Cainite Hearts: Friendship is Heresy

Chapters

Inquisitorial Report - Ponies (Protectorate USA Assorted Units)
A Rude Surprise
Inquisitorial Report - Knights Harmonic (Protectorate-Aligned Heretic Astartes Warband)
Inquisitorial Report - Twilight Sparkle (Protectorate-Aligned Daemon Prince)
Twilight's Ascension
BORG File - 'Iron Cavalry' Mounted/Mechanized Infantry

Inquisitorial Report - Ponies (Protectorate USA Assorted Units)

Name: Ponies (also; Equus ferus sapiens, Unicorns/Pegasi/Alicorns)

Formation Type: Infantry (Usually)

Numbers: Unknown

Introduction: The Ponies are a species of blasphemously adorable-looking xenos that serve a wide variety of roles among the heretical forces of the Cainite Protectorate. They are so named because of their bizarre, as-of-yet unexplained resemblance to Terran Miniature horses.

Initially encountered by Imperial forces during [REDACTED], they are believed to originate from Centaur III, and were previously encountered amongst the ranks of the Iron Warriors 38th Company prior to the little-known Chaos Warband being assimilated into the USA (see; Centaur III report). Wildly varying numbers of these creatures nave been seen amongst Protectorate forces on numerous battlefields, ranging from singular individuals to entire detachments of the creatures.

This xeno race appears to be split into four subraces: one with wings (Pegasi), one with a horn (Unicorns), one with neither (Earth Ponies), and one with both (Alicorns). Earth Ponies are arguably the least dangerous, though only due to relative simplicity compared to other units; they are possessed of immense strength that well outstrips their body size, and a singular Earth Pony has on occasion downed an incautious Astartes with a single strike of their hoof. Next up on the threat level are Pegasi, who lack the strength of their ground-bound kin but compensate by wings that grant them flight, allowing them to fly in-atmosphere with speed and agility on par with, and sometimes superior to, an Imperial jetbike. Above them are unicorns, which lack both enhanced strength and flight but possess powerful psychic capacity, on top of near-total immunity to the usual perils of the Warp associated with such abilities. And then there are alicorns, exceedingly rare combatants that combine the talents of all three aforementioned subraces to often-lethal effect.

Combat Doctrine: As stated above, Ponies serve a truly surprising variety of roles among the USA, though they often take to the field as standard infantry. The roles they can serve on the field are as varied as human troops, if not more so, but they tend to lean more towards melee combat, as their quadruped bodies make human-made ranged weaponry somewhat awkward to use, despite the BORG Hereteks' attempts to rectify this with their unique brand of techno-heresy (see Wargear below).

Despite this leaning toward close-quarters-combat, pony forces tend to fight more defensively than other USA units, taking maximum possible advantage of defensive positions and doing their level best to minimize losses and casualties. Some among the Ordos might be inclined to attribute this to cowardice, but do not be fooled; they can be as aggressive and lethal as any other Protectorate soldier if the situation calls for it.

It is also worth noting that pony forces will occasionally try to negotiate with Imperial Forces, attempting to impress the value of "friendship" and "compromise" upon our loyal soldiers and sway them to the Protectorate's side, in a textbook example of the Threat of Discord in action. These attempts always end in failure, and anyone who tries to claim otherwise is a traitorous heretic attempting to spread blasphemous misinformation. Such traitors are to be detained and executed at the earliest opportunity.

Wargear: Most Pony units arrive on the field of battle with wargear similar to rank and file USA soldiers, outfitted with power armor fitted to accommodate their quadruped bodies and outfitted with servo-harnesses that let them pick up and use human weaponry. Their wargear, however, tends to vary more than that of USA troops, and is often customized by the owner. The wargear they carry is also supplemented by their formidable natural abilities. Certain Elite pony units have also been outfitted with warp-touched artifacts presumably of their own design. This makes them far more unpredictable on the field than most USA troops, and harder to counter as a result.

Addendum 1: Pony forces have repeatedly been witnessed referencing "Harmony". This is believed to be some kind of cosmic force worshipped by the creatures as a diety. The nature and status of this force are unknown at the moment.

Addendum 2: On occasion, Ponies have been seen performing impromptu mass musical numbers, sometimes in the middle of battle and without impairing their effectiveness on the field, all while appearing to be perfectly choreographed beforehand despite the fact that such a thing is straight-up impossible. How this can be is unknown for now.

Addendum 3: As of this writing, we have yet to successfully kill even one of these creatures. While it is far from impossible to incapacitate them and their biology even makes death a very real possibility on paper (unlike necrons), in practice no servant of the Emperor has managed to inflict a mortal wound on a pony, and the few we've managed to capture have, without exception, been rescued long before we were able to execute or vivisect any of them. An Inquisitor once described this effect as if "we're in a badly-written anti-imperial propaganda piece and those things have Titan-grade plot armor". This is a surprisingly apt description of this effect's mechanics; how such a thing is possible is, again, unknown.

A Rude Surprise

Commissar Vandere skimmed the briefing material on his dataslate once again. Nearby, the regiment's ranking officer ran his men through a final inspection of their drop gear. He couldn't help but silently scoff at the report appended to the file. Ponies? Doing musical numbers in the middle of battle? And somehow gifted with the sort of probability-warping protection only afforded to high-ranking Imperials in a badly written propaganda piece? Evidently the Inquisition had not the faintest clue what it was talking about.

"Twenty to landing zone," the Valkyrie's pilot called out, and the soldiers crammed into its passenger compartment put away bits of equipment or personal items in preparation for landing. Vandere technically wasn't a soldier, but he did the same anyway, even as he studied the soldiers’ motions. If there was any lapse in discipline that would reduce their effectiveness, even his well-trained eyes could not discern it.

A few moments later, the Valkyrie touched down. The entire regiment leaped off with practiced ease, still showing the same discipline he’d seen from them earlier. They were loyal members of the Tempestus Scions, disciplined, well-armed, and blessed by the Emperor with the sacred task of doing his bidding.

