Two to Dodge

by JamesJameson

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Adventure, Violence
Length: 20669

After being stranded by a mission-gone-wrong, two strange changelings have to rely on each other to escape ponies who want to kill them for crimes they did commit.

Kats orn Griffenhein is a knight of Griffonia currently under the employ of the changeling occupational government in Equestria - his kin by species. Sergeant Yoro is an experienced pioneer of the Heer war machine. Both are trapped behind enemy lines with no support except for each other, in a city that hates them, surrounded by the best that the Equestrian army's legacy can throw at them.
In a land where the strong do as they please and the weak do as they must, is there any room for one honorable warrior?

This story is set in the Great Feeling submod. If you don't understand what's going on, try playing that. If you do understand, play it anyways.

Published 2023-02-22 02:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2023-02-22 02:40:00 UTC

"Monsters Shouldn't Call Themselves Warriors"

June 31, 1015

Canterlot, 35 days since the start of The Rising

Kats orn Griffenheim stared at himself in the mirror. The uniform coat of feldgrau paint had dried properly on his new armor, and after hours of fiddling he’d managed to get it to sit right over his chitin, but there was still something wrong with it. It wasn’t his horn, because he hadn’t put the helmet on yet. It wasn’t his wings, because he had kept them packed under his old Panzersoldier armor too, and that hadn’t bothered him. It wasn’t even that it was Royal Guard armor and he wasn’t a royal guard of any sort. The truth is, he knew what it was, and from an underground barracks, it couldn’t be fixed.

This armor was dirty. Dirtier than anything he’d ever worn, honestly, and he could feel the muck and rot seeping into the folds of his chitin every second he was wearing it. This whole war was dirty, and a large portion of that dirt had covered the inside of this particular suit of armor, and he didn’t know if there was any way to clean it off or if he was going to be stuck with the most disgusting armor he’d ever known. He hoped not. This armor was too much of an upgrade to be this hard to wear.

Twenty-two days ago, he’d watched an infantryling die when he tried to recover the I-Tags from a fallen comrade, only to detonate a hidden mine. Seventeen days ago, he’d had to put himself on the line because a sniper had blown the leg off of another infantryling, and her anguished howls were tempting Griff’s squishier allies to try and rescue her. His helmet had blocked two rounds so that she could die of blood loss indoors instead of on the street. Nine days ago, he found that another member of Storm Battalion 10 had been shot by his own squad for torturing prisoners without orders, and they wouldn’t have been ordered to do it themselves if they weren’t in on it. Four days ago, his team had stormed a fortified building and found the mutilated corpses of half a dozen allied paramilitarists in the basement. Two days ago, one of their New Royal Guard allies had been stripped of his armor and publically executed for high treason and espionage after nearly a year of good service. Herr Steiner, did you forget to mention this, or did I forget to listen?

Griff wondered what had enticed that Royal Guard to spend so long with his brothers and sisters in arms only to throw it all away, and if he had felt sad knowing that the ponies who would have died for him had done so because of him. It made him sick to think about, and he wished that unicorn was still alive so that he could kill him himself, but all Griff could do was to paint over the blacks and reds and the exposed archgold and to do justice to the supreme craftsponyship that had gone into every suit of armor made for the Equestrian Royal Guard.

It was also an improvement to the aforementioned Panzersoldier gear, which was nearly twice as heavy for the same protection (worse if you were being shot in the back). It was a typically “Changeling” sort of armor, made of steel plates sewn to tough fabric with no frills and no artistry. Ever since arriving in Changelingia, Griff had come to know that his fellow changelings solved problems by throwing more metal at it. They had machines to replace artisans, grenadiers to replace pegasi, machine guns to replace sharpshooters, and since they couldn’t get enough armor on par with Royal Guard suits, they just saddled their heavy infantry with a hundred kilograms of solid steel and gave them missions which only required them to move a few city blocks at a time. It worked, but it wasn’t fun.

The enchanters and spidersilk weavers were all on the other side of the line, so it was impossible to reclaim more than a few suits of armor, the rest being structurally damaged beyond repair by whatever had killed their wearers, and yet the amount of spare suits still outstripped the amount of volunteers for the New Royal Guard, so when one of these had become available, Griff had jumped at the opportunity. He put his armored dust-mask on over his head, and then fitted the helmet on top of it. His breath hissed, meaning the seal was unbroken. All that could be seen of him under the enchanted metals and the spidersilk base and the respirator were his teal eyes, which were the eyes of an aged, lonely warrior. Or maybe he just felt that way.

He should have stayed in Griffonia. If war there was only killing and loud noises and the screams of the dying, he would gladly take it. Herr Steiner had told him to expect all those things, and even if he didn’t like any of them, Herr Steiner had also been correct in saying that they were survivable.

But he couldn’t go back home. Not until Canterlot stopped being under siege and peace was restored. How long would that take? He didn’t know, but he would keep fighting until the war ended or he did. Around his neck was a medallion depicting the Idol of Boreas. He tucked it underneath his chestplate.

The subway car rattled and shook. The lights were all out since it would make it easier for bad guys to see it, and the changelings had dark vision. At the front of the car, First Sergeant Ansi looked at his watch. “Alright, everyone, one minute to disembark. Check your weapons and prepare to get moving.”

Griff checked his stormpistol, a single-shot break-action pistol that took 12-gauge shells. He used it for armor-piercing slugs, and the other weapon in a holster across his chest, a standard P00, was for everyone else. His main weapon didn’t need to be checked.

Vela and Ena stopped talking about prostitutes and messed with the slack on the ammo belts that went to their Breaker rifles, which also took 12-gauge shells but a lot more of them, and came with sword-length bayonets. Ansi looked at the charge on his lighting rifle and turned it on with a click and a hum. All four of them had armor-piercing weapons because they were a Panzersoldier Heavy Weapons team. Also in the car with them was another group, Team Beta. They were also a PHW team, but Griff had never met any of them before.

They all slowed to a stop and stepped out into the dark subway tunnel. Ansi and the sergeant of Team Beta had hoof-drawn maps that led them all to a hole in the tunnel wall. There was a maintenance tunnel behind it that looked like it hadn’t been touched in decades. That was how they were going to get to the Friendship Station, and from there, it was just one road-crossing to get to the Jade Statue Radio Hall, where a celebrity singer was using the sound equipment to broadcast encouragements to join the rising to the entire city. The plan was to get there before the Evevehr’s Stuka’s dropped smoke bombs around the building, run in, kill the singer, collect some proof that she was dead, and then fight their way back out into the tunnels where no one would dare follow them and they could retreat at leisure.

This necessitated heavy weapons because a series of successful/near-miss assassination missions meant that Old Royal Guards were likely to be present. The common soldiery in the Green Zone was happy that they were getting off the lines and into the rear for security duty, but for Griff and his team, well, they weren’t here to do the easy part.

At the end of the abandoned maintenance tunnel was a door, the only part where the dust had been disturbed so that the explorers who found it could mark it down. The sergeant's maps charted out the Friendship Station underways, and the symbol on the door was the same as one of the ones on the paper. They gingerly opened it up and found themselves in more recently-trodden paths. The soldiers could hear the citygoers walking above and around them as they navigated the empty tunnels. Maybe they were hearing enemy combatants (Griff found that ‘warriors’ was often too strong a word), maybe just civilians who had lost their homes in the bombing raids and had nowhere else to go. At least the group was lucky that ponies weren’t desperate enough to go into the tunnels without an air raid spurring them on. Not yet, at least.

With some effort, the eight armored changelings laboriously and slowly plodded to an unassuming wooden door. This door led out the back of the station and was for employees only. There was no reason for anyone to have shown up to work, since the rails didn’t have power. Crucially, behind this door that wasn’t even locked was a street, and on the other side of that street was Jade Statue Radio Hall.

There was a specific time, give or take a few minutes, when the smoke bombs would fall. That time was not now. It was a cliché, but it was true; Griff had never met a soldier who liked waiting for operation start, and he laid first claim to the door, cracking it open and scanning the area with a small mirror on a stick. That way he had something to do besides sit and let fear and anticipation stew roil inside of him, and it gave his muscles something to do besides quiver. Herr Steiner would be interested to know that even changelings suffered from pre-battle shakes. Griff wondered if that was the unifying sensation of living, since liches and anarchists existed, thus making death and taxes non-universal.

The street was clear, and after all the time in the dark tunnels, the dimness from the overcast sky was pleasant. Occasionally he thought he saw movement behind a window, but he couldn’t be sure. The city was perfectly still except for propaganda posters being blown by the wind, and perfectly silent except for the distant sounds of artillery and bombs. Did HQ forget to mention that this area was under air raid watch, or were the enemy paramilitarists just particularly obnoxious in this part of town? Both tended to indiscriminately kill anyone unlucky enough to be caught outside.

Minutes passed. At least the view of the classical architecture wasn’t spoiled by any ruins, Griff figured.

Then more minutes passed. Still, there was no one, not an enemy nor a bystander.

In the distance, there was screaming. The first time Griff had heard this kind of scream, he had been confused, because normally it starts in an instant rather than slowly fading into the soundscape. Now, he knew what it meant. “Get tactical, comrades. The Stukas are here.”

The unnatural wail penetrated every corner of town as it reached a crescendo. Then, there was a series of metallic thunks and chemical hisses, and it was all gone. Wisps of white smoke drifted into the visible street.

It was time to go.

The eight armored figures rushed as best as they could out of the backroom and into the open. The smokescreen wouldn’t last forever, and for such slow targets, they needed every advantage they could. There was a familiar sickly-sweet smell from the smoke grenades, but only a hint, the dust masks kept the worst of it out of their lungs. Griff easily jogged to the lead, a good show of how advanced his new armor was, and he quickly made it up the stairs and stopped at the edge of the landing facing the front entrance. He unsheathed his massive zweihander and stood ready to break the door down.

When you have a warrior like Kats orn Griffenheim, who rose to the top of his class in an already-elite unit because he had years of pre-practice under a blooded knight, if he says he wants to bring his giant sword to the battle instead of his standard-issue LMG, you trust he knows what he’s doing. And if Griff was going to try and pull that, well, his sword was quite possibly one of the best on the continent.

His parents could afford an excellent tutor and have more than enough left for a good suit of armor or a good weapon, but they didn’t have the money for all of it. Griff had ordered a massive sword of excellent quality, which was wide near the well-worn parry hooks and tapered to a point, faint blue runes running along the spine. “Evans” was worth every idol spent on it and then some.

Besides the seeming end of the Griffonian wars, Griff had come to the Changeling empire and enrolled in the Panzersoldiers to finish his journey to knighthood. Back in the day, changelings keeping their militaria after they left the army was theft. After a century of political unrest, it was tradition.

Changelings came to the army with their family’s old weapons and left with new ones. Griff’s teammates had brought thrusting spears and fighting axes to replace the standard-issue bayonet knives, and Griff had brought his massive sword to replace his main weapon. Most crucially, if Griff survived, he would get to keep his Panzersoldier armor, and likely even his new recycled Royal Guard armor. It was a strange tradition, but he didn’t find it offensive, and he did find it highly beneficial to him personally. With a sword, a suit of armor, and experience, he would be a real knight.

The others made it up the stairs and stacked up around the great wooden doors and behind Griff. One motioned to him and he charged into them at full speed, turning them into wooden shrapnel. The room was elegant and classy and hadn’t been covered in smoke from the outside.

Gunfire erupted all around and he felt bullets leaving sore spots where they deflected off his armor with loud thunks. Only a few of the ponies in the room were unarmed and running or hiding, the rest were firing whatever they had as fast as they could. He saw one of the Old Royal Guard straight ahead and rammed his sword through the golden boy’s head, pinning him to the back wall of the lobby. If he had worn face protection, it wouldn’t have helped, the great sword was able to cut through Griffonian knightly armor, which was tougher than even the archgold was. But the lack of a face-shield helped. The satisfying crunch of a sword passing through armor was not worth the extra chance it would be stopped.

