Knight Arnhalt Kohn sat in the dim light thrown by several torches across the room. Currently he was trapped inside a fort in the End alongside 84 other poor unfortunate souls. An eclectic group of soldiers and civilians taking shelter, they were desperately waiting for the unnatural night to end, and for the light of day to reveal itself.
The cold was biting. That was the main thing. Even in the lands of Arcturia, whose very name came from its inhospitable terrain, this was beyond what anybody had expected. Nobody knew where it came from, nobody knew where it was going, and nobody knew how to protect against it. All they could do was stay huddled around the fire they had built in the center of the room and hope it was enough.
“OPEN UP!”
Arnhalt jumped as a voice yelled at and banged on the door.
“OPEN UP, OR WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE OUT HERE!”
Arnhalt moved to answer, but already two other soldiers had beaten him to it. The torches flickered from the icy icy blast the doors were thrown open, threatening to douse the entire room in darkness. Before they could say a word, a stream of people ran into the fort, barely keeping from running over each other in their panic to get inside. Bringing up the rear were eight men in the armor of the Order, one of them carrying an extremely bulky weapon Arnhalt recognized as a flamethrower.
“Close the door, and barricade it! Cover all the windows, and lock this place down!” the soldier carrying the flamethrower cried as his comrades ran to do as he commanded. Without hesitation, the garrison set to work. They knew that tone, and it meant that an explanation could wait.
“What's going on?” one of the civilians asked. “Are we in danger?”
The flamethrower wielder turned to the crowd. “Everyone needs to remain calm! We've got this under control!”
“Wait a minute!” Arnhalt interrupted, seeking to calm the soldier down before he caused a panic. “We'll protect this fort, but we need to know the danger. Is the Dread League back?” The soldier shook his head. “No. Nononononononononononononono. This is far worse. Did you ever see the League conjure up a storm like this?”
“Levy-Sergeant, we've checked everywhere!” a soldier cried. “This place is locked up tight!”
“Good!” The Levy-Sergeant replied. “Get the civilians into any underground areas! We'll protect the upper levels, but we need the civilians out of here!”
He turned back toward Arnhalt. “You do have lower levels, right?” Arnhalt nodded. “They're behind the stairwell, and should be large enough to house this many people. What is the enemy we face?”
Rather than immediately answer, the Levy-Sergeant leaned against the wall. Even with what little Arnhalt could make out of his face in the poor lighting, he could tell that this man was utterly exhausted.
When the civilians had finished being herded underground and the men reassembled, he finally spoke.
“There are demons out there.”
A subtle ripple went through the garrison. Although they had expected it after their comrades' behavior, they had hoped against hope it to be true.
“What are these demons?” Filly Delity, a recent immigrant turned knight from Equestria, asked.
“They're great giants of ice,” one of the newcomers said, walking to the Levy-Sergeant's side. “They bring cold with them wherever they go, and can raise the dead as their puppets. They spare nobody, and seek to wipe us out.”
“Then it is fortunate you found us here,” Krahl Staal, the commander of the fort, responded. “If they had found you-”
“They did find us,” the Levy-Sergeant interrupted. “We were escorting civilians to safety after suspicious reports from the Dread Peninsula when suddenly the skies filled with clouds and a cold so numbing we didn't initially feel it settled on us.”
He looked at Krahl.
“They blotted out the sun, surrounded us, and struck. The only reason we survived was because my brave comrades sacrificed themselves to give us an opening, and those bastards can't survive heat.”
The garrison began nervously looking at the windows and the near pitch-black sky outside. Suddenly their stone fortress didn't feel safe anymore.
“How-how many men did you lose?” Krahl asked.
“50.” Arnhalt inhaled sharply as he heard the number. “50 men sacrificed themselves to save us eight and an equal number of civilians.”
Nobody said anything. They didn't have to, the scale of the danger was obvious. Without a word, the men began taking their positions. Careful not to expose themselves too much, watchmen attempted to spot whatever they could in the grey void outside.
