My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

Chapter 5: Refuge and Contemplation

The time passed by quickly as Mykel recounted his tale to Zecora, making good progress through the forest undergrowth. Even during the telling, both the speaker and the listener kept wary eyes on the underbrush, their ears keen to any sound that might signal an unseen observer or an ambush. When he had finished speaking, Zecora asked,

“So you were not an angel before.
You killed on the hunt, not in war.
They came to your world, but why?
What made them come down from the sky?”

“They were the First Legion of the Adeptus Astartes, the Emperor’s Space Marines. They were part of a Great Crusade to reclaim the stars for the human race. It was on Caliban that they finally found their primarch…” Mykel stopped for a moment, halting his stride. Puzzled by this development, Zecora stopped and looked back at him. In the silence that followed, only the chirping of small birds broke the stillness.

“Mykel, are you all right?
Has something given you a fright?”

Without warning he stomped forward, eyes focused on some distant goal. Zecora had to scramble out of the way as Mykel trudged past her. He set off in the direction they had been heading in, except now haste was evident in his movements. Her trot accelerated into a canter as she tried to catch up with him.

“Hold, friend! What makes you upset?
For what reason do you fret?”

He whirled and faced her, his fists trembling. “Jonson,” he shouted. Zecora took a step back, startled by this abrupt change. Deep breathing rumbled and rasped through the grille of Mykel’s helmet as he stood before her.

Confused, she replied,

“Who is this ‘Jonson” of whom you speak?
What sort of havoc did he wreak?”

“He was our leader! Our gene-father! The greatest warrior of us all! Then he abandoned us! Left us! Forgot us! And as if that wasn’t enough, he betrayed us and the Imperium!” Swinging, Mykel smashed his armor-clad fist into a nearby tree. The sound of splintering wood cracked through the forest like the sound of a gunshot. All birdsong and background noise ceased.

Taking a breath to calm himself, the Space Marine turned his head to look at the frightened zebra. “Don’t you understand? I have to get back, now! Caliban, my home, is under attack by oathbreakers and kinslayers!” A sigh grated through the grille of his helmet as he looked down sadly. “Luther needs my help… if he is still alive, that is…”

Zecora’s face grew troubled and sadly responded,

“I am sorry, but that is beyond my power.
I cannot send you back at this hour.
I know of a few to call on for aid,
but efforts to be patient must be made.
Let us find a roof for your head,
then we can try to combat your dread.”

Stepping forward, Zecora took a chance and placed a hoof comfortingly on the giant’s leg. Even though the armor was cold and hard, she hoped that the gesture itself would be enough. Zecora tried to smile comfortingly at the harsh red eyes above her, pretending instead to see the green eyes that she knew lay behind them. For a minute, Mykel stood there in silence, merely gazing down at her silently. Finally, he nodded to her. This wasn’t the sharp nod of acknowledgement that she had seen before. Zecora knew that this time, Mykel was actually listening to what she said.

Finally, the knight broke his silence. “Zecora, I… I should thank you. I know that you made a deal to take me to this castle, but… thank you for genuinely caring.” Mykel looked back in their direction of travel, his metallic voice a great deal calmer. “I had almost forgotten what that feels like…” Continuing on their way in uncomfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the zebra and the Space Marine went back to listening to keeping an eye out for trouble.

After hours of walking with no further incidents, they finally reached their destination. The sight of the old stone fortress stopped Mykel in his tracks. Not out of any sense of awe, for this place did not compare in size or strength to the old fortresses of his homeworld. Those had been bastions of defense against monsters too foul to fight in the open. Instead, the old, forlorn castle had a withered and worn look to it. Truthfully, it was little more than a ruin. The roof was completely gone, and to say that it had walls would have been very generous. Here and there a stained glass window survived the devastation, but the majority of them were stripped of glass like bones picked clean of flesh. Somehow, despite all the damage, the wooden doors of the castle still held firm. The only approaches to the castle were two bridges, one of creaky wood and a much shorter one of stone that was barely noticeable under the forest cover at the rear. These bridges spanned a chasm that would prove a formidable obstacle to any ground forces besieging the castle.

What had stopped Mykel was how this castle gave him an aching reminder of the days of Caliban of old. Stone fortresses surrounded by dark forest… Back when honor and duty were clear and true… Out loud, he asked, “Does this place have a name?”

“The Castle of the Sisters, or so I am told.
It is well over a thousand years old.”

“A thousand years…,” Mykel repeated with a small amount of admiration. One would have thought that the forest would have reclaimed the stone by now. Perhaps there was indeed some hidden strength here…

“I have brought you here, but now I must go.
There are friends of mine who of your arrival, must know.”

Mykel turned to her suspiciously. “You’re going to alert others to my presence?”

Zecora shook her Mohawk-clad head in exasperation.

“As I have stated, I cannot help your endeavor.
Without the aid of others, you will remain here forever.
To get find your way home, trust must be given
or your fortunes will find themselves riven.”

She offered him a kind smile.

“No intent to betray is in my blood.
Surely, you saw that as only your eyes could.”

Although Zecora meant no slight with the remark, Mykel stood chastised as he was reminded of the complete invasion of her memories. Sensing his discomfort, Zecora patted the side of his leg reassuringly before offering one final comfort.

“If I can, I’ll be back tomorrow.
Hopefully, good fortune will also follow.”

Trotting off back into the woods, Zecora left Mykel alone to his thoughts. After a few minutes, Mykel finally forced himself to step onto the flimsy hanging bridge. The way it creaked and squealed under his boot was not comforting. Step by careful step, Mykel made his way across. He imagined as he stepped that at any moment, the bridge would finally give under the stress and he would plummet into the chasm. A Space Marine’s armor would let him survive the fall, of course, but it would still be both an inconvenience and an unpleasant experience.

