Perfect Tempo strode down the short hall, and took an abrupt turn, stepping into a bland room. Empty save for a single bed, a desk, and a small chest of drawers, it looked almost like a prison cell without the bars. Despite its size, it was immensely comforting to the man, who yearned for quiet contemplation with the same intensity that a dehydrated traveler thirsts for water.

He had not told his subordinates of where he was going, nor his partner but neither needed to be informed. After such an intensely stressful day there was only one thing Perfect Tempo needed and that was quiet. That and coffee, now that he was thinking about it, the man glanced down at the tall rather fruity-smelling beverage in his right hand.

He had trusted his subordinate to order for him, as he was too tired to even muster the effort. His curiosity drove him to take a sip, and though almost saccharine, he was relieved to find that it tasted good. A second longer swig satisfied him for the moment and gave him the strength to sit through what he knew must be done.

Sitting down at the small desk, Perfect Tempo placed the drink off to the right before reaching into his coat. After a moment of fumbling in the wrong pocket, he produced a small white sphere that resembled a large gemstone. Unlike the last one he had used, this was not meant to communicate over long distances. No, it had a more simple purpose, one that he would soon use.

He just needed a minute.

Perfect Tempo breathed in through his nose, and out through his mouth several times. Once his pulse had steadied, and he had taken another sip of the strange fruity beverage, he gripped the orb. Raising it in his right hand, he peered into its depths and spoke.

“Activate transcription protocol,” he stated.

The orb swirled and lit up with a distant teal light that soon replaced the cloudy white that had previously filled the object.

“The following is a recording of the event that will now be known as Maskfall,” Perfect Tempo declared, leaning back in his seat. “Total collapse of all masquerade protocols, and the almost complete reveal of all current operations.”

He took a long pause, staring off into the distance.

“Though regrettable, we were nearing completion on our eventual invasion plan of Equestria when this occurred,” he paused a second time. “Correction, it is our return to Equestria, not invasion. I myself hope for this to be a bloodless affair, though I am certain Celestia will resist these efforts.”

“For the sake of posterity, and for a potential future historical record, I will record the events of the last few hours,” Perfect Tempo sipped his drink, savoring the sweetness.

“Starting at our arrival on site nineteen,” he began again. “I was joined by-”

The back of the APC was sparsely populated for its size, seating only six at the moment.

Ghost was in a corner, her head low, ice crystals dancing along her spread fingers. The ever-implacable woman was completely focused on the army of puppets she was commanding. Numerous and spread out over a wide area, they demanded the woman’s complete attention, leaving her dead to the world.

Harvest Moon also sat with his eyes closed, but where Ghost wore only light tactical gear, the large man was outfitted in his usual ancient armor. His focus was inward as well, the warrior utilizing a sort of battle meditation that had not been widely practiced in eons. With his long, polished blade resting across his lap, he resembled a statue, barely moving when the armored personnel carrier hit a bump.

Thevetat meanwhile, was in constant motion, the twitching dragon clenching and unclenching his fists. Sparks trickled past his sharp teeth, and his muscles occasionally bulged with barely contained excitement. Wearing only a pair of military-style pants with many pockets, he had no visible weapons though he needed none.

Platinum also bore no obvious methods of defense, leaving that instead to her servant sitting next to her. Deep under the layers of modern armored plating lay a hulking undead, his massive form made so large that he had to sit hunched forward. In his grasp was a large custom-made drum magazine-fed automatic shotgun so large it looked like it should be mounted to a tank.

The zombified soldier was calm, unmoving, a sharp contrast from his master whose lip was curled in a permanent snarl. Platinum detested most things, and she hated the fact that she was here immensely. Her fingers dug into her long white dress with such intensity that her knuckles would have likely gone white had she a functioning heart.

The final occupant was Perfect Tempo, though the man was leaning towards a wall and whispering orders into his earpiece. Wearing only his usual suit, he was as implacable as his wife, Ghost, as outwardly calm as Harvest Tempo, but also as eager as Thevetat and as angry as Platinum. Only those present would know those final two details, as the evidence of his true disposition was so small as to be almost unnoticeable.

“I hate this plane. Have I said that recently? Because I hate this plane of existence,” Thevetat whined bitterly.

“For once we agree on something,” Platinum deadpanned.

“Seriously it's like fighting underwater. I can barely access even half of my power here,” Thevetat continued.

“It is excellent training,” Harvest Moon remarked without opening his eyes.

“Well, I don't want to train. I want to kill the idiots who would make such a fucking mess,” Thevetat retorted.

“So uncivilized,” Harvest Moon shot back.