It was enough to make Vandere kinda feel sorry for their opponents, for the harmony-worshipping, blasphemously pony-like xenos who’d been stationed on this planet. But only kinda. There was no doubt in the Commissar’s mind; this would be a victory as swift as it was brutal.

Commissar Vandere stared, jaws slack, as a wingless, hornless pony planted her two back hooves in a Baneblade, the massive tank’s armor crumpling beneath the force of the blow, its crew scrambling to evacuate as the tank’s machine spirit died a quick, brutal death. All around him, Scions were screaming for help, for reinforcements, or just out of mindless fear, their morale broken and their advance collapsing into a hasty, panicked rout. Vandere couldn’t even bring himself to try and execute any of them for dereliction of duty. Given how thoroughly the regiment was being curb-stomped, the Commander who was still belligerently screaming at them to hold the line was arguably far more deserving of execution by virtue of not knowing that sometimes discretion was the better part of valor.

He’d been right in a way he’d never have anticipated in a billion millennia. This was a victory as swift as it was brutal… for the ponies.

The barrel of a lasgun touched the back of his head. "You are my prisoner, sir," the xeno that had managed to sneak up on him informed him, its polite, respectful tone of voice standing in stark contrast to the deadly weapon aimed at his unprotected head, set to blow his brains out. "Please open your hand and release your weapon."

Emperor forgive me… Vandere silently prayed as he let his bolt pistol drop to the ground.

"Thank you, sir." The lasgun dropped from his head. Vandere turned toward his captor, a horned pony in the red-colored power armor issued to every last member of the USA. "Day Guard Company A reporting: breakthrough successful.” The pony spoke, obviously making use of a comm-bead. “Consolidating gains. Company B is clear to follow up. Tell the USA we'll be ready for them to relieve us in twenty minutes."

He gaped as more quartets of ponies, horned and not, passed through what had been his position at full gallop. In the air above his hill, dozens of winged ponies soared past just behind them. "What happened to our air support?" Vandere asked aloud, only half-expecting an answer.

“They did.” The horned pony said conversationally, gesturing toward the winged ponies. “They swooped in on your airplanes, yanked the pilots out of their seats, and let gravity do the rest. Don’t worry, they made sure to set the pilots down gently.”

"...how?" Vandere whispered, still struggling to wrap his head around what was happening. “How is this possible…”

The horned pony chuckled a bit. “I know we don't get many visitors from the Imperium,” he said. “But do you really not know anything about us?”

“I know your kind are obsessed with peace and harmony. That you have no war record of any kind before you made contact with the Iron Warriors. And that you’re always trying to make friends with your mortal foes.” Vandere murmured, rattling off information he’d gleaned from the Inquisition file. “And I also know you just curb-stomped a whole regiment of Tempestus Scions that had you outnumbered 2:1.”

“Yeah, all those are true. We do forgive our enemies a lot… but only after we’ve beaten them.” The last words landed like a drop pod crammed to the brim with the Emperor’s Angels, set to barge out and pump everything Vandere thought he knew about these creatures full of bolt rounds. “Our homeworld may look cute and whimsical, but look past the bright colors and you’ll find monsters who try to eat us, suck our souls out, enslave our minds, level our mountains, set fire to our cities, subvert our leaders, and even rewrite the very laws of nature itself left, right, and center. We have to deal with all that on a weekly basis. Compared to all that, this," he waved a hoof at what had briefly been a battlefield, "this was actually pretty tame.”

Vandere glanced around. The fighting was winding down now, the ponies rounding up and disarming the last of the Scions who hadn’t surrendered yet. Strangely enough, the battlefield was completely devoid of blood or corpses, human or otherwise. These ponies hadn’t just curb-stomped a whole regiment of the Imperial Guard’s elite—they’d done it without even resorting to lethal force.

"Not that you didn't do the best with what you had, of course," the pony continued, obviously offering what consolation he could. "But you just didn't know what you were up against. And to quote the Liberator himself: He who knows both his foe and himself need not fear the outcome of a thousand battles. Anyway, what’s your name?"

“And we didn’t know you.” Vandere murmured, half to himself, still in a daze. “Commissar Vandere, of the Tempestus Scions 16th regiment.”

"Corporal Amber Light," the pony responded, extending a hoof. "Canterlot traffic control."

Vandere’s eyes went wide. He'd been captured... his regiment’s position had been taken by... "Traffic control?!"

“I said we fought monsters on a daily basis; I never said we had a perfect track record for beating them.” He pointed a hoof skywards, where sun was beginning to break through clouds—clouds, Vandere noticed, which were being herded by large numbers of winged ponies. "They only give us the easy jobs. Our real heroes are up there, fighting the real battle."

Vandere blinked, hard. Now the Astartes had been joined by an entire Titan Legion, set to annihilate every assumption the Emperors Angels had yet to destroy and quite possibly annihilate his sanity too. “An entire regiment of Tempestus Scions—the Imperial Guard’s finest soldiers—are considered an “easy job”?!”

“Yeah, they are. This would’ve been the most bloodless curb-stomping you guys have ever suffered… had we not already subdued an entire company of Space Marines with just as many casualties. For either side.” Amber Light declared, and all the color drained from Vandere’s face. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind; the Imperium was doomed.

I shake my head once again as I read through the latest report. Another string of curb-stomps courtesy of the USA’s pony forces, another Imperial world taken with absolutely zero casualties on either side, and another massive surge of Imperial Guard defectors to the USA’s already-overinflated ranks. Honestly, at this point, I’m not even sure why I’m surprised that my poorly-thought-out plan to net the Imperium some easy victories by having the USA field units recruited from the ranks of the notoriously incompetent Equestrian Royal Guard has backfired so spectacularly.

“Kinda telling that things go so spectacularly well for you every time you do the exact opposite of what the Imperial Creed says you should do, isn’t it?” The white pegasus—her name is Wind Chime, if I’m remembering correctly—asks. She’s in a chair next to me, helping me sort through paperwork. Yes, that’s right, I have a pony assistant now, much to Zeraya’s glee.

