a fellow benevolent soldier was more than enough for the solider’s training and experience to glide on autopilot, and ultimately, harshly kick them out of their predefined mental slumber.

They all scattered to cover. Some scratched their way to behind a stone pillar, while others found themselves’ home beside a pile of debris or an abnormally tall congregation of corpses. Preparation even participated in this.

Due to the forthcoming disorganisation, not even one singular troop decided it was in his/her best interest to sprint at the enemy, this clearly would’ve been the most desirable selection, as the ‘Queen’s’ soldiers hadn’t even begun the process of reloading, and were clearly unprepared for any sort of direct attack, it seriously would’ve been a breeze to knock the militia if anyone had actually considered it.

Too bad they didn’t.

Once each individual reached a desirable defensive position, they began the process of reloading so a volley of return fire could be entirely possible.

Never encountered a situation like this ever before, not even a single one of Atomic’s troops had the faintest idea what to do. Their muskets hadn’t even been reloaded yet.

In consequence, their glossed eyes gazed questionably at their so-called commander.

Atomic couldn’t possibly fathom why they stared at her with entreat, there was only one response she could possibly come up with that worked well in a given situation like this.

“What?” She glanced at them with a small amount of annoyance, “Do I need to point out everything for you? Do your jobs.”

They should’ve expected an answer similar to that regard.

As a result, they did the one thing that actually seemed sensible in this situation. Reload.

It was at this point in time a drop of blood decided to helpfully introduce itself into Atomic Discharge’s right eye, staining the pearly white optic to strain a healthy dose of red. Of course, the pony didn’t really give that much of shit on account of it being only a small nascence, to tell the truth, the only registration that she gave it was a simple blink. After she received a repetitive, exponential increase of these drops. It started to rise above Atomic’s thin line of ‘actually giving a shit’.

“What the fuck?” The demon attempted to wipe the multiple trails of blood off her, similar to a dog that would strive to remove that stupid Santa Hat you put on it. Only for her muzzle to scrunch up in annoyance in response to the rather large amount of red fluid left on her foreleg.

She licked it.

“Yep,” she rolled the flavour around her mouth, “definitely blood.”

This self-relation was abruptly interrupted when the echoing sounds of several uncoordinated BANGS going off one the other side of the room. For once, they weren’t actually aimed at her.

Atomic paused mid lick.

These immediate artificial screams were quickly followed.

As the untrained soldiers were fumbling with their muskets, the enemy had thought that in its best interests was to promptly fire their weapons that the demon’s temporary security personal. This resulted in a catastrophic event which lead to three griffons withering on the ground in pain.

Without much of a pause, gunshots still persisted with popping from behind hastily found cover. Most missed, but the occasional hit from the inaccurate weapons was more than enough to take down one enemy soldier.

Atomic was surprised her soliders were this stupid.

Even after that mess, they still thought it was a good idea to stand in the open, where they could easily get shot.

Brillant.

If these guys maintained the IQ of a potato, she wouldn’t honestly be that surprised.

Idiots like these deserve to die.

Fortunately, Atomic didn’t exactly place any of her confidence on these primitives, she legitimately just wanted to see how well they faired out, even with intelligently superior technology.

Eventually, the sacks of potatoes were able to shove in their own rounds.

BA~ban—BANG

….And they all missed.

The entre atmosphere devolved onto ‘ultimate chaos’, the consistent bangs and pops that occurred in the environment would’ve been utterly worrying to some, others may have found it a bloody annoyance to their eyes.

To the blood-covered demon, it was like music to her ears.

To enjoy serenity to its fullest extent, she blissfully closed her eyes. She listened to the horrifying terminal screams, the shouting, the smell of gunpowder…she could’ve literally fallen asleep, if it weren’t for the uncomfortable position she was in. A dense metal seat and a puddle of warm blood tend to create this sort of situation.

As it happens, people are inclined to casually forget that they are bleeding profusely, and as such, their general bodily processing slows down until it comes to an absolute stop. Something that Atomic seems to forget on a daily basis.

Fortunately, a recent device added to her endoskeleton authorised the red blood cell production to act in hyperdrive, as long as she withheld the necessary nutrients, the manufacturing capacity would match the volume being lost.

One thing you should keep in mind though, there is a limit to everything.

If you thought about it, the earth pony was like a living, breathing, pretrial fountain that always kept seeping out blood from the various holes that lined throughout her body. No matter how long it ran, it would never run out of water.

A horrifying thought if I ever had one.

It was during this point in time that Atomic was beginning to become bored, so bored in fact it was starting to become agitating. Its great and all too forcibly boss people around, this however, signifies that she is no longer the focus of this battle. Since she’s no immediate threat, no-one had the guts to assault her.

Most sensible people would prefer this; as it puts you directly out of threat, but to the pony in the room, she loves being the centre of attention. To really get her hooves dirty and do what many would consider as insane.

Since the focus of the enemy was on the troops she mindfully ‘hired’, nobody seemed to give two shits about her. They wanted to focus on the threat at hand.

Admittedly, a stray golden projectile would ping to the side of her, but that’s just it— a stray bullet, something that probably wasn’t intended for her.

Atomic came to a decision—she was glad she gave commanding a go, but honestly, never really needs to try it again.

“You know what,” the blood-covered demon growled in agitation, “Fuck it, I’m going in.”

The pony began the process of sliding down the rather large throne with difficulty, while her saturated fur left a thick trail of rich crimson in its wake. Her hooves attempted to grab onto the surface of the giant seat, but the thick adhesive of blood caused the metal to become slippery.

Hence the reason why she fell on the ground in an embarrassing matter.

“Mother fucker!”

Unlike a cat, she did not twist around and land on her hooves, but somehow, crashed into the wooden floorboards face first, eyes closed and muzzle scrunched. Bizarrely, Atomic thought it was a good idea to hold that position for a couple more seconds.

With a small amount of effort, the winsome mare shakily pushed herself up onto her hooves, only pausing to look at the large pony shaped blood splatter on the floorboards.

It was obvious the remaining three griffons next to her noticed this—it would be impossible not to. They all spared a quick glance at her before swiftly returning to their undesirable duties.

All besides one. One soldier, no less than half a meter away stared at her with absolute, unadulterated fear. The kind of fear that only succumbs during a near-death experience.

He was obviously distressed for his own safety, it’s….not a real surprise especially if you considered what Atomic had done to many of his coworkers.

This expression unlocked a feeling inside her.

Her entire time on this planet had always left her asking, what do I want? What do I most desire? She had used this planet as a means to escape from her daily torment, but there was always a hole in her tiny metaphorical hearth that was just…never filled. No matter what she did, or what she accomplished, it just never got totally fill. To tell the truth, there had been brief periods of time where temporarily, she felt the astonishing emotion of being happy.

Even just for a moment.

-The griffons presented admiration for providing muskets to win the war.
-During deep throated conflicts, she slaughtered hundreds of petrified troops who would tremble in her wake.
-And now, this expression.

It may have come at a weird time, and place. Notwithstanding, Atomic had finally realised what her inner, deepest most primitive instincts had always desired. Every animal has had the dream of being on top of the food chain, and Atomic ultimately wanted to be that animal.

She wanted to have the ability to hold life in her hooves, to mould to her will. In retrospect, she wanted to be known, to be respected, and most importantly, to be feared.

These stupid griffons she ‘hired’ only contributed to one of those sectors—fear. Before she ‘recruited’ them, they had absolutely no idea who, or what she stood for. They had no respect, they didn’t understand what Atomic could and would do. They had no idea of the power, ambition, and personality this pony withheld.

Therefore, they could never respect her, they could never fill her soul with belonging.

The pony had come to the ultimate realisation, a realisation so grand that she felt inspired, as it happens, like any normal person, she had the desire to express herself through a song.

The red demon’s smile reached borderline intensity, so large and unfathomable that it covered from ear to ear. Her crisis pupils shrieked to the size of pin-prick, they shook with unseasonable madness.

She rotated her head towards to still gaping griffon.

“Hi there!” She squealed.

The splotched, red dripping pony sauntered her way towards the griffon trembling like an engine in overdrive, each step the demon took exponentially increasing his shaking, and decreased the size of his pupils.

“Want to play….” she licked her lips, “a game?”

The griffon didn’t even have an opportunity to respond, she leapt at him.

She withheld no weapons at the time, despite this, multiple naturally selected intimidating body parts were more than enough to accomplish the tasks she set herself up for.

Just before the pony crashed into her digressed target, the demon’s eyes indirectly dilated to take up the enter surface, transforming what once was a slightly stained red, into a terrifying, dread-less soul that consumed your being.

Her smile widened.

The devil herself slated with the force of an earthquake into the unprepared soldier and hugged him tightly, which choked him in the process. As he fell to the floor in solid gasps, Atomic utilised her sharp teeth to bite through the thin skin on the side of his neck and ultimately, rip out the oesophagus.

Blood literally exploded from his scruff, caking the entirety of the pony’s muzzle in a deep contagious red.

After the firm thump from the griffon from landing on the floor, regardless of the fact soldier was clearly going to die, Atomic still savagely ripped her way through the neck, one piece at a time, before ripping off the head by clutching the feathers between her precious teeth.

The room was quiet.

Her head snapped towards another griffon, one to the right of her just over a meter away, her eyelid twitches. She momentarily licked leftover gore on her muzzle.

Her ‘security force’ ran towards the Republicans for protection, in a brief moment of hospitality, it seemed as though the aggressors had teamed with their original enemy in an abnormal fear of surprise.

Atomic sprung at her nearest victim.

Shrewd tensed his body in preparation for an incoming fight, “Kill her!”

*Note: Anything that involves ‘~’ stretches out the word. Eg: Instead of meeeeeeeee it’s me~.*

The pony began to ominously sing, “I have a dream~!”

Her mane spilled behind her head as the wind rushed through it, bundling it into something comparable to fire, her body twisted into a frontal position, arms spread out.

The monstrosity before the soldier slammed right into him, hugging his autonomy, the resulting force in consequence to the acceleration and weight of Atomic, dictated the being to plummet forwards uncontrollably, arms flailing with uncountable terror.

Atomic was able to contribute a few extra newtons of brute force, which in turn, enticed the spin to break in multiple fractures. With his back bent at an odd angle, the white pony proudly stood on top, blood pooled at her heels from the various gashes, while the primate life-form screamed in expiration.

The demon grinned.

“As you can see~!”

Her hooves rose half a metre above the ground until they came trashing down onto her victim. She performed this multiple times, spiralling the sincere beating to grind the region, squelching thick red substance all over Atomic’s hooves.

Blood caked her fur in numerous locations, her winsome muzzle, her limbs, and other collected places like the stomach. Venues that remained white, still held their fluffy nature, despite this, these locations across her autonomy weren’t free without crimson droplets.

The devil rose up onto her hind hooves, “To kill you so it’s only me~!”

In recognition of the enemy’s attempts to terminate her with weapons she created, the crimson caked earth pony harvested the unwounded musket beside his corpse, obtained a sensible grip, and heaved the weapon in the air identical to a harpoon. She aimed the rifle like a spear, an adorable blep popped from her muzzle in concentration.

Another one of her previous soldiers was clearly still attempting to run to some sort of cover, but fortunately (or unfortunately depending how you look at it) hadn’t taken the initiative to find some quickly enough—every other griffon was clearly already in a suitable position, the majority poked their heads around their impromptu shelters, and attempted to briskly reload their weapons.

“I will raze every city!”

In a gloriously smooth effort, Atomic launched the improvisational spear at the still retreating prey, the bayonet sliced into the back of the griffon’s noggin, straight through one eye on the other side. instantaneously killing him.

The recipient, according to Newton's first law, maintained his velocity, but with the now plainly infective legs, crumbled to the ground and slid across it face first. Blood that originated from the skull made itself known by smudging a line of a thick crimson substance across the floor. The musket stood proudly up at a ninety-degree angle, comparable to a flagpole, but with no flag-waving upon it.

The dead griffon skid to a stop directly next to another soldier that was hidden behind a pillar.

“Which will be more than eighty!”

Some of the ‘near to be victims’, that had successfully loaded their weapons, had began to fire their weapons at her with the occasional BANG. None made its mark.

Seven griffons remained.

Atomic dropped to the floor in a commando crawl, and utilised her front two hooves to heal herself across the floor—the blood on her stomach acted as a lubricant, which permitted her figure to move across the ground swiftly.

She headed towards a Republican griffon behind a pillar on the left.

“The innocents are dead, what an adversity!”

This particular stooge had already reloaded his weapon, and was waiting with a sense of satisfaction for the devil to get closer—he had the intention to blast her at point-blank range.

Atomic didn’t give a single shit, she continued to rapidly creep towards him.

When she was one metre away, he pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The golden projectile hurdled directly into the soft fur of the pony’s neck, and spat out of the other side.

It had hit a large vein.

Ichor flowed in generous amounts as it poured straight out of the open wounds like a fountain, it cemented multiple hairs together. It drizzled down her coat.

Though it didn’t seem to subdue her.

“I will drink your corpuses during tea!”

The griffon turned scared stiff for a few minor seconds, he didn’t expect the pony in front of him to be able to receive that kind of blast— it should be able to kill anyone. And yet, here she is, a literal demon, singing.

“This I can, guarantee!”

Atomic kicked him in the balls, hard.

So hard in fact she probably crushed them under the force.

At least he still has his balls—in spirit.

THUMP

He fell over in pain, clutching the nether region like his life depended on it.

Atomic stood over him, her vibrating tiny eyes and her creepy smile never left his perception.

With muskets still firing, other griffons in the vicinity slowly began to traverse themselves to the other side of the room.

“But here’s the thing.”

If he was totally honest with himself, she was actually quite beautiful. Her white and red-stained fur, the way her hair flowed… It was like the angel of death was standing over him.

She instantaneously crushed his face with both hooves.

Then danced on his body.

“I have a dream!”

She pointed to the ceiling and proceeded to perform tap on his body.

“To kill you, so it’s only me~,” The white monstrosity gestured to herself.

Multiple rounds of musket projectiles made themselves known by spiralling in the general direction of Atomic. They made whistling noises as they passed.

One, however, was able to embed itself inside the pony’s fluffy chest.

She didn’t even flinch.

“I want respect!”

She jumped from the body and into the ground, and leisurely sauntered her way over to her next closest victim—who had slightly backed away from his original spot, his musket, still positioned up in caution.

“Or I’ll neglect!”

Atomic un-expectantly sprinted and launched herself up into the air, belly first.

He saw the shadow defend upon him, despite the griffon best efforts, he still copped the full force of Atomic’s weight to the head, he slammed into a pillar adjacent to him. In defiance of the unlikely possibility, he was still able to remain standing—with help from the column next to him, of course.

“With a simple killing spree!”

The demon sat on his back, identical to the way you would sit on a horse.

He tried to push her off.

His efforts were negligible because she snapped his neck anyway.

The soldier toppled to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“Get. Wrecked.”

Five griffons remain.

Atomic darted towards her next target.

The soldier had his musket, bayonet facing forwards, he was ready for her.

Although she could’ve evidently brought her motion to a standstill, she choose not to—it was too much effort.

The pony slammed straight through the blade, it implanted itself through her chest and splinted her like one giant kabab, embedded deep inside her.

The Republican soldier that withheld the weapon smiled with premature delight—this was surely the killing blow, nothing could recover from this.

