IRONBLOOD DIDN’T WANT to open his eyes, he wanted to savor the darkness, he knew what image would meet his vision once it was restored and he wanted to keep that image at bay for just a little longer. The sudden crash of falling masonry to his left sparked his senses and he quickly sprang to his feet. The damaged chausses hindered his movement so he instinctively unbuckled the straps and discarded the piece of armor. As he flung the piece aside he noticed the many dead around him. The bodies of his comrades laid around him like broken toys, twisted and mangled close to the point where he began to question if they really where once people. He realized quickly that he alone had survived the breach; he alone was protecting the throne room. At least, aside from her, he stood alone. Not wanting to be caught in the rush of invaders, Ironblood charged down the slope of rubble, nearly losing his footing and tumbling down the slope as he did so. The room was massive; the ceiling reached to incredible heights the likes of which one could only compare to mountains. The throne room spanned an area so massive it looked as if an entire army could fit comfortably within its protection. Long colored stained glass occupied the walls of the magnificent structure, casting colorful reflections upon the rubble strewn floor. Pillars of the finest granite clawed upwards like great trees in a forest. Ironblood had never set foot in the royal throne room, a worker like him? He was lucky to have a glimpse of the Royal castle as a young boy.
His speed increased as his feet struck solid stone as he cleared the great heap of rubble. Quotes from sergeants and images of training sessions flashed through his mind and he charged towards the nearest form of cover. His protection took the form of a single block of masonry, flung farther than its brethren across the great hallway. As he closed the distance, Ironblood dropped and slid behind the block, immediately correcting himself once he was cast to far.
Adjusting his position to provide the most protection, from what he couldn’t predict and didn’t care, he wasn’t thinking, thinking was a habit stamped out of him in the two weeks he had spent at basic training. Though calling it even that was a joke. He had basically been handed a sword and told to fight. Ever since the Princess of the Moon’s treason and the ensuing war, everything had changed. Paranoia became rampant, the secession of border territories increasing it even more so. As the fighting waged on, the young and old began to replace the fit and strong among the ranks. Ironblood himself was only 17, too young to be legally conscripted and so forced into a factory to help the fighting elsewhere. As land continued to be lost, he was forced to move from one corner of Equestria to the next until finally he found himself in Canterlot, the last significant spit of ground that hadn’t fallen to the enemy. He had spent little time in his assigned factory, only two weeks until at last being conscripted to fight alongside the elderly and youth in a last stand against the Lunar Princess. It was a pointless effort, the few times he had seen over the ramparts he had seen but an ocean of troops and machines of war stretching beyond the horizon like a great black entity, pulsing with barley contained malice. The forward walls had fallen within three days of the siege, quickly followed by the secondary perimeter the next day, and now, two days later, the last defense against annihilation, the great hall, had fallen. The air stunk of a burning city and a river of blood. The putrid metallic scent mixing with the burning wood and masonry creating a dreadful aroma that pinched the sense.
He could hear the cries of victory, the cheers of the enemy near the breach. It was a terrible sound that tore at his heart for he had failed. Whether or not it was a pointless endeavor he had failed in his duty to the Sun Princess. He had failed to keep the enemy at bay until reinforcements from all corners of her realm could arrive and he had failed to protect the great monument to her power that was the royal palace. Silently he wept, not at one subject but at all. It was the end; everyone he had known was either cast away into the far reaches of Equestria or slain. His mother and father, his siblings, and his love where gone, never to be seen by living eyes again. The fantastic empire he had called home was crumbling if not already destroyed, he had lived to instead see its finest years but see its last pitiful gasp. Lastly, he would die, he had never really thought about the subject, pushing it from his thoughts whenever it came about. But now, that he had time to really collect his thoughts, he feared the end. HE envied his fallen comrades, they had died instantly, without a chance to accept their sudden demise, but Ironblood, he laid behind the boulder like an animal, wallowing in misery over what he thought of such a stupid issue like death.