I nod. “Yes. It is…” I mutter to myself, slumping a little as I press my head into my hand. A wave of deja-vu washes over me as I once again ask myself how things had come to this…

Inquisitorial Report - Knights Harmonic (Protectorate-Aligned Heretic Astartes Warband)

Introduction

First encountered by Imperial forces not long after the emergence of the race of xenos colloquially known as 'ponies' among the Protectorate forces, this highly unusual warband of Heretic Astartes follows the banner of the Black Commissar Ciaphas Cain, and is noteworthy for having a close association with the Protectorate's pony members. Since their first appearance, they have been involved in numerous skirmishes and a smaller number of pitched battles conducted across Cainite space and the wider Damocles Gulf.

This warband was previously known as the "Iron Warriors 38th Company" Rogue Chaos fleet, but changed its name to "Knights Harmonic" after it declared its newfound allegiance to the Cainite Protectorate. Since then, the Knights Harmonic have expanded to a force almost a thousand Astartes strong, not counting the numerous ponies and unaugmented humans that serve as support personnel and supplement their forces on the battlefield. They also appear to have close ties to the BORG's hereteks.

Warband Composition

The Knights Harmonic are composed of Marines drawn from eight out of the nine traitor legions (1), though former World Eaters, Iron Warriors, and Thousand Sons feature most prominently in their ranks (2). It is worth noting that such a combination of wildly disparate Heretic Astartes into a single Warband usually results in a sizable amount of internal conflict and dissension among the ranks, yet this Warband has managed to somehow defy this trend; in fact, for followers of the usually-fractious Ruinous Powers, the Knights Harmonic work extraordinarily well together, with infighting essentially non-existent.

The Knights Harmonic are also known for using Rubric Marines as frontline troops, like the Thousand Sons. Unlike the Thousand Sons, Rubric Marines present among the Knights Harmonic display an abnormal level of sentience and self-direction, operating independently of their Sorcerer commanders, and shouting orders and warnings to those around them. Imperial forces who've approached these Knights Harmonic-aligned constructs during times of (short-term, under duress) truce have even started and sustained extended conversations with them as if they were ordinary Astartes (3). If information gleaned from these heretics during such conversations is to be believed, these 'awakened' Rubric Marines are also effectively immortal, by virtue of being able to somehow 'transfer' to a pristine, unoccupied set of Rubric Marine armor when the one they are currently using is sundered.

Dissection of the few corpses of full-blown Heretic Astartes from this warband that we have managed to obtain reveals further abnormalities, this time in the biology of the non-Rubric Marines. The mutations members of this Warband undergo are unusually predictable and uniform in nature, so much so that one might even mistake them for organic augmentation comparable to the gene-seed implants all Space Marines receive if not for their obvious association with the corrupting forces of Chaos. The number and nature of these 'augmentations' that members of the Knights Harmonic develop is still undergoing investigation, but three of the most common have been identified so far; a streamlined, psychically active nervous system that increases their reflexes and agility to levels comparable to those demonstrated by the Craftworld Eldar, bones laced with crystalline alloys which appear to enhance their connection to the Warp while also insulating them against the usual perils associated with such a connection, and an organ that is in essence a more powerful version of a Belisarian Furnace gene-seed organ, able to remain active nearly constantly and allowing Knights Harmonic to rapidly heal from all but the most grievous of wounds in a matter of moments (4).

1. The absent legion is, of course, the Death Guard, with the Cainites' antipathy to the followers of Nurgle being well established. While the Iron Warriors 38th company were previously headed by Nurgle-aligned individuals, said individuals appear to have abandoned Nurgle as their chief diety. How they managed to get away with that is unknown at this time.
2. There is absolutely no evidence indicating the presence of renegades from loyalist chapters among the Knights Harmonic, and anyone insisting otherwise is a traitor spreading heretical lies who should be executed with all possible haste.
3. While such fraternizing is obviously heretical, we have allowed such infractions to slide if the Imperial doing the fraternizing is doing so for the express purpose of gaining much-needed intel on this highly unorthodox warband.
4. Belisarius Cawl has caught wind of this, and is having a massive hissy fit over the fact that we won't let him study the corpses of any members of the Knight Harmonic. I strongly recommend that we do not give into the Archmagos Dominus' irate demands, for reasons that should be obvious.

Combat Doctrine

The Knights Harmonic, in keeping with both their nature as a highly-diverse warband and the combat doctrines of the three dominant Legions among their ranks, pursue an aggressive and ruthless combined arms approach more akin to that utilized by the Ultramarines (5) or Imperial Fists than the tactics most other Chaos Warbands rely upon, with a particular emphasis on the excessive-yet-precise application of extreme-but-controlled violence to strategically advantageous points.

That odd, somewhat contradictory statement at the end of that last paragraph handily sums up what truly separates the Knights Harmonic from other Warbands; for better or worse, they show a surprising level of restraint on the battlefield, focusing all their energy on their strategic objectives and anything that stands between them and said objectives. When they appear on a planet, thousands of civilians and soldiers that would have been slaughtered wholesale by any other Chaos Warband are often allowed by the Knights Harmonic to walk away with their lives, sanity, and freedom intact, the reduced losses in manpower counterbalanced by considerably increased losses in infrastructure and war material. Their combat zones almost always lack traces of the Warp-based corruption and heretical rituals typical of most Chaos legions, life-giving infrastructure within those combat zones — water, food, hospitals and so forth — are often left completely untouched, and the sites that have fallen victim to their attacks and haven't been annexed by the Cainite Protectorate immediately afterward have been cleared as fit for rebuilding. This is in spite of the high number of powerful psykers among their ranks and heavy reliance on immaterium-borne sorcery, which are well-known for their corrupting effects. Why they are so dependent on such powers yet don't spread the otherworldly contaminations usually associated with them is unknown.

5. As mentioned earlier, there is no evidence that Astartes from loyalist chapters have defected to the Cainites, and the multiple sightings of loyalist sigils and colors among the Knights Harmonic can only be an Alpha Legion counter-intelligence tactic intended to sow discord amongst the loyal followers of Him on Earth.