Somehow, half an hour later, Mykel finally reached the other side without collapsing the bridge and looked back at the passage. As much respect as I have for whoever put that together, I might as well try to leap the gap next time. Trudging confidently up to the gate, Mykel placed his palms on the doors. Taking a breath to ready himself, the former knight pushed the portal opened and walked forward into the darkened halls.

Ᾰ

“Are you sure about this, Fluttershy?”

The timid pegasus nodded in response to Twilight’s question. Sighing, the purple unicorn reflected on what her friend had told her.

Both of them were seated in the main room of the Golden Oaks Library in Ponyville. Bookshelves, carved into the walls of the living tree and filled to near-bursting with tomes and other reading materials, surrounded the two mares. A gold and orange sun, the symbol of their beloved mentor Princess Celestia, was painted onto the circular ceiling above them. Rays from the late morning sun, the true Sun, shone through the windows that were set haphazardly into the walls, which seemed to squeeze into any space that was not occupied by the library’s impressive collection. In a dark corner, away from the bright sunshine, the nighttime assistant Owlowiscious slumbered peacefully.

Twilight Sparkle had been quite surprised by Fluttershy’s unannounced visit earlier this morning, even more so when she had observed that her winged friend had actually flown to see her. Even though she was a pegasus, Fluttershy didn’t like to use her wings unless she absolutely had to. When Fluttershy made it clear that the matter was not extremely urgent, Twilight invited her in and set a kettle of tea to boil in the tree’s side kitchen. Normally, she would have had her little dragon assistant Spike do it, but he had been sorely tested by the past couple of days. He and Twilight had been taking inventory of all the books and scrolls in the library, including fitting new donations into Twilight’s experimental “alphabetical topic order” style of bookkeeping. Since the library was not very busy today, she had decided to let him sleep in.

As they waited for the tea to boil, Fluttershy described the events of the previous night. Twilight had initially panicked about the possible presence of a manticore in Ponyville, but her winged friend had had the wisdom to leave him at home under the watchful eye of her guardian Angel. Shortly after the story was told in its entirety, the tea kettle whistled and the unicorn poured each of them a cup. The lavender mare sipped her lavender tea, considering the situation.

If what Fluttershy says is true, then we might have a serious threat just waiting to make its presence known in Ponyville. As for what could beat up a manticore… Briefly she went through her mental catalogue of beasts that she knew about. A hydra wouldn’t come out this far from the bogs. Cerberus should be guarding Tartarus and wouldn’t pick a fight with a smaller creature. An Ursa Minor… or maybe even an Ursa Major however… She shuddered at the thought. There was at least one mother and one child living in the area, but Twilight doubted that an angry mother or her annoyed young would be content with simply breaking a limb if riled.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings.

“Could you please excuse me for a moment, Fluttershy?”

The yellow pegasus nodded, taking another dainty sip of the relaxing beverage. Rising from her seat on the floor, Twilight walked over to the door and quickly opened it. Standing before her was a mint green unicorn mare with golden eyes. A cheerful smile was plastered on her face. Twilight couldn’t help but smile herself.

“Hello, Lyra. Can I help you with something?”

Lyra Heartstrings nodded her head up and down energetically. Twilight had never seen her being less than upbeat.

“Yeah, I was just wondering… would you happen to have a bestiary in stock here?”

Twilight frowned at the question. The timing of it… could it be… nah. Lyra never really left Ponyville to go exploring the Everfree, so it was very unlikely that she would have seen anything.

“I think I have something like that.” Twilight beckoned Lyra in and together they approached one of the bookcases as Fluttershy looked on. The purple unicorn could tell that Fluttershy wanted to continue their earlier conversation, but, true to her nature, was waiting patiently for Lyra to finish her business. Don’t worry, ‘Shy, I won’t keep you waiting long.

“Let’s see…” Twilight used her magic to lift one of the books off of its shelf. “The Best Topiary: A Guide to Canterlot Gardens.” Her brow lowered as she frowned at the misfiling. Spike, it’s alphabetical by topic, not title. This should be under “Plants”… She resolved to have a word with him when he woke up. Replacing the book and pulling out the next one had better results.

“Here we go. The Bestiarum Equestrius: An Archive of Races and Monsters.” Her eyes lit up as she examined it a little more closely. “Wow, it was even written by Clover the Clever when she was traveling with Starswirl the Bearded!”

“Uh, Twilight?” Sheepishly, Ponyville’s librarian realized that she was engrossing herself in the book that Lyra was looking for. She passed it to the green unicorn, who began flipping through the pages as if searching. This behavior puzzled Twilight.

“Lyra, what exactly are you looking for?”

Her guest matter-of-factly responded, “Humans”, without looking up.

Twilight smacked her forehead in exasperation. “Lyra, I’ve already told you. Humans never actually existed. They’re not like minotaurs or Cerberus, which were discovered to actually exist. They were just stories made up by ancient ponies to explain things that they didn’t understand at the time.”

Lyra looked up as if she’d been smacked. “Yeah, well, if that’s the case, then why are they always depicted with having only two legs? Most ‘imaginary monsters’ aren’t that consistent in their description.”

The purple unicorn gave her a deadpan look. “What about the ones with the body of a pony instead of two legs?”

“Oh yeah, right. Centaurs,” Lyra admitted bashfully.

Sighing, Twilight continued, “I don’t understand why you are so fascinated with these creatures. According to the myths, they are incapable of any sort of flight or magic, aren’t that strong or tough, and aren’t even that attractive. I mean, by Celestia, the depictions of their faces are some of the most grotesque artwork that I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey!” Lyra closed the book and stashed it under one leg while pointing defensively at Twilight. “They might not be as strong as a minotaur or as powerful as an alicorn, but reading about some of their ideas makes me believe that they didn’t need magic or wings or anything like that. They had everything that they needed right up here.” She pointed to her own forehead in emphasis, tapping behind her horn for good measure. “It’s said that humans are equal parts tricksters, geniuses, and crazy. Kind of like if Discord actually did something constructive as opposed to turning things upside down for his own amusement.”

