Shining Armor fixed his gaze on the paper sprawled across his desk, stained with a subtle veneer of blood. The hurriedly penned words displayed a frenetic urgency, punctuated by numerous grammatical errors—a telltale sign of a frantic scrawl. This letter emerged from within a decimated encampment of his own troops, the site marred by craters and the remnants of obliterated artillery.

The declaration was stark: Celestia had drenched her hooves in the arts long forgotten.

A sharp rap sounded on his office door. "Come in."

A young stallion, clad in the standard green uniform of an officer, entered the room, his bright red coat a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation. The walls adorned with medals, mementos, and images chronicling Shining Armor’s journey through the ranks, each photo marking the passage of fallen comrades, narrating his ascent through sheer resolve and strength.

"You asked for me?" The young officer's voice quivered.

"Yes." Shining Armor gestured for him to take a seat, setting the blood-stained missive aside. "What we discuss here remains confidential. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely, sir," the young stallion affirmed with a nod.

"Good. You're to be deployed on the eastern front soon. Your combat aptitude is wanting, but your skill with chemicals is intriguing. Reports from your school days commend your proficiency in chemistry, even noting an incident involving a mysterious, toxic gas that necessitated an entire school evacuation."

The officer shuddered, recalling the incident vividly.

"That skill could prove invaluable." Shining rose from his seat, pacing behind the officer. "Celestia's blatant disregard for the Red Cross has propelled her to equip our adversaries' armored vehicles with flamethrowers. It's high time we matched fire with fire."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"We've been experimenting with a substance you're familiar with, Green Ash. It's incomplete, dangerous. But now, you'll harness its potential. Instead of the eastern front, you'll work in the factories linked to the Row's railway. Your task: refine and weaponize Green Ash."

"I... I really don't want to, sir," Diaz's voice quavered.

"This isn't open for debate, Diaz," Shining Armor's demeanor remained resolute. "Refusal would land you in Kollaz, the highest-security prison. With your knowledge, you're either a savior or a traitor. Do you comprehend the gravity of your role?"

Diaz nodded, a bead of sweat trailing down his brow.

"Get to chamber seven. Your journey begins there under strict guard. They're your protectors and overseers, ensuring your safety and compliance."

As Diaz left, Shining unfolded the paper, reading the ominous message scrawled upon it.

Shadows in the trees; orange magic everywhere. I feel the radiation. The dead are stirring, shells hold something ominous. Avoid the orange pulse—it's fatal. I was just a medic.

Shining pondered the cryptic note, envisioning the horror it painted: trees shrouded in shadows, radiating orange magic; the eerie resurrection of the dead; shells concealing ominous entities. Celestia's embrace of ancient magic, once dismissed as myth, now appeared to be harrowingly real.

Peering out the window, he glimpsed a nightmarish realm: corpses ambling aimlessly, a blanket of green ash obscuring the skies and earth. Trenches stained with blood, bodies interred in desecrated soil. It was a world he loathed—a world he sought to dismantle. To halt the unending strife, he knew the root cause had to be severed.

Celestia had to be stopped.

Author's Note

This story has been completely rewritten and edited as of 11/10/2023.

If you have suggestions as to what to improve on, please let me know. The original reception of this story was not what I had anticipated, and therefore I have given myself time to rewrite everything. Your feedback is appreciated.