Wargear

Despite lacking the support of a forge world or the true Adeptus Mechanicus, the Knights Harmonic are frighteningly well-equipped, suffering none of the material shortages and equipment degradation that constantly plague other traitor Legions on top of possessing a truly stunning assortment of pony-made xenotech at their disposal.

The Knights Harmonic all utilize a pattern of power armor unique to them, similar in design and appearance to 'Corvus' pattern MK-VI power amor aside from a few glaring differences. The first such difference is that this pattern eschews Ceramite plating for armor in favor of a crystalline, plasteel-like alloy that is far more durable than Ceramite while being significantly lighter. This pattern is also fitted with powerful thrusters that amplify an Astartes not-insignificant mobility, which combine with the armor's more compact, streamlined design to grant its wearers agility and speed on the battlefield comparable to that enjoyed by Tau battlesuits. Despite using sets of power armor entirely divorced from patterns typical of most Traitor Legions, members of the Knights Harmonic often choose to paint their armor in colors typical of the traitor legions they hail from (6), with their shoulder pauldrons painted with the insignias of their original legions.

The Knights Harmonic are also possessed of a distressingly diverse array of weaponry they can field, ranging from Volkite Weapons (7), highly advanced Plasma Weaponry, Close Combat weapons outfitted with masterwork Power Fields, and other, more exotic devices of Imperial origin, to various xenotech weaponry of Tau, Eldar, and Votann origin that are obviously indicative of collaboration with the perfidious Xeno species mentioned above (8), to exotic and incomprehensible artefacts devised by the BoRG hereteks and their pony associates. The truly stunning variety of weapons they can choose to field makes their capabilities on the battlefield all but impossible to predict until mere minutes before the shooting starts.

6 This cannot be emphasized enough; loyalist defectors to the Knights Harmonic DO. NOT. EXIST. No loyalist worthy of the title would ever do anything with those blasphemous perversions of the terran miniature horse's taint-free form other than shoot them dead with all possible haste, and anyone trying to claim otherwise is to be shot on sight for not only being a traitorous heretic and spreader of lies, but a complete and total brain-dead moron as well for failing to realize this obvious common-sense fact about Loyalist Space Marines.
7 These ancient, highly treasured Dark Age of Technology-era thermal ray weapons are somehow standard-issue weaponry among therank-and-file Tactical Squads of the Knights Harmonic.
8 This is not the case for their usage of Gauss Flayers and other Necron weaponry, as it is obviously impossible to form any sort of alliance with the necrons.

Conclusion

Do not let their relative youth in comparison to other Warbands fool you; while they may not be able to corrupt our purity and twist our motivations the way most Heretic Astartes are, they more than compensate with unbelievably high-quality wargear, a truly surprising amount of discipline and skill, and a level of tactical flexibility not even the Ultramarines can replicate. Whenever you encounter these foul heretics, exterminate them with all possible prejudice and haste. Ideally before they've served you your own internal organs on silver platters.

Thought for the day: Aliens never seek anything other than the complete and utter annihilation of mankind, and are never deserving of anything other than the slowest, most painful, most horrific form of death you can offer.

"...served you your own internal organs on silver platters? What do they think we are? Monsters?"

"It's a figure of speech, Twilight. Roughly equivalent to saying you got your flank kicked."

"Oh. Though that "Thought for the day" does kinda imply they see us as monsters-"

"Anyway, where'd you get this?"

"Trade secret, Ciaphas."

Inquisitorial Report - Twilight Sparkle (Protectorate-Aligned Daemon Prince)

Contained herein is all the information I have gathered so far on the newly-formed Cainite-aligned Daemon Prince and the small cult of followers she has accrued. Be aware that much of this information is fragmentary, incomplete, and unconfirmed, and thus not to be relied upon to the exclusion of all other sources of intel, such as your own personal experience or that of your fellow inquisitors. On that note, any additional intel on this Daemon Prince would be welcome. (1)

Amberley Vail, Ordos Xenos

Hi, Twilight here! Found one of these drifting around in the warp, and there were a few things I wanted to clarify. Hope you don't mind that I wrote all over this! (2)

Description

Before ascending to Daemonhood, Twilight Sparkle was a member of the quadruped xeno species that calls Centaur III home and had previously been sighted amongst 38th company forces. Specifically, she was a member of the "Alicorn" sub-species and thus a member of what we assume is the ruling caste of said xeno species. I guess that's accurate, though calling me a leader of ponykind is a bit of a stretch. I'd much rather be in a library than on a throne... (3) Before ascension, she was also notable for having a superlative talent for psychic sorcery, being the bearer of a now-destroyed xenos artifact known as the "Elements of Harmony", and for being among the first ponies to make contact with the 38th company.

Before becoming a Daemon Prince, Twilight resembled a typical member of her species, with lavender fur, a dark purple mane, wings, and a horn. Her cutie mark (4) was a six-pointed star with 5 smaller stars arranged in a circle around it. Post-ascension, she usually assumes a form indistinguishable from her old body; her true form is unknown at this time. I'd... I'd rather not elaborate on my true form right now... sorry... (5)

Not much is known about her domains of influence, nor what her place in the hierarchy of Daemons and Daemon Princes is (in theory she is a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh, but her independent streak, her status as the de-facto patron of the Iron Warriors 38th Company, and the amount of power she has at her disposal means that title means a lot less than it usually does). Not completely sure about those either, though Mantis theorizes that I'm a Daemon Prince(ss) of Slaanesh, specifically of Magical Perfection, Friendship, and Organized Chaos (not sure about that last one, though, because I'm reasonably certain that's an oxymoron). What is known is that she has Slaanesh's favor, is incredibly powerful for a Daemon Prince of her age, (6) and can also maintain a physical form in the Materium. Again, the reasons for this are unknown. Apparently, the process of ascending to Slaanesh's specific brand of Daemonic Princedom entails enduring a whole BUCKTON of pain, with your power in your new form corresponding to how long you can hold off pledging allegiance to Slaanesh and thus make the pain stop. Most soon-to-be Daemon Princes last about a second. Fulgrim lasted about 45. I managed to go a whole 20 minutes before losing consciousness, and technically never pledged myself to Slaanesh; according to Mantis, that last bit is why I can have a physical form in the Materium (unlike most Daemon Princes). (7)