“Just be glad your powers have such an easy workaround,” Platinum added, shooting the dragon a glare. “I can barely bring even a tenth of my magical might to bear on this world.”

“That excuse lost all meaning a hundred years ago,” Harvest Moon remarked.

“Why I ought to-” Platinum began.

“Silence,” growled Ghost. “You are distracting me.”

A chill filled the air, cooling the rising tempers, and hot blood.

“That was the last of it,” Perfect Tempo exclaimed, sitting forward. “Do you all recall the plan?”

“If we said yes would that stop you from repeating yourself?” Thevetat retorted.

Perfect Tempo smirked. “No.”

“Just get on with it,” Thevetat exclaimed, throwing up his hands.

“Simple sword and dirk style,” Perfect Tempo began. “We shall be the broad blade, sweeping in from the front while Sunset Shimmer approaches from the rear. Her job will be to slay or otherwise incapacitate Foxtrot’s little ace in the hole while we deal with the traitor himself.”

“I still think you should have sent me with them. If for no other reason than to give me the pleasure of tearing that old stallion apart with my own claws,” Thevetat growled.

“Still angry he dislocated your jaw that one time?” Platinum prodded with a smirk.

“An eye for an eye,” remarked Thevetat simply.

“They function better as a unit. Besides, who would watch my left flank if you weren't here?” Perfect Tempo replied.

“Ha, too true,” Thevetat exclaimed.

Perfect tempo opened his mouth to speak again when a sudden explosive thud caused the entire vehicle to shift. Turning suddenly to the right, it weaved around the impact point before straightening out a moment later.

“That Russian oligarch must have come through for Foxtrot,” Harvest Moon remarked.

“Sounds like T-55s,” Thevetat remarked.

“Those fools left enough of the things behind after their little war in Afghanistan,” Platinum growled.

“I thought they left those behind in the Gulf War?” Thevetat remarked.

“If there is anything the Russians are good at is losing billions of dollars in military equipment,” Harvest Moon deadpanned.

“Looks like modified T-72s likely pilfered from Iraqi storehouses after the fall of Saddam. I see only four, no, five tanks,” Ghost remarked, her eyes distant and glazed over with a thin teal film.

“Whatever, just get rid of them,” Perfect Tempo dismissed.

“Finally,” Thevetat exclaimed, rising to a stand. “It's about time we saw some action.”

“I’ve got this,” Ghost interrupted.

Thevetat returned to his seat, grumbling bitterly under his breath.

Ghost and Perfect Tempo rose from their seats, with the man lacing his fingers together and offering the woman a lift. Ghost smiled faintly and accepted it, stepping onto his hands and being pushed up to the hatch on the roof of the personnel carrier. A quick turn and a push revealed the cool night air outside the rumbling vehicle. Perfect Tempo deftly lifted his partner high enough that her torso was out the top and she had more than enough room to work.

Raising a hand, she called the water particles in the air to come to her, forming an enormous ice lance. As she gathered enough magical power, the battle around her continued unabated.

Her ice constructs charged ahead of the line of armored personnel carriers and light tanks that made up the bulk of their forces. Fast-flying aerial drones skimmed overhead while winged icey birds flew down from on high, dive-bombing the enemy. Who was mainly arrayed in a long line at the edge of the quarry, with numerous personnel standing atop the hastily constructed walls.

In front of this long barrier were numerous crisscrossing trenches further reinforced with razor wire, and tanks covered up to their turrets in dirt. The defensive emplacements were thickest here, with Foxtrot pointing almost everything he had at the main road leading to his headquarters. Despite the resistance, the attackers had yet to slow, with Ghost’s unthinking servants soaking up the majority of fire and saving the less expendable units from harm.

With a grunt of exertion, Ghost threw the ice lance into the yellow-brown tank sitting on the left side of the main gate. The huge projectile slammed home, impacting the point where the turret met the main crew area and severing the two sections. Human tankers spilled out of the vehicle only to end up frozen in place as ice spread rapidly from the point of impact.

With the air around her already buzzing with magical energy, Ghost summoned forth another icicle. Spearing the other tank guarding the front gate, she brought her hand back, ready to forge another. Then the ammo in the second tank suddenly and unexpectedly exploded, blowing a hole in the gate and sending enough shrapnel into its neighboring tank to knock it out of commission.

“Bloody Russian engineering,” Ghost muttered bitterly.

“You got lucky,” Thevetat shouted. “Let me show you how a real fighter does it.”

Kicking down the ramp on the back of the APC, Thevetat leaped from the still-moving vehicle and skidded to a stop. No sooner had he arrested his speed did he spring forward, powerful leg muscles pumping hard. In the span of only a few short heartbeats he had managed to catch up with the tracked vehicle and a second later, he surpassed it.