Another guard was standing behind the first and turned to look at Griff. He held an “Annihilator”, a finely-made and grossly overpriced submachine gun popular among the elite soldiers of former Equestria, and decided that smacking the changeling over the head was the best way to attack such an armored target with it. He turned, but collapsed to the ground after one of Griff’s teammates hit him in the shoulder with something large and armor-piercing.

Griff pulled his sword from its newest kill, and he also limply fell onto the marble tile. The other defenders had fallen in turn without even armored protection, many with large pieces missing because the powerful weaponry the changelings carried didn’t discriminate between hard and soft targets. Team Beta took a second to breath before trudging down a hallway to start clearing the first floor. Griff moved to the nearby stairwell and the rest of his team got ready behind him again.

“Just once, can’t the emergency power run the elevator so we don’t have to climb more Queen-damned stairs?” Ena complained, gasping for air. Vela muttered something in agreement, but either he didn’t want to be heard or he was too tired to talk.

Griff didn’t respond. In his lighter armor, it would only invite a snide comment.

As he waited a bit for his comrades to make the laborious journey up the stairs, he looked around the room and started to think once again about how ponies must see them. Ponies were blue, white, red, tan, orange, and some had horns and some had wings and every one had something that made them special. Compared to them, Griff and all of his teammates were interchangeable, all black-skinned and blue-eyed and horned and covered in inelegant steel plates. He wondered if that influenced how ponies viewed his kind. After all, if none of them were individuals, then there was no reason to worry that you were making one feel bad. Maybe they weren’t individuals. Many of his allies treated the ponies no better in return, and maybe that was them expressing their sense of empathy. He looked at an orange pegasus that had been bowled over when he broke into the room and lay in a pile of brown shrapnel, his unseeing eyes looking back at him. Even his short-cropped orange mane was a form of personal expression that changelings could never mimic in their own true forms.

The pegasi’s eyes twitched. Ena saw it too. “Nice try”, he said as he pulled his pistol out. Griff yanked the barrel upward just before it went off. Ena stared daggers at Griff.

Griff looked at the pony and put his sword to his throat. “[Do zou except defeet?]” He asked in Equestrian. The pegasus nodded fearfully. “He’s a non-combatant.” Griff stated forcefully.

“Whatever you say, dude. Give him a week, he’ll be lobbing 50mm shells over the perimeter with the best of ‘em.” Vela snarled. Griff was glad he said it in Changeling.

“Cut it, all of you.” Sergeant Ansi yelled. “We’re moving out.”

Thus began the laborious process for the others of climbing up the stairs, punctuated by echoing bursts of gunfire from the other team as they cleared one room at a time. Griff looked back and saw Ena aim his gun at the pegasus once again, who had stood up and started to run away. He smacked Ena in the helmet with the side of his sword. When Griff reached the top, he checked the room and found it empty of things besides a potted plant and some doors to other rooms. Ansi reached the top second with a lead on the other two and took the opportunity to whisper to him, “Listen, stop it with that honor garbage. You’re the only one here who believes in it and it’s going to get us killed.”

“No.” Griff replied.

Ansi grunted with extreme annoyance. He pointed to one of the doors. Griff took position in front of it, and they stacked up again.

Griff decided he didn’t trust this room. He moved to stand besides the frame and started bashing the doorknob with the hilt of his sword. Something big and loud fired from inside of the room and put a hole right next to the doorknob. That was Griff’s cue to kick it in and start swinging his sword.

Inside was a sitting room with more Royal Guards, and the door at the other end was letting in even more. The twins fired from the doorframe while Ansi followed on Griff’s tail, blasting his lightning rifle at anything yellow and shiny. Griff leapt over a sofa that the anti-tank-rifle-wielder was hiding behind and swatted him aside just as he fired, leaving a red gash in his pristine golden armor. He swung his sword back in the other direction and caught another guard in the other side. A third one was charging up to him with a gun-halberd and Griff tried to get the first hit in with a thrust, but it was deflected so he pulled out his stormpistol and with a deafening boom he popped that sucker right in the chest, causing him to tumble across the ground and nearly bowl him over as he skidded.

Griff broke open the barrel of the small-ish device and pulled out the spent shell, gingerly slipping a new one in. This room was no longer filled with gunfire, even if it and the sound of tromping hooves could still be heard on the bottom floor.

“Ow, ow, ow.” Vela complained as he hobbled. One of his rear legs was bleeding noticably.

“What happened?” Griff asked.

“That idiot with the AMR got my armor through the wall with that second shot. Ow. I think some of it spalled into my leg.” He groaned.

Ena trotted over to him. “You going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Vela replied. It wasn’t like he could get any slower, but Griff looked at the limping Panzersoldier and worried that he might stop entirely before they managed to get out.

Ansi motioned them over and they took position once more. Griff charged this door down and found himself in a recording studio, facing down a few technicians and one last Royal Guard. On the other side of a massive window was the singer.

The Royal Guard charged Griff with a yell and the changeling readied his sword. Then the pony’s head was caved in by an armor-piercing slug, Griff shoved the limp form aside as it collided into him, and that was that. One of the technicians spat on Ansi, and one after the other, Griff’s comrades executed all of them where they stood. He wished he could feel bad for them, but just because they weren’t armed didn’t mean they weren’t soldiers for their cause. He would let the others kill them, though – even if they were legitimate targets, Griff didn’t like cutting down the unarmed. The door into the recording booth was unlocked. There was one last technician or voice coach or something with the singer. He pulled a pistol out of his pocket and when he hit the ground his head was nearly bisected horizontally. Griff wrenched the sword from the remains of the skull.

He looked at the singer herself. She was delicate, small compared to him. She was probably quite beautiful for a pony. Despite being alone and unarmed, she stood defiant and furious. Griff needed proof she was dead. She wasn’t really unarmed, he thought. She had her voice. Sometimes he was illogical like that. He lifted his sword up and brought it across her neck. Her head hit the glass, but her body simply fell over where it was as the fountain of blood slowly turned into a trickle. Griff looked into her face once again, now as a lifeless, bloody object, and stuffed the severed head into a sack that he tied to his belt.

His team was taking a quick breather when he rejoined them. “Are we done here?” He asked.

“Looks like it. You want to tell Team Beta?” Ansi replied.

Griff paused. “Why don’t I hear any shooting?”

Ena chuckled. “Guess no one needs to tell them.” He joked as he looked down. He jerked upright. “Oh, hell.”

“Alright yeah we’re getting out of here right now.” Ansi said loudly. Vela was watching the doors from one side and Ena went to the other. Then spurts of blood burst from Ena’s chestplate and he loudly hit the floor. “Griff! Put a ‘nade back the way we came!” Ansi shouted, and Griff pulled a stick grenade from his pouch and chucked it around the doorframe. The sound of heavy hooves scattering was pronounced as the trio left Ena’s remains behind.

Griff realized he should take Ena’s I-tags, but they were already moving, and with Vela in tow they couldn’t afford to slow down. The grenade went off behind them and the enemy went back on the attack. However many Royal Guards there were, it was a really big number. “They’re blocking the entrance! We’re taking the other way out!” Ansi ordered as he fired a lightning bolt as an overzealous pony who ducked his head back behind the wall.

Vela was struggling to move and Griff stood next to him on the side with the wounded leg. He got the hint and let some of his weight fall onto his comrade. Ansi moved from doorway to doorway, providing covering fire, and Vela randomly shot backwards with his own weapon to try and help. Griff pulled out his stormpistol in case anyone appeared in front of them. There were only two rooms left before they reached a stairwell to the bottom floor marked with a window that appeared as a bright square of light, then they could take the rear exit and maybe run into the tunnels they had come from. That much open ground was dangerous, but they didn’t have a choice. Panzersoldiers lived on mobility and power, and with one wounded and one down, they had neither on their side. They couldn’t fight this one out.

Griff could have already been outside, but Vela was still in his armor and even with the help he wasn’t as fast as normal. “Damnit!” Ansi yelled. “Griff, just leave Vela!”

“Do not do it you bastard.” Vela tried to yell through pain and exertion and gritted teeth. “Do not leave me with them. Do not do it.”

Griff had no intention of leaving his teammates behind. He pressed on. Ansi was taking cover behind the last doorframe. A barrage of gunfire cut him down from the side. A guard came out in front of the remaining two soldiers and Griff fired his stormpistol, but it missed, and the guard took cover where Ansi had been standing. Griff reloaded his stormpistol. “Get that Breaker over here, we’ve got company ahead.” He told Vela, but he heard a loud clang and when he turned to see if Vela heard him, Vela’s head had fallen forwards and a trail of blood was flowing from a hole in one of the lenses of his dust-mask. Griff threw the dead changeling off of himself.

On his own, he could go a lot faster, and he charged forwards. He fired his stormpistol to the side as he lunged past the guard, and he missed but the damn thing exploded when he fired and he could hear the guard screaming as pieces went into his face and the rattle as other pieces bounced off of every part of his armor and cracked one of his mask’s lenses. He ran past two or three more guards who, surprised, didn’t take aim at him fast enough. He reached the stairwell, but he wasn’t going to run down, no.

He leapt through the window. Glass scraped against his outer shell of metal and nearly knocked the wind out of him, and he misestimated how his air control was even in this lighter suit and only barely landed on all four legs, leaving a crater in the roof of the car he had landed on before he rolled off. He scrambled back upright and realized he couldn’t see the Friendship Station. He could guess where it was, but when he looked back, even more guards were standing by the rear door and getting their heavy weapons ready. Bullets were landing around him, pinging off his armor and kicking up small spouts of gravel where they hit the road.

Griff couldn’t go all the way around the radio hall, so went straight ahead, pushing his aching legs to the limit, and broke through the door to the townhouse across the street. He randomly went through doors in a direction that took him away from the danger but also away from his exit until he stopped.

Panting, he wondered what his strategy was. He couldn’t keep running around and hope he eventually found his way to the Green Zone, but he also had no idea where he was or how to get back to the station where the subway car was still waiting for him. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the guards enter the house after him. He crawled out an open window and landed in a communal mini-park and ran into the next building. He heard the guards calling out after him, and he kept running to the end of the apartments and shut himself into the room farthest at the back. He slumped over near the windows and used his mirror to watch as, only a few seconds later, some of the guards walked by outside and scanned the building for signs of him. He could hear others inside, checking the rooms one at a time, slowly coming closer to his position.

He tried to still his breathing and calm down, and for a second his fear was replaced with anger. He was going to go to the quartermaster once he got back and pound that asshole into wet sausage for giving him such a badly-made weapon that it explodes after being fired only a few dozen times. Then a locked door just up the hall was kicked in by the guards, and he could feel his fear returning. He started to taste acid and he began to worry he would throw up. He’d never done that before, but he’d also never had his back this close to a wall before. He held his sword at the ready and stared at the door into his hidey-hole.

He looked around the room, but its previous occupants had left nothing for him but dust and hastily-upturned furniture. Death was only a few rooms away now, methodically clearing them one at a time. So at least they knew he was dangerous. He mentally went over his odds. He could probably take the first one down, but this room was too small for him to swing his massive blade effectively. Outside, maybe he could do two or three, as long as no one shot him to death, which they very quickly would. His mouth burned. His heroic last stand would be far less dignified if he had vomited inside his dust mask. The guards came one room closer.

He heard a voice. “Hey, over here!” He looked to the side and saw a changeling in between the wall and the mattress that had been thrown against it. At first he thought it was a vision or mirage or something when the fellow bug disappeared, but then he looked closer and realized there was a sliver of light. He pushed away the mattress and found a hole in the wall close to the ground, partially covered by a dumpster on the other end. He threw his sword to the other side and climbed through as fast as he could, only barely fitting, his armor scraping against the bricks and the ground. Just as he was on the other side and moving the mattress back in place, he heard the room being broken into. He grabbed his sword and went back to running.