Atomic licked her lips, her white amorous stare never left his eyesight.

She was clearly not in pain.

“Hey!”

His smirk utterly dissipated.

It was obvious he was in some deep shit.

“I have a dream~!”

Chest first, she thrusted herself forward with her front hooves, more blood befell from the wound and congregated with other running streams. This contributed towards the growing puddle of crimson blood underneath her.

“As you can see~!”

The pony shoved herself forward again.

To kill you so it’s only me~.”

She plunged forward again.

And again.

And, again.

This contributed the motion of slowly being pushed down the shaft.

The griffon blinked in shock.

Her muzzle slowly leaned in until it was pressing firmly against his beak.

The Republican soldier couldn’t honestly fathom the situation, one moment he had stabbed her, and the next, she was grinning in his face. For whatever reason, the pony—or the God in front of him, actually liked being impaled.

Which she did.

The demon snapped his neck.

“To be feared.”

A griffon reasonably close to her—about three to four metres away. Realised the hopelessness in the situation, and made a break for it.

Morale was hitting critical levels.

“But never sneered.”

Atomic pretended to become comfortable, she sat her plush fur on her previous victims back. A musket stock prodded from her chest, sporting blood, she waited in anticipation.

“To decimate.”

The griffon attempted to open the doors.

Only to be immediately set alight in a futuristic blue flame, this fiery exposition was followed by the dramatic forceful explosion that originated from the door. The kinetic energy rippled, and shook the entire room, this momentarily stopped any gunfire.

The resulting directional force propelled the body to fly through the air in slam into the wall on the contradictory side of the room. A trail of indigo followed in his wake.

“Cremate.”

He was dead as soon as he touched the door.

“And brutality intimidate!”

With the now embedded musket inside Atomic’s chest, every muscle movement enforced blood to spit from the open wound, and the bayonet to scramble all of her insides, which caused her interior bodily functions to transform into a meat stew.

She began to saunter over to the three remaining griffons in the corner, all huddled into a tight circle. Shrewd Preparation was one of them, he too, held musket high, and persisted with firing relentlessly at her.

As a matter of fact, he was directing them.

Atomic shrugged at their hateful stares, “But, hey.”

The endearing white pony was beginning to feel a bit woozy, perhaps it was the lack of blood? She had, after all, normally fatal wounds on almost every part of her body. She was literally, 98% red, sections of bones were even appearing, and with the almost consistent pepper of golden projectiles—it’s going to get worse.

Maybe she should cut things short.

“I have a dream~!”

The pony’s four hooves slammed on the ground in sequential order and spread her legs out into what may seem like a power stance. The hoof ‘beats’ that accompanied this, emphasised her glorious singing.

“As you can see~!”

The griffons persisted to fire at her—some hit. Though it was obvious all of them were scared shitless, the solitary reason they continued to fight was they all witnessed first hand, what happens when you try to leave.

“To kill you so it’s only me~.”

Then, the strangest of events occurred.

Atomic slammed her right hoof with three repetitive thwacks on the wooden floor, and twisted it on a ninety-degree angle—this seemed to really confuse the reaming griffons, what the fuck was she doing? Dancing?

In a glorious show of robustness, she utilised her front legs to balance herself on her hind hooves —in a similar stance to a bipedal, she also held her right appendage directly up, indistinguishable from a fist punctured in the air.

“I will raze every city.”

Bullets still pounded her body, yet, she still didn’t flinch.

“Which will be more than eighty.”

For some reason, the small, square red sticker that was located on her right front hoof began to glow permanency, the once 2D shape extended upward to create a one by one grey centimetre cube. This geometric shape persisted to expand on all sides, more cubes broadened from its shape and began to form a long, grey shaft.

Atomic transversed her left hoof in-front of her other appendage.

“And all of the innocent as well!”

This object persisted to grow, it stretched over the pony’s shoulder, over her hooves. A handle materialised which she immediately gripped onto. An enlarged hole on the back formed, and an abnormally shaped oval thing appeared at the front.

The sudden weight inspiraled the object to fall slightly due to gravity, Atomic caught it.

To the remaining Republicans, it looked like a stick.

To the demon, it was a rocket launcher.

“I will drink your corpses during tea!”

The white rather pony closed one eye in concentration, and aimed the weapon at the corner of helpless animals….

“Rip your limbs,” she pulled the trigger, “an amputee!”

A trajectile thrusted through the air towards its unlucky targets, it left a thick sea of black smoke in its wake, smouldering anything in its path.

The only conception that was able to enter Shrewd Preparation’s thought process before his inevitable death was, “This sucks.”

BOOOOM!

With an amazing crack and thunder, a large explosion rocked the entire room, it bathed the walls with premature yellow light and echoed the loud sounds throughout the space.

All of the primitive creatures were evaporated immediately.

“This I can, guarantee~!”

When the flames rested, the only remaining evidence of their extent was the large scorch mark, and their red scalding metal tubes from the muskets.

Atomic threw the rocket launcher to the side with no hesitation.

“This I can, guarantee~~!”

The pony ended the performance by extending her front hooves out in an arch and eventually, collapsing on her hooves in expiration.

Well.

That was interesting.

So interesting in fact that the majestically bright explosion and loud sound caught the attention of the other Republican soldiers in the city.

When they entered, the sight they were greeted with was extravagant, to say the least.

Although the environment was in utter shambles—debris, blood and guts littered the room. The supposedly ‘dead’ white pony was laying on her side, with the hole stricken cape draped over her. A golden crown (now caked in blood) unanimously relaxed on Atomic’s head.

A pool of blood was congregated around her.

“Awww, fuck,” Atomic muttered, she had just noticed her new ‘company’, “Now where is that machine gun…?”

They didn’t survive.

Author's Note

Yet again, I apologise for the late chapter, hopefully, this, extra, extra long one will make up for it.

In case your wondering; I am slightly speeding up the storyline; I want to get to the really... juicy parts as soon as possible. (Nothing lewd of course). I'm really looking forward to writing them.

Chapter TwentyEight: Dead a Dozen

"9 out of 10 voices in my head say that I'm crazy. The tenth is humming."
—Anonymous

"It's sad to know I'm done. But looking back, I've got a lot of great memories."
—Bonnie Blair

——
Chapter TwentyEight: Dead a dozen.
——

[Status: okay] Booting HARMONY data and distribution AI 4.9.1v

[Status: OK] Windows experimental version 0.4.34-alpha
[Status: OK] Indicate Command: Maintenance Prophecy Function();
[Status: OK] Indicate Command: Friendship();

[Status: okay] Allowing 128 CPUs
[Status: okay] dev: initialised
[Status: okay] NEIT: Registered protocol
[Status: okay] PCI: Using ACPI for IRQ routing
[Status: okay] Lan found 1964720 devices

Scanning for corruption
…successful okay

Last activity 0.2 days

//Trying to unpack dark energy data
…ERROR
//Trying to unpack dark energy data
…ERROR
//Trying to unpack dark energy data
…ERROR

3x Data collection and analyse ERROR
Discrepancy found

Please refer to Scientific Collection Board for script analyse
…
Please refer to Scientific Collection Board for script analyse
…
Please refer to Scientific Collection Board for script analyse
…
ERROR Personal not found.

//Personal on planet HARMONY: 0

Calling emergency number for assistance….
..ERROR
Calling emergency number for assistance….
..ERROR
Calling emergency number for assistance….
..ERROR

Not found_invalid

[Status: okay] Crisis resolution initiated
[Status: okay] Initiate neural network v.4

Processing…

_Data_

Unknown entity damaging INTERGALACTIC SCIENTIFIC BOARD EXPERIMENT

Entity 273D
Species: Pony
Appearance: White and red
Inmate dark energy capability: Moderate
Personality: Unstable
DOB_Date_of_birth: …..unknown.
Age: …unknown.
Anomalies:
Unrecognisable metal in system
Unrecognisable nano-devices
Thermonuclear mark__ERROR__.

Conclusion__threat to experiment…

REASON: Change society from path_negative

[Status: OK] Emergency Solution Function type_one_();
[Status: OK] Dark energy signal sent

[Status: okay] Maintain signals…

[Status: OK] //Closure…successful

*Squelch*

Various mysteriously horrendous sounds diffracted in the surrounding air particles, the demon known commonly referred as 'Atomic Discharge' sailed from the massive front doors of the palace, her hooves drove into the bodies of griffon littered randomly on the ground. Their blood; seeped from the hundreds of various bullet wounds inflicted.

It was honestly quite difficult to avoid any of the deceased rag-dolls—there were so many. Most were fretted out in congregated lines at the front; they all had been prepared to fire upon Atomic, but one quick, and simple swoop of a machine gun quickly took care of that complication.

If one were to add all of the casualties inflicted, they'd find over 2000 was eliminated in combat. The division quickly relocated to the place after they witnessed the initial explosion. Too bad none of them actually made it out alive.

The other division, situated outside Griffonstone at the time, one, if I might add, with significantly less experience and training; was the only one that remained. After they had at first hand witnessed what had occurred, all of the 'soldiers' bolted abroad with their tails between their legs, and the complete contrasting direction—elsewhere from the city.

The fact one, singular, white pony was able to accomplish this was honestly, disappointing. The species often considered 'weak', was the one who placed their entire country into turmoil.

Who would've thought?

Disgraceful.

I would've thought these griffons could've put up more of a lasting fight—but all they did was stare in absolute shock as I gunned each one of them down. Maybe they didn't expect a weapon of that proportions could even exist.

I ascertained my front hoof downwards, compensating a somewhat weak SQUISH as it made contact with the flesh below. I repeated this motion with my back hooves until I reached a repetitive walking motion. Each step contributed to a solid *Squelch*, although slightly irritating to listen to, I slowly made my way across the sea of bloodied bodies.

Until I distinguished a rather unholy sight of what appeared to be a child— or chick as the griffons call them, hugging an intelligibly lifeless adult body. Tears poured from their eyelids, and various pitches of sobs broke from her beak. She was crying.

Probably a father or something.

Who gives a shit.

She, after all, originated from the generations upon generations of griffons ago, where, initially, were fabricated by the hands of intellectually intelligent humans. In that sense, she's nothing but a byproduct of one of the most significant societal experiments of all time.

Arguably, I can, therefore, establish that she, indeed, has no exact soul. Just an empty husk programmed to sustain vividly human emotions.

That's my opinion, at least.

Why do I feel so…for lack of better words; bad then?

It's abnormal, I've never really experienced a feeling like this before …it's …forcing me to regret my actions.

I actually pity that little chick, my inner emotions are screaming at me to silently pursue the words, 'everything will be alright.'

It even has the coercion to weigh down my next impending decision which would ultimately kill all the remaining hope that lactose throughout her being.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Never once in my entire life, I felt something even close to this trepidation, and, all of a sudden, suddenly drowning in it?

Bullshit.

I shake my head and try to refocus on the extraneous task at hand. My eyes narrow accordingly, and my facade sets in stone.

Do you want to know what I really don't give a fuck about?

Hmm?

This entire city.

An unconditionally, mcmassive explosion in the castle suddenly had the desire to make itself known behind me. Colossal orange and yellow flames expanded like a massive fireball, the overwhelmingly enormous amount of kinetic energy forced multiple bodies to fly through the air similar to a tornado. Stone became molten, and blocks became fragmented.

Dancing like sincere demons that consumed their daily sacrifices.

Atomic slid on some reflective black sunglasses.

Everything was destroyed.

Atomic isn't stupid enough to leave a rocket launcher, for God's sake, in the middle of a primitive kingdom.

Or a machine gun, for that matter.

Instead of taking the most practical route; simply collecting all mentioned weapons and disposing of them accordingly. Atomic just preferred to have it all blown up.

Honestly, it could've done with a makeover anyway.

"Luna."

The dark naval alicorn in question either didn't hear nor care that her sister, Princess of the Day, was attempting to gain her attention. Instead, she continued to thoroughly concentrate on the novel that was held in-between her forelegs.

"Luna."

The Princess of the night was rigorously enjoying that book—it was a science fiction novel permitting a futuristic magical pony. It was interesting.

"Lulu."

Plus, this pillow was way too comfortable, the warm fireplace, and the sincere atmosphere was absolutely brilliant. She could stay like this for hours.

"Wona."

Until she came in here.

"WHAT??!"

Celestia pursed her lips, striving not to laugh.

"I have a present for you."

Luna, with an expression of utter hatred, switched her gaze to the object in question, a long shaft, covered by some sort of tarp, held within Celestia's magical aurora.

"What is it?"

The white Princess grinned and gently placed it on her sister's forehooves.

"Go on, open it."

Luna shrugged.

Carefully utilising her hooves, Luna slowly unwrapped the cloth and transposed it, and furthermore, scowled at the thick crude metal tube located underneath it.

The weapon brought a foul test to her mouth.

"Seriously?" Luna levitated the musket to be eye level with herself and Celestia, "you and I both are aware that I absurdly despise these weapons, and yet, you offer one as a gift." She was not pleased.

Celestial rolled her eyes.

"No, it's different," she nodded towards it, "take a closer look."

Luna couldn't perceive anything out of it, only the eventful painful pierce at the back of her eyes.

She simply stared at her sister with a facade of irritation.

The Princess of the sun, yet again, rolled her eyes playfully.

"It's powered by magic."

Now she was interested.

"Magic?" Luna rotated the weapon around her forehooves, peering at it, "still seems like a useless piece of shit to me."

"Luna!" Celestia resorted, "the research team put a lot of work into this, and this is the first prototype, please treat it as such."

"Whatever," the dark alicorn pushed the object to the side, and turned back to the book she was reading in peace previously, "I still consider it dishonourable."

"I would doubt that," Celestia began, "It uses an enchanted crystal, which, when activated by unicorn magic, can push a metal projectile out at a relatively high speed."

"So what you're saying," Luna swivels her hooves around, "is that only my unicorn service-soldiers would be able to operate it?" She moderately raised her eyebrows, "I'd much prefer to utilise magic beams instead—much more effective."

Celestial shook her head, "magic struggles to pierce amour, this can," she paused, "to a degree."

The blue alicorn rolled her eyes, "I still fail to see the practicality, this would be a strain on the supply line to lug this thing," she switched her gaze to scrutinise the unholy sight, "around."

"Yes, I'll admit this does need a few improvements…." Celestial trailed off," But I assure you, I did this because of you!"

"Was it for me?" Luna's expression transfigured into one of roguish, "Or was it because you have no idea what the recipe for—what do you call it? Sugar powder? Grey powder?"

"Gunpowder?"

"Yes, that," She murmured, "this development is certainly better than those abominations, but I'm still not interested."

The President, and all of his subordinates, were speechless.

Placed around a circulated table sat three imposing individuals. Beaks in claw, they wiped the various droplets of sweat that dribbled across their facade. All attempted to maintain a rather stoic expression, though this became exceedingly difficult as the grim news continued to flow in. They were cracking.

They were backed into a corner.

Figuratively, It was only a matter of time before the pony stopped licking her lips.

"It's hopeless sir," General Garrison initiated, "An entire division, along with Major General Shrewd Preparation has been annihilated."

He compressed his wrinkled features onto the harden tabletop, his voice, muffled, "We've tried, and tried again to subdue that stupid pony, and yet, every time we think we've succeeded," he spread his arms out in exaggeration, "POOF! She back to hack our back from behind."