Twilight winced at that last part. Having defeated the draconequus mere days ago, the madness of that encounter (and their own near failure) still left her somewhat shaken by the experience. If humans are anything at all like Discord, it’s probably a good thing that they don’t exist. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Twilight didn’t so much give up as shelve the conversation. “We can debate Equestrian mythology at some other time, Lyra. Normally, I’d be happy to pull out every book I have on the subject, but I was in the middle of a meeting with Fluttershy. Come back later and we can have an actual debate as opposed to arguing like a couple of school-fillies.”

Lyra looked put-out, but finally nodded her head in understanding. She hesitantly replied, “I’m sorry, Twilight. I didn’t know.” Her guilty expression turned into fierce determination as Lyra gave one parting shot. “But don’t you worry… I’m going to get my sources and we are going to have a serious research throw-down!” Bunching up her legs to run, Lyra suddenly remembered where she was. Calming herself and walking quietly toward the front door, the green unicorn finally gave in to her excitement once she reached the threshold. It was not long before the sound of clopping hooves faded into the distance.

Sitting down across from Fluttershy, Twilight returned to the topic at hand. Fluttershy looked up at her with those sad, worried eyes, clearly expecting her to do something about it. To Twilight, there was only one clear answer.

“Fluttershy, see if you can get in touch with Rainbow Dash and Applejack. I’ll go talk to Pinkie Pie and Rarity. If there really is a possible threat to Ponyville, we all need to be on the same page and come up with a plan. A monster such as the one you have described is likely to only be defeated if all of the Elements of Harmony are present.” She tapped a hoof on the floor in emphasis. “Now, let’s get to work!”

Twilight trotted out the door, an apprehensive Fluttershy soon following after her. A few moments after they left, a small bipedal purple dragon with green spines walked groggily through the bedroom door upstairs and gave a toothy yawn. “Can somepony keep it down around here? With all this running around, you’d think that the world was ending.”

Ᾰ

It was the dream again. She did not wish to relive it as she had every day since her return, but she was powerless to stop it. The past replayed in her mind over and over, as if it wished to constantly remind her of her mistake.

In the realm of dreams, she entered a landscape unlike any she had ever seen. It reminded her of the Everfree Forest that surrounded the Palace; that is, if the entire forest had begun to rot. Everywhere she looked, plants were bent, cracked, or dribbling pus and other vile secretions. The floor of the area, where there were not puddles of slime or what seemed to be cancerous tumors, was covered in shovel-leafed blue flowers or plants that looked disturbingly like the skull of some animal. Flies buzzed overhead, ranging in size from tiny ones congregating in swarms to ones that could have easily carried her on their backs. Each of these details that she noted was rather hazy, as if the air itself was heavy and blurred any form of perception.

A tremendous racket had her turn her attention to the left as a massive beast came stumbling out of the gangreenery. It was the epitome of hideousness, a long slimy body with short, almost useless legs frantically trying to pull it along. Tentacles and organic tubing poked and penetrated its back, writhing and leaking green gas. Thankfully, in her dreams, the smell of the beast did not wash over her like a tide of reeking putrescence. Its head was a mass of more tentacles, surrounding wide eyes and a gaping mouth exposing a tongue so long it might as well have been another tentacle.

Upon noticing her, it hopped in place and barked excitedly. Such activity was more reminiscent of an excited puppy than a monstrosity. It bounded toward her, gleeful delight apparent in its eyes. Although troubled by its appearance, Luna did not seek to judge and stood her ground as it closed in…

Unfortunately for the slimehound, the Garden had other plans for her. The beast suddenly found its path obstructed by a sickly figure, who grunted at it disapprovingly. This new creature was another oddity. Its limbs were almost skeletally lean, but it walked with a clear paunch. Its movements were slow and smooth, unlike the beast’s quick energy. A sword, rusted beyond reasonable use and serrated with edges that had been corroded black by green pus, was carried in one of the figure’s hands. The other hand was pointing away, clearly instructing the beast to find another playmate. The beast whimpered and rolled around helplessly, clearly upset at having playtime interrupted. Heaving a sigh like a dying man’s last gasp, the figure petted it soothingly with its spare hand. Pacified, the beast slithered its way upright and trampled its way back through the undergrowth.

Turning to face Luna, the figure’s face was finally revealed. A single large eye stared at her with a lazy intensity, topped with a single horn like a unicorn. Beneath the eye, a slack jaw left its mouth agape and leaking a frothy drool. Boils and sores covered its skin, ranging in stages from mild protrusions to exploded pits of pus. A hernia was present in its belly as small loops of intestine peeked through the opening in its skin like a shy maiden behind a curtain. All in all, a sickening sight whose horror had not faded with the repetition of the dream.

Its single, unblinking eye not leaving her, the plaguebearer pointed back to her right. As Luna looked in the indicated direction, she gasped. How she always managed to miss the creaking, dilapidated, huge mansion, she would never truly know. One instant, the space was empty. When next she looked, a sizable cabin with groaning timbers and shattered windows made itself apparent in its ugly fashion. Smoke literally belched from the chimney on its roof. This smoke, upon closer analysis, was revealed to be millions of flies being released into the Garden. The grey-green of the house’s timbers was not reminiscent of wood so much as cold, dead flesh.

The cyclops pointed again, arm extended empathetically. For lack of any alternative action, Luna slowly walked toward the manse. As she grew near, she became of bone-white trees forming a crude windbreak around the house. Fruit that grew and rotted at the same time hung from the trees’ branches; blackbirds with cracked beaks, gunk-encrusted eyes, and severe boils and open sores regarded her silently. Where the beast’s eyes had been welcoming, these birds were clearly watchmen of a sort. Still, Luna went unchallenged as she finally approached the towering front door and knocked.