His savior was another changeling soldier, but this one wore the standard Heer uniform and the standard helmet. He followed the stranger to another part of the alley, where a similar back exit had been dug. They passed through a department store. Then they crossed a street and were partway through a hotel lobby before Griff yelled to him and they both ducked into a gym. Griff was exhausted after so much running, and he nearly collapsed onto one of the benches. His breath was loud through the filter of his dust-mask. He leaned back and nearly fell over.

“We can’t stay here.” The stranger said.

“We can stay here... for a few... minutes.” Griff replied. “I can’t... go much further... without some rest...”

The stranger rolled his eyes and sat down besides him, unaffected by the three-hundred-meter dash. “Well, hurry it up. We have places to be.”

Griff took a second. His breath started to even out. No one seemed to have followed them, and the city had resumed its usual ambiance of silence punctuated by bombs. “Thought I was done for there. Where the hell did you come from?”

“Same place we’re going. There’s a police station a short distance from here where we can hide out and figure out what the next step for you is.”

“Okay.” Griff leaned up. “I can work with that. Thanks for the save.” He held out his hoof. “Private Kats orn Griffenheim of the 10th Storm Battalion, Panzersoldier Company, Heavy Weapons Platoon.”

“Sergeant Yoro, 512th Infantry, 1003rd Infantry Battalion, Pioneer Group. Don’t call me ‘sir’, though, rank is nothing out here.” Yoro shook Griff’s hoof. The good sergeant was around thirty or so and well-worn, but with a surprisingly young voice. His grey uniform had the pins marking him as a pioneer as if the spool of barbed wire on his back didn’t say the same thing, and the high collar and flat grey marked him as a Heer soldier. He had a rifle slung across his back, which was an odd choice in an urban environment but presumably he had a reason. Like nearly all changelings, he was smaller than Griff, a product of chronic childhood malnourishment. “Honestly, I was going to ask about that sword. Guessing by the name you fancy yourself as a knight?”

“Indeed. I was tutored by Herr Steiner von Falconia in the sword and in the chivalric code. I have come to this continent seeking war for adventure and for personal growth as a warrior.” He put the sword into its sheath.

“You came here specifically because you wanted to fight? You wanted to see all of this yourself?” Yoro asked.

“Yes.” Griff said.

“...Why?”

“Because what’s a warrior without a war?” Griff dismissively replied. “It’s all well and good to talk about honor and valor, but I couldn’t bear to exist without knowing if I could live up to those words.”

“You know, normally the guys I’m fighting alongside are conscripts or felt like they had some national duty. I’ve never met anyone who went to war for the sake of it.”

Griff shrugged. “It’s not for everyone.”

Yoro looked at him. “So… how do you feel about war now that you’re here?”

“It’s okay. It’s a pain, but I think the experience is valuable. Well, my opinion might change once I’ve had some time to stew in the fact that my whole lance just got killed.”

“Happens to the best of us.” Yoro stated.

“Guessing you’re left over from the Amity Hills green zone?”

“Yeah. That’s where we’re going.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Don't kid yourself, buddy. It sucks to be us.”

Griff had felt rested enough to get back on the move. He guessed the guards had never figured out how he had escaped the building, only that he had slipped them, and while he was sure they were lurking about and searching for him, they hadn’t gotten close since Yoro bailed him out. Even with a few minute’s rest, though, and with it being far lighter than he was used to, he hadn’t enjoyed the prospect of walking some more in his armor, but Yoro had slapped him on the shoulder and that simple reminder that he wasn’t alone did wonders for his ability to keep going.

“So what makes this police station so safe?” He asked as he stepped over a pile of collapsed roofing.

“It was the last stand at Amity Hills. I can do magic with barbed wire, let me tell you. They won, but they don’t want to step one hoof in there if they don’t have to, and as far as they know, I don’t exist and there is no reason for them to even try.”

“Makes sense.”

Griff stepped back into the open to cross another road. “You know, you never explained-” His head twitched as a rifle round bounced off his helmet. He broke into a sprint and ran into the building on the opposite side. Looking out, he saw a few ponies firing at the pair from the first-floor windows across the way. The fact he could see them so easily made him think they were paramilitarists rather than soldiers. He could just run them down. He should have Yoro provide some covering fire from where he was, then Griff could scatter them and they could get back on their way.

He yelled out to his comrade and motioned towards the offensive building before charging across. The paramilitarists didn’t have armor-piercing weapons, and bullets ineffectively pinged off of his armor from rifles and pistols and submachine guns. When he looked back, he saw that Yoro was also running with him. That absolute buffoon! Did he forget who had the bulletproof armor?! Griff pulled out his sword and yelled with all his might. The brown-coated ponies saw who they were shooting at, shouted a series of curses, and turned to run away without even leaving anyone behind to cover the retreat. Griff skidded to a stop and turned around. The pursuers were fleeing, and he and Yoro had places to be.

He ducked indoors back on his path and Yoro jogged behind him. He nearly smacked the fool with the pommel of his sword, but he realized that the Sergeant had far, far more experience than he did, and he shouldn’t assume anything his way was better no matter how obviously it was. “That was an interesting tactic you used there.”

“Hmm?”

“You know, when you followed me on that charge. I’m surprised you didn’t get shot.”

Yoro stared at him. “Oh, yeah. Listen, if you thought our militias were bad, pony militias tend to be filled with the ones who didn’t get far enough to fail boot camp. They can’t aim worth a damn.”

Griff cocked his head. He had been hit at least half a dozen times in only a few seconds. “Really?”

“Definitely. Or maybe I’m just really lucky.” Yoro smiled. “Besides, I think they were mostly shooting at the charging madbug with a sword that could kill a dragon. That was crazy awesome, by the way, it’s like you’re straight out of a movie.”

Griff didn’t know how to respond to that.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a Von Napalm fan, would you?” Yoro asked as shards of glass crunched under his hooves.

Griff turned to him. “What?”

“Like, you’ve seen a lot of his movies?”

“I don’t really watch movies.” Griff admitted.

“Shame. I think you’d really enjoy them. I know I always did. Hell, I think he played a knight in one. Fancy that. A changeling knight, just like you.”

“’Von Napalm’ is a weird name for a changeling.”

“It’s a stage name. His real name is like Entom or something, I don’t know. Actually, what do you mean you ‘don’t watch movies’?”

Griff shrugged. “I’d rather train, or read books about knighthood.”

“You’re serious about it, aren’t you?” Yoro groaned.

“More lives than just mine might depend on it.” Griff stated forcefully. Yoro let it stand.

Far away, a tune played through the streets and a tinny voice spoke in Equestrian. “[Attention. It is currently six in the evening. The overcast skies will continue into the night. The night’s air raid targets are in… Grand Old Boulevard… East New Moon… Lower Canterhorn… And for the third day straight, Amity Hills. Remember, the air raids will stop in your district when it is in changeling control, and not one minute sooner!]”

“I knew it!” Griff exclaimed. “They ran us into an air raid area! Götter in Himmel, can’t HQ try telling us something useful for a change?”

“It was pretty quiet here, actually. I think they treated that business with the smoke bombs as an air raid.” Yoro suggested.

“It’s not about that! We were supposed to be out of here in five minutes. But it would have been nice to know that most everyone not in a bomb shelter would be an enemy.”

They heard the sound of a distant engine. It wasn’t a plane this time. Who was driving around out here? Griff ducked behind a table. Two weeks ago, the rebels had declared that they had priority for all the gasoline in the city, and with the trickle they were able to bring in, every drop went to them. Someone driving a car outside the Green Zone was almost certainly a bad guy.

It rolled to a stop outside the dry cleaner’s they were traveling through. Griff ducked behind a clothesline and Yoro hid behind him. Another truck pulled up behind it. Gold-suited royal guards piled out and spread out across the street, some crouched down or prone and others finding cover behind cars and lampposts. Many had armor-piercing weapons, or melee weapons of magical materials that would do the job.

The one at the head was especially ornate with vibrantly-colored decorations and a technicolor crest on his helmet. He was a blue unicorn who Griff recognized as Captain Ridgeback, the de facto leader of the New Royal Guard since the de jure leader was hiding overseas, and a very high-priority target. Yoro pointed to him. “That’s the guy who killed us at Amity Hills.”

Ridgeback grabbed a metal cone from the truck bed and spoke into it. “To the changeling Panzersoldier, we know you are in there. Surrender and give us your trophy and you will be treated fairly as a prisoner of war. Once the war has ended, you will be allowed to return to your family in peace.” What a bad deal Griff thought. Two changelings sans-uniform were brought out of the truck, badly beaten and held up by the guards who were escorting them. Griff recognized them. They were from Team Beta. The guard captain continued. “And if you do not surrender, then we will be forced to execute your compatriots for crimes against equanimity.”

“What the hell?” Griff muttered. He nearly stood up, but Yoro pulled him back down.

“He’s lying”, the sergeant informed him. “They’re already dead, we have to get out of here before they surround the building.”

“I’d think the royal guard would be above that kind of trick.” Griff stated. “And I won’t have it on my conscience that two of my fellows died for me.”

“Alright, then. Try talking to them.” Yoro ordered.

Griff leaned out. “How do I know they’re really alive!?” He yelled.

There was a slight echo, followed by a pause. The one on the left was nudged and seemingly shouted back in slurred changeling, “Yeah, we are!”

“How the hell did you let yourself get caught like that!?” Griff yelled again.

“We got shot in the head from behind! The helmet caught it, but we still got knocked out! When we came to we’d been tied up and the rest of our team was gone!”

Griff turned to Yoro. “See? They’re alive.”

Yoro was unconvinced. “I can’t tell if their lips are moving, and I know they have at least one changeling in the Old Royal Guard.” He paused. “Ask them something only they would know.”

Griff thought about it. He turned back to the street. “Hey, remember how you were telling me about what you did during the ‘Practical Urban Combat’ unit, you know, the one where you went to Krosis for a month?”

“Yeah, what about it?” The changeling shouted back.

“You said you were always looking forwards to getting some sort of food as a reward for bringing in any Stormers you caught during their Hunt training and you never got it. What was it?”

The street fell silent. The voice spoke up. “They didn’t offer food as a reward for bringing in Stormers! They offered money! Five hundred marks per Stormer! And I’m still bitter about not getting it!”

Griff turned to Yoro. The entire mission was run by changelings of the 10th Stormer Battalion. The members of Team Beta, like Griff himself, were the ones who were being tracked by regular army and police units on PUC training, not the ones on the other side. “You son of a bitch. You’re right.”

“See? Now can we get the hell out of here?” Yoro asked.

Griff nodded and started creeping out to the back of the room. “Hello?” He heard the changeling pretending to be his comrade yell. The duo ignored it and snuck into the small storage room.

“This has a back entrance, right?” Griff asked quietly.

The noise of metal clanking against metal could be heard faintly. Griff drew his sword and jumped around a shelf of detergent chemicals, bringing the blade down on a guard’s leg and severing it at the knee. She howled and leapt back unsteadily, a looted stormpistol clattering to the ground next to the amputated limb. She didn’t jump back far enough, though, and Griff smacked her with the flat of his blade as hard as he could, sending her careening into her partner as he attempted to shoulder a Breaker rifle held in his wings. He staggered, and when he regained his balance his head was nearly split in half by an overarching swing from Griff.

Yoro had ran to the door they’d entered from and locked it shut, but the guards outside were already pounding on it to try and get in, and in only a few seconds at most they’d figure out how to blast it down. Yoro was drawing barbed wire from the spool on his back and furiously looping it around cabinets near the door to catch whoever charged through. Griff sprinted to the truck port in the rear bay and instinctively thrust his sword around the corner, feeling it thunk into something hard as someone yelled.