President Senatus pursed his beak, unsure, "Are you sure it was the demon that transcribed this event? Surely it could've been the Imperials."

Garrison leaned his face to peer upwards at the President, "Was there any other doubt?"

He continued to wither on the table.

General Bridges decided to tidbit in, "Multiple eyewitness accounts stated there was a massive explosion that decimated the entire palace, why would they do that? To their own city, no less?"

Senatus could only rub his chin in response.

They sat there for a concession moment, mulling over the event.

The demonic pony, or God, as some have decided to call it—is more than a nuisance, she always seemed one step ahead. Poking at their pride. It was like she knew their future plans for her. Perhaps they're going to have to suck up their pride, it was apparent options were running thin; their entire country was spread out on melting ice. Perhaps they're going to have to consider something different.

"I think this leaves us with only one option," the generals exchanged their gazes to the President, his face, darkened with shame, "We need to cut our losses, and evacuate from the remains of the Griffon Empire—we have no idea what her next move will be. I think it's in our best interests we leave her be."

"Only then," he shook his fist, "can we create some sort of peace treaty with her; let the situation cool off."

It was evident no-one was thrilled with his decision, but it was the least risky option.

The whole war. Was for nothing.

They'll have to finish the job another day. It just won't be anytime soon.

"Very well," Garrison stood up and saluted, "I'll immediately alert the other generals of our decisions and send a couple of runners off to the main army."

Maps were rolled up, and invasion plans sent to the flames.

They shook claws, the meeting adjourned.

Twilight was not a happy camper.

She was beginning to think pink was a horrific colour.

Everything had been going to plan, and everything had been executed to the fullest extent.

She had been reading hundreds of texts surrounded with in-depth knowledge of military strategy and tactics. The Lylaic unicorn had even dedicated an entire bookshelf to the whole ideal. And yet, it wasn't enough.

Enough is never enough.

Twilight had challenged the current Captain of the Guard to a game of Kriegspiel, a game that he had 'claimed' to be extremely proficient at.

Of course, with his smug demure he accepted.

A deal had been made, and a deal had been broken. If Twilight were to 'beat' him, his rank of Captain would be ultimately removed, and given to her. If Celestia's student lost; she would 'piss off' and 'never come back to Canterlot again.'

Throughout the game, the Captain, a mock to her precious brother's achievements, took quick, and rash decisions. His smile never faulted...until he began to lose.

He was crushed, totally and utterly destroyed. The pink unicorn had freaking flipped the table in fury, and stormed off.

When confronted by Twilight when he, "Will revoke his rank". The Captain proceeded to pretend he, 'had no idea what she was talking about'.

Twilight was furious. She'll just have to find another way to undermine him.

Something isn't right.

I feel...different.

I ascertained my front hoof downwards, differentiating into a walk style. I attempted to feel confident with each solid step, but this was becoming especially difficult with the mix of competitive emotions that ran through me. Each passerby I came across in this destroyed city brought a somewhat sharp ping to my heart.

Just before, I was even complementing the colour pink. Pink! The most feminine colour in existential existence and I was beginning to think, it was an okay colour!

No...this will simply not stand. Something is being tampered within me— I'm not sure if it's because I've been alive in this body for an extended period or... Potentially, a unicorn of some kind has gained the ability for direct emotional alterations, which, despite this planet's primitive nature, is still entirely possible.

My face wrinkles at the thought.

Body tensed, I gradually slow down, my hooves withdraw from the repeated walking motion.

My eyes complemented the buildings around me. Another ping of regret slams into my soul—several griffons from the splinted doorways, and smoked stone buildings peaked frozen in horror.

My face relaxed, I actually felt bad for them.

Which is entirely unacceptable.

"Fuck it."

A sword I had 'acquired' from the now-deceased General, previously intended as a trophy, is to be repurposed as a useful tool to escape subjugation.

"I'll be back."

In one swift motion, I skewered the thin sword in the midst of my neck. Although my vision blanked instantaneously, for a brief moment, I could still feel the warm thick blood slither down my fur.

It tickled.

What remained of Atomic Discharge was nothing short of a monument. She prevailed as a standing flesh statue, on all fours, eyes wide open, peering into the wind. The long silver sword caked in red obeyed her, it rested against the hardened soil. She stood standing.

The onlookers gaped in horror.

Author's Note

PLEASE READ

I'm going, to be honest— I've lost almost all motivation for this story.

Does this mean story won't continue...? Probably.

This novel has had too many potholes; so many that I can't even count, and there are so many things I want to change. The only reason I even finished this chapter was due to the 2500 word minimum I set myself from the start.

I had so many plans; so much foreshadowing.

I know what I feels like for a book you've really gotten into to be suddenly cancelled—and I feel bad for inflicting it on some of you.

I'm still going through a decision process, but as of now, I feel as though halting the development of this story is the best option. I'll alert you of my final decision in the form of a chapter update.

For now, I have plans. Many plans, I have not given up on writing, I've started to flesh out another idea. I've put precautions in place so mistakes will not be repeated.

Best of all? Same main character, just a different timeline and situation. More technological development, war, political drama and characterisation.

And of course, Atomic will still give zero fucks.

Tell what you guys think, can this story be saved? Any ideas you want to throw out? Questions? I will answer (almost) anything.

The final Chapter: A Mini-chapter

Author's Note

I have come to a conclusion.

If you haven't read the author’s notes from the last chapter; I strongly advise you do. In summary, I’ve chosen to halt this story indefinitely. Plot holes and unfavourable set up of nations/characters being the main drive.

This story will be cancelled.

Those of you who are querying what would've occurred in the future, here is a short description:
—Atomic was to become a Queen. I won't specify what nation, it could potentially, somewhat, spoil the next book.

That's pretty much it. Of course, there was a bunch of other subtopics that were being incorporated; Twilight would've become the Captain of the Royal Guard, for example.

Any ideas for the next book you want to throw out? Any questions? Alert me in the comment section below!

To indulge your tastebuds, here is a mini non-canon chapter:

The final Chapter: A Mini-chapter

Darkness.

That's all Atomic Discharge could see.

It seeped into the corners of her vision, and swamped, conjugated into a pool around her. It was inescapable. No matter how much she struggled, no matter how much tried attempted to gain purchase on a surface, the present darkness didn't move.

'What the fuck?' she reminisced, 'where I am?'

There was a flash, and suddenly, a light. A piercing white light that assaulted her eyelids.

"'The fuck' indeed!" A creature appeared, reminiscent of differentiating body parts. A lion's paw, a scaley tail, and goat's head.

The definition of puzzlement.

"Welcome!" The beast exclaimed arms spread out, "to my domain!"

Atomic Discharge gradually rotated her head to gaze upon the surrounding environment. Streaks of various slades of purple swirled in the sky, several sizes of havens floated, all of different shapes and colours. It was difficult to picture.

A click of his figures, a stylish red suit appeared over his figure.

He bowed with embellishment, "thank you for taking the time for being here, thank you. "

The beast snapped his claws, the clothing disappeared and a tray of fixated bubbly soft drinks stood on a tray before Atomic.

Discord smiled, "Care for a drink?"

The white pony floated there.

After a lack of response, the creatures grin incinerated, he pulled the selection of beverages away and mumbled under his breath, something derogatory.

In the midst of his ramblings, Atomic interrupted, "Why am I here, exactly?"

Discord promptly turned towards her and snapped his fingers.

A top hat, monocle, and a moustache emerged from an explosion of sprinkles.

"Why, good sir," the Draconequus pursed his lips and spoke in a posh accent, "to tell you a joke!"

Atomic had to pause on that one.

"To...tell me...a joke?"

He nodded with over-enthusiasm, "that's right my boy! The best jokes in the existence of man and ponykind!"

She paused, unsure of herself.

"...why?"

"Phft!" Discord poofed behind her, "no need for reasons! Let me get on with the jokes!"

A grand stage, crimson curtains, flashing lights and polished wood appeared before the pony. The drapes slowly moved to the sides to reveal...none other than a grinning Draconequu in a suit, clutching a microphone.

Atomic just floated there.

"Ahem," he peered at a floating notepad, "did you know, cleaning mirrors is a job I can really see myself doing?"

The line was finished off with a broad smile.

Atomic Discharge was unimpressed.

He chupsed, "oof, tough crowd."

Discord cleared his throat again, "I wanted to tell you a joke about leaches, but they all suck."

How could he manage an even bigger grin?

And yet, it revoked no response from the pony he was attempting to impress, the only inclination he got that she was even listening, was a deadpan.

He laughed nervously and swallowed a pit of bile that was forming in his throat.

"I'm taking part in a stair claiming competition..." A block of stairs resembled before him, "I better... step up my game."

She coughed. Still clearly unimpressed.

The Draconequus hurled the microphone and the notepad disassembled into flames. He put a claw to his chin in thought.

"Hmmmmm"

He tapped his foot, the sound reverberated throughout the cosmic realm.

"I got it!" He exclaims, "a meme! This out to get you laughing!"

Discord snapped his right claw together.

Pixie dust erupted from the stage, a large black-screen TV stood in its place, behind. He gestured with both arms to the image settled on it, smiling, instead of inspecting it, he examined Atomic's changing expression.

She was horrified. Horrified beyond belief. Wide eyes, mouth flopped open like a fish, it was like someone was choking her, strangling her, to death.

Atomic Discharge tended in horror.

Discord was...confused, "what are you talking about—"

He paused.

"Holy shit!"

"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Shrieks and screams.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING??!"

"I DON'T KNOW!!"

"REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

"SHUT IT OFF! SHUT IT OFF!"

The bird moved, it flinched. I came out of the television, it's head cucked back and forth, examining its impending meal.

"AAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

Mouth open and teeth showing, it pecked downwards, consuming discord.

It was coming for Atomic next.

Prologue

Greetings New Readers! I just wanted to warn you about the horrendous structure, at the beginning of this book. Obviously, my writing skills improve to a much greater extent, as the story continues forward, so either skip a few chapters ahead (I recommend Chapter 9) or withstand the weather until it clears.

The year is 4946.
Humans have extended to unbound lengths and have spread across the entire galaxy and are now in the process of securing territory and maintaining interstellar unity.

How much do planets cost? Surprisingly not much. At this current time period, our galactic empire is traveling through a resource depression. Nothing like fossils fuels, these power sources have been long replaced with ENTIRE STARS encased and harvested for their electricity. We actually require uranium, and plutonium in order to produce the standard weapons for the UDPRE (United Democratic People’s Republic of Earth). As recently we went through a massive intergalactic civil war, and the army is in need of desperate repair in order to keep organisation and control in the galaxy.

As a result, planets with a high abundance of these materials have increased in value by unbound lengths. It doesn’t matter how intelligent the native species of these planets are, they will be pushed aside for the greater good of the empire.

Planets cost accordingly to two focuses, Resources, and Habitability. Obviously as mentioned previously fossil fuels are worth literally less than dirt, same with other common metals such as iron and aluminium.

Habitability slightly increases the worth of a planet as it requires little to any terraforming. Which can be highly expensive at times.

Thousands upon thousands of companies and rich individuals have sold their ‘resource-deprived’ or ‘useless’ planets in exchange for the more promising ones. This has left a huge amount of planets on the intergalactic market. What happens when there is an abundance of a particular object? According to basic economics, the value drops, dramatically.

That aside, nobody has cared about xenomorphs for hundreds of years, in fact, they are considered almost extinct. Biologists are an extreme rarity, and those that do exist are doing it only as a hobby.
Why is this the case? Everyone has the ability to literally create whatever species they want, sapient or not (as long the animals’ capabilities stay within the requirements). Organisms can even be produced in a variety of DNA languages. You can buy one of these biological fabricators at your local stellar system corner store.

People have populated habitable planets with their own creations for fun, or scientific experiments. Or even genetically changed their own bodies into different species, although this is generally frowned upon.

On another note, humans are the greatest. We literally have the greatest genes in the galaxy. Humans have the intelligence value of ten, which is the highest ever recorded, and with a natural hostility of five. Species with a lower value will advance in technology at a slow pace, as war gives a drive to beat their enemy with new cutting edge technology.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, xenomorphs with a naturally high amount of hostility will end up destroying themselves.
And to top all of that off, we have FINGERS! Sure, other natural forming life forms sometimes gain them, it’s however generally only two or three. This gives humans an edge, that allows them to create undefined advances in the construction of machines and other items.

Earth is the greatest planet in the galaxy, it’s the place where new technologies are released first, the most beautiful and awe-inspiring place, and is our original origin. I have a long family line which is directly from Earth, and as a result, I’m lucky enough to own a block of land on this hunk of a rock.
Did you know that my portion of tiny land is worth more than a twenty-million armed fleet? I have enough intergalactic estate agents come knocking on my door monthly to create a three story building, using the bones as the soul-building material. Now try and live there for a whole life. Eventually they end up just becoming similar to background radiation.

I’m bored, just like everyone else in the Galaxy. Artificial Intelligence has long ago replaced the average worker even soldiers, and as a result, every person is unemployed and has nothing to do, besides perusing their hobbies. The only reason I’m considered to be of the ‘higher class’ is due to my heritage, which has paved its way through the generations. It just doesn’t feel right to receive a free income from the government.

To make it worse, everyone on Earth has a regeneration pod, so in the unlikely event of death. We automatically respawn and continue to live out boring lives as if nothing had happened.

As luck would have it though, I think I have a grand idea to fix my ultimate boredom.

Author's Note

This was just a little background information, the story will commence next chapter!

Chapter One: Planet Harmony

“The truth is that everyone is bored, and devotes himself to cultivating habits.”
-Albert Camus

Chapter One: Planet Harmony

I rub my eyes and stretch across my single bed. White walls surround me, and crimson carpet plagues the floor. My striped pyjamas stick out like a sore thumb from the rest of the room, as the materials are an eye threatening neon yellow.

God, I feel like crap.

Slowly but surely moving out of bed, I however misjudge how close I am to the edge and end up depositing my body on the floor, really hard. This gave my body the jolt it needed to be woken up to the fullest extent.

“FUCK!” I screeched, the carpet however muffled my voice causing it to become unrecognisable. I better not of broken a rib like last time.

I walked out of my bedroom straight into the living area out of the door. Sunlight greets me in an almost blinding way through the window on the opposite side. Forcing myself to cover my eyes with my arm.

The living room is the same style as my bedroom, except a comfy flush, dull brown couch occupies the left corner of the room and a holographic vision (HV) located on the wall opposite to it. Honestly, this is the place where I’ve spent most of my life. To the right is the garage, where I keep my Pajero Space Car.

“Good morning Jack,” routinely stated my home assistant AI.

“Fuck you too,” I replied. When you spend most of your life with one of these things, they tend to get on your nerves. Plus, it’s a requirement for all Earth citizens to have one.

I continued to walk, and turn left into the kitchen area. This is the best area of the house, it’s where I eat, which is one of my favourite activities.

“Is there anything I can get you this morning?” the AI said in the same monochrome women voice.

“Sultana Brand, with a glass of chocolate milk, thanks,” I calmly stated. Chocolate milk always boosts my mood.

The kitchen area is surrounded in white walls, and instead of the blood carpet, there is white tiles, which have the ability to heat up. Mmmmmmm, nice and warm.
On the left side is located an ‘L’ shaped aluminium bench, with a series of different cereal boxes on top and a standard square wooden table located in the centre of the room.
I pulled back one of the two wooden chairs and sat down at the table. Where I’m greeted with two robotic arms that originate from the ceiling, that deposit by breakfast on the table, in front of me.