Origin

The circumstances of her Ascension can be traced back to the Centaur III incident. For those of you who have not the faintest clue what I'm talking about, I'm referring to an incident in which Typhus and his Death Guard dropped out of warp near Centaur III, demanded fealty from the 38th Company, and unleashed the full fury of the Death Guard Warfleet he'd brought along upon the planet when the 38th Company's warsmith didn't immediately comply. Technically, Solon was going to comply; he just decided to ask him "what's in it for us?" first, and Typhus turned out to be, to quote Pinkie Pie, "a big, fat, spiteful MEANIE!" (8)

The 38th Legion was subsequently forced to flee Centaur III, which was subsequently occupied by the Death Guard and attached cults. Fortunately for ponykind and the 38th Company, Ciaphas Cain happened to be nearby, along with a small warfleet seeking to take advantage of our crumbling hold on that region of space and expand the Cainite Protectorate's territory. And also help all the people that would otherwise suffer and die out there! Plus they were also beating the crap outta some more nurglites too... (9) The Black Commissar, thanks to ponykind's improbable talent for diplomacy, was able to be convinced to aid the 38th Company, actually it was less of a matter of convincing Cain to help and more of a matter of convincing Solon to put aside his hatred of anyone who tracked with "the Whore God" and accept aid from the Protectorate in beating up the Death Guard and recapturing Equestria, and immediately moved to "liberate" Centaur III from the Death Guard. To be fair, between the plagues, the ecological catastrophe caused by the rotation of the planet being halted due to Celestia and Luna's absence, and the Death Guard being the Death Guard, Equestria really needed to be liberated. (10) I'd be happy to send you a few books written after the fact about just how much living under Death Guard rule royally sucked if you want... (11)

Near the end of the six-month siege that had followed, Twilight somehow gained contact with the youngest of the Dark Gods. Or rather, I picked up a few things from Jafar and his Tzeenchian friends, and Slaanesh was the only Chaos God who seemed willing to listen to me. I think it had something to do with the fact that where I'm from, Friendship and Magic are kinda the same thing, and since I'm the Princess of Magic/Friendship and friendships are considered to be emotional attachments, that meant my link to Slaanesh was stronger than my link to Tzeentch... (12) One thing led to another, and Twilight ended up bargaining with Slaanesh in order to ascend to Daemonhood and thus gain the power needed to take down Typhus. There was also the matter of all my friends dying (again, and this time we couldn't use the Elements to save them the way we did the last time). Fortunately, nothing scares off a feeding frenzy of hungry Daemons quite like a stupidly powerful newly-mined Daemon Prince ascending right in the middle of them... It isn't known at this time what Slaanesh demanded in return, nor why Centaur III wasn't turned into a Daemon World. She actually didn't demand anything; apparently she was really looking forward to the prospect of having a pony Daemon Prince. (13)

Abilities and Allies

Following the Centaur III incident, Twilight Sparkle has supplanted Nurgle as the chief object of worship among the Iron Warriors 38th Company, which are now also known as the Knights Harmonic. Not really. Silver's still a little miffed at me for how I essentially severed everyone's connection to Nurgle and replaced it with a connection to myself (and by extension Slaanesh) when I brought them all back to life (again), and most of the other Astartes treats me more like a regular instead of an object of worship. Wish I could say the same about the Handmaidens... Not much is known about what sort of abilities she might be able to bring to bear on the field of battle, and with any luck that isn't going to change for a while. Same here; still figuring out exactly what I would do, and again I'd rather read books in a library than fight on a battlefield. (14)

1: Should've specified that any additional intel on this Daemon Prince courtesy of my fellow Inquisitors would be welcome...
2: Case in point. I still have no idea how this just appeared on my desk in a burst of green flame. And on a related note, yes, I do mind!
3: Yet more fuel to the burning question of how she wound up as a Daemon Prince of Slaanesh instead of Tzeentch... If it's any consolation, you're not the only one!(15)
4: I'm referring to the picture on her rear thigh. These pictures magically manifest on a pony when they find their special talent, and have to do with said special talent in some way.
5: We can agree on that, at least...
6: The main evidence of this being the fact that when she ascended, every psyker, navigator, and astropath within a 50 light-year radius of Centaur III had an immediate panic attack (99% recovered fully, thank the Emperor). ...yeah, sorry about that...(15)
7: ...wait. If this is true, then Twilight Sparkle is several orders of magnitude more powerful than Fulgrim... Yep! I'm the second strongest Daemon Prince to ever be born, apparently, (first place goes to somebody called Be'lakor).(15)
8: Apparently this Solon fellow was the same Techmarine Solon that originally commanded the 21st Grand Battalion's 38th Company when the Legion betrayed their oaths to the Emperor. The analysts claim that that's highly unlikely, but I have my doubts... You guys live in a nation that uses tactical nukes as anti-personnel landmines, issues fully automatic 20mm gyrojet grenade launchers as personal weapons, builds escort ships capable of crippling planets by ramming them at full speed (I actually did the math once), and has somehow become a galactic hyperpower despite being completely reliant on a form of FTL travel that entails jumping into the warp, navigating by a psychic beacon lit by your almost-dead emperor and the screaming souls of who-the-buck-knows how many psykers, and jumping out before the daemons catch you... and your analysts somehow find it hard to believe that Solon is that old?!(15)
9: And also indoctrinate said people into worship of the Dark Gods? Hey, it isn't their fault that they happened to be both a Chaos Cult and the only people around who were willing to help! Besides, the Protectorate has Emperor-worshippers too!(15)
10: ...is she implying that the rotation of Centaur III is slaved to the whims of a pair of psykers?! Yeah, Luna and Celestia regulate the planet's rotation with magic. Now that you mention it, it is kinda weird that Centaur III is the only planet in the galaxy where that's necessary...(15)
11: NO, THANK YOU. This annotated report was bad enough...
12: LALALALALA SKIPPING THIS BIT DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!
13: No. There's no way Slaanesh would just offer ascension to Daemonhood to someone free of charge, no matter how exceptional or unique that someone happens to be. ...right? Hey, crazier things have happened to Cain. And you. Yeah, I heard about how you two first bumped into each other.(15)
14: ...well, at least she's a Daemon Prince that doesn't want to plunge the whole Materium into the howling depths of the Warp for a change...
15: ...HOW IN THE EMPEROR'S GUILDED BALLSACKS DID ALL THESE EXTRA ANNOTATIONS GET HERE?!