“Griff!” Yoro shouted, and Griff caught the flying stormpistol. He aimed it across the back lot and fired at the leader of another duo of guards that was running in. They fell over, and their partner lunged for the anti-tank rifle they had dropped on the ground. Griff broke open the stormpistol and reached into his ammo pouch for another AP slug, but his magical grasp missed, and then it missed again, and again, and then he turned and looked and found that at some point the ammo bag had been torn open by gunfire and was now an empty piece of cloth. He quickly flipped through the moves he knew of and found one which would let him maybe not die.

He ducked out into the open for a brief second, and the wall besides him exploded, bits of wood and plaster splattering against his armor. He ducked out and ran at the last opponent, then he threw his sword at them like a javelin. They realized what it was mid-flight and dodged so that it deflected off of their golden armor and buried itself in the ground. They re-aimed their massive rifle, but Griff was closer now and he grabbed the barrel and shoved it to the side. His head thumped from the pressure wave as the bullet narrowly missed him and his ears rang from the sound. The guard yanked the rifle out of Griff’s magic and received an armored hoof to the unarmored face for the trouble, knocking out a few teeth.

Griff reached for the handle of his sword and swung it, cutting the rifle in half when the guard used it to block. They started backpedaling to where their friends were, and when Griff turned and fled in the other direction, the two large pieces of gun steel clanged hard against the back of his helmet. He stumbled into another building, dazed and barely able to hear.

He slammed into a wall when he failed to turn fast enough, but he started to regain his bearings as he ran. He was yanked by the tail into a bedroom and he tried to put up his sword, but stopped himself when he saw that it was Yoro that had caught up to him. He talked, but Griff couldn’t hear. They should invent quieter guns, he thought. Then he recalled that they had done exactly that, and he wondered why not everyone had been given the technology yet.

Yoro started pulling a bookshelf to the side. Griff realized that he should help, but Yoro pulled out a stick grenade and chucked it to him. Griff pulled the pin and threw it as hard as possible down the hallway. With his dulled ears, the sharp crack sounded more like a thud. He grabbed one from his belt and threw that one too. Yoro called him into the hole deeper into the building’s depths that had been revealed from behind the bookshelf. He saw a can of soda and, feeling that it was full and hefty, threw that down the hall too just to keep them guessing before he squeezed into the pipe-strewn space behind the wall and fell down.

His legs buckled and he collapsed onto the concrete. He struggled to stand up and shakily managed it. Yoro deftly landed next to him. “Nice. Now how do we get out of here?” Griff asked.

Yoro said something which sounded like a lot of words. One of them was “wait”. Griff understood that one. He shuffled into one of the corners, put his sword against the wall, and let himself slump over. Yoro looked from one side to the next, and then sat next to him.

“Do you have any friends?”

Griff looked at Yoro. The darkvision muted the colors of the room, but he could still make out the nimble pioneer clearly in the converted-basement bomb shelter. “What?”

Yoro sheepishly grinned. “Your ears are still messed up, aren’t they? Sorry.”

Griff took off his helmet, since his ears were still partially hurt. “No, I heard you. I’m just not sure why you’re asking.”

“I’m bored.” Yoro replied. “I don’t know how long it is until night time. I’m bored. Last time I was here, we found that you can barely hear a gunfight going on up there, so sound isn’t an issue. So I’m making small talk.”

Griff looked at him strangely.

“So I ask again, do you have any friends?”

Griff reflected. “Well, not on this continent. Actually, that’s not right. There’s this one kid, I met him back when we were doing the Hunt. He was the only one I met who made third terrace like me.”

Yoro seemed surprised. “You’re third terrace?”

“Yoro, I’ve been training for this for eight years. If I wasn’t a one-in-a-hundred fighter when compared with changelings too sleazy to join the Jagers and convicts, I’d have an angry letter to write to Herr Steiner.”

“Damn.” Yoro muttered. “I guess that’s why you’re still alive.”

“He trained me very well.” Griff agreed.

Yoro paused. “So what about that friend of yours?”

Griff started. “Right, that kid. Rio was his name. He was very different from me, you know. More like what the Storm Teams usually look for, by which I mean he had a lot of energy and not a lot of prospects. He was a good kid, though. But alas, he was in the Second Stormer Replacement Training Battalion, and I was in the newly-raised Tenth Storm Battalion, so when we graduated I thought I’d never see him again. I came here, he went to join the Seventh SB at a place called Camp 5813 south of the Everfree. Except some nonsense happens, and he winds up migrating all the way to Canterlot and being brought into the Tenth as a replacement. And there I find him again.”

Yoro stared at him, mouth agape. “You’re kidding.”

“No, it’s true. We got to catch up after that. When I said war’s not for everyone, he’s who talking about.” Griff sighed sadly. “I hope that he makes it out alright.”

“My guy, I’ve met him!” Yoro exclaimed. “He was on some sort of mission and he came by the police station I hide out in!”

Griff sat up. “Really? What happened?”

“Well, uh… that’s basically what happened. He came by with some pegasus in tow. He didn’t want to say exactly what he was doing, but he stayed the night and then he left. He was basically how you describe him. Young, earnest, not enjoying himself at all. In a way, I wish my own comrades had been more like him. Then maybe they would have left the army when they had the chance, and they’d still be alive.” Yoro stared off. “You don’t mind if I mope a bit, right?”

“It’s fine.” Griff waved.

“Thanks, I guess. It’s been over a week, but I still haven’t quite realized that it’s just me now. All my comrades… they’re gone. All of them. It’s just me now. I didn’t even want to be here. I always tried to convince them to get out, to take that pension and just leave and go back to their normal life, but they never did. They’d re-enlist instead, or die. Why didn’t they?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, that’s worst part. Every time I could leave, I’d think about my comrades, and I couldn’t bear to leave them alone, not with whatever replacement they got for me. So no matter how much I tried to get them to change course, I couldn’t do it myself. In the end, we all marched together to our deaths, I guess.”

“You’re so fatalistic.” Griff said.

“How can I not be?” Yoro retorted. “I’m stuck deep in enemy territory. The only exits are all guarded. All my friends are dead and I’ve been sleeping in a room where I can smell them rotting. I’m only alive because I’m the one who created all the hidden back doors before we were hemmed into one police station and then we all got slaughtered like cattle. The Evevehr dropped a box of stormpistols for us, and we never even saw it because it missed. You should have seen how those guards took us apart. It must be what it’s like to be on the other end of a Panzersoldier attack, except we couldn’t just back away. Room by room, they killed everyone they saw.”

“How did you survive?” Griff asked.

“I hid.” Yoro replied. “I hid in a crate.”

There was silence.

“Say it.” Yoro demanded.

Griff took a deep breath. “It seems that, all things being equal, facing your death standing would have been the better outcome.”

“Bite me.” Yoro spat. “Let me ask you a question. Have you ever loved someone, and been loved? Not siphoned off their happiness, actually had them think you were who they wanted to spend their lives with because you made them happy.”

“...No.”

“Yeah. I haven’t either. I was too busy being married to this damn army. You know, whenever I had comrades who had girlfriends or guy friends or spouses, they said it was the best thing that ever happened to them. Sometimes it’s who they were fighting for, but it was always what they missed the most. If I die, guess who’s going to receive a letter telling them about it? No one. We won the stupid war, I should have been allowed to feel happy at least once. Just once, right? But no, I’m still here and the only reason I can think of why is so I can keep helping other people do dangerous nonsense.” He looked directly at Griff. “Listen, I know it’s not really the way you’ve planned to do things, but can you do me a favor? Once you’re out of here, consider giving up on this ‘knight’ business. Settle down. Meet a nice girl. Raise a family. There’s more to life than ideals. Don’t get yourself killed over a nice suit of armor.”

“Maybe.” Griff replied. He idly picked at one of his fangs “I’m not much into griffons, and last time I tried to go out with another changeling, it was the most disappointing thing I’d ever done. But maybe once this is done I’ll be ready to try again.”

“What, was she a bad kisser?”

“No. I went to pick her up and a rocket had fallen on her house and killed her that afternoon.”

Yoro sucked in through his teeth. “Well, the important thing is that you tried, I guess.”

“I guess I have something to admit, then, since you’re so sure you’re going to die here and I want to talk about it with someone besides my loser teammates." Griff rubbed his chin nervously as something pierced the depths of his chest. "My... teammates. Between my job and my station, I can’t get too buried in any vice. Alcohol, drugs, whores, crime, whatever, anything more than moderation is going to cause a problem. Apparently I can’t even get a nice misses-bug the normal way.” Griff turned to Yoro and leaned in conspiratorially. “There’s one exception, though. That dumbass Thranx ruined the postal system between the Changelings and the Empire, so I had to come all the way to the source for it, but I have it.”

“What is it?” Yoro whispered as he got closer.

“Let’s just say that not all the magazines I own are for bullets.” Griff smirked wryly. “All I need to do is survive, and between that and the armor, I’m set for at least a few years.”

Yoro chuckled. Then he laughed. “You dirty dog!” Griff laughed with him. Something rattled. Both of them stopped laughing.

Griff pulled his sword out of its scabbard and carefully stood up. Yoro followed close behind with his rifle held in front of him. Towards the back of the room, there was a dusty dresser with a large upper chamber. Griff opened the doors to it. Inside was a pony child of ten years or so, a “filly” as they called them, scared out of her wits and sitting perfectly still as she looked in their direction in the blackness of the room.

“Get a lantern, will you?” Griff said. Yoro nodded and found one that worked and lit the flame. He brought it over as Griff put his sword back up against the wall.

“[What are you doing down here?]” Yoro asked the filly in Equestrian. She didn’t respond. “[We’re not going to hurt you, you know.]” He continued. She continued to not respond.

Griff looked around and grabbed a can of peaches. He tossed it to Yoro, who opened it with his knife and put it on the ground just in front of her hiding-cabinet with the lantern besides and stepped back. She stared at it, and up at them, and back down at it. She slowly crawled onto the floor and started to drink from the metal can.

The duo waited until she had slowed down to start talking again. It wasn’t long, she ate ravenously.

“[What are you doing down here?]” Yoro asked again.

“[Hiding]” She whimpered.

“[From the bombs?]” Yoro asked further. She nodded her head ‘yes’ nervously.

“[Didn’t you say ze doors vere velded shut?]” Griff asked Yoro.

“[They were when I was here last,]” Yoro explained. “[Welded shut and reinforced from the inside, since they’re mostly wood.]” He turned back to her. “[May we ask how you got in here?]”

She hesitated. Then she pointed to a hole in the ceiling. “[That’s a vent. If you crawl up you come out in the entryway.]”

“[Interesting.]” Yoro said. “[Well, sorry to bother you.]”

The two made their way back to the wall they had been leaning against, leaving her the lantern and the last few drops of peach-brine. She asked after them, “[Mister, did you kill a royal guard for that armor?]”

Griff looked down. In the light, the dull grey paint was muted and the shiny gold underneath, where it had been peeled off from gunfire and the day’s rigor, was emphasized. His first thought was to say ‘not technically’, since he had gotten the armor for killing MANY royal guards, but he avoided lying outright by saying “[No, van gave it to me vhen he left ze guard.]”

“[Why?]”

Griff looked awkwardly at Yoro, who had nothing to say either. “[Because… not oll of zem hate oll of aus, and not oll of aus hate oll of zem. Samm of aus are friends.]”

“[Then why are you fighting?]”

Yoro answered. “[Because when friends fight, you have to choose a side or else they’ll both assume you’re working with the other one. We chose to hurt some of our friends rather than lose all of them. We don’t like it, but we thought we would hate it less than the other option.]”

She looked down. “[Princess Twilight says that friends should make up after they fight, and all be together again.]”