Arnhalt didn't know how it had happened, but he was stuck with guarding the door. Despite being barricaded behind whatever they could move, he couldn't shake the feeling that if anything attacked, he would be the first to die. Like the rest of the soldiers, he remained deathly quiet as to avoid alerting the enemy, lest his fear come true.
Suddenly, a pounding came on the door.
“Let me in!” a voice cried. “I don't want to die out here, please let me in!” Arnhalt moved to create a small opening through the barricade, then stopped himself. He looked at Levy-Sergeant Moltke for confirmation.
Moltke was desperately shaking his head no as he bounded over. Whispering into Arnhalt's ear, he said something that chilled him far more than the cold ever could.
“Do not open the door, no matter what. They can take on the voices of the living.”
Arnhalt withdrew his claw and rested his hand on his sword as the banging increased.
“I know you're in there! Let me in, please! I don't want my family to die out here!”
A lump caught in Arnhalt's throat as he thought back to his own family back at the Rock, and teared up. If Moltke was wrong, and that were civilians out there, Arnhalt would never be able to forgive himself for condemning them to death.
Nonetheless, he had a duty. Both to his comrades, and to the civilians already in the fort. As the voice turned into a terrified shriek, he gripped his sword tighter and began reciting his oath under the dancing torchlight.
By now, the entire garrison was convinced that whatever was outside wasn't living, and likely wasn't undead either. The terrified pleadings had transformed into first furious accusations, and then into threats. Whatever was out there wouldn't stop until they were dead.
“IF YOU DON'T COME OUT, WE'LL JUST HAVE TO KILL THEM INSTEAD!”
Arnhalt looked at Moltke, who whispered to him again.
“Just remember, they want us dead. All of us. If they do have any prisoners, they will die regardless of our actions.”
Arnhalt swallowed and steeled himself once more. He looked at the rest of his comrades, their figures obscured by the near-darkness. Despite that, he could tell they were just as rattled as he was, if not more so. Hours of howling winds, freezing cold, and roaring voices would fray any man's nerves, and it was a wonder that none of them had cracked already.
Suddenly, one of the soldiers laughed. It was loud, somehow overpowering both the voice and the winds outside.
“Is that the best ya got?” a thick Prywhenian accent shouted. “Yer facing the Knights of Arcturia, ye can't believe we'll fold to mere threats! Until you show us otherwise, I'll believe that damned undead pony is more of a threat than you, and she's fighting fer us now!”
The brave soldier's shocking declaration unlocked something in the men. They started laughing, and then and jeering, taunting whatever it was that was outside.
“Go home, ya demon!” “You're staying out there 'cause you're afraid to meet the steel of the Knights!”
“Look at you, so brave! You rely on the weather to do the job you're too chickenshit to do yourself!” Before he knew it, Arnhalt was joining in.
“I got eight generations of knights in me blood!” he shouted. “I ain't scared of a little snow, ya cloppa!”
The results were electric as the air outside filled with roars and multiple somethings slammed into the fort. Although the fort was holding, the men rushed to the ground and gathered in formation. Riflemen scanned the walls for any signs of holes in the dim light while their melee-equipped comrades brandished their swords toward the entrance.
“That's more like it, ya fucker!” the Prywhenian from earlier yelled from Arnhalt's right. “Looks like we touched a nerve! I'm sorry that yer mum never loved you, but that doesn't give ye the right to act like a FUCKIN' NOB!”
The response was quick, as blows rained down on the door from outside. As the first puffs of frost came through the wood and it became clear the barricades would not hold, Moltke positioned himself facing the doorway and the men formed up around him.
“COME GET SOME, YOU FRIGID BASTARDS!” The door exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere as thralls rushed in. The riflemen immediately opened fire, tearing through them while their armor-clad comrades endured the hail of debris from the doorway. Arnhalt locked his shield with his neighbor as the rifleman behind him ducked down to reload, and prepared for impact.
