The Republican War: The Fall of Heaven's Spire

*Tink* *chink*

The popping sound rang out from my repeater.

*Tink* *chink*

My magic is pulling the lever down and up. My barrel ran red as I kept firing at the damn invaders.

*Tink* *chink*

The griffons tried flying through the shattered windows and ceiling, only to be gunned down by a hail of gunfire. Their blood painted the white marble floor red.

*Tink* *chink*

The gatling ahead of me hasn’t stopped firing, its barrels smoking, pinning down the griffons at the throne entrance, none dared to show their stupid beaks.

I pulled my lever again, turning my gun to the ceiling as the griffons tried to take potshots at the gatling crew, some succeeded and killed the commander of the crew.

The screams of the fallen are ever haunting but ultimately ignored as the living fought for every second on this earth. A pegasus falling from his elevated position as his wing was shot. His scream as he fell and his sudden silence after he smacked the ground hard.

Casings splattered the floor, smoke filled the air as muskets fired. The fallen lay silent, while the living stand above them loud and defiant. Each casing clinking against the ground as it was ejected.

My magic kept shoving round after round into my repeater, never letting the torrent of bullets let up. While not every bullet hit their mark, it kept the shitheads down. The cowards dared enter our home. They dared to destroy all we hold dear. They dared challenge us. Fucking poor bastards.

I could see my men behind pillars slowly loading their muzzle loaders. Others have decided to fix bayonets as they ran out of ammo, waiting for the inevitable click of the gatling when it’ll run out.

Spotting some griffons trying their luck off on the right trying to breach through the broken windows, I shifted my focus there. As long as I have ammo, no creature will ever breach our defence.

One round goes out leaving the muzzle of my rifle in a blaze of smoke, then the second, and finally a third. Another griffon down, he didn’t pray hard enough to his god for good luck. His friends decided it was better for them to keep their heads below the window sill. Good on them for being smart enough to buck off.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot something through the hole in the ceiling. Two griffons with a barrel on the rooftop. I knew what they were trying to do the moment I saw them. Switching my focus, I took aim. I breathed out. I squeezed the trigger slowly but deliberately.

*Click*

My repeater hammer hit nothing but thin air as there was no round in the chamber. I could only watch in horror as the griffons dropped the barrel right in front of the gatling. All I could do was duck and cover.

The barrel hit the ground with a metallic thud. A flash of orange flame licked its base, and then - nothing but light and fury. The explosion ripped through the air, sending shrapnel in all directions. The gatling gun vanished in the inferno, along with any hope of holding the entrance. When my vision cleared, all that remained was twisted metal and silence where the steady rhythm of our defense had once been.

In a rush, the few remaining ponies with any ammunition left started to move into volley formation to stem the wave that would eventually drown the room. I could hear the griffon war cries rise against the steady flow of gunfire.

It wasn’t enough, eventually we’ll fall or be forced to surrender. I could see some of my men on the brink of collapsing. Some are just waiting for the order to give up and submit. I could only stare at my now empty weapon. It was useless, worthless. Power that once could rival that of the strongest mages and the alicorn herself reduced to a trinket.

Hmm, the power of an alicorn. The power to change any certain outcommon. Taking my gaze away from my rifle to what lays in my scabbard. An ancient obsidian blade. It called me to pull it from its shelter. To wield it. It lusted for blood. It wanted me to use it. To feed it.

Looking up I can see our line already faltering. I can see my last remaining officer try to gather the remnants up for a final bayonet charge. A fool’s hope. Staring down the hall towards the gathering griffons. They have gotten into volley formation completely unopposed. They no longer fear us. They smell our desperation and decided to strike while the iron is hot.

Pulling the scabbard from my side, I could look at its intricate design. Red and gold swirls on an obsidian finish. It was all that held the blade at bay. A blade not made for war but for the complete annihilation of its enemies.

I stared up at my fallen soldiers. Their charge faltered as they were gunned down ruthlessly by these invaders.

Taking a deep breath, I gripped the blade strongly in my magic. With the blade sliding against the ancient wood, I drew the sword from what was once its resting place to be used once again.