“[It’s not alvays eazy to do.]” Griff said.

The filly sat silently. She offered Yoro his knife back. “[Keep it. You need it more than me.]” He told her.

Griff moved to the vent in the ceiling and looked up at it. It was large. If he wasn’t in his armor, he probably could have crawled through it. He couldn’t leave his armor behind, though, which was unfortunate since the current plan to leave the room was to wait for nightfall, remove the beam reinforcements from one of the two real entrances to the basement, and have Griff break it down. “[Excuse me,]” Griff began. “[Can I ask zou a favor, miss?]”

She looked at him.

“[Can zou fly ap und zee if it’s night-time yet?]” She looked around nervously. “[It’s okay to zey ‘no’ if zou don’t feel comfortable vith it.]”

“[No, I can.]” She replied.

“[Pleaze do. Und remembar, if zou zee any royal guards, do not tell zem ve are here.]”

She nodded and cautiously stood under the hole in the ceiling and let her small wings unfurl and carry her off of the ground. She disappeared into the vent.

“Bet you ten marks she’s going straight to the guards.” Yoro quipped.

“You’re on.” Griff replied.

“...I have to ask. What’s with that accent? You’re worse than Dieter.”

“Well, I learned Equestrian from someone who may have never actually met one.” Griff admitted.

“How is the Griffonian Empire, anyways? I’ve always wanted to go, sort of.”

“It’s like Equestria, only less embarrassing, and less changelings. And more griffons. Oh, and less ponies, too.”

“Thanks. You’re a regular travel agent. Not even going to try to sell me on the majesty of the Imperial Palace? Talk about the weird food and local customs? Suggest a nice beer you know at a nice bar you know?”

Griff tried to pick his brain for something that a changeling would find ‘interesting’, but it was all routine to him. “When I left, there was a long-running and always-ongoing public debate about whether Kaiser Grover VI could win against Archon Eros VII in a death battle. Personally, I always sided with the young Kaiser, and Herr Steiner sided with the Archon.”

“We have that here too, dude.”

“Oh.”

Yoro held his head up and carefully enunciated his words. “For the record, Herr Steiner was right. The Archon is mean, and he has experience. Even as an Archon, he knows how to be in the right mindset, which counts for a lot. At least, it does in my experience. Seen a lot of newbies, you know. Grover’s just a kid, he doesn’t know anything about fighting. Sorry, KAISER Grover.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Do I?” Yoro said to himself. “Sorry, it’s been a while since I had anyone I could talk to.”

“It’s fine.” Griff reminded him.

The pair stared up at the hole. After a few minutes, it rattled and clanged again. Then it did some more. Then some more. Whatever it was, it was a lot heavier and louder than a filly, and still getting closer. Griff drew his sword. The noise stopped. Something fell through and smacked against the hard ground. It was a collection of cylinders tied together, larger around than a hoof and all wired together.

Someone had dropped a bundle of dynamite into the room.

Yoro sprinted to the end of the chamber and started frantically pulling reinforcing steel beams from one of the doors. Griff stood back, ready to charge through the instant he felt like he could get through the mess of rebar. His legs forced him forwards with every ounce of strength they could muster. His instincts were right as he smashed yet another door into brown shrapnel and started running up the stairs.

Not a second after he had gotten to the landing and switched back to make the trek up the second part of the stairwell, every part of his body shuddered and then became sore, and he could taste a trickle of blood making its way into his mouth. His ears once again became filled with ringing and his head became fuzzy. He hit the ground hard.

They’d invented a quiet gun. Why couldn’t they invent a quiet bomb? Better yet, why couldn’t they invent a bomb that killed everyone except for him?

He crawled to his hooves and dragged himself up the stairs, the world blurry and indistinct. Dust floated to and fro, the only aftereffect of the bomb that he felt adequately protected from. At the top of the steps and saw three guns pointed directly at him from guards in the cover of side rooms in a hallway well-illuminated by floating white balls of magical light, and at least two of those guns could pierce his armor.

Damnit, and he had been doing so well, too.

Yoro ran out from one of those side rooms with… a barbed wire garrotte? How was that going to help? Guards wore gorgets to protect their necks from exactly that sort of thing. Yoro jumped on the nearest guard, a prone earth pony. He got the wire around the guard’s throat and his back legs on the guard’s back and stood up, causing the guard to drop his gun in the hall and start thrashing around to try and get the changeling off, but it didn’t work. Guess it was a good idea after all, Griff thought as he ran past and swung his sword at the next nearest guard, armed with a gun-halberd, as she tried to spear Yoro.

She changed course and blocked his strike at the last moment, causing the blade to embed itself most of the way through the wood of the long polearm’s handle. Griff tried to wrench the entire weapon away, but the unicorn pulled her staff free. He had to stay with her on his right side, since his left lens was more cracked than ever. It was a miracle it was still intact.

Further down the hallway, the other guards watched and maneuvered to try and get a clear shot, but Griff and his opponent were blocking each other. Behind him, Griff could hear Yoro having the tar beaten out of him by his own opponent. Changeling chitin versus earth pony strength… He guessed the good sergeant was a goner.

Griff shifted his magical grasp to hold partway up the blade instead of the handle so that his weapon was more like a short staff than a long sword in the somewhat-cramped hall. The enemy stepped back a few paces and hit her halberd’s grip against her helmet, breaking it in half where Griff had cut into it to make it into a short axe.

Griff thrusted forwards but she dodged and it deflected off her armor. She swung her new axe at him, but he caught it. He moved his sword down and grabbed the thing entirely with the parry hooks and started trying to yank the weapon away from her, but she yanked back even harder. The force came in through his horn and threw Griff towards her so he lunged forwards even harder and headbutted her. She was just enough more stunned from it than he was that he could get in another stab, but he didn’t have the room and just wound up pushing her back with his sword and leaving a mark in her armor.

She reared onto her hind legs and tried to punch him in the face, but he blocked the strike with his sword and was just pushed back in turn. She took the opportunity to grab the remains of her gun-halberd back. She smacked him in the shoulder with the lower half of the handle, but the simple club bounced harmlessly off his own armor leaving only a bruise. Then she smacked him in the side of the head and it once again bounced off but it didn’t help with the fact that his brain was still fogged up.

She hit him a third time, again in the head, and he charged at her, going for a short swing with his sword still held partway up the blade. It just barely missed the wall on his left and slammed into her club and then forced it into her side and then cut it in half and forced her against the wall on his right. He pulled his sword back and swung again, but she dropped the now-shorter improvised club and blocked it with her improvised axe.

By Boreas, knightly combat in a knife-fighting space was the most embarrassing thing he’d ever been involved in.

Yoro came to rescue the pair from the farce. “Griff! I’m popping smoke!” He yelled. He rolled the canister down the hall past the dueling pair and it popped and hissed. A white fog filled the hall, and Griff shoved his opponent back as far as he could before he broke off and ran.

As he turned, he saw that, by some miracle, the guard Yoro had been fighting had been strangled to death and Yoro himself hadn’t been torn into small pieces by the strength of a well-honed earth pony. The barbed wire had crushed the archgold gorget he wore around his neck, and suffocated him. None of that made sense to Griff, but he would accept it.

Yoro led him into the first room with an open door and slapped him on the helmet, clearing enough fog from his brain to let him break through the window and run out into the night. The curse of the night sky still lingered, and the unpowered streets were covered in a bluish haze that obscured everything for the hated bugs. The good news was that the ponies didn’t have darkvision to be interrupted, and only after they reached the other sidewalk did the first gunshots come after them, all going wide as the duo fled into the pitch-black night.

The police station was essentially a giant concrete horseshoe. Approaching from the east, you entered the main lobby and could then go south to the offices where police work had been carried out and papers filed. At the far south end was where the holding cells were, then you curved back up and passed the evidence lockers and interrogation rooms and other areas not relatable to the average office worker. There were stairways partway down either of the main corridors that led to a second floor which had all the offices with doors, and the western stairwell led to an underground parking area for police cars. Around two months ago, it would have been a well-run and respectable bastion of law and order and state power, the elegant paneling covering up a strong, stony construction.

Now those days were gone.

The building reeked of blood and rotting corpses. Windows were boarded and sandbagged and fenced and wired, furniture had been piled in one of the halls so that the training room was the only way deeper in, and that training room was strewn with upturned desks and barbed wire. Bodies littered the halls, all changeling ones which were decaying into rancid sludge in their uniforms. Stains of light brown covered the walls and floors from where the changelings had bled, and in a few places, a deeper brown marked where they had done some damage to some guard. Bullet holes and spent casings were omnipresent.

After hemming nearly fifty defenders into a building fit for twenty, The Equestrians had swept in from the lobby and gone room by room, killing everything in sight where it stood. Most of the bodies were behind some sort of cover, but a few others were slain as they tried to reposition or flee, and one was even in a closet that had been locked from the inside, the only evidence he was in there being the dried blood that had seeped out into the corridor when it was ventilated by gunfire for caution’s sake.

Griff was panting heavily as he dragged his sword through the halls, shuffling into the cafeteria and letting himself fall into a wooden chair that creaked under his metal-augmented weight. The room was a few tables and chairs, a few cabinets, a fridge, and a stove. “Okay… so… what’s the plan?” He asked, raspy and out of breath.

Yoro was less out of breath than he was, but still sat down across from him. “I don’t know.” They could already feel instinctively that the guards were outside, waiting. They had known which direction the pair were running in, they could put two and two together and figure out that they were going to that heavily-fortified police station only a few blocks away from where the ambush had happened. At night, indoors, changelings had the advantage, but there were a limited amount of places the pair could go, and there were a lot of guards.

There was a very good way to solve this, at least from the guard’s perspective. They had the building surrounded, and come daytime they would attack. And since they would have had all night to prepare, plan, get armor-piercing weapons, and assemble, and since the duo was stuck with just what they had brought with them and a bunch of clubs and other non-lethal riot gear left in the armory, the guards would simply win. Apparently Yoro could hold his own against a guard in CQC, but while one-on-one they could manage, what about one-on-two? Or Four? Or ten?

All while their opponents had guns that could break through the armor as surely as any magical blade.

“You wouldn’t happen to be able to pull that trick with that one guard back there a couple more times, would you?” Griff asked.

“What, choking him out?”

“I was referring more to crushing archgold with your bare hooves and some iron wire, somehow, but that works too.”

“Barbed wire is made of steel.”

Griff looked at him. “I’m not hearing a ‘yes I can’.”

Yoro sighed. “Maybe not. Hell, probably not. I put everything I had into that, and I’m feeling pretty beat. I’m not even sure where I found the strength.” He admitted. “You shouldn’t have trusted that kid to not sell us out. I bet she led them right to us. We could have had a clean break.”

“I thought she would do what she agreed to.”

“Why?” Yoro asked tersely. “Since when have ponies been under any obligation to be honest? Especially when it comes to our kind.”

“I don’t know.” Griff said as his head slumped.

“War’s not all it’s cracked up to be, huh?”

“No.”

There was a clock in the lunchroom. It hadn’t been wound in days, and was no longer ticking. The night was silent except for the sound of a distant fire. There was no light, natural or otherwise. Every surface was so covered in dirt and dust that, even if it would let him breathe a little easier, Griff didn’t want to take off his dust mask. Oddly, he felt lonely. His teammates were all assholes, but he missed them. He wished they were here, not for their weapons, but for themselves. Yoro was one changeling, and an uncanny one at that. He was no replacement for three friends.

Were they his friends? Griff had never felt enlightened by spending time with his old team, or anything more than merely entertained, yet they had all gone through hell together, and sometimes come back for more just for each other’s sake, and Griff knew in his heart that that meant something. He slumped down into his chair further.

“So what do we do?” Griff asked. “Heroic last stand?”

“Let’s call that plan B.” Yoro “I might have a plan A, but you’ll have to leave everything behind.”