Twilight's Ascension

The last time Twilight was in the warp, it felt like it took her hours to find what she was looking for. This time, it felt like mere moments before she'd reached her destination. Almost as if she was being actively drawn to it. But she had no time to concern herself with the implications of that possibility; she had a Champion of Nurgle with a spiteful streak to kill, and friends to save.

Under any normal circumstances, she'd probably be equal parts fascinated and horrified by the warpscape surrounding the Palace of Slaanesh, but again, she was too preoccupied to pay attention to the monuments of excess she was streaking past. It felt like barely a few heartbeats of time had passed before she was at the gates of the Palace of Pleasure.

"SLAANESH!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, rearing up and shoving the doors open with her front hooves. "I'VE COME TO BARGAIN!"

"I am aware. You wouldn't have made it this deep into my realm if I wasn't." The Chaos God's voice echoed out from the darkness beyond, and Twilight was nearly driven to the floor. "Would you like to parlay outside? Experience some of the sights and sensations you missed on your way-"

"Don't have time for that!" Twilight snapped back, rallying herself and pressing forward. A chill washed over her form as the shadows closed in around her, almost caressing her with their very presence, she paid them no heed.

"We're in the warp, sweetheart. Time has no meaning here." Ahead of her, the darkness resolved into a form vaguely reminiscent of an Alicorn, clad in a positively scandalous dress. "But then again, if you truly desire to get straight to business, who am I to deny you?" The form advanced, gently sweeping the edge of one of its wings over Twilight's own. "What is it you desire?"

"Power." Twilight declared, bluntly. "The power I need to strike down Typhus. To save my friends."

Slaanesh, or rather the androgynous, alicorn-esque form it was presenting to Twilight, was silent for a long, long moment. "...that's all?"

"...being able to kick the Death Guard out of Equestria would be nice, too." Twilight added.

"I can offer you more…" Slaanesh informed her, their voice dropping to a sibilant, almost husky whisper. "So… Much... More…"

"Not interested. The only reason I'm here is because Tzeentch laughed me off, Nurgle's the whole reason all my friends need saving and reviving—again—in the first place, and Khorne's Daemons wouldn't even let me in the realm."

There was a full ten seconds of silence.

"Very well then. Khorne never did get over his aversion to "girly shit". His loss, if you ask me. Your wish is granted." Slaanesh finally said, and Twilight let her guard drop.

For all of half a second.

"But I must warn you…" Slaanesh's voice rang out once again, and Twilight's ears drooped, all the tension she'd just let out flooding right back into her. "Power from the Gods always comes as a price."

"What kind of- AAAAUGH!!" Twilight's question gave way to a screech of pure agony as raw, undiluted warp energy slammed into her like a freight train moving at the speed of light, making the response of the last Daemon she'd tried to bargain with seem like a barely-noticeable itch by comparison. This time, she did collapse, so overwhelmed with pain she could barely even think.

"M-M-MOTHERBUCKER!" She somehow managed to choke out. "YOU PROMISED-"

"And that promise still holds. You asked for power; this is how you get it." Slaanesh's voice whispered to her once again, still clearly audible even over the roaring in Twilight's ears.

Figures… Twilight grumbled to herself as another wave of agony crashed into her. This is what I get for trying to bargain with the ruinous powers… again…

And then the memory of what she'd done the last time came back to her. And had she been able to facehoof, she would have. Why the BUCK didn't I check if their souls were freefloating in the warp first?! They're probably getting mobbed by who-the-buck-knows how many daemons right now! And here I am, throwing myself at Slaanesh's hooves! What the BUCK is wrong with me!

"Give in, pledge allegiance to me, and it will all be over…"

"No." Twilight hissed through gritted teeth, mustering every ounce of willpower she could and pushing herself back up. "Not… yet. Not… until… my friends… are… safe…"

Slaanesh's eyes widened, but Twilight barely noticed. She was too preoccupied drawing in as much energy from around her as she could, weaving together a spell she'd used countless times before, to care about the fact that the being that it's worshippers referred to as Slaanesh was feeling something approaching surprise for the first time in uncountable millennia, or all the perfectly valid reasons why she felt that way right now.

"...wha-" And then Twilight was gone, the teleport carrying her away and dumping her in the Formless Wastes, right in front of a pulsating, vaguely humanoid mass of cantankerous flesh.

"Oh, this soul's not dead yet." The Great Unclean one intoned, its voice sounding like the slurping of whole rivers of filth. "No matter. It will join all the others in our pilgrimage to the Garden of-"

"BUCK. THAT." And with that, Twilight's psychic presence expanded, throwing currents of magic into the surrounding Warp. Spells that would have been cast in seconds, one at a time, and taken considerable concentration all rolled out of her in an instant, cascading into place at the speed of thought. The Unclean One's three eyes widened, its own array of magical formations flickering into existence around her, possessed of speed and intensity that would have torn Twilight's own magics to shreds and made mincemeat of her soul in a matter of moments under any normal circumstances.

But Twilight had yet to swear herself to Slaanesh. Thus, she still had a direct connection to Slaanesh, and that wasn't even mentioning the Prince of Pleasure's raw, undiluted energies, still being pumped directly into her soul via said connection. And with all that backing up her immense psychic abilities, the Great Unclean one would have been better off coming at her with an improvised flail made out of a two-inch diameter dust bunny, a one-inch long piece of string, and a two-foot long rolled up newspaper soaked in water for a week.