I quickly snatch the spoon from the right side of the bowl, and scoff down the cereal in a very undignified manner. Nobody has yet to beat me in a food contest.

Before I know it, I look down at my bowl and its empty. Without even any thought, my eyes lock onto the chocolate milk. I can feel my lips trembling in anticipation. Using my right hand, I rap my fingers around the glass and practically throw the fluid into my mouth. While savouring the flavour on my taste buds, I lean over and grab my holographic tablet from the other side of the table.

I unlock the device by swiping to the right side. While staring at my tablet, I stand up from my chair and walk back into the living room. People state that only women can multitask, I guess that I’m just special.

I let my butt sink into the luscious couch, and lean back into it.
I swear, if anything is any more comfortable then this couch, I will sell everything that I care for just to get my hands on it. Well, except for my prized possession. The Land Pattern Musket, nicknamed the “Brown Bess”.

Moving my vision up from my tablet, to stare at the shelf adjacent to the holographic HV, where sitting on top of it is the carefully preserved gun, from the mid 1700s. This particular musket is a smooth barrel, and was originally used in the colonisation of Australia. It has been passed over the generations through my family, admittedly the wood stock and the flint and steel has been replaced several times. The metal is also polished to perfection, this however does lessen the value. I couldn’t care less though.

I sometimes like to take it to a shooting range, although I do get quite a few odd looks. Nobody shoots gunpowder weapons anymore, let alone a musket. Some people almost scream at me that I was ruining a historical artifact, what’s the point in having an object sitting and collecting dust? When it could actually be used in what it was designed to do? In fact, serval museums have offered a fuck load of money for it, honestly I just don’t want it to sit behind a glass panel for all of existence.

I return my focus back onto my tablet, and begin to scroll down the online intergalactic market website.

Eventually I spot a planet that is familiar, Mars. Why would this planet be for sale? It’s practically the biggest tourist attraction, of course second to Earth. The entire planet is actually one massive historical reserve. The place is known for the ‘adventure’ tourist attractions. Where you get to experience what is was like for the first settlers. It is however, ridiculously expensive.

The cost of the place is so big, I can’t even read it.

Once I had enough of the ‘expensive’ section, I decided to move onto the cheap planets, the ones nobody really wants. I start to scroll down.

Lava ball, water ball, another lava ball, stone ball, water ball, radiation ball, ice ball, and another lava ball. Useless planets, they have basically no natural resources and usually no life. Literally nobody wants them. Sometimes, people like to blow them up for fun.

I added serval tags into the search area, “Habitability: 80%>”, “Status: No contact” and “Sapient Lifeforms”.

This brings up around twenty planets, all of which haven’t changed since seven months ago. They’re all unless in my books, the planets’ sapient creatures are at best tribal, and hadn’t even invented agriculture.

I’ve always wanted to buy a planet and mess around with the natives on it, by mostly wrecking diplomatic havoc, resulting in conflicts. I have yet to find an appropriate planet though.

That is, until now.

On the bottom of the list, is a new planet that got recently added on the market, around three hours ago. The planet is called “Fevour 1267”, and it’s nicknamed “Harmony”.

Without giving it much thought, I quickly use my finger to bring up more information on the planet.

Planet: Fevour 1267 or Harmony
Value: C 2,600,000
Section: Bravo 1729
Habitability: 98%
Diametre: 11,900km (7,400mi)
Gravity: 9.73m/s^-2
Status: No contact
Resources: Ridiculously Scarce
Geological Activity: Extremely low
Average Era: Early Medieval
Dominant Species: Multiple

Description: Land mass consists of one massive supercontinent, referred to as ‘Poteria’. Atmosphere has the ability to support human life, consists of next to no greenhouse gases. Nitrogen 76%, Oxygen 23%, Carbon Dioxide 0.016%, Other Gases 0.984%.
Environment contains a small amount of deadly creatures, which occasionally prey on native settlements.
40% of the natural planet has been put on a leash due to the control of weather through dark energy, by the pony race ‘pegasus’. This has destroyed the natural process of the ‘water cycle’ and resulted in the deaths of over 95% of the native species in the affected areas. 20% of forests have been lost due to deforestation, and areas that still remain are highly regulated and secured.
Territory occupied by conventional species are still exposed by the natural processes.

History: More than 2000 years ago, the planet was chosen for a scientific experiment for the impacts of control of dark energy in biological lifeforms, and the result of several different sapient creatures living on the same planet. The species were created by early biological fabricators, and as a result all species were based off Earth DNA. Only one species (pony) was given control of dark energy, while the rest had to make do with conventional means.
Results; Originally different races of the same species (pony) were in conflict. Evidently combined into a single country under two immortal rulers. Most of the planet hasn’t seen conflict for over 1000 years and is therefore mostly unfamiliar with the concept. Although some conventional creatures have maintained a military mindset, due to the occasional civil war or domestic conflict.

Resources: The planet contains next to no uranium and plutonium, and areas with deposits are no larger than a few kilograms. The planet has had a large history of containing basic animal lifeforms for millions of years, and therefore there are huge deposits of fossil fuels.
Metals such as iron, aluminium, copper, and even gold are in a large abundance.
Due to the low geological activity, sulphur and other materials formed around magma are in a very limited amount. Ground fertility is also generally a problem, due to 40% of the natural environment on a leash. Dark energy from the ‘Earth Pony’ race mostly solved this problem.

Sapient Species:

Note: All species speak English, with only slight variations.

Small Horse or ‘Pony’;
Intelligence: 8
Hostility: 2
Era: Early Medieval
Description: The dominant species, most likely due to their control of dark energy. As a result, their country occupies over 40% of the available land mass. Ponies are also the most peaceful species, and as a result are the worst in military tradition, and advance extremely slowly technologically wise. Consists of four races, Pegasus (can fly and manipulate weather), Unicorn (con control the frequency and amplitude of dark energy), Earth Pony (directly influences the ground), and Pagacorns (contains all three aspects).
However, has advanced considerably with dark energy in retrospect, created similar concepts to an engine that is powered by dark energy. It is however, like everything powered by dark energy, weak. Requires constant recharge, and engines aren’t powerful.

Eagle-Lions or ‘Griffons’;
Intelligence: 7
Hostility: 6
Era: Mid-Late Medieval
Description: Griffons are naturally great killers, and with a reasonable amount of hostility. This results in them holding onto the highest technology. Inventions like the cross bow and printing press were made by these species, they were however stolen by foreign countries. Has almost perfected the construction of steel.

Bipedal Cows or ‘Minotaur’;
Intelligence: 3
Hostility: 9
Era: Mid Classical
Description: Minotaurs are by far the most hostile, and are the most deadly by nature. This species has seen the most domestic conflicts, and a civil war had occurred in the last century. Due to constant conflict, and low natural intelligence. This species don’t have the ability to develop much technology, and struggle with coming up with tactics. These creatures can get very emotional, particularly when it come to rage, causing entire armies to often charge without thinking first.

Zebras;
Intelligence: 9
Hostility: 4.5
Era: Mid Medieval
Description: Zebras are the most human like mentally, this particular species is all about structure and order. Although, a moderate percentage of the population lives in tribes, they are currently in the process of uniting. This was due to their easy pickings, and as a result species like the Minotaurs declare war occasionally, and there is sometimes conflict between each settlements. They are always the best when it comes to conflict, due to their tactics and overall patience.

Other minor Species: Bug-horse, Goat, Large Dogs, Buffalo, Dragons, Donkeys.

———
I’ve never seen a planet this promising before, this will suit my needs perfectly. Plus its cost is reasonable, I have over 15x the required amount to purchase this rock.

With a squee, and a small leap on the couch. I quickly tap on the ‘Buy Now’ button.

Before I do anything though, I need to change out of my pyjamas, that comes first.

The garage is one of the places I rarely visit, since I don’t bother to go out that often. It is the place now however, where I am currently standing.

I decided to wear a white shirt, with a red over garment (unbuttoned), and cargo brown plants. I must say, I think my choice of clothes is very snazzy.

Surrounding myself on all sides is graphene reinforced concrete, which is similar to regular concrete but slightly lighter in colour. In front of me, a large metal bench that occupies the far side of the room, is currently supporting several items required for my trip to the planet ‘Harmony’.

I pick my tablet from the corner of the beach and begin to go down a predetermined checklist.

Small fusion reactor, check.

Advanced AI network USB stick, check.

Robotic Fabricator, check.

Atomic Fabricator, check.

Regeneration Pod, check.

Condensed 50 tonne iron block, check.

Spare car fuel cell, check.

Pyjamas, check.

Toiletries and towel, check.

Tooth brush, tooth paste, check

Land Pattern Musket (slightly modified trigger system), with ammunition, check.

Cuddle sized teddy bear, check.

What? My teddy is important, without it I have trouble going to sleep. Don’t judge.
I picked up the Fusion Reactor, which is a half a metre by half a metre cube (1.6 feet by 1.6 feet) , and began to carry it over to the boot of my Pajero space car. Which is this awesome black four wheel hover car, with a large boot. I occasionally drive over some asteroid belts with it, though I mostly did that sort of stuff when I was younger.

Wait, why am I just carrying over stuff manually? When I can get my home assistant AI to be my slave?

Finishing what I started, I practically lob the fusion reactor into the car, causing it to make a loud THUD.

“OY! AI would you move the stuff from the metal bench to the boot of my car?” I asked. Quickly turning to the bench in order to watch the items being moved.

“Moving objects from ‘metal bench’ to ‘back of Jack’s car’,” it replied.

I wait a few seconds…

And a few more….

Alright, I’ll wait two more seconds…

Why is the stuff still on the table? I turn back around to face the open boot of the car.

It's full of cereal boxes.

“AI, what are you doing?” I stated in a somewhat shaky voice, attempting to subdue my anger.

“You didn’t specify which ‘bench’ so I automatically assumed the kitchen one,” that piece of shit. I swear I herd light chuckles in the background, since when did AIs have a personality?

“Could you please just move the stuff from the garage bench to the boot of my car?” I sternly remarked.

There was a brief pause.

“Would you like me to keep the ‘boxes of cereal’ in the back of Jack’s car?” it replied.

I face palmed, hard. Dam it! That frickn’ hurt. “No! Would you PLEASE just place the only objects from what’s on the bench, that is located in the garage” I said through my clenched teeth.

Robotic arms began to appear from the ceiling, and move the objects into the back of my car.
Fucking Finally!

With everything packed, this left me with one more thing left to check off, to transform myself into one of the native species.

On the far right side of the garage, is a white round pad roughly one metre (3 feet) in diameter. I walk and stand on top of it, facing the wall where a small holographic HV is located.

“AI, show potential species for planet nicknamed ‘Harmony’, ”I asked.

“Confirmed,” the AI replied.

The HV lit up to show a series of different images. Each consisting of a different native species, with the appropriate ‘scientific’ name beneath it. If the local inhabitants find out that I’m an ‘alien’, it’ll be impossible for me to wreak havoc.

Is it just me or do all the creatures look like they’re from a cartoon?

I begin to scroll across my options, and eventually nail it down to two species, a Minotaur or Pony.
The minotaurs have a somewhat similar body shape to humans, although they have a much bigger build and only four fingers. Ponies on the other hand, are completely different from humans, they have no finger like appendages, and are completely covered in fur. Although they have physical disadvantages to other species, they generally make up for it with their dark energy.

Physically I’d prefer a Minotaur, but considering how hostile they are, and how intelligent. I think I’d fit more inside the pony society.

“AI, select species ‘Pony’, ”I declared.

“Confirmed, please select race,” the AI replied.

The stacks of images were replaced with four new ones, each pony with purple fur and a light pink mane. The first one has a horn on its forehead, labeled ‘Unicorn’ underneath. The second has wing appendages on its sides, it’s called a ‘Pegasus’. Next is the regular horse called the ‘Earth Pony’. Last, but certainly not least is the Pegacorn, who has both wings and a horn.

Considering I don’t have wings, and I can control dark energy with cheap corner store technology, and I have no idea how to control the energy biologically, I decided to pick the Earth Pony. Although, apparently the Pegacorn is usually considered to be a God on this planet, maybe I could be the God of War? Na, I’ll end up drawing too much attention to myself.

“Select Earth Pony,” I calmly stated.

“Confirmed, activating manual controls to select appearance,” The AI replied. Nice.

A familiar keyboard and mouse appears, from underneath the HV in front of me. The HV highlights three different colour pallets, each for a respective body appendage. A series of value sliders and other buttons are located underneath the pallets, with the ability to continue to adjust the
impression.

My model, which is presented accordingly to what is selected, is located in the bottom right corner of the screen.

I decided to go for a white coat, a crimson mane (the same colour as my carpet), and red eyes. Everything else I decided to keep as default. Besides the butt picture, I decided to pick a nuclear mushroom explosion, cus’ it looks cool.

“I would suggest selecting the ‘female’ gender, as according to a study conducted in 4834, matriarchy is the native social system, which is most likely caused by the low ratio of males to females by 1: 6,“ the AI directed.

Well, that’s not going to happen. “I would rather die than give up my man card.” I grunted, while crossing my arms over my chest. Actually now that I think about it, I’ve died several times, that remark literally meant nothing.

“My calculations suggest that you’ll have a 57.54% higher chance in accomplishing your directives,” it pointed out. Well, fuck. I can’t argue with that. I may as well, considering I already invested too much into my little ‘project’. I mean, what is my man card worth anyway? It’s not like people haven’t done this sort of thing before.

*Sigh* “Fine, let's just get this over and done with,” I groaned. Using my finger, I selected ‘female’ then practically slammed the enter button with the edge of my fist.

I hate AIs.

Gradually, a wiring sound originating from underneath the pad, begins to increase in volume, until it’s almost deafening. I hate loud sounds, companies have the ability to literally counteract any sound by using particular material, why don’t they just—

A bright flash of white light interrupted my thoughts.

Once it cleared, I was able to take in my surroundings, and promptly fall over.

“SHIT!” I yelled.

My ‘new’ face and body smack against the ground, with a large THUMP.

How could I of forgotten? My centre of gravity would of changed as I became a Quadrilateral.

Groaning, I slowly tried to push myself off the floor.

Which to my surprise actually worked.

“All transformations come pre-installed with basic movement guides,” AI pointed out.

Thanks for reminding me how stupid I am, sheila.

I swirled my head up until it locked with the HV, I swear that it never used to be that high, my height must signify the typical vertical measurement of this species, which is tiny. I was at least 2x times taller when I was human. God, this makes me feel insignificant, and weak. No wonder this species is supposed to be the least hostile.

I move my head to latch position with my front arms (legs?), the sudden action caused red to fill up half my vision. Fan fucking tastic. That must be my hair, mane or whatever. If I don’t deal with this soon, it’s going to get in my way and become incredibly annoying.

I quickly attempt to swipe it away with one of my forelegs, and end up hitting myself square in the face.

God damn it! Why do these things have to be so frickn’ hard! Its like someone put slabs of concrete on the end of these appendages.

While my right foreleg is up, I inspect it. White fur with a clump of slightly yellow keratin located on the base. Just as I expected.

I swirled my head around to study the rest of my figure. Wow, this pony neck is surprisingly nimble.