Ahead of the charging dragon, an ice construct was sent skyward, a sudden explosion disintegrating it. Mines, and lots of them, and though dangerous the many charges were being purposefully soaked up by the animated piles of frozen water. Flying constructs dove down, flying into the anti-personnel mine and causing it to explode, killing nothing.

Too impatient to wait for a way to be cleared through the minefield, Thevetat leaped into the air. For a moment it looked as though he was flying, the dragon leaving behind a car-sized crater from where he had jumped. Then he landed, crashing into the wall of sandbags and scrap hastily assembled into a defensive line.

“Finally, a challenge,” Thevetat bellowed.

Lowering his shoulder, the dragon ran straight into a tank just as its turret was turning towards him. The tracked vehicle flipped completely over, landing with a crunch atop a machine gun emplacement that hadn't had the time to be evacuated.

Bullets pinged off the dragon’s exterior, the projectiles bouncing off in all directions. Even the larger caliber rounds did nothing but annoy the male and alert him to a new challenger.

“You think yourself a match? Ha!” Thevetat proclaimed. “I’ll send you to Valhalla.”

Charging into the mass of terrified soldiers, Thevetat lashed out with a right hook, crushing a man’s torso to a pulp. A snap kick turned another of Foxtrot’s men into a red mist while a backhand knocked the head of a human attempting to sneak up on him with a knife.

“More, more, more!” Thevetat demanded.

“I sure hope those noise suppressors are functioning,” Harvest Moon remarked from inside the APC. “I think Thevetat’s cackling is louder than the explosions.”

Perfect Tempo chuckled. “They are working as expected. The veil casters as well.”

“Hopefully we can wrap this up quickly then,” Platinum muttered. “Those things burn through mana batteries like Thevetat does my patience.”

“We should have more than enough,” Perfect Tempo replied.

Ghost lowered herself down and hopped off her partner’s hands, landing with a dull thump.

“The majority of the tanks are dealt with,” Ghost remarked while dusting herself off. “Thevetat and the light vehicles should be enough to handle the rest.”

“Harvest Moon, Platinum, you know what to do then,” Perfect Tempo declared, nodding to each.

“Aye,” Harvest Moon replied, rising to a stand.

“Yes yes, give me a moment,” Platinum retorted.

Perfect Tempo watched as his two friends readied themselves, only for a surprisingly loud hum of electrical build-up to catch him off guard. A crack boom split the battlefield, causing the Perfect Tempo’s earpiece to crackle briefly before returning to normal.

“What was that, an EMP?” Ghost muttered.

“Harvest Moon, cover Thevetat. I have a feeling he needs it,” Perfect Tempo ordered.

“Aye,” Harvest Moon stated, nodding in agreement.

In a flash he was gone, the man dashing out the back of the armored personnel carrier and sprinting alongside it.

Ahead of him, Thevetat lay convulsing on the ground, electricity arcing off his body and burning the grass around him. Soldiers waiting for this moment had emerged, their modern military weapons replaced by spears tipped with diamond-hard metal. The blue steel glinted in the night, reflecting off the scattered flood lights that occasionally lit up the area.

Just as the first of these assassins reached the downed dragon so to did Harvest Moon, the man appearing in a blur and cutting the spear in half. A second lurched out from the shadows, emerging from a billowing plume of smoke emanating from a flaming crater. Their spear was deftly deflected before they were kicked back into the dark by a snap kick to the chest.

“Don't worry Thevetat, your savior is here,” Harvest Moon remarked with the smallest of smirks.

“Hate you- s-s-so much r-right now,” Thevetat grumbled while also smiling.

As the dragon mustered his strength and shook off the effects of the sudden electrical explosion, Harvest Moon stood vigil over him.

A surge of assassins leaped out from all around them, their black bodysuits hiding their presence until they were nearly on top of the dragon. They yelled no battle cry and made no challenges, merely charging straight at Thevetat, their spear tips leading the way. Despite their ferocity and numbers, Harvest Moon was faster still, his blade glinting in the low light as he turned aside each of the attacks.

“Too much focus on your right leg,” Harvest Moon remarked, kicking said limb out from under one of the attackers.

“You are overly cautious, commit or flee,” Harvest Moon added, batting aside the tentative stabs of another assassin.

“Your anger will only cloud your judgment,” Harvest Moon stated before cutting another spear in half before spin kicking the man in the chest, sending him flying into the darkness.