Which wasn't to say that the Great Unclean One didn't put up a fight. Twilight may have dominated the psychic battle that had followed, but this particular type of Greater Daemon was very well-known for its toughness. Still, at last, it let loose a wail of mortal terror as its very being was shredded, the pool of souls in its belly dumped into the warp. Daemonic spirits descended through the tides of the Immaterium, snarling hungrily… and then noticed the nascent Daemon Prince that Twilight was becoming, and promptly decided to go hunt for souls somewhere else. Not all of them were fast enough to avoid getting smashed into spiritual pulp by the protective barriers she was throwing out.

Something came to Twilight in that moment, something one of her friends had said a while ago, about practicing discretion when fishing souls out of the giant pit of evil that was the Warp. She tossed it aside; she had enough power to revive the entire 38th Company, the whole population of Equestria, and the whole population of the Protectorate and then some, yet channeling all that power was only making the already near-debilitating pain she was feeling worse. She could figure out which soul was which later.

Tendrils of magic shot out from her form, reaching out for the countless glowing motes of light around her. Some embraced it, recognizing the benevolent intent of their source. Others took offense at the power of Slaanesh lacing those tendrils, recoiling from them. Twilight snatched them up anyway: knowing Silver, Solon, and some of the other now-former Nurglites among the 38th Company, their souls were probably among the ones avoiding the tendrils.

And speaking of Slaanesh…

"H-how?" The sound of Slaanesh engaging in a little inelegant blubbering reached Twilight's ears, distant yet no less audible for it. "Even Fulgrim gave in before this point… What are you?"

"Twilight Sparkle… Princess… of… Friendship…" Twilight shot back as she began to rise up, toward the materium, even as the pain began to become too much and her grip on her consciousness began to slip. "And friendship… is… magic…"

And then the Princess of Friendship fainted.

The floor was cold. That was the first thing she noticed, upon awakening; the cold, slimy concrete pressing onto her skin, chilling right through to the bone.

Disgusting. Makes me wonder how Nurgle became the chief deity of the 38th Company in the first place… Twilight almost sobbed with relief as Serith's voice echoed through her head. Her desperate ploy had worked; her friends were safe.

For the moment, at least.

She propped herself up, doing her best to ignore how sticky the ground beneath her was. Her swimming vision slowly cleared, revealing the sight of the Black Commissar, staring at her and trying (with moderate success) to suppress a look of terror and confusion. It was the first time she'd seen the man look even remotely perturbed.

"...what?" Twilight couldn't help but flinch at the oddly amplified sound of her own voice as she climbed to her feet... and in doing so discovered that she was now inexplicably a good ten times taller than Cain. Her newfound height allowed her to see the expressions of his companions; the USA soldiers were blushing and averting their gaze, Malicia, Jurgen, and the rest of the Element Bearers were all wearing expressions of barely-contained terror, and Krystabel was staring at her with undisguised… lust?

There's really no easy way to break this to you, but… Twilight… Daniel's disembodied voice trailed off into silence, at a loss for words. It seemed the same could be said for anyone with a physical presence in the room.

Fortunately, the same couldn't be said for Solon and Silver. "You made a deal with the Whore God, didn't you?" Solon's voice grumbled.

"Yeah..." She responded, wincing at the Transhuman warrior's furious tone of voice. "How'd you guess?"

"We can see what you look like from in here. And you look. Like something. Out of. A porno slate." Silver snarled, breaking the news to her with all the same tact and subtlety displayed by Typhus as he stormed into Ferrus Dominus and demanded that Solon kneel at his feet. "A SLAANESHI porno slate."

Twilight glanced down at herself, and promptly noticed what everyone seemed to be staring at, whether they wanted to or not. "…oh. That's what."

A long round of coughs filled the chamber that had once been the Canterlot Throne Room, emanating from several ponies locked up in a filth-drenched cage suspended from the ceiling. Wheezing, repetitive, noisy coughs.

Typhus, Champion of Nurgle, swallowed a snort of frustration. Bless Grandfather Nurgle and the gifts he'd given those ponies (especially that one arrogant little brat who knew far more swear words than someone that young should), but the symptoms of those gifts could sometimes make it hard to hear his underlings clearly. Especially considering that lisps, rasps, and other speech impediments were endemic amongst the beings he interacted with. Literally.

The Champion of Nurgle glanced up at the cage and the rather noisy plague victims contained therein. The buzzing of wings reached his gene-enhanced ears as several centipedes crawled out of one of the many apertures in his armor, sprouted wings, and flew up to the cage. As one of them settled on the muzzle of a pale pink foal, her wings twitched, half lidded eyes focusing on it as she opened her mouth to speak. Typhus couldn't quite make out what she was saying, but he knew that xeno bitch well enough to guess.

"Oh, buck yo-" before she could finish the insult, the centipede curled itself around her snout, mirroring the movements of the others as it clamped her jaw shut. The coughing immediately gave way to the marginally less disruptive sound of several ponies choking on their own mucus, their already-impaired breathing further impeded by the centipedes that were holding their mouths shut and keeping them quiet.

Typhus wasn't worried; even if he gave half a crap about whether they lived or died (he didn't) so far not a single one of these equinoid xenos had died during his rule despite all the plagues his followers had been spreading and the slavemasters' spirited efforts to work them all straight to death, and he doubted that a set of living insectoid gags would be enough to overcome whatever power allowed the creatures to live on a couple insects a week, water so foul it had the consistency of slime, air that was about 99% pathogens and bacteria and 1% oxygen, and a grand total of one hour of sleep every month.

Typhus turned back to the beastman-like creature standing before him. "You were saying?"

The cloaked Caribou shuddered; whether from the terror he was feeling regarding the subject he wished to speak with the Chaos Champion with, or discomfort at how the equinoid xenos were being treated, he couldn't say. He doubted it was the latter, though; Typhus had seen what his Caribou allies did to their female slaves. "Our people's shamans experienced a disturbance." The caribou repeated, apparently too terrified to raise his voice. "There was screaming about something new in the threads of reality… and then they all fainted in horror…"

"So a new daemon was born. Which happens every five minutes." Typhus growled, his patience quickly wearing thin. Not that it wasn't already thinner than parchment to begin with. "Why should we care?"