Her hoof had scarcely knocked the door twice when a deep, booming, phlegmy voice greeted her. “Come in, come in, Little Luna! I’ve been expecting you.” The joy in the voice, warm like that of a grandfather greeting his long-awaited grandchildren, was marred somewhat by an undertone of hidden malice. Luna screamed at her dream self to run away, to gallop away as fast as she could from the nightmare that awaited her. But sadly, this was memory, not a lucid dream. As she had done once, as she had repeated many times in the deepest of slumber, Luna pushed on the door.

Instead of resisting, it swung right open. Stepping inside, Luna knew what she would find, but that did not stop her from being awed and horrified by the mansion’s occupant. Sitting beside the front door, in a chair that seemed to reach to the ceiling and was but one step away from falling apart altogether, was the master of the Garden himself. A being who was immense in every sense of the word; the aura of rot and decay that clung to the presence fought for perception with its immense, corpulent bulk. The details were never precise, but key features were always remembered: a crooked mouth with yellow teeth and a lolling tongue, a pair of great horns crowning its head, milky yellow eyes, thick thighs atop stubby, disgusting toes, and a green expanse of skin covered with sores, acne, and scabs like the craters of a moon. Its head, mounted atop a fleshy expanse that barely qualified as a neck, regarded her like an ant walking upon its floor.

“Welcome to my humble little abode, Little Luna,” the great being spoke. As its lips moved, tiny balls of green matter fell out of its mouth and sprouted legs. These walking spores of pus cackled and giggled as they playfully ran across the being’s expanse. Unminding of its creations, the elderly figure continued, “I heard you cry out in your dreams, little one. Tell me, your dear old Grandfather Nurgle, what troubles you so. What makes you so unhappy?” Its face twisted into blistery concern at Luna’s distress.

Try as Luna might, she could not stop her past self from speaking. “If thou wouldst bend to Us thine ear, Grandfather… Since Mother left Us, things have become so different. We are responsible for raising the moon, a noble and important task to maintain the tides and protect Our beloved world from asteroids and other extraterrestrial intruders. But it seems as if Our subjects have eyes only for Our sister. Our Night Court goes empty as ponies sleep, unaware of Our sacrifice for them. We have tried talking to ‘Ti- Our sister, but she rebuts Us.” Luna’s tone became mocking. “’Doth thou not thinkest that We suffer as well, little sister? Be gone from Our sight, foalish child!’” Luna’s eyes began to tear up, though each incarnation had very different reasons for doing so. “She was once so bright and warm, Grandfather. Now… She as cold and distant as Our moon. Hers is a light that burns and blinds, with nothing of warmth or illumination.” Luna hung her head in despair. “We are deeply troubled, Grandfather… The changes were to make Our world so much better. Why is it, then, that We are so unhappy?” Soft sobs began to echo in the massive lounge room’s space.

Bending down in his chair as only an immaterial being can, Nurgle shushed her comfortingly and lifted her up on one giant palm. The other hand stroked her gently, leaving green slime present in her mane. “Shhh, Little Luna. Grandfather Nurgle sees how upset you are. Tell me, Luna… despite all the change that has come to Equestria, is it really any better off than how it started? For every set of troubles that you banish, a new company of problems show up to take their place. Learn to be happy for who and what you are.” Luna looked up at Nurgle with teary eyes, the barest glimmer of hope glistening in their pupils. “But,” Nurgle admitted reluctantly, “I can see that something must be done if happiness is to be achieved.” The Lord of Plagues rose from his chair, the sound of groaning timber like that of an old building coming down. He walked further into the mansion, passing by a frighteningly damaged staircase, and looked down at Luna with a grin that was strangely winning for all its oozing hideousness. “Just remember this, dear… no matter what happens, Nurgle loves you.” The scared little princess smiled gently at that comforting statement. For the princess reliving the memory, however, she wanted to scream until her voice gave out.

Eventually, for Luna could not be sure how time it actually took to traverse the mansion, they arrived in a massive kitchen. At first glance, other than the clinging mold and the decrepit state of the cabinets, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Once one regarded the gigantic black cauldron in the center, however, its true purpose became apparent. Bubbling with more violent froth and glowing with sicklier green light than even the most ambitious of witches could brew, the Black Cauldron contained the essence of everything rotten, vile, sickly, and nauseating. Even with the lack of smell, the swirl of strange oily colors every now and again and the bits of detritus that drifted up to the top were enough to make Luna’s stomach churn disconcertingly. Doubly so for the part of her that knew what was coming next.

Setting Luna down on the table that occupied space like a small island, Nurgle looked down at her with an indulging smile. “Now… don’t go anywhere, Little Luna. Grandfather will be right back with a cure for what ails you.” As the Great Pox turned his back and began searching through his cabinets of ingredients, the dreamer began to curse herself for not realizing how very wrong this all was. The words of kindness had trapped her like bee’s honey, however, and she did not attempt to take flight. Gazing around at the immense space of the kitchen, Luna soon found that there was a rusted bronze cage in one corner of the kitchen. A being sat inside the cage, arms wrapped around its knees in a protective posture. This being clearly did not belong here amongst all the decay and pestilence, for it was beautiful. Its limbs were long and smooth, attached to a slender frame that matched none of the Garden’s inhabitants.

Feeling the princess’s eyes, the stranger’s head lifted. Golden hair, fair beyond anything that could have come from this wretched face, parted to reveal a strange face. A flat face, with nothing like a snout or a beak, broken only by a sharp nose protruding. Pale lips were pressed tightly together, trying to suppress a cough. Most fetchingly of all, however, were the eyes. Blue eyes, the color of the deep ocean or the late night sky, contrasted heavily with the light blue of Luna’s own hide. It felt like one could get lost in those eyes and the suffering they had clearly endured, for twin trails of teardrops wound down from them onto the woman’s cheeks. Clearly, this prisoner ached to speak, but fear held her voice back. The eyes were the ones to speak instead. Help me. Please.