My clothes are still on, I almost forgot the machine automatically fits the current outfit to the new species. The short-sleeved shirt is still the same white colour which almost blends with my fur, the red over garment still unbuttoned, both seem to travel three quarters down my back. My light brown cargo pants starts roughly at this area and continues to travel near the top of my back hooves.

A thick crimson tail also extends from behind, which precedes through a hole in the back of my trousers, practically touching the floor.

I return my attention forward, and spin around.

Wow, the AI seems to be right about moving. It's like I’ve done this sort of thing before.

I need to find a mirror though, in order to properly witness my new form.

I begin to walk with iterate and loud CLIP CLOPS. A ninja or spy would never work in this sort of body, the targets would know where you are miles away.

I continue to move past the living area, and turn left into my bedroom, eventually arriving in front of the mirror dresser.

First thing I notice is my muzzle, and its distinct round shape, like a female…. Ignore that thought, let's not be reminded.

…

Moving on.

My eyes are huge, like the size of small dinner plates. The irises incorporated within appear to be able to pierce into my very soul. I think anyone would easily get mesmerised just by staring at them. This would be perfect on Halloween. I slowly give myself an evil grin. Fuck, that’s creepy. All I need is some eye liner and I’ll have the complete look.

Two equine ears poke out of my sorry excuse of a mane, and seem to be automatically slightly swivelling to tiny background noises.

I turn my body to the side, to earn a clear view of the rest of my figure. I don’t think I’ve seen so much red on a single creature before, red hair, red eyes, red tail, red shirt. I think that even if I roll in blood, people are still not going to notice anything physically different about me. Well, except the coat, but that’s besides the point.

My pants seem to be covering my butt mark, so I reach back with my right foreleg and pull down the pants slightly to acquire a closer look. Wait… How did I just do that? I have no fingers! Solid substances with no added appendages shouldn’t have the ability…Wait a second, dark energy has the ability to levitate stuff. That must be it.

I returned my attention to my buttocks, and gazed the image adorning my flank.

It looks remarkable! Pretty much summarises what I’m going to be carrying out, chaos.

Now that I’m appeased with my physical figure, I decide to head back into the garage.

This reminds me of the time I changed physically into a ‘zombie’ for Halloween, I don’t think that I’ve had that much fun in a single night ever since. It was first time that I had used the Biological Fabricator, as the minimum age requirement is 18. I really should get out more often.

By the time my thoughts had finished, I’m already standing in the garage.

While approaching the car, I open the side door by tapping the outside of the car twice, causing it to slide backwards.

I use my four legs and hop into the front right seat, and obtain a comfortable position by tucking my hind legs under myself.

“AI,” I stated.

Fuck, now my voice is feminine. At least if I was male, my crotch would be uncomfortable in my current bearings.

“Set car course for section Bravo 1729, planet ‘Harmony’. Set visibility to true, select landing position in a concealed area.”

“Acknowledged,” it replied.

The car immediately began to hum in a low audible sound, and the roof of the garage started to slide open.

What my favourite aspect about any car is the ‘all surround window’ feature, it results in all possible surfaces to become transparent from the inside, that is besides the seats though. Ever since the government has made it compulsory, crash rates have dropped almost by 40%. Nice odds if you ask me.

The space Pajero lifted up from the garage floor and exited through the roof, accelerating to 142 kms/h.

“Initiating warp drive now,” the AI informed.

Now what’s for lunch? I think I’ll have spaghetti with a nice topping of chaos salad, and bits of cheese, that's always nice.

The car disappears in a flash.

Author's Note

How'd you like the first chapter? Have any constrictive criticism? Put it in the comments below!

Chapter Five: The Beginning of the End

“Surgeons can cut out everything except cause.”
-Herbert M. Shelton

Chapter 5: The Beginning of the End

—Lyra—

Lyra and Bon Bon were returning home to their shared household as they had just departed from the party and were in the process of falling unconscious.

That is, with exception of Lyra, she is even more hyperactive than prior to the social gathering.

Bon Bon’s eyelids were slowly reclining, her brain had the intention to give herself a much-needed rest. Mind you, she was executing this while walking.

“I mean, can you believe it? She had an EXPLOSION cutie mark! I’ve never seen anything like it before! What could it mean? And how could she of ‘accidentally’ created powder to explode? That can’t happen! Unless she’s a human, that'll make more sense as they….”

Bon Bon tuned out Lyra, her voice was slowly eating at her nerves. ‘Atomic’ seemed to have sparked her renewed vigour for Humans. The last time she talked about it was last week, and that, however, was just speculation!

“.. she mumbled something about ‘invented’ when she was examining Pinkie’s cannon. Could she be comparing human technology to ours? What do you think?”

Lyra glanced to her side at Bon Bon, “Bonney?”

“Mmmmmhmmmmm,” she definitely agreed.

The green mare rolled her eyes and adopted a sleepy smile. “I guess it's time for us to go to bed.”

—Atomic—

I arrive at the moderate clearing where my base is located.

The structure is totally unrecognisable.

The complex is now a fortification, tall black ridden walls expand all around the complex, four high towers extend in the corners. Each has a small cube perched on the head, a red optic dotted in the middle scans the surrounding area for hostels, rotating slowly.

Any unlucky creature to be shot by this will be disintegrated instantly.

At least I don’t have to worry about predators destroying my establishment now.

I stroll to a wall, only to further walk directly through it.

Inside contains the same premise as previously constructed, in addition to a second slightly smaller building to the right, concrete envelops the ground entirely, destroying any evidence of green life and replacing it with a dull grey.

My eyes are starting to bleed from the number of bleak colours, partially responsible for spending time at a multicoloured pony settlement.

“Welcome back Jack, the weapon production facility, bathroom and all defensive fortifications, are complete. A small deposit of iron was found 16 metres (50 feet) beneath the surface, allowing the construction progress to speed up by 71%”

Standard Atomic Fabricators can manufacture around one tonne of iron every hour. Takes way too long produce something if you ask me.

I trot to the front door and open it hastily.

The AI seemed to be more sensible in its choices this time. My room had completely been altered, crimson carpet engulfs the floor, surrounded by white walls. In the middle of the back wall, a doorway leads to a recently constructed bathroom. The equipment previously on the right wall had been removed, replaced with a metal desk and chair.

I drop my saddlebags to the right of me, besides the door, additionally head to the shower to wash.

My shower progressed for several dozen minutes while I attempted to use shampoo to clean out the dirt and grime. I, however, seemed to have inherited a characteristic from my former self, I couldn't reach my back spine.

Once I had completed that particular activity and dressed in my awesome yellow pyjamas, I decided to walk to my saddlebags, obtain the books I acquired from the library and proceeded to dump them on the desk located up against the right side of the room.

I gazed hard at the volumes in front of me “AI, give me a strong responsive stimulant.”

This is going to be a long night of studying.

I’m just going to say it now.

This whole world, is bullshit.

I mean, seriously? The rulers control the SUN? The MOON? Dark energy doesn't have the necessary power to accomplish that without some sort of technological assistance.

These ponies seem to think that their ‘magic’ will be able to fix everything, what they don't realise is that it has its limits, one example of this is the elements of Harmony. Do they honestly believe that HARMONY AND PEACE WILL SAVE EVERYONE? What I’m going to introduce into this world, has had a long time coming.

The technology that they think is ‘top notch’, is basically as good as improving the wheel to make it rounder.

To top all of that off, their force or ‘guard’ is atrocious.

They seem to prefer to maintain a glorious image, rather than retain proper military equipment. They decided to use GOLD AS THE SOUL FUCKING BUILDING MATERIAL. EVEN BLOODY BRONZE IS BETTER. Their offensive weapons are nothing short of a stick, and they rely way too much on dark energy for ranged weapons, which can barely penetrate 1mm iron amour. I just don’t understand how this country hasn’t fallen under pressure from foreign and domestic conflicts.

Or maybe it’s the two ‘powerful’ immortal rulers who frighten all the hostility away.

I hummed at my thoughts.

Maybe it's time I performed some ‘investigations’ on these monarchs and gave them a little ‘present’.

I turned and gathered several small machines I requested from the fabricator, next to my desk, and placed them in my right saddle bag, underneath my musket.

I also took hold of a small vial perched on my table.

I pointed up at nowhere in particular and yelled, “TO THE PAJARO SPACE MOBILE!”

My awesome car is flying high above the clouds, invisible, and travelling to an intense concentration of dark energy. Which I assume is these two ‘immortal rulers’.

At the current time period, it’s about 20 minutes until dawn, I can just see the sun’s yellow tinge below the horizon.

Eventually, a mountain with a city built on the side approaches into view.

Holding the fucking phone. Who the actual FUCK decided it was a good idea to build (what I assume the Capital) on the side of a FUCKING MOUNTAIN?

One good shot with an artillery would cause the whole city to come crashing down. Essentially cutting the head off the leadership.

Actually, I might do that. It’ll set the whole country in anarchy.

The moment I return back to reality, I’ve arrived in a garden courtyard, behind a large castle.

“Scans show Target is on route to the top story,” the AI informed.

I placed the saddlebag from the left seat, back on myself, it contains three devices. One is an invisibility contraption, another is a dark energy reading appliance, in addition to a hover pack.

As well as a vial.

I activate the hoverpack and invisibility, furthermore double tapping the side to open the driver’s door. The landscape presented to me is a huge array of various flowers, in addition to some dotted trees and bushes. All arranged in a particular order, and style.

I close the car door while still invisible.

What’s awesome when being invisible, is that I can still see myself, and the items I’m holding.

I scanned the surrounding area for any object I could use as a landmark.

My gaze falls upon a medium sized rock located in the flowerbed.

I strolled over to it, curled by forelegs around it, and mentally sent commands to my hoverpack to float upwards. Once I was around one metre off the ground, I carried it over and placed it next to my car.

Okay, that rock, is where my Car is.

Now, to find these rulers and discern their true power.

I begin to speed upwards at a high acceleration until I am level with a balcony on one of the highest towers.

I move my way over to it, and perfectly land on all fours, on the platform.

From where I can discern here, this leads to a private bedroom. A huge king size canopy dark blue bed, engulfed from head to toe in stars is located on the middle, against the right side of the room. An unorganised desk, covered with scattered papers and quills, is located opposite to it.

The rest of the room is trimmed in platinum and enveloped in the night sky.

Judging from all the fanciness, and night theme, this room most likely belongs to the Princess (why the fuck, not Queen?) known as ‘Luna’.

I just have this sudden urge to burn it.

Before I’m able to act on it, the double bedroom doors at the rear slam open, to present a confident tall blue pegacorn (or alicorn).

She’s walking straight towards me.

Oh shit! Has she found me?

I begin to panic slightly.

I then realise something, or she’s going to the balcony.

I leap to the right, away from the entrance that leads to the veranda outside.

The self-acclaimed Princess walks directly past me. I release a sigh, furthermore embrace the sweet delectable goodness of relief.

I peak around the corner and spot her just standing there, slowly extending her wings.

This is probably when she ‘lowers the moon’.

Without distributing any noise (I physically can’t, my invisibility ultimately nullifies it), I remove the dark energy measuring device, what’s more, place it on the floor, and turn it to face the princess.

The small screen located on top already displays some information.

——
Dark Energy Statistics
Average Wavelength: Low
Average Frequency: Medium

Current Releases:
001: Releasing overflow of energy, too much taken from the environment
——

I look up to see the alicorn’s wings are fully extended and her horn begins to glow, at the same time, the sky adapts a heavy orange tinge, the sun begins to advance up, and the moon starts to fade into the background.

I switch my gaze back to the machine

——
Dark Energy Statistics
Average Wavelength: Low
Average Frequency: Medium

Current Releases:
001: Releasing overflow of energy, too much taken from the environment.
002: Exhibit visible light from a single location (light blue).
003: Convert atmospheric ultraviolet radiation to visible light ‘orange’.
——

Ha! She doesn’t move the moon, she made it look like she relocated it, by simply converting ultraviolet radiation (sun’s rays) to a different form, the colour orange. The sky appears to just become an intense citrus, giving the moon and sun time to rise on their own. The fact this planet additionally as a rare orbital pattern also contributes to this as well.

Looks like these ‘powerful’ leaders are nothing like what they're put out to be.

After a few more seconds, the fake blue Alicorn lowers her wings and whirls around. Her eyes seemed to have taken on a darker shade than before. The amount of dark energy required to change such a large area of ultraviolet light is quite moderate, as a consequence, her biological life-form requires rest.

She walks past me, slowly draws herself into her bed, and under the covers.

How funny would it be if she found out I was here? The fact someone is stalking her, I doubt anyone has ever done anything like this ever before.

The doors open once again, this time, however, they revealed a maid, with a glass of water in her yellow aura. She places it on the bedside table, directly next to Luna. Once that simple task was complete, she then walked back out from the quarters.

Thanks, maid, you have just supplied me with the perfect opportunity.

I ninja walk to the bedside bench, remove the vial from my saddlebags, detach the seal, specifically dumping the contents into the glass of water.

Happy Birthday, Luna, I hope you like my present.

—
On a statue located somewhere in a garden, a slight crack appears along the waist.
—

Just as I finished pouring the solution into the cup, Luna seized it with her magic and took a sip.

I’ve deduced that the main reason ponies haven’t started a civil war is that their leaders can ‘supposedly’ protect them against any situations, furthermore, any conflicts that are started they are believed to be able to terminate them, due to their ‘God’ like ‘magical’ powers.

Why not discontinue both ideas with one stone?

What I tipped into her water is a genetically altered bacterial disease, designed to kill 1% of the population. Its symptoms don’t show for three days, it moreover, has extremely high transmission rates. It will easily affect the whole country in less than four months.

This will not only destroy the concept that these leaders can protect their ponies from all forms, in addition to presenting that the ‘Princesses’ are not powerful, but extremely vulnerable. This will dramatically reduce the faith placed into them and will result in several places to rebel.

Luna seemed to have noticed something wrong with the water since she was vocalising ‘tsk’ ‘tsk’ sounds with her mouth.

She then shrugged and gulped the rest of the glass in one shot. Placing the object on the table when she was done.

In less than a minute, she’s already snoring.

I think it would be satisfactory to leave a note somewhere, informing them on what there is to come. I love it when people panic, as they can do nothing about it.

I write a poem using one of the quills, and a piece of paper from the Luna’s desk. Once completed, I abandoned it on her bedside surface.

—Celestia—

Celestia was sipping a delightful cup of tea at the table, in the Royal dining room, while enjoying delicious carrot and lettuce salad. When suddenly, she was interrupted by a loud slamming noise from the other side of the chamber.

“Tia! Tia!” What she recognised as Luna call out.

Celestial switched her gazed from her dinner to her alerted sister.

She and Luna usually ate together for Breakfast and supper, although their meals were the complete opposite each time.

Celestia gave her full attention, “Yes, Luna?”

“This morning, something happened,” she proceeded to slam a piece of paper on the table.

Celestia picked it up, and read the passage out loud.

“`The Gods have decided, your time is up.
Equus will begin to build up,
Countries will break,
Everything will shake,
Your entire life, will be at stake,

For I give you assurance,
I will probably not provide, stability insurance,
Something terrible is happening,
Even though it’s just a small sapling,
People will realise, and lose confidence,
Sprouting from, obscene competence,

Everything is set into position,
For this, is my greatest mission,
Exposing the truth, restoring natural order,
Where everything, is actually disorder,
No people will be repressed any longer,
States will grow stronger,
Sort of becoming, a warmonger,
Now comes the insurgency,
Soon, it’ll be a national emergency,
And there’s nothing you can do,
But for now, you’ve got the stomach flu.`”

Celestia places the poem down gently and sips her cup of tea.