"The high priestess lasted longer than the others… long enough to say something about a violation of the natural order…"

"Oh, so you're all wigging out about the fact that this newly-ascended Daemon considers itself to be of the fairer sex." Typhus grumbled. "Unless said Daemon decides to pick a fight with me, I don't see the problem."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the wave of warp energy hit. A sense of nausea washed over the Champion of Nurgle as the parasites within him, suddenly cut off from Nurgle's energies, let loose a chorus of death-shrieks, unable to survive without Nurgle's energies empowering their forms. W-what?! Typhus found himself thinking as he fell to one knee, the winged centipedes that had been keeping the prisoners gagged falling to the floor behind him, having gone the same way as the warp-fueled parasites he'd been playing host to. Only a Daemon Prince of immense power would be capable of drowning out Nurgle's influence like this! But why-

"...she comes…" The caribou whimpered, staggering back from the door to the throne room as tears of mortal terror streamed from his eyes.

And then the doors flew open, and something that looked like it came straight out of a Slaaneshi's wet dream walked in. And for the first time since… well, since he could remember, Typhus felt true, absolute, undeniable fear.

Its shape was vaguely humanoid, but its hooves were cloven-hoofed, and its skin looked to be covered in purple fur. Feathered wings extended from its back, the plumage a deep, dark indigo in shade. Swirling galaxies of countless indescribable colors were visible in it's eyes; said eyes were ringed by circles of cyan warpflame in vague imitation of a set of glasses, and a coiling horn of equally-cyan warpflame jutted from the being's head. Its body shape was slender, finely wrought, and possessed of more curves than seemed physically possible, barely contained by an absolutely slutty dress colored the same shade of deep indigo as its wings. The sight would have left Typhus blushing if all the blood hadn't already drained from his face.

"Congratulations. I was already angry with you to begin with, but now that you've indirectly forced me to turn into this?"The being gestured to itself."Now,"The being's fingers curled, its claws glinting in the light. "I'm bucking PEEVED."

Typhus's mind, paralyzed by pure terror, could only muster two lines of thought. The first is that he should prostrate himself before this thing and plead for his life and soul. The second is an intrusive and nonsensical assessment regarding the classification of that last word in this xeno race's dictionary, largely based on the half-noticed gasps the prisoners in the cage had emitted upon hearing it. His transhuman mind, subconsciously shying away from the shame and humiliation pleading for mercy would entail, ended up running with the second line of thought.

"You creatures consider the word "peeved" to be profane?! Are you kidd-?!"

And then the Daemon threw itself at him, and all Typhus knew was the sort of pain he was usually on the "giving" end of.

Author's Note

For those of you who were wondering how the Iron Warriors 38th Company ended up ditching Nurgle as the chief object of worship in favor of Twilight.

BORG File - 'Iron Cavalry' Mounted/Mechanized Infantry

Ever since the Strider-class equine battlesuit was developed by our colleagues among the Dark Mechanicus attached to the 38th Company, its commanders had been brainstorming uses for these unique assets. The obvious approach is to use them like the Sentinels they were modeled after: for scouting and light fire support. However, the 38th company already had an ample supply of Sentinels and pilots thereof. Moreover, its generals had not gotten a new field unit in quite some time, and as a result they allowed themselves to exercise more creativity than typical. And thus, the central conceit of the 'Iron Cavalry' concept was born; take a Strider, mount a soldier on the Strider's back, and have it act as a mechanical steed.

Unfortunately, testing quickly determined that the idea in its current form simply wasn't viable. Human riders found the mount too large and hard to control while their own additional firepower was paltry. Using Astartes solved these issues, but in doing so created more, less easily corrected ones: The Strider lost substantial mobility when mounted by something nearly half its weight, and the shifted center of gravity led to a decrease in stability and as a result an increase in falls and subsequent hardware breakdowns. In addition, the pony pilots driving said sentinels found the entire experiment deeply degrading, and had great difficulty following the rider's command cues while also managing the weaponry and targeting interface. Despite a few Iron Warriors requesting that a Strider trainer and some pilots be set aside for further testing, the project was terminated, and largely forgotten about.

All that changed following the 38th's integration into the Cainite Protectorate. The Liberator, while browsing the 38th Company's databanks, stumbled across the file for the project, and saw its potential. He forwarded it to Tesilon-Kappa, who shared it with his colleagues in the BORG. Work on making the Liberator's vision a reality began immediately.

Inspiration for the redesigned 'Iron Cavalry' came from the 'Gunstar-Class Heavy Interceptor' that was currently undergoing development and testing in the PUN's R&D department. Borrowing from the design, the BORG worked with Acolyte Gear Works (the original designer of the Striders) to develop a variant specifically designed to carry two individuals; one human and one pony. The crude saddle and reins used in the earlier tests were eschewed in favor of a full-blown cockpit, leaving the pony pilot free to direct the resulting vehicle's movements as they wished. Control of the resulting vehicle's weapon systems was routed to the human 'gunner' instead, nullifying the earlier issue with the pony pilot being unable to focus on both the rider's commands and directing the vehicle at the same time.

The resulting prototypes were a resounding success. The delegation of different systems to separate individuals improved the effectiveness of both, as they were able to focus exclusively on navigation/weaponry respectively. This also proved to be an effective means of rendering Ponykind's general disinclination towards violence a non-issue, at least for those assigned to the newly-founded USA cavalry regiments, and also alleviated much of the shame and humiliation experienced during the first round of testing... though a certain subset of 'navigators' did find the lack of a bridle and leads more disappointing than anticipated, particularly amongst those who had recently sworn themselves to Slaanesh following the lifting of the 38th's ban against worship of the "whore god".

Author's Note

A shorter piece, inspired by this. Seems there were ponies that (secretly) enjoyed that experience just as much as those Iron Warriors did...