“Define ‘Everything’.”

“So… armor, sword, the severed head in that bag, really everything you’re carrying.” Yoro kicked his legs up onto the table. “And me. You can track your way back to the Heer if you want, but for the record, I’d recommend you take the opportunity to leave that behind, too. You know, go back to being a civilian. Hide out the war. Eventually come home slightly embarrassed but alive and unharmed.”

“Slightly embarrassed? Slightly?”

“Well, you’d be deserting, but not because you’re a coward, you just didn’t like the war. You’ve run plenty of combat actions, right? I believe they call that ‘the old college try’. But look at where it got you. Really, consider it.”

Griff was staring at the ground. “Okay… Alright. So what’s your idea?”

Yoro stood up. “I think I hear it right now. Come over here.”

Griff lazily stood up and followed him down the hall and to one of the windows. At first he wasn’t sure what the noise was, but then he looked through a crack in the boarded-up window and saw what looked like an earth pony wandering the streets, crying. He wasn’t armed or armored as far as Griff could see, and something about his gait wasn’t right.

“That’s your ticket out of here.” Yoro whispered.

“What is it?” Griff asked quietly.

“Air raid killed his entire family a few weeks ago. Ever since, he’s been wandering the neighborhood looking for them like they’re still alive.” Yoro explained. “The few ponies left here feed him out of pity, and no one can be bothered to make him go somewhere else. Poor guy just wanders and cries. If you put him out of his misery and take his form, you can just walk out before anyone notices you aren’t him. There’s a subway station a ways to the north, or pass it and you’ll eventually hit the city gates.”

Griff looked out. The figure had stopped besides a pile of rubble and started moving stones away frantically. “That’s the plan?”

“Yes, and I know it sucks.” Yoro said through clenched teeth. “If you have a plan which allows you to bring your stuff with you, I’m ready to hear it, but I can’t find anything like that. The only alternatives I can think of are variations on the theme of ‘suicide by enemy soldier’.”

“I’d rather a plan which lets us both leave.” Griff stated.

“Bad news, that also doesn’t exist.”

“I know, but I can dream.”

Yoro turned and looked directly at him. “So. You ready?”

Griff looked at him askew. “What, we’re doing it now?”

“Yeah. It’s only a matter of time before he goes somewhere else, and who knows how long it will be until he comes back around. It might be days from now, and we have hours. Now’s when he’s here.” Yoro said.

“Hey, I need time to think about this.” Griff protested.

“Well, we have a bit. Let me break it down for you. Do you want to die, or not?” Yoro looked at Griff expectantly for a split second. “Not? Alright, go.” He slapped him on the back of the helmet.

“Well, it’s not right!” Griff sputtered out. “What has he done wrong? Nothing! I’m a warrior, not a murderer!”

“He’s barely even alive, idiot! More like an animal than a pony!” Yoro argued. “Trust me, you’d be doing him a favor. Now get out there and leave this whole damn place behind. You have an entire life ahead of you and creatures who care about you, don’t throw it all away here over someone who would kill you without a second thought if their brain still worked!”

Griff stepped towards the door cautiously. He had never killed someone who didn’t deserve it on some level. Sure, what they had done was usually to be on the wrong side of the war, but that had been their choice. Then again, wasn’t Yoro right? Had any pony ever showed him any courtesy or honor or even acceptance that he too was a person? He couldn’t recall a time. Maybe if this wretched being hadn’t lost his mind, he would have been slain by a changeling anyways as a rebel fighter, maybe even by Griff himself. No, Griff couldn’t believe that. He wasn’t willing to accept that a pony was his enemy simply for being a pony.

Yoro was looking at him expectantly, but Griff felt he had to rationalize this to himself before he did it. He knew it was important, in that way he never doubted and had yet to be burned by.

Could he do it? Could he kill an innocent bystander, even one who may be better off for it, purely because Griff himself needed to survive? Could he leave behind his sword, the thing he had dedicated his life to, for life itself? He could do that much, the sword was fundamentally a material object, and Griff was not. But then again, so was his victim, right? He stared at the figure as he got bored of shifting stone chunks and started to wander off. Yoro grunted at Griff to make him hurry up. Griff pulled his sword just a little out of its scabbard and looked at it.

In the years since he had first received it, not one speck of oxidization had appeared along the massive blade or any of its edges. Even here, this building covered in dirt and dust and blood, the metal was pristine. Griff let himself be poetic and wondered if the blood of an innocent was what would finally make it start to decay and rot and rust.

A memory appeared in his head of one of Herr Steiner’s friends, a Lakish mercenary on a pilgrimage across the continent, who had told him of a philosophy that said the sword was the soul of the warrior who owned it. Griff hadn’t understood due to his own inexperience and the mercenary’s rough Griffonian, yet it suddenly felt like the key to reality.

Griff would not let his soul be rusted by the blood of innocents. Even if it killed him, even if the world thought he was mad, even if he was the only one, he would live and fight and die with honor and dignity and an unburdened conscience. He put his sword back into its sheath. “No.” He stated.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘no?’” Yoro yelled as quietly as possible. “Get out there and escape!”

“I will not.” Griff stated even more forcefully. “I have made my decision. I will die fighting.”

Yoro grimaced. “You jackass, what do you think you’re doing? This is your LIFE you are talking about! What the hell would your father or your mother think, huh? What about Steiner?”

“If they respect me, they’d be glad I died on my own terms.”

Yoro was no longer trying to stay quiet. “And what about me? Do you know what I’ve gone through to get you out of here?!”

“You get out of here if you want.” Griff was calm. “I will have no part in it. Or you and I can go together, facing the enemy head-on and dying as heroes.” He turned to walk back to the cafeteria. He had to figure out how to make his stand. “Right now, there is nothing I would love more than to fight by your side one last time.”

Yoro leapt at him and wrapped his legs around Griff’s, but he was no match for the strong knight and his body trained by years of weights and workouts and was dragged across the ground slowly. “Stop it! Turn around and leave! Please! What about love? What about friends?”

“How can I look my love in the eyes if I can’t even look at myself in the mirror?” Griff asked. Consciously, he was surprised at how calm he was. Yet he should have been calm, today was the day that things were no longer chaos and confusion. He knew everything. He knew what the rest of his life held, and he knew how he would die. They was no longer any uncertain future to be scared of. What happened after death? He didn’t know, but whether he died now or later didn’t matter to that.

Yoro let go of him and sat there. Griff heard him start to cry. It was an ugly cry, one with starts and fits and sputters. “Why? Why are you doing this?” He demanded to know through his sobs.

“Because I must.” Griff responded. He walked up to Yoro and put his hoof under his chin. “Don’t cry. We all die someday.”

Yoro sadly looked up at him. “I… I just wanted to help one more creature… Why…”

“But you have helped me.” Griff told him. “You’ve made me realize who I want to be. Now are you going to fight with me, or not? It’s up to you.”

Yoro wiped the tears from his eyes, but more came behind them. “I can’t follow you, Griff.”

“Then hide. I will try to keep the fighting away from you, and maybe after I am gone, you can sneak out on your own.” Griff began to walk away again.

Yoro called after him one last time. “Can… can you do me a favor? Just in case you survive?”

“If I can, I will.” Griff replied.

Yoro pulled a few I-tags out of one of the pockets of his military coat. “After my friends all… died… I took their I-tags, in case I somehow made it out. But… there was one I couldn’t get. It was too, you know…” His face scrunched up. “...painful… Can you get it for me?”

“Where is it?”

“It’s in the police chief’s office. Just… don’t look down on me for making you do it, please.”

“War’s not for everyone.” Griff replied.

He went into the halls and found one of the stairways up to the second level. The police chief’s office was the corner farthest from where he came out, overlooking the Canterlot street below. The door had been kicked in, and there was a large set of drawers, untouched, by one of the walls. Behind the desk was one more changeling body, this one newer than the others but still days old. It had been shot through one of the windows and curled up on the floor to bleed out. On its collar, it wore tabs for a sergeant of pioneers. Griff pulled its I-tag from underneath. It read:

Yoro Imina SY.

7-512-1003-2-2

221225684430

C MINOR

HEER

Griff stared at the body, then he put the I-tag into one of his bags.

“Good Boreas, I have never prayed to you. I have never asked anything of you, and in return you have given neither great boon nor great trial. I have often wondered if you watch me, a non-griffon in a griffon kingdom. Yet if there was ever something I should desire you grant me, it is now. I stand alone against many of my enemies, and I need help. I understand that even your most devoted cannot always be given the victory they desire, so I do not ask that you tip your great scales. I only ask that you grant me the courage to face my end with dignity and honor. May your will be done.”

Griff pulled his hooves apart from each other and stood up. He grabbed his dust mask and looked at the cracked lens before he put it on. He put his helmet on over it. He decided that today he would wear his medallion of Boreas on the outside of his armor. It couldn’t hurt.

He grabbed his sword and sat by the window near Yoro’s remains. Consciously, he did it because it gave him a good view of the area outside the police station. It was still cloudy outside from yesterday, but he was starting to see the first light from the sun diffused within the grey mass. Unconsciously, he felt just a little less alone.

In his youth, he had sometimes gone out to wander the woods and trails around Griffonia. It cleared his mind. He was never lonely, even as he spent hours in the wilderness, because he always felt like just around the corner was lady destiny itself. Now destiny was practically breathing down his neck, and yet Griff had never felt so isolated in his entire life. For the first time, his limbs weren’t shaking as he waited for the fighting to erupt, but that wasn’t the whole story.

There was a sense in his mind that he hadn’t stopped being scared, he had just gotten tired of feeling it, and he wanted desperately to share his fear with someone, anyone. He wanted them to try and cheer him up, to tell him to take heart, to promise to face oblivion with him, to at least remember him.

There was no one.

The world might never even know he was here.

Oh, why had he come to this horrid continent? What an idiot he’d been. An optimistic idiot. A dumb, stupid, ignorant idiot who was caught up in his own dreams.

Well, he wasn’t going to spend his last hours beating himself up. If he never tried to get his courage, he would surely never receive it.

The speakers blared a few notes of a song. The familiar, tin-marked voice echoed through the streets. “[It is six AM. The day’s air raids will land on Grand Old Boulevard… Lower Canterhorn… Upper Canterhorn… and the Southern Gatehouses. To anyone in Amity Hills, it’s your lucky day! Don’t get too comfortable, though, the bombers might return if we think there are targets there once again, and the forecast says that it might rain later.]”

“There are targets here.” Griff muttered. “And it’s not my lucky day.” He was just happy that the clouds were blocking out the sky. It depressed him to look at these days. The ethereal grey sheet reminded him how absurd it was that his comrade of the previous day had never really been there. He would have chalked it up to a delusion of fear and stress if it weren't for the fact he was still alive. It struck him that it was the first thing Herr Steiner had not warned him to look out for.

Griff took out his hoof-mirror and used it to look around the edge of the window. A large group of gold-suited Old Royal Guards were assembling in one big line in front of the station. The one in the center was good ol’ Ridgeback with ornate armor and megaphone once again. Griff counted fourteen of them, seven unicorns, four pegasi, and three earth ponies. One of the unicorns was wearing a pegasi’s cuirass, so Griff guessed that he was their changeling translator in disguise. Every one of the guards had something that could pierce armor. Some had magical rifles or stolen Breaker rifles. Others had the gun-halberds with their elegant lines and archgold blades. The runts of the squad must have been the few who only had a stormpistol across their chestplate, since it was the only weapon he could see that would have to be reloaded if they missed the first shot.

If they hit the first shot, well, any of the guns and polearms he saw would be almost guaranteed to put him out of action on the spot.