Before Luna could work up the courage to voice her own questions, Nurgle returned with a vial that was taller than Luna. An inky blackness writhed inside of the dirty glass, tapping against the walls of its prison. The dreamer Luna tried desperately to crawl away as her past self approached the vial. “Well well, Little Luna, I think I might have something that can help. Now, just to warn you, this is one of my newer gifts. I’m still not quite sure how it works yet, but the first tests have been very promising. Whereas most of my work affects flesh or metal, this will bring sweet release to the mind. This will allow you to reach out to your subjects in their sleep and spread the joy that I am to give you now.”

Curious, Luna walked closer to the vial and gazed at the ingredient inside. “…What is this ‘gift’ that thou bringst to Us called?”

An excited grin came to Nurgle’s face as he undid the cork at the top of the vial and the oozing blackness began slithering its way out.

“Tantabus.”

Like a cresting wave of darkness, the newest plague of Nurgle reared itself back and hurled itself as an oily spear toward the frightened princess. As the blackness began to envelope her, Luna was finally able to scream as only the damned can. Horrified eyes with pinprick pupils were soon covered by the ink so that they could no longer see the kitchen. In her mind’s eye, she saw a disembodied grin in a black void as her body became a vessel for this nightmare given flesh. Before finally being trapped and dropped headlong into an endless drop of oblivion, the last thing that Luna could perceive was the booming echo of Nurgle’s coughing, hacking maniacal laughter-

Sitting upright in her own chambers, Luna’s heart beat like a war-drum as she struggled to recover from the shock of the dream. Turning, she was nearly blinded as the afternoon sun came shining through her window high up in Canterlot Castle. The blue drapes that normally held back the daylight had been moved aside. Only one being in Canterlot would dare such a move.

Sitting on the edge of the bed before her, the white alicorn that was her sister regarded Luna with clear worry in her eyes. The first few times that this dream had occurred, after Luna’s defeat as Nightmare Moon by the Elements of Harmony, Celestia had been alerted by the screams and tried to shake Luna awake to spare her sister the pain of reliving it again. Each time, however, Luna was only allowed to awaken once the dream had played its course. Now, all Celestia could do was wait until the storm had passed. Gazing upon her larger sister, Luna whimpered and blinked away restrained tears as she scooted over and wrapped Celestia in a fierce hug. The Princess of the Sun rested her chin gently atop her sister’s shoulder. “Luna,” she said in a gentle, warm voice, “the dreams aren’t going away. You’re losing your strength. Please… let me help you.” Celestia pushed Luna just far enough away that they could look into each other’s eyes. “Luna, you were alone on the moon for a thousand years in the worst suffering that I can imagine. I’m… I’m so sorry that I had to send you there. Please… let me make it up to you. Let me help. What can I do, Luna?”

The Princess of the Moon sniffled and her voice trembled as she replied, “Nothing, dear ‘Tia. ‘Tis Our burden to bear, as t’was brought upon by none other than Ourselves. Thou already doth so much, having shouldered both the sun and moon for a thousand years along with rulership of Equestria. How can We ask Thou to do more?” Luna voice broke with that last statement and she rested her head against Celestia’s chest, the sniffles again betraying her.

Celestia’s wings wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “It is not unwelcome if I ask for it, my little Lu-lu.” When they had first become royalty, Luna had hated that nickname so much for the smug tone that Celestia had adopted when using it. Now, however, only genuine love drove it and it made Luna smile ever so slightly as she was reminded of better times. The blue alicorn sighed. “’Tia… We wish that Mother was here.”

Her older sister stiffened for a moment before relaxing as they embraced again. “So do I, Lu-lu. But you know why She can’t be here. Just as we have our parts to play, so does She.” Celestia placed a hoof gently under Luna’s chin so that the smaller alicorn would raise her head and look her in the eye. “We must be strong and brave, Luna. All these ponies, this entire world that we call home, depends on us. You are still weak from Nightmare Moon’s influence. I completely understand. You’re frightened of so many things now. But we can face the future together, as we were meant to. I can’t do this alone any more, Luna. I need you.” The radiant smile on Celestia’s face banished the last traces of the dream’s horrors away. “Can you do that for me? Can you be strong and stand beside me as we watch over our little ponies?”

Luna’s heart ached to say yes, but doubt continued to gnaw at her stomach and her voice died in her throat. Despite having been given plenty of time to recover after the Tantabus was expunged from her body, Luna still felt weak and unready. This weakness was not the physical of limbs pushed to their limit, but the dull ache of a spirit that could not find rest. Luna looked down between her forehooves.

“’Tia I… I can’t.” Her denial was uttered in a soft voice. “I’m sorry.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Luna galloped to the window and launched herself out into the daytime sky. On instinct, her wings expanded and she was soon gliding away from the castle on thermals. Walking up to the window, Celestia watched her sister fly away with growing sadness. The Princess of the Sun heaved a weary sigh.

Much time had passed since Luna recounted the tale of the otherworldly mansion and the events that had transpired there. In her heart of hearts, Celestia could not be truly resentful of Luna’s behavior. During the early days of their reign, having been reduced from three to two, the sisters had been forced to grow up fast. Those early days had been a strain on Celestia as she learned to finely control the sun’s orbit while juggling her responsibilities as a monarch to the peoples of Equestria. Duty ate up every second of her time and she had grown resentful of it. When her little sister had come to her for support, Celestia had been too absorbed with her own problems and told her sister to stop complaining. If only I had listened… If only I had seen… But that had not happened. Instead, she had buried herself in her own problems and left Luna all by herself. It was Celestia’s greatest shame and she had never forgiven herself for it. She had hoped that bringing Luna back into the world and spending time with her would help heal that old wound. Celestia was busier than ever, however, and Luna was still trying to find herself in this world that was so different from the one she had lived in a thousand years ago.