Luna simply stares, “How could thee be so calm about this?!”

Celestia returned her gaze, “Panicking will get us nowhere,” she took another sample of her tea, “plus, I doubt this will be a problem, Ponies have made threats to us before.”

“What about Discord? Could this be his doing?”

In response, Celestia just adopted a ‘seriously’ expression.

*Sigh* “I suppose not,” Luna sat down at the table, where she is greeted by a servant, who presents a bowl of porridge, and a delicious cup of coffee.

Luna decides to continue the conversation, “Could this be related to the Griffon civil war?”

“It might,” she nonchalantly replied.

Luna strongly gazed at Celestia, “Alright, I still want to take this into consideration though. I don’t want to be taken off guard.”

The white mare returned her expression, ”Agreed.”

—Jack—

The whole day since I’ve arrived back from Canterlot, I have been working hard at my newly manufactured computer, to design efficient pony musket concepts. Using the fabricator, I’ve delivered several different prototypes, some hang over your sides by a saddle like an appendage, others specifically denoted for unicorns, in addition to a combination of mouth and leg held firearms.

The most promising, however, is the forked rest, not only does it have the highest accuracy, but is also uncomplicated to use and manufacture. This particular design I came up with, was inspired by the Arquebus muskets in the 15th century.

It’s basically a large pole, with a half loophole at the summit, allowing the firearm to rest on top.

Source: https://www.derpibooru.org/824616?scope=scpe56e%3Cspan+style%3D

You may be wondering, why not just give this world advanced gunpowder firearms? Or even, energy weapons for that matter? One key aspect of rising tensions between countries is the technological race, or for more simpler terms. An advanced arms race.

I’m planning to provide the worst of the worst when it comes to muskets, I’m using the ‘matchlock’ system. It is basically a piece of rope that is constantly burning when the trigger is pressed, the flaring end is brought downwards, and ignites the gunpowder.

Obviously, there are some problems with this.

-The rope or ‘match’ needs to be constantly burning
-The end requires to be lined up with the ignition gunpowder, if not done correctly, the gun will fail to fire.
-The light given off from the match can give away positions at night.
-Won’t work in rainy, or damp weather as the rope, or gunpowder, may to too damp to ignite.
And many, many more smaller problems.

When it comes to the trigger, I’m maintaining it simple, it’s a metal stick that you pull backwards.

In terms of ammunition, I’ll just be supplying the ‘gold round balls’ and black powder separately.

I spin around in my equine shaped swivel chair, away from my desk, and plop down, coming in contact with the cold metal floor below.

I’m currently located in my small weapons factory, the left hand of the room is occupied with the manufacture processes. This includes four, half a metre cubes near the entryway, one behind three others, that is the atomic manipulation machine, while the others are regular fabricators, these are the actual machines that produce the munitions. Conveyor belts lead from these mechanisms to the waiting robotic arms, which will pack said contents into wooden boxes.

The other side is for designing prototypes, including two desks, a standard computer, in addition to a tiny fabricator.

I raise my voice, “AI, manufacture 100 weapons of the prototype nicknamed ‘Arquebus’, as well as the required ammunition for 60 shots each.”

“Confirmed, estimated completion time; 40 minutes,” it replied.

I think it's time to sell these things, don’t you?

Author's Note

Now, it really begins.

Chapter Ten: Nein! Lyra you idiot!

“Give me six hours to chop down a tree and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.”
― Abraham Lincoln

Chapter Ten: Nein! Lyra you idiot!

“WHAT!??!”

The Griffon Emperor was currently crested upon his golden trimmed throne, wearing a chiselled facade, depicting a furious monster ready to destroy everything, and anything in its path. The overly extensive crown was resting on his dark chocolate feathered head, just barely clinging on.

“HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??!”

The other Griffon in the room, Cautious was his name, just happened to be the entity being yelled at. He was not having a good day, an execution was not something that he wanted, and thus, kept quiet while the Emperor was growling at him.

After a few more moments to let the fuming Griffon settle, the finest General in all the Empire spoke, “We’re certain it’s because of a new weapon, soldiers who survived the onslaught described them as ‘Sticks of Destruction.’”

The throned Griffon, that suffers from a form of Bipolar disorder seemed to become immediately more intrigued, “New weapons you say?” He leaned forward, “Prepare another assault, I would like to get my claws on some of these weapons as soon as possible.” He shooed the General off with the wave of his talon, Cautious revolved around, and purposely walked away from the throne room, as he did so, the Emperor called out to him, “Oh! And use those good for nothing Pony volunteers!” his voice echoed, disappeared over the vast halls of the palace.

“…division has moved over 60 kilometres towards enemy territory, the army has received little to no resistance. Reports detail Monarchs are consistently retreating and removing soldiers from the Northern and Eastern front. We have placed reinforcements to protect the supply lines, and Miss Atomic Discharge has promised to deliver another shipment of muskets within the next week,” Garrison informed.

Bridges snorts amusingly, “The results from our last battle of a ratio 1:74, has already solidified our position in the war, the Monarchs are completely frightened by our firearms. Every reported sighting of them within half a kilometre had run further inland.”

Garrison jabs one of his claws on the table several times, pointing at a position on the map, “It’s extremely likely they're planning another attack at this position, I suggest we set up a basic defence on his hilly area, and give our soldiers a height advantage.”

“A new tactic called ‘piercing firing line,’ I invented has been proven to be insightful, a continuous folly should allow us to be less defenceless, resulting in a rather higher enemy casualty rate,” Bridges quipped.

Garrison nodded to his equal, “Flanks will prove to be a problem, so some flying battalions should hopefully deter the Empire enough.”

President Senatus opens his mouth to talk, “We have utterly flipped the tide of the war from just a single battle, our situation is certainly a miracle. May God guide us, and Atomic Discharge until we fall.”

Bridges quirks an eyebrow, “That’s unusual, why would you say something like that?”

The President turns to address him, “It just felt right.”

—Atomic—

Mmmmmmmmm.

Chicken.

I am currently sitting at my esteemed dining room table (it's in my bedroom), and devouring a delicious griffon steak. I mean, wow. It's like a mix between beef and a chicken roast, and no, I’m not eating vegetables with it. I’ve already had enough of that disgusting demon food.

Using my fork, I ferociously stab the cut of meat on my plate and pop the whole lot into my mouth. Several weeks without this delectable sustenance has left me desperate, and let me tell you, it's better than a orgas—bar of chocolate.

It also turns out that Ponies CAN eat meat, their digestive tract has the ability to do so. However, they require such a small amount of protein, it can easily be consumed from common fruits and vegetables. MY guess is that since meat is significantly harder and more expensive to produce, over time, less and less of the ponies decided to eat it, that is until basically no-one decides to part-take in the activity.

You know, technically I’m still in the GDR (Griffons Democratic Republic), I just kinda walked off, and stated ‘I’ll be back later’, and when they weren't looking, I teleported home. The generals seemed to sceptical of allowing to distance myself from the rest of their army, but otherwise, permitted to me go (not that they could stop me anyway), and gave me my MASSIVE 100,000 payment (would equivalent to around 300,000 credits), in the form of a check. I just need to go to the international bank and collect the sum.

Also, I should find that green unicorn that the AI informed me about. She could be interesting to talk to, not to mention a little annoying, and could be a problem in relation to how much fun I have. Though, I would like to refrain from killing anyone that could draw attention to me, but I’ll do what I have to do.

I’ll go back to the GDR later, after all, It's pretty much guaranteed another battle is going to take place.

But first, chicken.

Four significant griffons stood around a rectangular table, they were currently discussing the war stasis, strategies/tactics and new information that could prove to be critical. The table currently held pieces that highlighted what the next battle is most likely going to look like. It’s crucial to win this next battle, doing so could allow the Generals to get their claws on some of the new weapons, and study for evaluation.

“From the reports of our most recent battle, we can conclude that they stand in lines, like we normally do, except release each round continuously. Leaving a huge opening to rush into. We should use this to our advantage. I suggest we use the thirty-five pony unicorn volunteers to administer shields at the front, with the earth ponies following behind, and griffon spearmen after them. Allowing the ponies to take the brunt of the force, then when their close enough, rush the enemy when they just unloaded their weapons,” one reasonably young General brings attention to.

“I agree,” an elderly, experienced military planner states, “Except I believe we should create a couple of sky battalions and attack at the rear. This will administer confusion and disorganisation. The enemy’s formation, from what is described, is quite vulnerable from behind,” he rates his head to the side, addressing the infiltrator manger, “Any other information should we be worried about?”

The mentioned Griffon rubs his chin, “Now that you mention it, my spies said that they overheard some of the soldiers speaking of a pony providing these ‘firearms’, a white mare to be exact, “ he switches his gaze to stare at the elder’s eyes, “I’m not sure how accurate that is, but if we could cut off their supplier…”

“Yes, be sure to mention to the soldiers to be on the lookout, if they see this pony, order stab to kill,” the senior commands.

A pristine white coated earth pony mare, with a blond mane and baby blue irises was sitting at a table, sipping a delicious cup of tea. She recently picked up a newspaper and was in the process of reading it, the mare had conducted serval malice schemes, all involving the general public, and to furthermore to win their approval. All, however, have failed somewhat, as the earth pony only gained a limited amount of supporters. That, nevertheless, may change in due time. As the information she was currently reading could be a catalyst to her plans.

UNKNOWN DISEASE SPREADS IN CANTERLOT

A few days ago, an unknown disease has been reported in the immaculate capital city, Canterlot. Ponies, including nobles, have displayed symptoms of coughing, sweating, insomnia, vomiting, difficulty swallowing, and other minor manifestations. It has also been identified in other major cities such as Manehattan and Fillydelphia. Sixty-six, deaths have been already been recorded and is likely only going to get worse.

What scientists are puzzled by is ‘what could have caused this?’ Dr Stitch thinks he has the answer, “My hypothesis is that magic is responsible, the energy alters common diseases like ‘Centurium’ to be significantly more deadly. Settlements with an intense concentration of magic provide the illnesses with the necessary resources to grow stronger. Canterlot has the highest population of unicorns and is the location where great feats of magic occur, whether this be in the ‘School for Gifted Unicorns’ or when Princess Celestia raises and lowers the sun. Diseases have most likely been altered in the past, however, I believe the mutations were so minor, that we were able to adapt to them without much of a problem. If this is indeed the case, I would recommend to limit your use of Magic, and move to a desolate location to ease the concentration.”

This has also raised other questions, ‘Can the Princesses shelter us from this newly forming outbreak?’ or ‘Can they protect us from all threats forever?’ One thing is clear however, families can’t risk being affected, immigration rates have already increased to the outskirts of Equestria, no doubt speeding up the spreading process.

Rumors have also circulated that the epidemic came into existence from the Princesses, and is the same disease mentioned last month, a castle maid stated, “I saw Princess Luna and Celestia coughing, and vomiting before it hit the streets, I’m not doubting them, I just think maybe it was some kind of Alicorn disease?”

In other words, the economy has dropped slightly, resulting in a recession. Ponies are taking sick days due to the outbreak, forcing some minor businesses to temporarily close down.

The Princesses are planning on releasing a statement in one day at Canterlot castle, let’s hope we can control this, for the better, or the worse.

—Atomic—

I’m currently walking directly towards the town destined as ‘Ponyville’ (seriously, such a stupid name), to locate this green unicorn, and do something… I still haven’t decided whether or not I should kill her. It really depends on how I will feel at the time. I guess I’m lucky I disguised my factory before I left, otherwise my place would have attracted more attention.

Trees, bushes, the usual stuff in a forest surrounds me. Moving by at a credible rate as I continue to trot forward.

What's with all these blue flowers? These weren’t here last time. They must be some sort of fungus to grow that fast.

Pfffft, all well.

Without giving nature the pleasure of me stopping, and going around, I simply move through them without much of a hassle. Well, if you don’t count me shouting ‘Gross’, everything I touched one since they were reasonably slimy.

By the time I made it to the other side, my legs are completely saturated in jell.

You may have won this round flowers, but next time I’ll use a flamethrower to test how resilient you are.

—Lyra—

Lyra was currently hunched over a table, in her bedroom, gazing through a window into to streets of Ponyville. Though her mind was anything but unoccupied, a green foreleg, her foreleg, was used to rest her dexterous muzzle, signifying in deep thought.

‘Why won’t Bon Bon believe me?’ Lyra thought, ‘How can she NOT want to see the massive building in the Everfree?’

It was during this period, that Lyra realised something, no matter how much evidence she brought, no matter how consistent she is, nopony will ever believe her. They’d think of excuses like ‘Oh Lyra! That is just a consequence! Nothing special!’ or “Oh Lyra! Oh Lyra! Stop connecting things that aren’t meant to be together!’

She was just about to surrender, to give in, stop literally what she had set out in life to do.

This is rock bottom. The worst of places to be.

“Lyra!” Bon Bon yelled, her commanding voice echoing around the household, “Get your flank out here and help me make dinner!”

Well, almost rock bottom.

Just a soon the green unicorn started to move her foreleg in the direction of the kitchen. She spotted somepony, or rather, someone, walking, without a care in the world, down the street. The very pony she has scrutinised over the past few weeks. Normally, she would be happy at this prospect, to finally ask some of her long desired questions. Now, however, Lyra just felt…hollow. Like that emotion just ripped from her soul.

The white coated pony seemed to be inspecting every detail in the town, portraying a cold and calculating look. This suddenly caused a slow build-up of unease with Lyra’s stomach. Repeatedly asking herself the question, the one question that silently terrifies her, “Did she know I was there?”

Without a doubt, Lyra KNEW that the crimson maned mare was not a pony, that much was obvious, just the living fact that she will never, ever, be able to prove it, anybody. What's the point in researching something, if no pony members you for it, or for that matter, thinks your crazy.

‘Yeah, no thanks.’

The green unicorn moved her annoying fat ass down the hall, and into the kitchen. Where Bon Bon, her ‘special’ friend was located, currently using an oversized wooden spoon to mix a giant stew of some kind over a wood powered stove bench-top.

“There you are!” The yellow confectionary mare exclaims, “Could you please chop up the carrots?”

Lyra sighed, and slowly trotted to the side of the stone covered bench, using her magic to pick up the knife, moreover, repeatedly slicing the carrot in small, uneven chunks.

But then, a harsh knock expelled from the front door.

Bon Bon stole a quick glance at her housemate, “Could you get that?”

Lyra quickly trotted back down the wood-floored hallway, in the entryway. Immediately swinging open the door, to interact with this visitor.

“How can I hel—“ Her voice suddenly was caught in her throat when she spotted the pony located behind the doorway.

A white coated mare, with a crimson mane, wearing what seems like semi-professional clothing. A creepy smile boarded across her face, her blood red eyes drilling into Lyra’s skull. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so confident anymore, every single shred of positivity have been withered away.

“It took me a while to find you, I was wondering if we could have…a little chat.”

All Lyra’s instincts were screaming at her to run very far away, yet, she just couldn’t find the will to move. Except, all her fear was showcased in her eyes, and the other mare could clearly see it as bright as day.