“[Well, I had a good rest.]” Ridgeback began out in the parking lot, his voice echoing through the tin cone he held in front of him. “[How about you? Bet you had a fun night. You ready to surrender? I can promise you that, even if you lot don’t care about creature’s rights, we do, and you will be treated with compassion and respect as a prisoner and be allowed to return to your home after we’ve won. If you’re injured, you will receive medical attention, and if you are convicted of any crimes against sapience, turning yourself in will reflect well on you by the courts.]”

Griff yelled out the window. “[I’ll pass.]”

“[You sure? We can’t guarantee that you’ll be taken alive if we have to drag you out of there.]”

“[Did I stahtter?]”

Ridgeback put his megaphone down for a second, then started to talk through it again. “[You know, I’ve always wondered why you all do it. Princess Celestia raised the sun and set the moon. What did Chrysalis ever do for you? Not kill you? She can’t do that from out here anyways.]”

“[I give my life, not vor her, but vor honor.]”

Ridgeback looked at his companions in confusion. Then he laughed. “[You are aware that you’re a changeling, right?]”

“[Und zou are a pony, and yet zou are un animal und I am not. Now get ovar here, und tell Herr Steiner Klaus-Sebastian Hermsdorf von Falconia how many of Equestria’s vinest it took to bring down a zingle wan ov his students!]”

“[Well boys, we have a live one here, don’t we?]” Ridgeback laughed. He couldn’t make it out clearly, but it looked to him like the other guards were somewhat confused by the display.

“Leck mich am arsch!” Griff yelled.

Ridgeback shrugged and chatted with his comrades. They split into three groups and started moving to the entrances.

Griff had predicted this much. The building had four major choke points; the stairwell from the underground garage to the first floor, the two stairwells from the first floor to the second floor, and the fortified training room. Griff guessed that the largest team was going to take the front entrance since that was where Griff had the most room to wield his sword and thus the biggest advantage. Meanwhile, the pegasi were going to fly up to the roof, break through the barricaded windows, and take the stairs down. The last team was going to circle around to the garage and take the stairs up, thus meaning that wherever Griff chose to make his stand, he would soon be hit from behind by someone else.

The exception was the interrogation rooms over the garage, but that was a dead-end hall, and if Griff stayed in one of the interrogation cells, the ponies could simply close the door and melt the lock with their magical rifles, forcing him to either break out into an ambush or wait until he died of thirst.

Griff’s plan was to go to the fortified training room, as expected, and try to draw in as many of the guards as possible a few at a time. If he was too outnumbered, he would lose by being overwhelmed, but if he was too isolated, he would lose by being taken apart by gunfire from enemies with flanks guarded by the hallway sides and clear sightlines. He estimated that he would be able to take down four guards, more or less, before he got surrounded or caught out and died. The building was very defensible, but it was practically crying out for six defenders or more with a few machine guns, and there was only one of him and his only firearm was a pistol that the guards would barely feel through their armor.

He grabbed the bottle and the lighter from the police chief’s desk and left the room as he lit up the rag he had stuffed into the neck of the glass object. He had some tricks up his sleeve. If they were going to come after him fourteen-to-one, he had a right to stack the deck in turn.

The pegasi team landed on the roof above him as he made his way to the training room. He heard them walking, disassembling the barricades around the windows. Around him, he started to hear the hiss as magical lights were manifested in the dim building by unicorn Guards. Then he saw in his hoof-mirror that the first few of the command team were entering the training room itself. The desks had all been piled to the side, and Griff had played with Yoro’s barbed wire a bit. Yoro had placed it down in loops and curls to make it harder to avoid in repeated attacks, but for Griff, he didn’t need his tricks to work more than once, and he’d stretched the wire out knee-tall. It criss-crossed over the floor at uneven heights and random angles.

The first pony jumped over the tallest wire, the one that blocked the far door into the spacious room, and Griff watched. Then the second. Then the third.

Griff stepped out and pitched the bottle at the fourth guard. It shattered against his golden plates and splashed burning vodka all over him. He yelped and jumped back, tripping on the wire he had been climbing over and pulling down a case of vodka bottles. Alcohol caught fire and coated the entrance in blue flames and sheer heat.

Griff had an entire repertoire of fearsome yells to give out when he led the charge. “Hummel hummel!” had been a crowd pleaser, “Volk und Vaterland!” was a favorite of his old teammates, but Griff was on his own, and no one was going to stop him from doing as he pleased.

“GOTT SHUTZEN DEN KAISER” He screamed at the top of his lungs as he drew his zweihander and high-stepped over barbed wire with practiced ease.

The trio of guards who were on his side of the wall of fire turned and watched as he cut down the nearest one in passing. The one at the back was the one with the Breaker, and he stumbled and fell back as he tried to get distance on the screaming mad ‘ling charging him down. His gun blasted a whole in the ceiling before the edge of Griff’s sword embedded itself in his chestplate. The third guard swung his halberd overhead and Griff blocked it.

“You just don’t give up, do you?” The guard said as he pushed down on the sword as hard as he could. Griff noticed he was familiar, and was missing a few teeth. He headbutted him, knocking out a few more, since this guard still wore no face armor. The unicorn stood strong, though, and Griff headbutted him a second time, then a third, then slid his sword up and caught the halberd’s head and wrenched it away from the dazed unicorn. It clattered away and as he tried to reach for it again Griff smacked him with the zweihander. It didn’t have enough room to gain speed and just knocked him over, but Griff swung again and this time got halfway through his neck.

The fire was still raging and the room was filling with smoke. Near the door, Griff had spread out the inside powder of some smoke grenades that had been left behind. The building was built from stone and would not burn down, and Griff’s dust-mask was catching the worst of the smoke even with a cracked lens. He leapt over to the remains of the guard with the Breaker and picked it up. It was still attached to a backpack so he couldn’t move it far, but the belt gave him enough slack to turn it around and put a few shots through the flames to keep anyone on the other side from getting any ideas, and then to turn it around again just in time for the first of the other teams to try and come from behind him. He pumped it back and forth, spraying slugs down the hall and forcing the intruders to duck into side rooms.

The last guard had failed to draw his stormpistol because he hadn’t actually known how to wear it. Griff took it from him. It wasn’t really his to begin with, anyways.

He ran down the hall and slipped into the first door on the left, one of the office rooms for lesser policeponies. He backed up against the wall. Another thing he had done overnight was check the structure, and sure enough, some of the internal walls were post-construction add-ons, thin and flimsy and designed to be added and removed with relative ease. Griff surged forwards and broke through the thin wood, the familiar feeling of resistance and wooden splinters bouncing off armor overtaking his senses. He swung his sword and caught a surprised guard in the head as the rubble and dust settled.

Across the hall was the other guard, but Griff drew the small stormpistol faster than she could swing around the large magical rifle. A loud blast tore a hole into her chestplate and she collapsed over, instinctively trying to grab the wound. Griff dropped the single-shot pistol, ran out, and pulled the magical weapon into his room just as bullets cracked by from the far end of the hall.

Black smoke drifted through the halls. Griff checked the situation in his mind. There were nine guards left, and now he had a gun, but he was out of position for his sword, and sooner or later the three guards behind the fire would feel confident going through it and he’d be surrounded. Standing still was the end. He had to keep attacking.

He sprayed his magical rifle down the hall as he sprinted down towards the holding cells. There were enemies around that corner that had ducked back to avoid the fusillade. He skidded to a stop there and sent another unaimed burst around the bend. He rounded it and kept up the pressure, but his magical weapon was glowing orange and stopped firing when he pulled the trigger so he threw it like a javelin and dashed into the largest holding cell.

There were three guards in here, two halberdiers and one stormpistol-wearer with a cutlass that probably couldn’t pierce archgold plate. No point in risking it. Griff’s sword was already halfway into his skull when the cutlass glanced dully off of Griff’s own suit. One of the halberdiers caught Griff in the back, but not very well, it was just a glancing blow. He found himself at the back of the holding cell with two enemies facing him down at once. Luckily, this was the second-largest room in the building, so he had space for his weapon. Unluckily, so did they.

He held his sword pointed outwards and begin to draw figure eights in the air with the tip, drifting from the enemy on the left to the one on the right. They started to distance from each other, preparing to attack from two sides. He couldn’t see the one on the left well through the cracked lens, so that was the one he had to worry about. Griff heard an extra set of hoofsteps and went for the open cell door, skewering an earth pony guard as he appeared. He pulled his sword out and blocked a strike from behind from the left guard. The right guard also attacked, however, and caught him in the face with the blade of his halberd. The combined armor of his helmet and his mask stopped it before it hit chitin, but not before it shattered the right lens of his mask.

Griff leapt back, his head spinning, and once he had a short distance on the two once again, he tore his mask off, the straps snapping from the force he put into it. He didn’t need broken glass flying into his eyes. It was a miracle that none hadn’t yet. The steel and rubber object hit the ground hard. Griff could breathe a little easier. A third halberdier had entered the room.

He saw spots of distortion on his right and realized that he actually did have glass go into his eyes. Consciously, he knew he had to avoid blinking that eye until the battle was over or else he would be in a world of hurt. Unconsciously, his brain registered the idea of blinking, realized that he hadn’t done it in a while, and decided to rectify that.

Griff could no longer see out of his right eye. It was just a field of grey-green sludge. He also felt more pain than he ever had. It coursed around his head, down his neck, even down to his legs. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t even understand what he was seeing from his remaining functional eye. He vaguely made out that the ponies were saying something and swung his sword, but he might have been imagining it since he was screaming so loud he shouldn’t have been able to hear anything else.

The pain faded just a touch and he could somewhat comprehend the world around him. He wiped the red film from his face and his eyes. He had blocked the leftmost strike. The rightmost guard had been bisected and the two halves flying through the air had knocked the middle guard off-balance too much for him to attack. Griff swung overhead and cut the left guard’s weapon in half at the handle and bounced off her helmet and he turned it into a swing towards her remaining companion, who didn’t block in time and had his entire head sliced off through his neck armor. Blood and body parts were covering the floor. He couldn’t feel his horn, but he could feel the crunch of broken armor.

Griff raised one of his hooves and caught the follow-up from the last guard with it. It went through the plate and into his leg but didn’t hurt nearly as much as his eye did. He shoved her back with his body and she struck again, but hit the wrong part of his armor and this time it bounced off. She stepped back one more time and tripped over the front half of another guard. Griff put all his force into a strike and another head was struck from its body.

He prepared to leave the holding cell, but saw a crystal-ringed barrel poking around the entrance. He thoughtlessly yanked it and pulled out his P00, putting it against the face of the guard who came with the weapon and firing it into his skull.

Through the haze of pain and terror and confusion, he wondered when and why he had pulled out his pistol, because he remembered neither.

He tried to figure out where he was at in terms of the battle, but there was nothing. He felt like he should keep up the attack, and wasn’t quite up to questioning his instincts. He stepped out into the hall and caught the bayonet of a Breaker to the side as the common steel bounced harmlessly off of solid armor. He was too close and the hallway too thin for him to swing his sword, so he once again reached out with his pistol and put a round into the exposed head.

He leapt forwards and turned in mid-air to find that he had dodged a stab from another halberdier. His pistol was smacked out his grasp by the new enemy as he tried to pull his trick a third time. His legs threw him at the guard with all their might. He parried another thrust from the halberd, but the guard stepped back too. Griff kept surging ahead and he couldn’t retreat fast enough and Griff pinned him against the wall. A green flash of light came and revealed another changeling in front of him. “Stop! I’m with you!” He yelled.

Griff yelled back and punched him in the jaw with all of his might, then yelled and struck him again, then again, then he switched legs and hit him over and over until he fell to the ground limply. Smoke burned in his lungs, yet he could hear the fire had died out. Shots were pinging against Griff’s armor and he barely registered it. He put his hooves together and brought them both down, caving in the changeling’s skull-chitin with a terrifying roar. He felt the warm blood flowing through the cracks in his plates and soaking into the weave underneath.