Celestia watched as her sister became a distant pinprick on the distant horizon. Judging from her trajectory, Luna was heading for the Everfree Forest. Briefly, Celestia entertained the idea of sending an escort after her, but discarded it. It was clear that Luna needed some space to find her center. The white alicorn wistfully sent her thoughts after Luna, uncaring that they would not be heard. Please, come home safe, my little sister. I love you, and I would not lose you again.

Ᾰ

Far, far away from Equestria, distance measured in many light-years, the fate of a world had been decided in a mere two minutes.

Of course, the conflict that had ensnared the world did not begin in those two minutes. The initial assault on the renegade forge-world of Cartiligus-III had begun weeks ago, when the blessed Host of the Dark Apostle Pharus had laid siege to the warband of Iron Warriors stationed there. The local Warsmith, a Veteran of the Long War named Corossus, had taken this world years ago and turned it into a private fortress and manufactorum… in the name of his Legion, of course. Guided by divine visions from their Dark Apostle, the Word Bearers had had the gall to pompously arrive in system and demand that Corossus follow them on a Dark Crusade. Needless to say, Corossus didn’t take that well.

What followed was weeks of bloodshed as conscripted factory workers were forced to pick up the same weapons they had been manufacturing while the Iron Warriors fortified themselves against the incoming assault. As expected, the slaves did a pitiful job of stopping the War Host as the Word Bearers came to write the Black Testament in their blood. Indeed, the tides of blood left in the initial wake of the assault were used to fuel the dark sorceries that summoned daemons forth onto Cartiligus. Juggernauts of Khorne, those crimson and bronze-armored riding beasts of destruction, engaged in single combat with the Iron Warriors’ own daemonic engines. The mortal menials of the factories fled in wide-eyed terror from ranks of sanguine-skinned Bloodletters and mobs of Plaguebearers. Riders of Slaaneesh hunted the tight streets for new playthings and Tzeentchian Horrors melted the defenders’ vehicles to slag with warpfire.

All the while, the Word Bearers marched forward with their banners, which bore screaming demonic faces and the eight-pointed star of Chaos Undivided. Curiously, however, the Host did not try to combat the tide of slaves with any reserves of cultists or press-ganged soldiers. Instead, these Bearers of the Word let the waves of bodies and bullets crash against them before tossing the enemy back into their own comrades. Blades and mauls of all shapes rose and fell, each ending in a crimson arc and scream that paid tribute to the Blood God.

Pharus would not taint his conquests by indulging the unworthy, by entrusting proper worship to the cattle and the fodder. His faith in the Chaos Gods was found through the prayers on his lips as his arms swung in the chaos of combat. Over time, the Iron Warriors grew to note and respect this. Well, some of them, at any rate. Others sought to take advantage of this behavior by setting up killzones with long-range weapons, so reminiscent of the trap that Perturabo had once laid for Dorn. Pharus’s indignant response was swift and bloody. Terminator armor-clad Anointed, the elite among the Host, were teleported through the Warp to the entrenched weapon positions and painted the walls red with the dark blood of Perturabo.

After weeks of artillery bombardments from the defenders’ guns and devastating the world’s human resources, Pharus had finally had enough. On an open-vox frequency, Pharus challenged Corossus to a duel. One-on-one, winner-take-all. In the shameful days since the failed Siege of Terra, the Warsmith had grown increasingly discontent with cowing human populations and squatting on meager conquests like a vulture. He craved the prospect of facing a worthy foe. Corossus agreed to the prospect and the two of them settled on a battlefield: an old landing pad for cargo-craft.

The two leaders squared off, each of them acting as a foil to the other. Corossus towered over Pharus in his ancient, scuffed and worn pre-Heresy Terminator plate. A servo-arm reached over his shoulder like a scorpion’s tail, its claws stained with a viscous substance that was obviously some sort of daemonic poison. One of the Warsmith’s hands was engulfed by a rumbling chainfist, clearly chosen to end the fight quickly. His other hand clamped around the grip of a combi-bolter, a signature weapon of the Traitor Legions. The spiked helm that covered Corossus’s head resembled some sort of spined feral world lizard, glaring with red eye-lenses at his opponent. His hunched posture, like that of a crouching predator, only further accentuated the hulking shoulders of his armor. In many ways, with his cybernetic limbs and chevron striping across his armor, Corossus seemed more a sentient, malicious machine of war than a man.

Standing across from the Warsmith, Pharus represented the opposite end of the spectrum. He had decided to go into this battle without a helmet, so that all could see his face. The process of becoming a Space Marine had rendered many of his facial features blocky and inelegant, but it was hard to deny the nobility in his jaw as Pharus returned his opponent’s stare calmly. Pharus’s skin was dark olive from his previous heritage, but a combination of lack of sunlight and Lorgar’s genetic influence had caused it to grow paler. Dark brown eyes regarded Corossus intently, but without any obvious evidence of impatience or bloodlust. The only decoration on Pharus’s skin was the eight-pointed star that had been branded over his lips, searing his chin, cheeks, and nose.

As a true Dark Apostle, however, Pharus’s armor was a work of art. Scenes of abasing humans, rising flames, and shrieking demons were carved with loving detail into the armor’s surface. Skulls of various species, human and otherwise, dangled on his armor alongside prayers of unholy malediction written on the treated skin of Imperial priests. Most spectacular, however, was the Dark Apostle’s choice to stick to Mark IV power armor rather than a suit of blessed Terminator plate. Pharus armed himself with only one weapon: an Accursed Crozius, the badge of his office. A power maul was already deadly to an enemy, armor or no, but this particular weapon also had a daemon bound to the Apostle’s service. Imparting its wielder with unholy resilience and adding massive strength to blows, a Crozius was not simply a weapon, but a sign of favor from the Chaos Gods themselves.