As he curled into a ball and trembled behind the piece of masonry, the clamor near the breach stopped. Suddenly and without any sense of provocation, no cries from commanders, the soldiers had fallen silent of their own accord. The air grew cold and still, a great shadow crawled across the floor and up the pillars, not whole but in strands like a great claw. Soon, all Ironblood could hear was his own whisperings, he didn’t dare try to leave his station or peak over the rock; he knew all too well what stood in the breach.
She came into view silently, only several feet from Ironblood, who caught with terror, grew deathly silent. She stood proudly in the hall, examining the large throne room. For just a second, her iris at the corner of her vision, the miserable soldier felt the gaze of Princess Luna fall upon him. It was only for a second, and she quickly moved on, designating him as nonthreatening. Upon seeing her profile, for she wore no helmet, her features where like that of a child, youthful. He was surprised to see such a young face on the body of the one who had brought such ruin to Equestria. She moved easily in her armor, it was scale armor, the likes of which Ironblood had never conceived. All black with a blue trim, a break or hole for which could not be found. It was elegant, almost like a fine dress forged in steel. A thin blade hung at her side; needle thin with a hilt both simplistic and intricate.
Coming to a slow stop, almost casual like, the lunar princess called out. A short remark, yet full of command and ferocity, her voice echoed thou rout the great hall like the clap of lightning. After voicing the taunt, a silence ensued. The likes of which felt like ages to Ironblood. Yet suddenly, from above, descended the celestial princess. She descended in a yellow haze, like an elegant leaf floating in the breeze. It was an image the humble guar had only seen in paintings or in stories told in his youth. Upon seeing the great princess, his trembling stopped, and he felt a pinch of warmth in his being, not akin to the burning world outside but akin to the warmth of a loving mother. Her armor was spectacular, great plate of white with a golden trim. The plates where small, nimble, complementing to her figure. Strapped to her back, was a great two handed broad sword. She brought the weapon out of its scabbard during her descent, displaying its finely crafted blade embroidered with the sun and moon. Her features where not as youthful as the lunar princess, but no less awe inspiring. Upon touching the floor, she slowly approached the lunar princess. Drawing her blade from its place, the princess of the night lunged. With a great cry from both sides, a battle unfolded. A battle equivalent to the mighty clash of two armies though fought by but two beings. They ducked and dodged with ease and maneuverability that Ironblood could not comprehend. The blade belonging to the lunar princess moved swiftly and with deadly precision. In great arching cuts and swift piercing stabs she attacked. The blade belonging to the sun princess flew like a great avalanche. Swinging in long swipes and falling with crushing force.
Soon the combatants called upon their magical prowess to aid their martial attacks. After a quick exchange of blows the combatants would fly apart and unleash a barrage of attacks. Lightning blew pillars apart. Acid created great holes on the floor. Force created massive shockwaves that caused the very air to vibrate. Then they would close the distance and come to blows once more, repeating the process again and again. Ironblood watched in true awe, a silent observer to the greatest single battle Equestria had ever known. He blinked only when his eyes were about to shrivel. He almost collapsed due to the lapses in his breathing.
As the battle raged on, and the throne room was torn asunder, it was clear that the lunar princess began to gain the upper hand. Her attacks increased in audacity and ferocity. The Celestial princess began to lose fortitude in her defense. Finally, with a dreadful lung, the armor of the sun princess was pierced and she fell, kneeling before her opponent. Believing the duel to be continued, the lunar princess jumped back and took a fighting stance. It was only after several long seconds, and the collapse of her combatant upon the floor that brought her the realization that she had succeeded. Regaining her composure, she smiled broadly, and sheathed her weapon. Basking in her triumph, she took a great bow. Lowering her head greatly as she did so.
Ironblood watched in pure terror. Now it was truly over, the princess had fallen. All hope for the future was at an end. Tears began to flow from his eyes anew at the terrible sight. Yet as he looked on, he saw that his leader was not truly defeated, she clutched at the wound, her lips moving quickly, a faint glow emanating from the wound. She was mending the damage, replenishing tissue and repairing damaged organs. Ironblood recognized the magic, he had seen it performed all too often during the war. She was not defeated there was still a chance! Yet magic of that kind required time, time that was slowly slipping.