“I’m just going to go straight to the point, what were you doing at my home? I saw you attempting to climb over my wall.” Her eyes dangerously narrowed.

Lyra gulped, and shakily started to cohere a sentence, “I-I-I w-was lo-ooking for-r f-flowers-s?”

Atomic adopted an unimpressed expression, her breath expelling in small cold bursts, “Do NOT fuck with me. Tell me the truth.” She then muttered something incoherently barely below a whisper

Lyra took a few, long sharp gulps of air, murmuring incoherently, “I-I wa-as t-trying to.…”

Atomic’s head turned to the side, ears pointed directly towards Lyra, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch that.”

The green unicorn, darts her eyes in particularly random directions, heartbeat exponentially increasing, lungs hyperventilating. So she did an endeavour that any sane pony would do.

She slammed the door shut, directly into the white mare’s face.

“Fuck!” Curses muffled by the wooden doorway, “Great now my nose is bleeding, God it would suck right now if I could feel pain.”

A few seconds passed and Lyra was still standing behind the door, she only relaxed, by releasing a sigh of relief, when Atomic decided to walk away.

She felt a little worry however when Lyra herd her friend call from down the hallway, “Who was it?”

“Nothin’! Just some…sales ponies! Yep! Black suites and all,” she replied while trotting back to the kitchen.

There was a brief pause.

“Black…suits?” Bon Bon asked with a hint of worry.

“Ummmm…yeah?”

“Shit. Can you tell me if somepony like that is at the door again?”

Just as Lyra came into view of Bonney, she replied, “Ok?”

Normally Lyra would have been able to use her AMAZING detective skills to work out that something was…wrong in Bon Bon’s dialogue, however, the unicorn was silently worrying about her next encounter with Atomic.

A room, completely shrouded in darkness, holds the sleeping form of Lyra. Tucked gracefully underneath bed sheets covers, her chest, slowly rising and falling. Do not be fooled, she may look safe, and maybe even feel safe, but nothing is ever secure when a certain somebody is located on your planet.

THUMP

“Fuck. I hate teleporters.”

*Shuffle*

Clip clop clip clop clip clop.

A small pause.

For some unseen reason, the unknown creature unlawfully located in the room obtained a large stick and is in the process of performing something uncouth.

*Poke*
…

*Poke poke*

Lyra, the animal being assaulted, swipes the general location of assault absently, exerting a ’Groan.’

…

*Poke*

…
…

*Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke*

*Snort* “Wa-?”

“Hey.”

Lyra looks from her bed, in the general direction of the voice, then, notices a vague pony shape one or two metres away from her.

“Hey.”

Only now, does she realise, it was the exact pony she was attempting to avoid, the one pony that she most likely pissed off, the one pony that caused her to be afraid of her very life.

So, she screams.

Well, at least tries. It feels like she’s screaming, her mouth is open and all, but no sound came out. No matter how much effort she administered.

“You done?” The figure known as Atomic asks in a irated voice, “I’ve already had enough of your bullshit, that door slam was strike number one, and that attempted scream is number two, don’t let me count to three or else you're out!” She gave a small chuckle to herself.

Instead of screaming, Lyra attempted to run away, yet it seemed an invisible force held her in place, so rather, she just showed a mortified expression.

“Anyway,” Atomic began, “I just wanted to ask you, again. What the actual fuck were you attempting to do by climbing over my wall? Normally I wouldn’t go out of my way to chase someone like you, but, I’m bored, and I haven’t decided whether or not I should kill you,” Atomics eyes suddenly go wide, “Oh, sorry, spoilers.” She waved off with one of her forehooves.

Lyra continues to stare.

“..Well?”

A large lump forms in her throat, not allowing even a single peep to pass.

“Answer me God damn it!”

A will to talk made itself known, she opened her mouth to form coherent words, “…”

“Oh, wait, sorry. Forgot to remove the silence release,” she presses a seemingly random button on her saddlebag, “Okay, now go.”

“…human.”

“…What?” Atomics expression was unknown due to the surrounding darkness.

“I thought….you were a human.”

“Huh,” she states thoughtfully, “Cool.”

An awkward silence follows afterwards.

“So…” Lyra enquiries, “Are you?”

“Yes.”

*Sigh* “I thought you w— Wait, WHAT!??”

“Yep, I am a human, or Homosapien if you want to be scientific about it, from outer space. OH! And I also own this planet.”

Normally Lyra would catch that as sarcastic, but what put her off, was the voice was laced with complete seriousness.

“Why are you telling me this exactly…?”

“You asked,” she said casually, waving it off as literally nothing.

“Though,” Atomic continued, “don’t tell anyone, or else I’ll probably stab you twenty-eight times in the chest.”

Lyra no longer felt as comfortable in her current predicament.

Atomic thought that it was her time to leave, a retreating trot could be deciphered.

“Either than all that, stop for a drink sometime would ya? Cool? Alright, bye.”

A sounding pop resonated throughout the room, sucking all the fear and awkwardness from the atmosphere, the only emotion that remains, however, is confusion. So Lyra summed up all her thoughts, into one single word.

“…What?”

—Atomic—

That was certainly interesting to mess around with that green unicorn, I mean, I was going to kill her. It partly sealed the deal when she slammed the door on my face. But, she seemed the only competent one on this whole planet. For that, I respect her.

Well, that, and it’s also obvious this society shuns her, nobody would ever believe her.

Sometimes, a mental wound can be more damaging than a physical one.

On that note, I should probably teleport back to the Griffon army. A battle could literally happen any day now.

Author's Note

Next chapter will contain an AWESOME battle!

Chapter TwentyFour: The enemy blinded by smoke and sand

For Reference:
Empire: Enemy
Republicans: The semi-good guys (Democracy)

“The art of war teaches us to rely not on the likelihood of the enemy's not coming, but on our own readiness to receive him; not on the chance of his not attacking, but rather on the fact that we have made our position unassailable.”
—Sun Tzu, an ancient Chinese general.

——
Chapter TwentyFour: The enemy blinded by smoke and sand.
——

“Well,” a mismatched being comprised of a multitude of body parts floated over a field where two enemies approached, he prepared for the potential onslaught as a delicious bag of buttered popcorn and lemonade floated adjacent to him, “this will certainly be interesting.”

——

The scouts were right.

There was no way Shrewd Preparation would’ve been able to avoid this confrontation, especially without loses. Even if he had the ability to imminently retreat the entirety of his army, the enemy would still be able to catch up—though, there would’ve been a much higher significant advantage to doing so, as there would ambiguously lower loses.

The General may have hoped, the approaching enemy force wouldn’t encounter his own division before rendezvousing with the other musket army. Those thoughts were in reality, just stretched dreams, simply too far away from grasp, no God decided to shine their luck on Major General Preparation.

‘Look on the positive side,’ he would always regard, ‘At least the skies are relatively clear, no rain; no disadvantage.’

Gazing on the bright side of life is a skill, remaining down in the dumps will achieve nothing anyway, only hider your results.

Preparation attempted to increase their chances, he communicated with the other division to try and consolidate their armies as soon as physically possible, but as mentioned earlier, this was all but impossible. Hours ago, he received several messages from this other musket land force; they’ve tried their best to hurry on to his position, but are still too far away to have any administered effect, by the time they make an appliance, the conflict will have been long over.

However, all of this is history; at this current moment in time, part of the Griffon Empire’s military was located around 500 metres away, estimates ranged between eight to sixteen thousand. Easily doubling the troop composition of his own.

Shrewd Preparation found it necessary to adminster every advantage, he may not have had the given time to set up a decent defence, but instead, was able to capture the high ground. His division was set up around ten metres above in accordance with the enemy, this will literally be an uphill battle for those who wish to go against him.

If they can hold this hill long enough…perhaps this battle may be drawn in his success.

Did you see the exact wording utilised during that last statement? If, and perhaps. Words with percentages, nothing was concrete enough to even sufficiently apply terms like will or transpire.

Even though Shrewd wasn’t comfortable utilising any of those definite words, the surely eager soldiers that comprised of his lines certainly did, none truly understood the repercussions of war and the given effect it withheld on the mindset. As soon as these realisations stuck those without experience, morel would drop instantaneously.

Something that clearly, no general wishes for their army, this is the sole reason why discipline is constantly drilled and maintained within a military.

Sadly, of which he palpably lacked.

Soldiers who incorporated the division had a relatively burdensome time maintaining any straight lines, instead, it was more akin to a jumbled mix of uneven mash potato. When hushed by superiors (mainly those who have participated in previous conflicts) to ‘move back into position’, many decided it was instead in their best interest to sit back into their previous position and continue their dim-witted conversation to the person three griffons over.

Some idiots fired off prematurely before the battle had even started, and point their weapon at their friend next to them and pretended to fire.

In Preparation’s highest opinion, instead of an actual military, the whole situation is eerily similar to a sitcom, in fact, Shrewd would have laughed if this was the case.

Too bad it’s not.

The only emotion coasting over his facade was disgust.

The Major General also recognised that maintaining a three-line battery would be nearly improbable— it was almost guaranteed those located in the rear had the possibility to fire on the griffons in front. The troops were simply too inexperienced to accomplish something even close to that derisive.

Instead, the General determined two lines would be sufficient, the griffons compromising each line stood parallel to one another. This ensured firing over one another’s shoulders wouldn’t compromise the lives of those potentially located within the first line.

The division spread across in two strips along the hill, covering the entirety of it. Each individual was tightly packed together, similar to a packet of straws.

He also saved 500 troops as reserves behind the bulk of his army, in this regard, they could act as replacements for those who die, or flank protection. All were equipped with their own smoothbore muskets and a random type of sword, they honestly just provided them with anything they had left.

The weapons, were in even worse of conditions… There was no standardisation, almost all withheld differentiating appearances, some required a variety amount of ammunition, while others, didn’t have the same barrel width as the griffon positioned next to them. This made the exchange, and maintenance of these weapons, along with the munitions, extremely difficult.

The opposing army, again, seemed to stretch on forever, an unending swarm of griffons. What was funny to the General, however, was that somehow, the enemy appeared even more disorganised than his army was, how ridiculous is that? Even though the distance (roughly 600 metres) made it difficult to perceive any details—even with the binoculars—it was almost a clear as day that they too, experienced equipment issues, many of the soldiers didn’t have any amour, while others held clubs… How primitive does a griffon have to be to go as low as using clubs of all things? They haven’t been used in warfare for thousands of years, one rational person would think it would be highly outdated by now, but apparently, not to these griffons. ‘A weapon is a weapon.’

What made Preparation furious, however, was that his own army, despite being overly outnumbered, took this whole experience with a sock, none seemed to take anything at face value, it’s as if all of them thought this was one big joke.

‘At least,’ Shrewd thought, ‘We don’t have to use any crossbows, we have enough ammunition as it is.’

The General continued to hope that the enemy would never truly meet his lines, hopefully, the continuous folly of bullets would be enough to keep them at the bottom at the hill, this was all but a reliable assumption.

Preparation’s manual thought process was interrupted by a griffon startling him to the side, “Sir,” the griffon started, “It seems their trying to incite the peace talks, a group of em’ are walking into the middle with the green flag,” he paused, “shall I send a party to go meet with them?”

Shrewd didn’t care for the enemy’s suggestion of peace, it was ridiculous at this point, they were too far in the war, usually, these stupid ‘conferences’ would only be utilised during the early steps of the war, but by this stage, it has been well and truly passed that point. He wasn’t going to waste his time listening to the enemy demanding peace for a stupid price, so, he thought, he’d may as well skip this one out.

“No,” Preparation said, “Let them hold their petty peace offerings to themselves.”

The messenger silently smiled to himself.

“Instead,” he General continued, “show them that we don’t give a shit,” he turned towards his second in command and gave a luxurious order, “order the first line to fire directly upwards, that should give them a decent fright.”

He nodded, seemingly eager, “First row! Make Ready!”

This sudden outburst of sound seems to put a lot of those located within the army into turmoil, a lot seemed confused, luckily, however, most of the battalion and company commanders were able to keep everything under control, and relay sects, some had to even quickly explain the meaning of this order.

In an inexperienced, and uniform matter, the griffons compromising of the first rank quickly placed their musket along their shoulder, mentally prepared themselves for the next incoming order.

“Present upwards!”

Of course, this sprinted quite a bit of confusion, not only has no griffon ever had the experience to fire directly upwards, but why not at the enemy? This was clearly the wrong direction.

Yet, people were still able to follow directions, many were just a little confused by the prospect.

“FIRE!”

With a simple click and snap griffon withholding muskets within the front row pulled the triggers of the weapons, burning matches were lowered into the gunpowder mass, and the few experienced griffons who held flintlocks followed their own presumptuous process.

Sparks of orange and yellow followed by the blinding white smoke exposed from the musket tubes, expelling upwards into the atmosphere. Then what followed was a defining BOOM that echoed throughout the countryside, shaking every being to the very core. The lingering smoulder floated just above the heads of every being present within the division, causing few to look upwards, and smell its horrible beauty.

Many griffons responsible for firing their own weapons accidentally dropped it in fright, the excoriating loud sound procured was not entirely expected by those with no experience, luckily, after a brief scolding by heir superiors, they quickly required their weapons, and held it by their side. Many started to reload their weapons.

While others…exploded entirely, spraying shrapnel in all directions, this caused injuries the griffon clasping it, and in some cases, to others as well in the predetermined facility.

Although the reactions from the General’s own army was quite amusing—and disappointing—the enemy’s small detachment of ‘peace offers’ rejoinder was even more entertaining. None within it had even assumed the Republicans would do something like this.

Not to mention show off such a great amount of force.

Most thought they’d never had the guts.

Apparently they do.

The small collection of griffons quickly scrambled up from their asses and ran back to their ranks with their tails between their legs, literally.

With that loud explosion came an even more pleasing scenario for Preparation, practically his whole army was deathly silent, perhaps they were scared of the destruction of the weapons they carry, or where inspired by the true beauty of them.

All that matter was that, even if it was a little, some organisation returned to his division, all of his troops were now focused on the enemy. Shrewd found this quite pleasurable.

What was even less enjoyable for the General, nevertheless, was the now charging enemy army straight at their position.

Perhaps the Empire thought they are initiating the attack.

This new development completely wiped off the slowly growing grin off Preparation’s face. He thought the enemy wouldn’t be that stupid.

This posed as a mainstream problem as the first row clearly didn’t have their weapons loaded, and the enemy was distinctly changing straight at their position.

I need not to point out the problems in this situation, I’m sure you could work this one out.

The ground rumbled and buckled under the sheer force of the stampeding army that raced across the field, each foot forward left a series of dry dirt clumps smouldered into the earth, once what was grass was turned over and ruined, the once lush green meadows all but stomped under the glorious underfoot of the enemy.

What was even more surfing to Preparation was that somehow, about a force of 1000 troops broke from the enemy formation and began the process angling off to travel around the hill, and flank them from behind, everything about the Empire just seemed so…disorganised. He had no idea how the Empire army’s superiors planned something like that.

The mental picture located within Major General Shrewd Preparation’s mindset displaced him from the real world, he honestly, for a brief moment forgot he was in charge of an entire army.

He immediately turned to his second in command, “I want the first and second rank to be firing continuously,” he frowned slightly, “under no circumstances are they to fire at the same time, I want a pertinacious folly of gold at these fuckers.”