Word Bearers and Iron Warriors formed a ring around the landing pad, the weight of moment and the ceremony banishing any thoughts of continued conflict. If any Astartes from either warband had thought so much as to swing a weapon, they would have undoubtedly felt the wrath of both champions. In the tense moments before the duel began, utter silence reigned over the killing ground. Only the wind, stirred by the thinning of the Veil in the area, dared to give voice.

…All the more reason for disappointment. In the time that Corossus had raised his combi-bolter and opened fire, Pharus had already charged forward. He moved to the side to foil the Warsmith’s aim before swinging his Crozius into the Warsmith’s side. The remaining one hundred and fifteen seconds consisted of Pharus ducking and dodging Corossus’s clumsy blows while paying tribute to the Blood God with each swing of his maul. By the end, an upward swing from the Crozius managed to knock the Warsmith’s back. One downward swing of the Crozius, aimed at Corossus’s head, was all it took to end the fight.

Pffft, what a waste, thought Laruk of the Iron Warriors as Pharus stood on Corossus’s chestplate and raised his Crozius up in silent exultation and triumph. The Traitor stood with his arms crossed, having come to this arena with a general, niggling feeling of how things were going to play out. Beside him, his squadmates shifted uneasily as they recognized the turning of Fate’s wheels. Kurluk, a Techmarine and a rarity among the Chaos warbands, only showed his tension through a slight tightening of his grip on the bolter in his hands. Mordecai, however, was much easier to read. His horned helm twitched and he clasped the chainaxe in his hand like a vice as his body shook with repressed violence. In the moments following the death of the Warsmith, the tension in the air grew palpable as Traitor eyed Traitor across the ring.

Having knelt next to the body of his opponent and muttered promises to the Ruinous Powers, Pharus stood and turned to the surviving Iron Warriors. Sweeping his gaze across them, he finally spoke.

“As of this day, you no longer serve the Iron Warriors legion. Corossus made the terms of our duel very clear: we swore everything we had in sight of the Chaos Gods. Corossus has already paid with his life and his blood now flows to Khorne’s bronze cup.”

“But there will be no skull for Khorne… jackass,” Mordecai muttered, much more quietly than he normally would have.

If Pharus noticed the comment, he gave no indication. The orator side of the Dark Apostle was in full stride. “As his warriors, you are now mine. I have no illusions that this is welcome news to some of you. As sons of Perturabo, you do not take kindly to obeying orders from the sons of Lorgar.” Some of the Iron Warriors relaxed at the Dark Apostle’s admission. “Rest assured that, although we are not of the same blood, I will still treat you with respect. You are Astartes, demigods of carnage and first and foremost among the mortal servants of the Chaos Gods!

But no longer will you sit and rot in the fashion of some of Grandfather Nurgle’s less devout followers. No longer will you serve as mere custodians of conquered worlds and have your sword-arms grow dull due to misuse. I would think that your Legion has had its fill of that.” This time, mutterings of agreement arose from the throng of Iron Warriors as they recalled their mistreatment during the Great Crusade.

Holding both arms aloft, Pharus cried, “No more! The Gods have visited me with a great vision of their designs. There is a world that is in great need of bloodshed and pestilence, of excess and mutation! For too long, its inhabitants have thought that their beloved royalty could deny the Ruinous Powers their due. For too long, have a race of miserable sapient equines, a rabble of beasts of burden descended from Terran stock, thought themselves equal- nay, the superior of mankind!”

Now the muttering had turned into growls of outrage. The very idea that an animal could think themselves above the human race was an insult to these warriors, Traitor or not. Their pride in humanity as the chief power in the galaxy was offended by such a notion. In this day and millenium, Laruk found himself to be struggling to be surprised by anything. Instead, Laruk took note of the speed with which Pharus was winning their loyalty. How much of this inspiration comes from Pharus and not from the influence of the Warp? Even discounting the rumors that an Accursed Crozius could lend power to a Dark Apostle’s words, it seemed that Pharus’s voice twisted and distorted with malefic energy. Although Laruk felt a faint spark of inspired indignation within him, he did not share the genuine outrage of those around him. Truthfully, Laruk had a secret.

He did not pay homage to the Chaos Gods. Laruk didn’t even view them as gods at all. For all that he was concerned, they were just bigger daemons. Laruk didn’t join the Iron Warriors out of any sense of devotion or delusions of power. He had taken the Black Carapace and journeyed across the stars to accomplish the same goal that he had always pursued: survival. Despite the Chaos Space Marines’ penchant for finding themselves in warzones, the galaxy seemed a great deal less frightening to someone clad in ceramite armor and armed with weapons that fired rockets like bullets or bore adamantine teeth edged with diamond blades. That was why when the Iron Warriors had come to his hiveworld, Laruk had killed and suffered to join their ranks. Laruk knew that Kurluk felt the same way.

Mordecai, however, was the outlier. He had craved the strength that Astartes wielded and eagerly jumped into the worship of Khorne. As if to prove the unspoken point, Mordecai raised his chainaxe skyward and thumbed the trigger, sending the blade’s teeth spinning. “Blood for the Blood God!”

At first wary of the war cry, Pharus’s face split into a joyous grin. “Indeed, brother, and Skulls for His Skull Throne! For above all the other Chaos Gods, no one but Khorne has desired this crusade so. The inhabitants of this world desire a world without conflict, without battle. They desire… harmony.” The last word was spat out like the lie that it was, with all of the bile reserved by Loyalists for one of Nurgle’s plagues.

It was enough to push the Iron Warriors over the edge. Raising their various weapons skyward, they were quick to proclaim their allegiance. Their helm-enhanced voices echoed off of the walls of the damaged hab structures nearby.

“Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!”

“Humanity will rule the stars!”

“Maim, kill, burn! Maim, kill, burn!”