The soldier within him, the part of him created during his time in basic and during the war cried out immediately. It demanded that he rise and fight. Rise and protect the princess, give her time. Yet he, himself doubted. He could not stand up to even a quarter of the enemy. He would be felled before he made a move. Even surviving this far was nothing short of a miracle.
And yet he rose. Slowly at first, with shaking limbs, a sword barley clasped in his hands. He advanced. Only the sound of his own footsteps and the maniacal laughter of the lunar princess filling his ears. He cast off his misery for his homeland; it would be rebuilt in one shape or another. He lost his sadness for his lost companions, they were truly gone only if he forgot them, which he could never really do. He cast off his fears of death. He may not have chosen this battleground, he may not have chosen his opponents, he may not have chosen his tools, but he would choose how he dealt with it all, and that’s all that really mattered to him. He still had a purpose, he had not fallen. HE never really believed in the gibber-gabber about destiny and fate, yet he knew now that this was his path, his and his alone. His life would have meaning.
The sun princess sat closest to him, he passed her casually. He thought for a second on taking up her blade instead of his own yet dispatched the idea quickly. If he was to beat this lunar princess, what better way to do so than with the blade he was most accustomed to, he thought. The blade was simple, no curve, just a flat bar of iron, no pointed tip, just a flat top, it was essentially a rectangle with a hilt. The hilt was longer than normal blades, two handed but allowing several inches between the hands, thus increasing maneuverability and agility. His armor felt light, the simple breastplate almost floating on his body.
He stopped before the lunar princess who, noticing him as if for the first time, cast her gaze upon him. Her eyes where cold and calculating yet, for a brief moments he saw one thing, surprise. The lunar princess had been surprised by a measly factory worker. Relishing the thought, Ironblood extended his right foot, and turned his body so that his side faced the princess. He held the sword so that it was parallel to the floor and the tip pointed away from the princess. It was a curious stance he had created during his training. A stance that had brought many laughs and stares. A stance that he expected the princess to laugh at. A broad grin spread across his face as he took in the absurdity of his predicament.
During the last stand of the Royal kingdom, in the ruined structure that was the royal palace, Ironblood, a mere factory worker that had only come to this position by chance, stood between Princess Celestia and Princess Luna. He stood prepared to fight against a being he knew was much more than a simple princess, an entity, a force. He was prepared to do battle with the incarnation of night.
LUNA FELT ONLY rage. Victory was at hand, her tyrant of a sister was about to meet her end, and yet opposition remained. A weak excuse for a soldier stood before her, in a fighting stance as if he could possibly duel her. It was an offense to her ability that such a weakling stood in her way. Why didn’t he run, why didn’t he turn his weapon on himself or cry out to join her cause? It was obvious he and his kin had failed. Yet he stood there. His sword held steady, his gaze fixed upon her. Enraged that she must exert any amount of force to deal with such a weakling, she raised her arm, extended her fingers, and the soldier disappeared in a black mist.
CELESTIA GASPED AS both her healing spell had reached its conclusion and the lone warrior fell. He had disappeared. Completely annihilated by the magic of her sister. She knew it had taken no effort to do, she knew the warrior must have known his fate. Yet she paused in silent awe. It had been so long since she had thought of the individual. Due to the war she had only thought of her subjects as but numbers, disposable utilities that she had routinely doomed to destruction during retreats and pointless attacks. It was an unfortunate truth that had grown over time. She could not think of them as beings, sing beings capable of great actions. Yet there he had once stood, defending her. There he had stood, distracting her sister long enough to repair the mortal damage. An individual had, sacrificing his life to do so, bought her another chance at victory. Not the sacrifice of thousands, not over the course of several years. But in only several seconds, an individual had pulled the kingdom from the brink for just a little bit longer. Grasping her sword, the princess of the sun rose with a sense of not only hope and power, but of vengeance. The sacrifice of all those before him, and the sacrifice of the lone warrior, would not be for naught.
The two gods closed, as their blades met, there was a sound of thunder.