Rather than the thralls he had expected, he saw a great shimmering... thing in the doorway. Towering above any of them, it barely registered the gunfire unleashed on it as it glared at them. Its eyes shone like coals, creating a terrifying glow in their night.
“THAT'S IT!” Moltke screamed. “GET OUT OF MY WAY!”
The knights barely had time to move before Moltke unleashed his flamethrower. Before it could react, the monster in front of them evaporated in a hiss of vapor.
A cry of triumph went up from the men, only to be met with a roar of outrage from outside.
“YOU WILL ALL DIE!”
“Ya see the light o' the fire?” the Prywhenian yelled. “Do the world a favor, and WALK TOWARDS IT!”
“MEN, FORWARD!” Moltke commanded, determined to take the fight to the enemy.
Morale high, they surged forward to the edge of the darkness in the doorway. Anchoring themselves on the frame, they awaited the next attack as the riflemen shot into the void.
“Up above!” someone shouted, gesturing toward a shimmer in the sky.
“CLEAR OUT!” The soldiers broke ranks underneath it as Moltke aimed and unloaded. Another scream filled the air as the demon disintegrated and the flaming liquid fell to the earth. As a pony utilized magic to douse the flames, the knights reformed their shield wall and launched taunts into the darkness.
Rather than the furious roars of the past, a wave of frigid air swept over them, blinding them with snow. Before he could recover, Arnhalt felt something slam into his shield, and he began swinging.
“Hold firm!” Commander Krahl shouted. “Don't lose your wits due to such a simple trick!”
But it wasn't that easy. With the light to his back, Arnhalt could barely make out the shape attacking him, only able to swat away its attempts to grab his shield as his eyes struggled to deal with the onslaught of snow.
“Fall ba-”
“That won't be necessary!” Filly Delity shouted. “I'll take care of the snow!”
Suddenly, the snow stopped pelting Arnhalt's face, and his vision cleared. In front of him was a decaying corpse, one of the numerous attacking their line, but it was what was behind that which was most interesting.
Behind the thralls was a barrier, blocking the snow. Taking a brief moment to glance to the rear, Arnhalt saw the stream of magic leaving Filly's horn. Saying a silent thanks, he stabbed the ghoul in front of him and watched it drop before dispatching the one attacking his neighbor as well. With their vision cleared and their enemies illuminated by the soft glow of the barrier, the knights stabilized the situation. Their line held as the riflemen began unloading into the darkness once more.
The fighting lasted for what felt like ages, but at last the enemy hordes were retreating. Their attacks, already ineffective due to the small size of the door and Filly's exceptional efforts, had slowly petered out as a wall of bodies grew in front of the knights and the ground behind them became littered with corpses, proof of the knights' expertise in both melee and ranged combat.
“Don't let your guard down, men!” Krahl barked. “This could be a feint!” Arnhalt knew what he said was true, but his arms were so heavy. They felt like lead, and it was a miracle he hadn't dropped his shield before he was rotated out of the line. As he collapsed next to what had once been a table, he felt his eyes slam shut and fought a losing battle avoid falling asleep.
“Arnhalt, wake up!”
Arnhalt jolted awake at the voice.
“Are we under attack?” He was greeted by a laugh. “Just the opposite! Come, look!”
Arnhalt wiped his bleary eyes with his claw and stood, slowly walking toward the doorway.
“What's u-”
Rather than the dark grey of the previous hours, the air was a pale white. What was more, the snow was far less heavy, although it took Arnhalt catching sight of Filly resting against the wall to fully comprehend what had happened.
He stared out the doorway, the streets of the End becoming ever more clear and well-lit. As the clouds faded away and the midday sun looked upon the weary city, Arnhalt raised his arms to the heavens and joined his comrades in a victory cry.