“Their hides will blister, fester, and boil! Let them taste Nurgle’s rot!”

Laruk noticed the transformation in the atmosphere with interest. In the space of a few minutes, Pharus had been able to stir up these Chaos Space Marines in a fashion that Corossus had not been able to match in years. Weary after the stagnation of several years spent overseeing production of arms on a backwater planet, these warriors were ready to finally be on the warpath again. Laruk also took note of the smile on Pharus’s face as these new Astartes pledged their allegiance to his cause. The Dark Apostle’s face may have shown joyous humility, but the Iron Warrior could see the dark ambition lurking within the Word Bearer’s eyes. Looking to Kurluk, he saw that the Techmarine was already looking at him. In that strange mental connection that they had, more instinctive than psychic, they had already seen and agreed on the same things.

This crusade would be trouble. But was staying on this forsaken world, surrounded by groveling wretches and watching the days tick by, even worth it? As beings who were functionally immortal, there would be no comfortable descent into old age and death for them. They would be stranded in a sort of limbo, with no end to the monotony. I never thought that I would see the day where I preferred combat to inaction. Laruk didn’t care one way or another about this world that the Dark Apostle spoke of. The galaxy was a big place and the only people that deserved to live were the ones who made decisions and made things happen. I guess we’ll find out which ones were are soon enough. Without saying a word, Kurluk nodded.

“My brothers,” Pharus called out to them. Heh, only five minutes and we have progressed to “brothers”. “My brothers.” The Iron Warriors settled down. “Your enthusiasm and devotion warms me. I am glad to see you so willingly take up the mantle of this crusade. Gather your siege engines, for we will have need of them. Take stock of your engines of war, as well. We have no need of tanks for this task, but there will come a day when the icons of Chaos will sit atop armored shells and bring death to the servants of the Corpse-Emperor.”

“My lord,” called out one warrior, “what of the slaves of this world? Shall we arm them and load them onto the ships?”

“No,” the Dark Apostle replied. “Their wills are weak and I will not suffer their lack of devotion when we embark upon this most unholy of tasks. They are to be rounded up, yes, but we shall offer their blood in tribute to Khorne. The Blood God shall drink deeply this night.” He raised one fist up in the air. “Blood for the Blood God!”

The voices of both Iron Warriors and Word Bearers rose as one to complete the chant.

“Skulls for the Skull Throne!”

The war parties soon dispersed, each of them assigned to a different task. Hesitating, Laruk lingered long enough to see a cloaked figure approach the Dark Apostle amid the hustle and bustle of armor. From the stature, it has to be an Astartes... What game are you playing, Pharus? Not wanting to be seen as rebellious or uncertain, Laruk stomped off in no particular direction with Kurluk and Mordecai in tow. His berzerker squadmate was strangely quiet and brooding, matching the mood of his other squadmates. Curious, Laruk asked him, “What’s the matter, frag-face? I thought that blood-spilling would be welcome news to you.”

Ignoring the old insult, Mordecai muttered, “Was hoping for a real fight. Just a lot of talking and throat-cutting.”

Looking at him with concern, Laruk asks, “Should I be unsurprised if you get us killed by taking on Pharus yourself?”

Mordecai shook his head. “Despite what you may think, brother, I’m not that stupid.” It always puzzled Laruk how despite the hair-trigger temper that his squadmate possessed, Mordecai always meant it when he called either him or Kurluk by that term. “Pharus has Khorne’s favor. If we follow him, there will be blood and skulls aplenty. If I fight him, my skull takes the place of Corossus’s beneath Khorne’s bloody boots.”

“Huh. Did you hear that, Kurluk? It almost sounded like Mordecai was talking sensibly.”

The Techmarine turned and regarded them both in that quiet, intense manner that he always did. Where Mordecai spoke in an angry snarl and Laruk’s sarcasm carried through the metallic sound of their helms, Kurluk’s heavily modulated voice made him sound more robotic than anything. “Good. Perhaps, if we all stay sensible, we won’t end up as Chaos spawn.” Although the Iron Warriors had employed their own Warpsmiths to craft daemonic engines, the sheer fanatical glee with which Word Bearers embraced mutation and possession was disturbing to them. The Warp was something to be contained and utilized, not let loose to run wild and free. All three of them fell silent at that.

Mordecai finally broke the silence. “Do you really believe what Pharus said? About a bunch of horses offending the Chaos Gods? I mean… what?”

Laruk shook his head, trying to hammer down the confusion that was starting to trickle its way into his mind after-the-fact. “It doesn’t matter. Just remember, whatever happens, we stick together. That’s what we’ve always done.” He placed a hand on either warrior’s closest pauldrons. “Iron within.”

Kurluk immediately returned the gesture to Laruk and Mordecai. After a brief hesitation, Mordecai slung his axe on his belt and completed the triangle. “Iron without,” they all breathed in unison.

Ᾰ

If the trio had stuck around a bit longer, they would have noticed the cloaked figure throw back its hood and reveal a blue helmet topped with a crown of serpents. Green eye-lenses gleamed beneath the frozen heads of a writhing hydra. Pharus nodded respectfully to the Legionnaire. “Captain Metaron. Glad to finally see you outside of the shadows. Are events unfolded as was envisioned?”

The Alpha Legionnaire nodded. “Everything is proceeding accordingly. Soon, Equestria will be in our gunsights and our destinies will finally make themselves known to us.”

Pharus breathed in deeply, the strange sensations of the Warp working through him as the sacrifice of this world already began. “I feel the eyes of the Chaos Gods upon us, Captain. Soon, we shall finally have an end to the Long War.”

“Metaron” couldn’t agree more.

Author's Note

From now on, chapters will be significantly longer than the first four. Otherwise, this story would likely end up with a hundred chapters as I try to break things up into smaller chunks.

And yes, I am aware that Luna herself created the Tantabus in the show, but... *points at AU tag*