He grabbed his sword and dragged it along the floor as he ran once more. The last enemy in the building was Ridgeback in his elaborate suit of ceremonial armor, standing in the training room, furiously loading more rounds into his gun-halberd. He raised it to aim down the sights and fired. A round pinged off Griff’s chestplate. He cocked the lever and fired again. It hit the side of Griff’s helmet.

Griff put his sword in front of his face just in time for a round to deflect off of it. The next round deflected off it at the wrong angle and carved a black gash into Griff’s left eye as it tore through a few eyelets. Ridgeback stepped back cautiously, moving his hooves high to get over the barbed wire that still littered the room, but he put it down in the wrong place and slipped and fell backward, sending his fifth and final round into the ceiling above Griff. He threw his gun to the side, put his hooves up, and yelled “[I surrender!]”

Griff skidded to a stop and pointed his sword at the guard-captain as he carefully got close to him. His eyes hurt. His legs hurt. His throat hurt. His body hurt. His horn burned with the heat of a thousand suns. Somehow, he felt that, at this moment, he had to force his mind through the pain to react to this consciously. “[Oh, do zou?]” He coughed, and blood dripped out of his mouth onto the floor. “[Maybe zou zould have tried zat befoh I zlaughtered all zour komrades.]”

Ridgeback looked to the side. “[Maybe. What’s it to you?]”

Griff couldn’t believe his ears. He’d won? “[Take off zour helmett]” He grinned cruelly.

“[What?]”

“[Take off zour helmett. I vant zamething to remember zis day by.]” Griff put his sword by its sheath, ready to put it away, or swing if the guard-captain tried anything.

Ridgeback’s horn lit up. The strap on the helmet twitched, and then his halberd levitated off the ground. Griff swung back with every ounce of strength he could and a scream that could pierce the heavens, but it he was a fraction of a second too late. He could see the blade coming directly at his head.

Something smashed one of his back legs and he buckled over. The captain's halberd cut a trench into his helmet, but narrowly missed his skull-chitin. He barely dodged landing face-first on a string of barbed wire, and through his horn he felt the satisfying cracking of his sword going through metal. He looked up and saw Ridgeback’s body, standing upright, a fountain of blood gushing from where the head had sat. A few meters away, something heavy bounced along the ground.

He tried to turn himself over, but something heavy was on his back. He swung his his sword. The parry-hooks on the blade caught on something he couldn’t see and it was stuck before it even got close to the enemy. He finally got room and flipped over. One last guard was sitting on him. The blade of a halberd was at Griff’s neck. “[Stop struggling!]” He said loudly. “[I’ve got you! It’s over!]”

Griff wanted to keep up the fight, and he tried to, but his muscles wouldn’t move except weakly and sluggishly, and he knew it wouldn’t change anything anyways. He let himself fall limp. “[Okay… okay… I give ap. Zou got me.]”

“[You’re damn right I do.]” The guard stood up calmly. “[Now we’re even.]”

Griff looked at him confusedly. The pegasi glared at him as he took off his helmet. His coat was a lively orange, as was his cropped mane.

[“I zee. Ah… Vell, ve are not quite even…]” Griff said quietly as he slowly got onto his hooves. The leg the pegasi had hit felt like it had a hairline fracture in the chitin. The pegasi stared at him and his face scrunched up in confusion. Then the pommel of Griff’s sword buried itself in his temple, sending the pegasus to the ground in a heap. A thin trickle of blood seeped through the fur, but Griff knew that in his current state, he couldn’t have put enough force into the blow to do serious damage.

The pegasi would wake up in a few minutes, and from there, if he wanted to say he was unconscious from a blow to the head when Griff escaped, well, he wouldn’t even be lying.

He grabbed the helmet of the guard-captain, a part of the guard-captain himself still inside, and shuffled out of the building.

It was pouring rain outside. The deterioration of the Equestrian weather system had only been accelerated once anyone caught above the skyline became a target and the lines to the weather stations all got cut with the rest, and these days it felt like storms could simply appear and disappear at will. Blue Moon sat underneath the awning of the North Amity Hills Subway Station, in awe at how the Old Royal Guard in front of him could stand in the waterfall without getting wet. There were so few chinks between the brilliant golden plates, and such thick padding underneath, that he didn’t have to care, and he was showing off to the thestral, who wasn’t even fully dressed to be a soldier.

The royal guard heard another suit of armor and turned to see another of his kind royal guard, this one a changeling. He was beat to hell, with a gouge in his helmet and one of this eyes sealed shut and a limp. A few spots of grey dirt remained on the archgold, but the rest had been washed off by the torrent. Blue Moon wasn’t sure what to make of it, but his guard companion had no fear. “[Hey, Voran.]” The guard said to the wandering bug. “[Damn, he really did a number on you guys, didn’t he?]”

The changeling guard pulled a colossal sword from behind him and roared furiously as he brought it down on the guard’s head, splitting the helmet in half and the head underneath it as well. Blood splattered on Blue Moon’s face and the crunching of tendons and metal and bone drowned out the pattering of the rain, and the thestral spontaneously decided that it wasn’t worth it, dropped his rifle, and flew away.

Griff stumbled into the empty station and fell down the stairs. He hit the bottom rattled and bruised but the padding had held up once again. He let himself sit there for a short while, trying to force it into his mind that he had to ask someone about painting his armor so that all the grey wouldn’t be worn off after only one day of fighting. He struggled back upright and plodded off of the platform and down the subway tunnel. The familiar dull colors of an unlit hole greeted him. He trudged along, the clattering of his armor the only noise in the empty pathway. Seconds became indistinguishable from hours as he forced himself onwards.

At some point, he moved to the wall, leaned against it, and collapsed.

Griff woke up in a frenzy, but before he had even gotten upright, his energy failed him and he was forced to accept his position against the curved concrete. He had heard talking. He looked, and saw two changelings staring back at him. “Hey, there.” He said weakly.

“What are you doing down here?” The closer one asked tersely. She had a rifle pointed at Griff’s head where his armored mask no longer sat.

“Trying to get back to the Green Zone. I, uh... I’m not with the rebels.” Griff strained his horn and managed to pull his I-tag from under his plate. The leader of the pair looked at it and nodded.

“Alright, you’re good.” She said. “But what ARE you doing down here? You’re a kilometer away from the nearest friendly territory. And is that… damn, is that Ridgeback’s head?”

“Yeah, it is. I was on an assassination op and got stranded.”

“By the Queen.” She mumbled. Her companion did a double-take and his face scrunched up as he tried to process what he was hearing. “Well, I think we’re all glad that we found you. You look like you’ll need help getting back to civilization, am I right?”

Griff nodded. “Maybe not ‘need’, but it would go a lot faster if I had assistance.” He pulled himself free of the wall and was sandwiched in between the pair of soldiers. They were normal Heer changelings, often used for defense in the siege but rarely as the first wave in any aggressive action. “Say, if I’m still that far away from the good guys, how did you two find me?”

The male strained as he adjusted to the weight of the large bug and his armor. “We were looking for someone else. He looked like one of our own, but when he saw our position, he turned and bolted back into the tunnels. Commander sent us to investigate and I guess we followed him a bit too far.”

“Was he a pioneer?” Griff asked.

“Uh… yes, actually. He was Did he run past you?”

“No, just a lucky guess.”

Post-Script

The griffon brought down the heavy club with a measured force, but his opponent blocked the strike, sending a loud crack across the yard as wood struck wood. His counterattacking strike was successful, and the first griffon clutched his bruised side.

“Very good, Frederick.” Herr Steiner von Falconia congratulated the loser. These two students were experienced enough that he didn’t need to be hard on them emotionally anymore, and if he had done his job right, the one who lost the sparring match would be thinking over where he went wrong before the first words came from the teacher’s beak. It was the victor who really had to be checked. Overconfidence had no place on the battlefield. “Braun, you’re still overextending. One of these days he’s going to punish you rightly for it. And he was wide open on move two, if you had caught it you could have won far sooner.”

The two students looked at their teacher, and back at each other, before automatically re-assuming their dueling stances as they compared what they had heard to what they had done and figured out how to mesh the two. First to figure it out would make the first strike.

Steiner sipped on his coffee. It was a bright and sunny day, a good day to not be wearing armor, and his little plot of land was once again being used as a training ground, which was an adequate source of extra idols when there were no campaigns for the experienced knight to devote himself to. And besides, half of these kids would run into battle without training and get killed if it was more convenient than the alternative, so he was saving lives.

He was not the master of a large school like so many in Griffenheim, and his tutorship was as traditional as it was small-scale. Squiredom and fundamentals were what he was taught, and he passed it down. He wasn’t sure if it made his students survive better than their peers in military education, but he knew that he received compliments from their officers more consistently than any other teacher he could find. When a griffon devoted themselves to his teachings, the only disparaging word he ever heard about them was that they were gone too soon.

It was, in a way, the worst thing he could be told about them.

He heard someone coming to his front door. “I’m back here!” He yelled loudly, keeping his eyes on the two youths in front of him. One of his friends from town came around and walked up to him on the back porch of his house. Guillermo was a trader from Sicameon who had come seeking opportunity and found less than he hoped but more than he had had previously, and thus stayed in and around the Imperial city.

The merchant waved exaggeratedly. “Hail, Herr Steiner.”

“Hello, Guillermo. What brings you here?”

“Have you been following the news out of Equus?”

Steiner felt a familiar pang. “I have not. It doesn’t affect us, and it’s depressing.”

“One of your students has made the papers, you know. I didn’t realize you had anyone who would work for the bugs.”

“Kats was a special case. It was him, right?”

Guillermo picked his words. “They didn’t say a name. All that was mentioned was that he got into a duel with one Captain Ridgeback plus companions a few days ago, and that he mentioned you before it started.”

“Oh, Boreas.” Steiner groaned. “I tried to warn him that the Equestrians never understood honor the way we do, but he couldn’t be talked out of it, he had to know combat alongside his kind. And of all the dishonorable wretches Equestria ever birthed, Ridgeback is the worst I ever had the displeasure of meeting. If it really was Kats, I can think of nothing he would hate more than being felled by such a low being as that worthless ideologue.”

He sipped on his coffee. He knew that his claws were gripping the delicate handle tightly because that was always how he reacted to finding out that one of this own had fallen. As knights, they put themselves in danger often, but no matter how many comrades were killed, peers and students alike, he never became used to it.

He hoped that the faint shaking of the cup as rage began to work through his muscles went unnoticed by the excited trader. “Why did it have to be that dog? He was such a promising young lad, too.”

“But Steiner, your student won!”

Steiner spit out his coffee. “HE WHAT?!”

Author's Note

For his role in the Third Changeling-Equestrian Battle of Canterlot, also known as the Canterlot Siege or the Canterlot Front in the Veteran's Revolt, Kats orn Griffenheim was awarded the Royal Trident Second Class and the Daytime Star of Excellence. Post-war advancements in changeling medicine restored full vision in his left eye (the right had merely had the lenses scratched and eventually healed itself). He went on to finish his service and spend the next few years writing his memoirs. "Berserk: Blood and Fury in Marble Halls" covers the events of the siege itself, while "The Insect Knight" covers the warrior's pilgrimage across the continent he performed afterwards. He now travels the world as a freelance instructor of armored infantry.

Yoro Imina Sorytt was awarded the Royal Trident First Class for his posthumous actions. As the building he died in was destroyed in the conflict, his awards could not be buried with him, and they are instead held at the Veteran's Revolt Memorial in Alvarium. New theories are still coming out as to why such "restless spirit" actions did not occur in the Great War, or of how many truly happened. The fact that most seem to have been on the side of the revolt complicates matters further. Of the "reputable" stories, and therefore of the 12 which were accepted as cause for award by the Changeling state, Yoro has the distinction of being the only changeling.