The swordsman was an ever-twisting maelstrom of flashing steel, striking fists and snapping kicks. No matter how many assassins attempted to strike the downed dragon, Harvest Moon was there to stop, deflect, or otherwise turn aside the attack. They were then swiftly struck back, and their weakness was pointed out with a well-placed remark.

“S-stop teaching t-them sh-shit,” Thevetat stuttered, the dragon stumbling to stand.

“How else am I going to make this fight interesting?” Harvest Moon retorted.

A twist of his wrist pulled the spear right out of the hands of the next assassin’s and launched it into the air. Harvest Moon caught the weapon, sheathed his blade, and brought the butt of the spear backward, slamming it into the forehead of a soldier attempting to sneak up on him. He then struck another assassin with the flat wooden segment of the weapon before finally chucking the thing, pinning the last remaining man against the wall by his pants.

“Ha, nice one,” Thevetat remarked, gesturing to the human soldier glancing down to where the spear stuck out from between his legs. “Bet he’ll think twice about fighting us now.”

“I give up!” Shouted the human, throwing his hands over his head.

“Stay like that and someone will pick you up,” Harvest Moon remarked before turning to Thevetat. “Ready for a little competition?”

“Now you're talking. First, one to a hundred kills wins?” Thevetat replied.

“And incapacitation or surrenders count,” Harvest Moon added.

“Yeah yeah, gotta at least leave them a chance,” Thevetat dismissed.

“Then it is agreed,” Harvest Moon stated before sprinting off down the line.

“Hey I didn't say- aww fuck it,” Thevetat muttered, taking off in the opposite direction.

“At least those two idiots are making themselves useful,” Platinum remarked.

Perfect Tempo stepped out of the parked armored personnel carrier and looked to the wall. The ice puppets had been significantly reduced in number but they had done their job cutting through the mines. His light tanks along with the human fighters under his command were piercing deep into the enemy lines.

The enemy’s attention was split down the middle, with half of Foxtrot’s men shooting at Harvest Moon and Thevetat while the other were firing out at the oncoming army. Casualties appeared to be minimal for both sides so far, with Harvest Moon testing himself by knocking out as many as possible. Even Thevetat seemed to be pulling his punches, at least somewhat, with only a few of his foes winding up dead, at least so far anyway.

“Still, I’d appreciate it if you assisted,” Perfect Tempo added. “It is not enough to merely break into another compound. I want every last one of Foxtrot’s men either dead or captured.”

“I suppose I have to accept their surrender then,” Platinum growled.

“If it makes you feel any better most of what you face now are mercenaries or people who may not even know that Foxtrot has betrayed us,” Perfect Tempo replied.

“You're tugging on my non-existent heartstrings,” Platinum exclaimed, chuckling darkly.

“Just try not to kill too many of them. Clean up is already going to take forever,” Perfect Tempo complained.

“Fair,” Platinum declared. “I trust you to watch my back.”

“Of course,” Perfect Tempo replied.

Platinum leaped up to her bodyguard’s shoulder and shifted her weight briefly before pointing towards the distant wall.

“Focus on the larger targets. I will clean up the chaffe,” Platinum ordered.

Her undead minion grunted before lurching forward, launching himself into a sprint while somehow keeping his shoulder perfectly level.

Perfect Tempo watched the pair depart, the duo of master and servant barely even attracting any enemy fire. Over half of the wall’s defenders were already dead, unconscious, or in custody, leaving little for Platinum to do. Even still, Perfect Tempo couldn't help but worry, his brow furrowing as he looked out over the battlefield.

“What concerns you?” Ghost asked, stepping out of the armored vehicle.

“I know that I have nearly bled Foxtrot dry but this… this is almost sad,” Perfect Tempo muttered.

“He must have reinforcements, an ace in the hole,” Ghost offered, her hand placed on Perfect Tempo’s shoulder.

“I have no doubt that he does, but even still this is beneath him,” Perfect Tempo added.

“You think it's true then,” Ghost remarked. “The elements have indeed affected him as well, and this entire rebellion is more their doing than his.”

“The evidence is significant,” Perfect Tempo half admitted. “He was a brilliant man, an expert commander and a leader of men but this half-assed holdout in the sticks is not his best work.”

“No. No, it is not,” Ghost agreed, her hand falling from the man’s shoulder.

“It will be good to end this, if for no other reason than for this charade to come to a close,” Perfect Tempo stated.

“Shall we assist? It seems as though they are nearly done,” Ghost offered, stepping forward and extending a hand as if inviting her partner to a dance.

“Yes. Let us hurry this affair along so that I may rid myself of the foul taste in my mouth,” Perfect Tempo replied, accepting the invitation eagerly.

Author's Note

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