Preparation then proceeded to rotate towards one of the three messengers adjacent to him, “Please alert the griffon in charge of the reserves of a change in plans, inform him of the flanking enemy army and proceed to intercept,” he remained silent for a few seconds, “also, tell him to keep his distance, try to get as many rounds of them as possible before engaging in melee combat.”

He flew off the relay the specific orders.

And to further amalgamate the unnatural sounds that reverted through the earth in accordance from the enemy, another, but much louder, and powerful sound was affixed to the solution.

BOOM! Boom! Bo~! boom! BA~BOOM! BOO~! ~om! Bo~! boom! BA~OOOM!

The back rank fired over the shoulders of their comrades with shake arms, their grips slightly loosened on their weapons, the recoil of the musket in some cases, even able to overcome this frictional grip force, and proceeded to fly backwards from the griffin’s claws.

Milky white smoke bellowed from the muzzles of the firearms, spitting the chemical product into the atmosphere, and resulting in slightly impaired vision in accordance with perceiving the enemy.

Although the Empire’s troops were clearly too far away to inflict much damage due to a lack of accuracy, the relatively hard-packed ground everyone stood upon, along with the height advantage, allowed the golden projectiles to bounce along the soil ,and proceed to haul themselves into the legs, and paws of the uninvited sprinting guests.

Blood followed the puncture of unsavoury holes located within these appendages, resulting in a small amount of blood to adhere to the legs below. Clearly resulting in those few affected to fall over in pain, and clutch the spitting blood before it drained from their soul.

This, however, was far and few in-between, the small quantity that was affected, were simply stepped over by others, the only obstacle they provided was equivalent to a small rock. All but ignored as a living being.

It was at this point a few seconds later that *most of the front rank was ready to unload their ammunition. And so, they did.

“FIRE!”

Yet again, fire and smoke thrusted from the tubes, forcing the small gold projects to yet again, sail through the atmosphere—down the hill—and bounce directly towards their targets, this resulted in a similar catastrophe in accordance to before. Only this time, was slightly more difficult to see through the white fog that obscured them.

However, true damage wouldn't initiate until the enemy entered close enough range, close enough, for a much larger percentage of golden projectiles to reach their targets, and thus, more devastating.

Somewhere on the other side of the battlefield, near the base of the hill around the Republican’s flank, rushed another variety of griffon soldiers, the goal provided by their commander was simple; ‘Assault from behind and induce confusion.’

The troops selected for the significant job were of veteran variety, and had a range of experience in all areas of combat, these were the Empire’s best chance for victory in this particular battle. The Generals were worried that numbers may not have been enough to inflict significant loses in comparison to the last conflict. The enemy simply had too many advantages; they were on a hill, had great weather, and even, advanced technology, way beyond anyone's peculiar understanding.

The General even complimented going so low as using flying, something that was clearly against traditions.

This 1000 selection of ‘veterans’ expected to encounter resistance on their journey, perhaps a few hundred or so ill-equipped swordsmen identical to the last couple of battles, mostly, the Republicans had little flank protection, if any. As a result, each member was expecting a quick, clean victory.

Too bad they didn’t expect 500 Republic soldiers with muskets pointing at them from the top of the hill.

In fact, they didn’t think the enemy even saw them splitting from the main battle formation.

But apparently, they did. Perhaps they were being too obvious and should’ve listened to their superiors when they suggested to ‘sneak’ away. People generally become quite arrogant when they maintain the belief of ‘know it alls’, or ‘indifferent superiority’, something that undoubtfully instigates as soldiers gain more field experience.

The elite troops compromising of the ranks gazed questionably at one another, they silently worded, ‘This wasn’t part of the plan.’

One critical detail worth mentioning was these specific troops were dragged from another division, a division that was positioned in the far East. A place where they saw relatively frequent combat with regular enemy movements. Barely any muskets were located in that area due to the distance from the Republic Capital, and as a result, griffons from that region rarely saw any musket action.

In fact, the very first time they even perceived the weapons in question being utilised was literally 30 seconds previously, when the first wave of explosions took hold.

The fact they didn’t seem to do any damage slightly confused some of those involved, but only appeared to have inspired more self-confidence then what was initially worth.

Sadly, it would be their ultimate demise, as the next decision that made it toll on the small gathering of 1000 soldiers was a stupid one.

To rush em’.

All screamed their propaganda expressions of ‘FOR THE EMPIRE’, and immediately began the process of sprinting up the hill towards their targets.

—Top of the hill POV—

The Battalion commander was..confused.

He didn’t understand if the griffon down there were just plain stupid, or mindlessly brave.

He may only have been recently promoted from a mere flintlock Private, but even he understood the decision of this gathering of 1000 soldiers made a stupid decision by attempting to rush them, while at the foundation of the hill.

He may not know a lot about tactics, but one particular move he enjoyed performing as a troop was the machine gun effect, where each individual fired one another—similar to a Mexican wave—which provided continuous fire.

The excruciating loud BANGS occurring every seven to nine seconds in the background, he was silently hoping by his group firing, they could hopefully fill in those ‘blank sound gaps’, and create a truly wondrous atmosphere.

“Present!”

What was surprising to him is that all griffons present actually obeyed his own command, they pointed their deadly weapons at the enemy approaching bellow.

“Alright!” he yelled, “before we start fir-“

Before he could even finish the sentence, approximately half of the soldier present fired their weapons, pouring a decent load of gold onto the enemy below.

“I DID I FUCKING SAY TO FIRE!!?”

Of course, this statement was followed by a dozen or so extra shots going off, something this leader was clearly not content about.

It was obvious these freshly trained troops would either not listen, or ambiguously understand his new directions, especially not in the heat of combat.

“You know what,” he sighed, “fuck it, FIRE AT WILL!”

The troops looked questionably at one another.

He clutched his paw into a fist, “It means to FIRE WHENEVER YOU WANT! HOLY SHIT!”

What immediately followed was an explosion of pure insistence, gold projectiles consistently shot through the air at regular intervals, peppering the atmosphere like popcorn. To those who faced this storm down the hill, it was a pure nightmare…

The emotional state of the elite soldiers performed a complete one-hundred and eighty turn, instead of withstanding an arrogant attitude, each now encompasses a terrified facade. All ran erratically up—what may as well have been— a mountain, seconds away from desertion.

It became more and more difficult to maintain total cohesion as the value of sock and awe began to take its toll. Despite the muskets barely doing any damage at all, bodies still occasionally dropped, and blood pooled at their fingertips. Truth be told, it was terrifying just witnessing your comrades dropping around you, from seeming nothing, it’s like the enemy wielded powers beyond what would be considered ‘normal’.

Sadly for the Republicans, this wouldn’t be quite enough to break their spirit. Enough the occasional griffon still ran away as far as physically possible from combat. However, the majority of the gathering still remained.

They continued onwards.

To victory!

By the time they actually reached the top, roughly two thirds of their members had vanished to the swarm of golden projectiles, their bodies lay battered and beaten on the swelling hill, slowly leaking their precious life fluid onto the ground below, stain the natural green grass into an ugly crimson.

Now they were clearly at a disadvantage, the enemy outnumbered them five to three, and they were located in a precarious position, there was no way they’d be able to get through the Republicans without significant loses.

On the other side of the coin, stood the small 500 troop gathering of Republicans, firing onto the enemy below. Although they had enacted large losses onto the enemy, it still wasn't enough to scatter or kill them all off.

This meant they’d have to engage in melee combat.

Something that clearly wasn’t trained at all to achieve.

“Everygriffon!” the leader shrieked, “Switch to melee!”

And so, every griffon located with the group of 500 men fumbled out their swords and pointed them in the direction of the still approaching enemy, now less then ten metres away

Each side clashed together, swiping, stabbing, blocking, shooting—why exactly are griffons still shooting? You know what, never mind— clubbing, hitting, poking, etc… Each side attempted to inflict as much damage onto the enemy as fast as physically possible.

Blood sprayed in all directions as this occurred, fluid pooled on the ground, bodies dropped, heads completely decapitated. Some of the Republican soldiers didn’t even have time to grab their swords, so instead, they relied on the brunt force from their muskets’ muzzles. Stabbing the enemy with the dense sharpness object.

Most notably, the Empire’s troops were gaining ground, and fast, they may not be very great against spitting projectiles, but something they’d always relied on was their sheer determination, and skill in claw to claw combat.

Eventually, numbers dwindled so slow on the Republic side they were forced to run away with their remaining 50 soldiers, tail in-between their legs, with the Empire still in hot pursuit, 200 strong.

It was obvious they’d be able to inflict a generous amount of damage onto the main army if something isn’t done about this soon. It was quite dreadful they had their own problems and weren’t exactly in any position to help.

“SECOND ROW! FIRE!!”

As the Empire got closer and closer to their position, the accuracy of the weapons involved become of higher variety, giving them the alternative to administer more damage than each previous volley.

Flesh and bones dropped like flies, skulls burst, chests conceived, legs shattered, and torsos tore open. Some even manage to trip over their own brethren, only to be impaled by their own weapons, while others failed to stand up due to the repetitive stomp on their backs administered by still sprinting armed forces.

This only became more common as they continued to run up the inclined ground, soldiers shot in front often fell onto those located behind, bringing multiple griffons down at once. Still, in comparison to the last battle, this was a total bloodbath, even if they somehow won this battle, the remaining army would practically be non-existent.

They may have begun with 11000 soldiers at the beginning of the front line assault, now, all that remained was just above 5000.

And they still had over fifty metres to go!

“FIRST ROW! FIRE!!!”

Eventually, after thousands of deaths, the bulk of the divisions finally reached the top, grabbing distance to those Republicans. The aggressor took the brunt of the potency, initially being pushed back, nevertheless, they began to immediately stab, like their literal life depended on it.

Which, it obviously did.

Major General Shrewd Preparation was not liking the way this battle was heading.

At all.

He had to send a small portion (600) of his already struggling army to deal with the enemy that just broke through at the rear, undoubtfully weakening the overall strength of the rest of his division.

He was erectly glad he was able to order the melee weapons to be taken out just in the nick of time before the full force of the Empire crashed into his lines.

There, however, was one particular thing he never took into account…

Some of his soldiers didn’t have bayonets or swords for that matter, troops instead had to rely on their trusty wooden stocks at the end of their musket. A good beating to the skull always does wonders for death-inducing scenarios. It’s just not in…the most efficient of manners. Instead of one swing, it normally takes several to have any ill lasting effects.

Due to this untimely inconvenience, along with the slight superior numbers of the enemy, it was obvious the Republicans were slowly being pushed back. It was only a matter of time before the enemy located in the rear stabs its way through the ill-prepared group Preparation sent over to intercept. Soon, his entire army would be surrounded.

There was no way he was going to pull out a miracle from his ass this time.

There were just too many variables.

If he’s lucky, he may be able to get a few hundred out. Or, let's be optimistic, even a thousand.

As General Shrewd was complimenting possible ways to reduce further loses, the corner of his vision spotted something.

The General swiftly swiped the binoculars from his waist and peered through its hazy lenses, with his purpose to eye the irregular shape that seemed to be approaching from behind another hill, roughly, half a kilometre away.

Now that he was able to properly focus on it, it looked like the crest of a flag.

But not just any flag.

The Republican Flag!

This single banner was followed by dozens more that appeared beyond the hill, all waved lasciviously in the air currents. All projected a sense of patriotism, beauty, and especially hope.

Hope, that’ll they’d make it out alive.

They just had to hold on long enough.

—POV Newly Approaching Division—

The griffon General of this particular army marched alongside his troops as they travelled up the hill, once at the top, a comprehensible battle could be discovered “Holy Shit,” the General stated, “I think we just got here in the nick of time.”

He turned to his subordinates, “have one line battery; half the army, travel down the hill and flank the enemy from behind,” he placed his claw to his chin in thought, “It’s likely they don’t know of our presence yet, with them,” he gestured to the battlefield, “so involved, I want the other half to say here and fire at them from behind, it’s a possibility that some of the Republican soldiers will be affected, but I’m willing to take that chance.”

His subordinates noted and continued on with their duties, they ran off to complete their individual orders.

Soon enough, a large line of soldiers marched down the hill towards the enemy while the other one organised into a single, centralised, straight-line and prepared to fire their high-quality matchlock and flintlock muskets.

“Make ready!”

All troops placed their weapons resting against their shoulder, all primed, loaded, and ready to contend with the next involuntary order.

“Present!”

The clatter of over 1000 firearms proceeded to lower down like a tsunami wave all pointed directly at their targets, slightly at an angle to their body mass, due to the enemy being located on the right.

“FIRE!”

In comparison to the volley occurring in the battle below, this one sounded much more ‘distinct’, and ‘powerful’. Fire and ash expelled from the musket tubes forcing out the precious golden projectiles at their targets, most failed to have any effect, but the few that did, caused griffons at the back of the attacking body—ones who thought they were the safest— to drop like flies.

The overwhelmingly strong and powerful blast of the explosion altered everyone on the battlefield below, consistent infighting appeared to have stopped for a few short seconds as each individual spied the beings located at the top of that hill with their smoking muskets.

Anyone within the Empire Force was shocked.

Everyone else associated with the Republic cheered so loud, their lungs may as well collapsed. They now fought with a brand new vigour, that perhaps, was never even there in the first place.

This, overall, provided a problem for the Griffon Empire’s division as, they, themselves, were being flanked and encircled, not the other way around, as they initially anticipated.

In consequence, the now high spirited Republics pushed with new formatted robust, leisurely, they gained one step after the other, slowly gaining ground they'd originally lost.

The roughly 1000 troops that split from the newly arrived division continued they're pacing towards their destination. The leader of this discrete gathering realised the sudden change in atmosphere and changed his plan accordingly. He maintained the idea that the enemy was simply one singular step from complete demoralisation and retreat.

His approaching army traversed in a perfectly straight line, without substantial desynchronisation. Their boots crushed any resistance the earth provided, flags poles were grasped by the soldiers who only progressed forward, the symbolic significance of this movement was more valuable than the weapons themselves.

“PRESENT!”

Soldiers—still marching forward—situated their firearms to point directly forwards, each facade only expressing true determination and discipline.

“FIRE!”

“BO~BAOM!”

Despite the decent recoil of the weapons, each individual still persisted with transversing forward without a single mister. Golden projectiles ripped through the heavens, accelerating through the air at a truly ridiculous velocity. Despite barely hitting any of the enemies, this seemed to have the same general effect in accordance with previously, only to a greater effect.

The now clearly retreating Empire sought to escape, their morale, completely broken, but in hot pursuit was the Republic militia, and the enclosing division from the back stimulated a difficult scenario.

One of two situations would take place, All griffons associated with the Empire will;

1) Surrender
or
2) Be murdered

Neither of those situations can ever be considered as ‘good’.

I’ll give a clue; it was a mix of both.

The ‘elite’ soldiers who flanked from behind suffered a similar fate, their morale was already relatively low before the reinforcements arrived, so it doesn’t exactly come as a surprise that they all immediately ran away after the first hearing.

At the end of the day, the metaphorical walls became too much to handle, all remaining enemy soldiers all surrendered like a tidal wave, very few ever got away.

And now…The Republicans march towards the Capital.

To end this bloody war

Author's Note

Don't judge me.

This chapter was supposed to come out a few weeks ago, but, I got lazy.

Also, 300 likes! :rainbowkiss: