Summoning: Republic of New Mareland

Chapters

Ch 1 - Harmony's burning (Last edit: 15/2/2025)
Ch 2 - Aftermath (Last edit: 17/2/2025)
Ch 3 - First Contact (Last edit: 15/2/2025)

Ch 1 - Harmony's burning (Last edit: 15/2/2025)

0955 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Southern Discovery Coast near Eldoran
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier

It was a quiet morning or rather, night—since the Griffonian continent had been shrouded in darkness for nearly three weeks. The stormy and rough seas made matters worse.

Waves crashed and battered against the armoured hull of the aircraft carrier, producing a resounding metallic screech with each impact. The aircraft carrier had been shoddily constructed from the hull of an armoured cruiser by installing a three hundred meter long aluminium deck and a protruding bridge on its right.

Conditions aboard the ship were grim. The deck was riddled with hastily patched holes covered by planks, while the medical wing housed over a dozen injured crewponies, many of them still bleeding due to a critical shortage of medical supplies aboard the ship.

And those supplies weren’t coming anytime soon, thanks to Changeling hunter-killer submarines patrolling the Discovery Coast. Supply ships are stretched thinner and thinner each passing day as more are sunk or damaged.

Despite the dire circumstances, the Marelandian crew clung to their duties, determined to keep the ship running. They were defending their homeland at all costs, even if it meant facing death.

After the Changeling takeover of Equestria, Queen Chrysalis had successfully captured both Princess Celestia and Luna, along with the Element Bearers.

With a little help from Discord, she successfully seized control of the Elements of Harmony and the power of the Alicorns. Giving her the ability to raise and lower both the sun and moon herself, and also preventing the usage of the Elements of Harmony against her forces.

One pony stood silently on the bridge of the aircraft carrier, staring at the intercom and alarm button: Admiral Rain Rider, a grey-furred earth pony with a lime coloured mane. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, and his mane and uniform were dishevelled and unkempt after several weeks at sea.

He is tasked with leading Naval Taskforce 'Lunar,' a fleet of twenty-three ships, as well as Taskforce 'Eldor,' an air wing consisting mostly of bombers and older fighter-bomber aircraft stationed on the island of Eldoran. They are the last line of defence in case of Changeling forces infiltration from the South.

Rain Rider was ordered to lead two measly forces to defend the Eldoran-Celestia gap, because his superior, Fleet Admiral Grey Shore had ordered the bulk of the New Mareland navy to defend the north, predicting that the Changelings are going to launch an offensive to land on New Manehattan.

'How wrong he was' Rain Rider thought bitterly. Though he's uncertain due to the blackout in communication, Grey Shore might've been engaged by a larger fleet than him.

“Admiral, I’m detecting... roughly eighty-nine ships, twenty of them large vessels, southwest of our position,” the Radar Operator said, his voice a little too calm for the situation.

He hesitated, glancing back at the radar screen before turning to Rain Rider, looking distinctly more anxious. “I’m seeing three notable ships among them, spread across three taskforces. Their size and structure... seems to match the description and structure of the Changeling's 'Chrysalis Class aircraft carriers' data received from high-command.”

His eyes flicked back to the panel, and this time the panic really set in. His voice cracked as he stammered, “I’m s-seeing one more... another large ship in the fourth fleet. T-the size and structure... it m-matches the data on the rumoured Tirek Class heavy battleship.”

The entire bridge fell into stunned silence. You could practically hear everypony’s thoughts screaming inside their heads even with no sound. Rain Rider didn’t need to ask the obvious—he could see it all over their faces. They were panicking from the news silently.

“Alright, ponies, calm down. Let’s think this through critically,” Rain Rider said taking the initiative to calm his crew ponies down, trying to inject some steadiness into his voice. Though, the crew was still visibly rattled, his words seemed to offer a small sense of relief. They trusted him with their lives, even when the odds looked grim.

But inside, Rain Rider was panicking just as much as them. 'Three Changeling carriers and a Tirek Class battleship?!' He nervously cleared his throat, realizing there was absolutely no way he could win this with what he had. His fleet had only twenty three ships.

Three of them are large ships, including the aircraft carrier he was on and two armored cruisers. He also has zero armor-piercing bombs because they were sunk by Changeling submarines and aircrafts a week back.

His air support wasn’t much better. He only had twenty P4R-4C carrier-borne fighter-bombers (basically the F4U-4 Corsairs) and forty older P3SB light fighters (Similar to F4F-2 Wildcats).

Meanwhile, Chrysalis Class carriers were rumored to carry about 80 planes each. Doing the math—that’s two-hundred and forty planes they’d be up against. 'Not great' Rain Rider said in his thought.

Even with the support of the Eldoran Naval Airbase garrison which is around thirty S-10 Medium naval bombers (Resembles U.S A-20C 'Havoc' Medium bombers, but with an extra tail-turret) and forty P3SB, he is still outnumbered two to one. And still, the bombers at Eldoran do not have armor-piercing bombs.

Rain Rider took a deep breath before turning to face his crew. “I’m sounding the alarm. Radio pony, Chase?”

The communications operator spun around in his swivel seat to meet the admiral's gaze.

“Alert the rest of the fleet and the airbase in Eldoran about the approaching Changeling fleet. Tell them to prepare to scramble. Send a message to Fleet Admiral Grey shore about the Changeling fleets, thanks.”

Chase nodded sharply, turning back to his station.

Rain Rider made up his mind. If this was their inevitable end, they would go down fighting like Tartarus itself. Besides, he knew the higher-ups and government back home would spin this into some noble tale to inspire the ponies back home.

“Here goes nothing...” he muttered, pressing the alarm button. Instantly, the intercom blared to life, an air raid siren piercing the air and rousing the idling aviators and crew from their rest out of the blue.

“General quarters! General quarters! All hooves to your battle stations!” Rain Rider howled into the intercom.

The once quiet and still deck exploded into a frenzy of movement. Aviators and crewponies rushed to their stations, preparing for battle. To an outsider, it might look like utter chaos; to Rain Rider, it was a kind of harmony—the machine of war spinning into motion.

1005 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Briefing Room, Lower Bridge.
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier

Within ten minutes, several P4R-4C fighter-bombers from the 1st Airwing, 'Bataan', were lined up on the carrier's deck, each loaded with two 200 kg bombs. The 2nd Airwing, 'Midway', waited in line behind them, ready for their turn to launch.

Rain Rider watched silently as the crewponies worked quickly and tirelessly, preparing the planes for takeoff. The tension in the air was palpable, though he said nothing. His thoughts were interrupted when the briefing room door squeaked open behind him, making him flinch ever so slightly.

He took a deep breath before turning to face the aviators. He didn’t want to—he knew too well the burden of sending ponies to their deaths, even though he wasn't trying to do that this time, it was still very risky.

Several pegasi, unicorns, and earth pony aviators entered the room quietly, taking their seats in silence. Determination was etched into their faces, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of anxiety creeping into the room. Some of the aviators fiddled with their pony-tags, trying to distract themselves.

“Ponies, at attention!” Rain Rider barked. The aviators immediately stood from their chairs.

“From the back-left, count off left to right!”

The aviators followed his orders promptly, each calling out their number in turn. By the end, the total came to 48.

“Senior Aviator Swift Buster,” Rain Rider called, fixing a stern gaze on the dark-green furred, olive maned earth pony in charge. “Why are we missing twelve aviators?”

Swift Buster stood at attention, his face weary. “Admiral, they’re still in the infirmary from last week’s supply ship attack. The doc's are doing their best to keep them alive as we speak.”

Curse you Chrysalis.., Rain Rider cursed under his breath. Now he was down to just one-hundred eighteen planes. He had used the past ten minutes to gather his thoughts and form a plan—one that didn’t involve fighting to the death.

That would have been a waste and idiotic of him.

Instead, Rain Rider had decided to use his air power to strike the Changeling fleet, hoping to slow them down enough for Naval Taskforce 'Lunar' to retreat safely to Sunset or regroup with Fleet Admiral Grey Shore’s fleets in the north. He had even ordered the airwing at Eldoran to fall back to Sunset after the attack.

But now, with fewer aircraft, the chances of delivering a significant blow to the Changeling fleet—and ensuring his own task force’s escape—is greatly reduced. Still, he had no choice but to move forward with the assault.

"Alright, take a seat," Rain Rider commanded, his voice carrying a sharp edge as the aviators quickly sat down. He paused, surveying the room for a moment before turning back to face them.

“Gentlecolts, this is how it’s going to go. In about…”

The aviators focused intently to every detail of the briefing as the minutes ticked by.

1007 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
South of Eldoran
Taskforce 'Eldor', 22nd Bomber Airwing, 6th Bomber 'Firestorm'

Eric Attis, is a brownish-cream colored unicorn pony with a black mane, he is also an senior aviator pony with the rank of 'Captain'. He had always stood out amongst his peers. Adopted by griffon parents after being abandoned at birth, his upbringing was anything but typical for a pony.

Raised like a griffon, he was given a griffon name and developed their bold, blunt demeanour whilst being raised. While his friends and peers found him odd, his military superiors saw him as a valuable asset.

He didn't mince words or beat around the bush like most ponies would. Always deliver critical updates from the battlefield, whether it was news of failure or success. This straightforwardness and also natural skill in commanding made him propel him up the ranks.

Now, as captain of an S-10 medium naval bomber nicknamed "Firestorm," Eric was leading his twentieth mission since taking on the role in November of 1011 ALB. A single LED lamp dimly illuminated the inside of the aircraft as it flew through the night, the sea beneath them lost in the darkness.

"Spirit—course check," Eric called out to Silver Spirit on the radio, his navigator and best friend. Spirit, an earth pony, had joined the New Mareland Airforce at the same recruitment depot as Eric, and their bond had formed during training. It was pure luck they’d ended up on the same bomber crew.

"We’re on course! Target visible in—give or take, five minutes if these thingamajigs works!" Spirit shouted back, his voice barely cutting through the roar of the bomber’s twin eighteen-cylinder radial Sunset engines, even over radio comms.

"Here we go, gentlecolts," Eric practically yelled into the radio. "Bombardier, prepare on the bomb sight. Gunners, be ready for bogeys. And lastly, don't forget to turn on your Night Opti—Er, Vision device, Best of luck." He steeled himself for the battle ahead, knowing everypony from Taskforce Lunar is counting on them to escape with their lives.

Eric's horn glowed faintish yellow, illuminating the dark cockpit a bit—his Night Vision device was engulfed in the faintish yellow as it is lowered toward his eyes—before the switch on its right side is flicked down by the same telekinesis power, turning the device on.

A flash of bright neon green momentarily blinded him as the device powered up, but it quickly dimmed to a manageable brightness. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the new view. Though his field of vision was now severely limited by the optical device, it was better than seeing nothing but pitch darkness. And for that, he was grateful.

Eric whistled in astonishment as he looked around and outside the aircraft, his surroundings now faintly visible through the eerie green tint. "This is some serious engineering..." he muttered to himself with a grin.

He then relayed their status to the other bombers in the 22nd and 23rd Airwings, as well as to the escorting P3SB squadrons—the 55th and 56th Naval Airwings. As they approached in radio silence, the tension inside the aircraft raised bit by bit as minutes passed, each second dragging on like an eternity.

Suddenly, the S-10 shuddered and rocked violently. The sharp cracks and whiplash of explosions and dull thuds echoed around them as black puffs of smoke filled the air—flak bursts. Eric’s heart pounded, but he trusted the bomber’s armour. Still, a silent prayer escaped his thoughts: Miss us, miss us...

But luck was not on their side. To his right, two S-10 bombers were struck. Flames engulfed their engines, and before long, both aircraft descended in fiery arcs toward the ocean.

Eric could only watch as the first bomber slammed into the sea, erupting in a secondary explosion. The crew—gone in an instant, the water murky with red showing that they are turned into a mush of gore.

The second bomber fared slightly better. As it hit the water, the crew hurriedly managed to escape before their burning craft sank beneath the waves. Eric wished them luck, though there was little time for reflection.

Moments later, a P3SB fighter to the right of his bomber suffered a devastating hit. A flak round flying too close—exploded underneath its left wing, snapping it in half due to the pressure and shrapnel. The stricken aircraft spiralled toward the ocean, its crew likely meeting a grim fate.

Eric grimaced. The brutal reality of war was unfolding all around him, but he had no time to mourn. His focus remained locked on his mission—reaching the Changeling fleet and delivering their payload. There was no turning back even if his instinct is telling him to turn back.

The formation finally broke through the thick cloud layer at about 9,000 meters. Below them lay a sprawling fleet of over one hundred and nine Changeling ships. "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck..." Eric muttered under his breath. The intel was wrong—it wasn’t eighty-nine ships—it was one hundred and nine.

As soon as the bombers became visible to the fleet, they were bombarded with a relentless barrage of anti-aircraft fire. The formation rocked and jolted violently, as if they were on a rollercoaster. Eric gripped the controls tightly, doing everything he could to keep the bomber in the air while manoeuvring through the chaos.

Behind him, his crew worked frantically to extinguish a fire that had broken out on the left wing. One of the engineers pony crawled through a narrow maintenance hatch connecting the inside to the wing, fumbling with a fire extinguisher in the cramped, swaying space. The thick stench of smoke filled the cockpit, mixing with the chaos outside.

One by one, more bombers succumbed to the Changeling onslaught. P3SB fighters and S-10 bombers spiralled toward the ocean, their engines ablaze or their wings sheared off by the relentless anti-aircraft fire. Eric watched in horror as two bombers collided mid-air, their wreckage disappearing in a ball of flames.

Amid the smoke, debris and chaos, Eric finally spotted the target: two massive Chrysalis-class carriers, their silhouettes barely visible against the black ocean. His heart pounded in his chest as he realized this was their moment.

"Bomber formations, targets one and two spotted. Adjust course—head ninety-four degrees west!" Eric called into the radio, his voice steady despite the overwhelming odds.

But Eric's luck worsened as he spotted the Changelings scrambling multiple interceptors—specifically the BV-201 fighter-interceptors (think of Do-335 fighters), a recent addition to their growing arsenal, equipped with air-to-air radar to fight during the night, if the intel given to them is correct.

Though, the Changelings probably didn't anticipate that the New Marelanders would be using Night Vision devices, which quickly levelled the playing field, as the P3SB escorts could see the approaching BV-201 before the Changeling pilots inside could figure out which is which.

The P3SB escorts wasted no time responding to the threat, despite being outmatched by the more advanced and powerful BV-201s. The sky erupted into a deadly dance of fire and light as the two forces clashed in a fur ball of tracers. Several bombers and escorts were torn apart, their engines or wings scrapped with holes by the Changeling fighters' powerful autocannons.

However, a few P3SB pilots managed to outmanoeuvre the interceptors. Their aircraft, lighter and more agile, gave them the advantage in tight manoeuvres, allowing them to get the jump on some of the Changeling fighters. Explosions lit up the night as a few BV-201s were shot down in the frenzied dogfight by the quad heavy machineguns mounted in the manoeuvrable fighters.

After receiving Eric's updated coordinates, the bombers swiftly adjusted their formation, engines roaring as they moved into position. Inside Eric's bomber, the bombardier, with sweat dripping from his brow, readied the payload. The bomb bay doors groaned open, with a metallic clank echoing in the cabin.

"six-hundred meters... four hundred meters... two hundred meters..." Spirit muttered under his breath, counting down the distance to the target.

"NOW! DROP, DROP, DROP!" Spirit shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. The bombardier didn't hesitate—he slammed the release button with urgency as if their very survival hinged on that moment.

The bomber jolted upward, relieved of its heavy payload, as the five 250 kg bombs tumbled down toward their targets. What destruction they would cause remained unknown, but there was no time to watch.

Eric quickly banked his bomber to turn around, followed by the remaining aircraft of his battered bomber formation. As they hurried try to escape the Changeling defences quickly, several thunder of explosion are audible as they flew away.

The radio crackled to life, and Eric's heart pounded as he heard his tail-gunner and other bombers reporting in. "One of the carriers... she’s been hit—multiple times!" the excited voice broke through the static of the radio. Relief washed over him for a brief moment, as he raised a hoof skyward in a small, silent celebration of victory.

1025 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Deck of the carrier
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier
1st Airwing 'Bataan', 1st P4R-4C in formation

Swift Buster quickly climbed into his aircraft, using a flimsy wooden stool to reach the cockpit. Once inside, he fiddled with the control stick to test the hydraulics of the vehicle.

After receiving a tap of approval on the right wing of his aircraft from the crew pony nearby, he closed the windscreen, stored his clipboard beside his seat and pressed a switch to pressurize the cabin.

He donned his oxygen mask over his muzzle, tightening it securely before switching on the radio communication and pressing the mic.

"Testing, testing..." Swift said casually into the mic.

"I can hear ya, Chief!" replied Junior Aviator Astral Bronco, another earth pony with a thick accent, from the aircraft third in line behind him.

"What a terrible day to be flying, ain’t I right, Swift?" called out Thunder Charge, a Pegasus and Swift's wingman, who was in the aircraft behind him.

Swift rolled his eyes. “Keep it down, you two. You’re going to need that energy later,” he replied, half-serious. “As for the rest of you, once we’re in the air, form an arrow formation as per the plan. We’ll climb to angels eight. Copy?”

He received several affirmative replies from the aviators in his airwing, including "Ehyup," "Copy that," and "Affirmative."

Swift smirked, his tone lightening just a bit. “Best of luck, gentlecolts. Try not to get turned into mush—I hear that’s fatal.” His grim joke was met with a few chuckles and snorts over the radio. Though, a wrenching feeling came from his gut, a combination of his intuition and experience, he knew most—or all of them—are not going home.

Based on the briefing he heard earlier, the Admiral's plan—though carefully thought out—was undeniably him sacrificing the airwings in order to save the ponies of Task Force Lunar from being sunk beneath the waves, and with the look of guilt on his face, Admiral Rain Hard knew what he was doing.

Swift nervously closes his eyes before taking a deep breath, at least if he's dying to save other ponies, he's at least going to fight like Tartarus whilst doing it.

The signal bearers with glow sticks in front of his massive fighter aircraft quickly signalled his clearance to take off, as the deck was now clear of the crew ponies who had been running about earlier. The deck light which illuminated the deck quickly shuts off, submerging it in complete darkness.

Swift silently activated his Night Vision optics, ordering the rest of his airwing to do the same. With the ocean now illuminated in a green hue, Swift smiled in anticipation.

He also pinned a picture of five aviators below the control instruments—him sitting in the middle of the picture, Thunder to the left of him. All of the other individuals in the photo except the two are crossed out with a red cross. He then refocuses on the task at hoof.

Swift slid his right hoof onto the throttle control and slammed it forward to full power. The aircraft's engine roared to life, spitting fire from the exhaust as it began to propel forward, quickly accelerating on the deck of the carrier.

Soon, the aircraft jumped off the deck, and Swift Buster was rocked violently in his seat, but the belt held him securely in place. His aircraft climbed higher and higher away from the deck of the carrier.

The nine other aviators quickly followed him, forming an arrow formation about five hundred meters over the ocean. They circled around the aircraft carrier, waiting for the 2nd Airwing to take off.

Not long after, the 2nd Airwing 'Midway' joined them, slotting into another arrow formation right behind the 1st Airwing.

The twenty strong P4R-4C aircraft formation began climbing toward eight thousand meters, following their path to strike the Changeling fleets.

Suddenly, the airwings radios crackled to life. The voice of the radio operator aboard the NMRS Celestia came through. “1st and 2nd Airwing, Bomber formation 22nd and 23rd from Eldoran reports mission success. One of the carriers may have been crippled or sunk.”

Cheers erupted from the aviators in both airwings through the radio, adrenaline pumping through their veins.

The news about them facing multiple Changeling taskforces was disheartening at first, but now knowing they have a chance to escape with their lives—it gave them a surge of hope.

But the radio operator quickly tempered their excitement. “Your orders are now to confirm and hit more carriers. If the previous carrier is still afloat, your job is to sink it.”

The newfound sense of confidence among the aviators was palpable. Most of the group were junior aviators due to the seniors being injured in the med bay, fresh-faced and eager for glory. Swift Buster could sense the overconfidence creeping in, a dangerous state of mind in wartime.

He frowned, muttering to himself. These foals are too eager for glory aren't they? Swift grabbed the mic and spoke with authority. “Just a reminder, don’t get too confident—don’t bite off more than you can chew. Heads in the game gentlecolts, how copy?”

Replies of “Ehyup,” “Copy that,” and “Affirmative” echoed back, though Swift could tell they were still buzzing with anticipation.

"Alright, gentlecolts, radio silence until we reach eight-thousand meters," Swift ordered, cutting the radio transmission with a flick of a lever.

The formation began climbing steadily, the hum of engines filling the night air. In the eerie silence of his cockpit, Swift swore he could hear his own heartbeat, louder than the roar of the Riverflight nineteen-cylinder radial engine in front of him.

Half an hour passes.

Soon, the 1st and 2nd Airwings were flying at an altitude of about eight thousand meters above sea level. The clouds blanketed the ocean, reducing their visibility.

"Radio check—radio check—how copy?" Swift said, activating his radio and breaking the silence as the formation moved forward.

"I can hear you loud and clear, over," Senior Aviator Thunder Charge replied, his voice coming through the crisp audio of the radio.

"I'm here, loud and clear," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco followed, chiming in after Thunder Charge.

This was soon followed by other pilots responding with, “All good,” “I’m here,” and “Loud and clear.”

With all the aviators accounted for, Swift quickly pulled out his clipboard. It contained a list of tasks he needed to complete and a map of their route.

"Swift, I see something in the distance—angle one-eighty-seven degrees, directly southwest," Thunder Charge reported over the radio.

Swift quickly shoved his clipboard back into the side of his seat before scanning in the direction Thunder indicated.

Just as Thunder had reported, he also spotted several dozen black dots contrasting against the white—green clouds. More dots soon emerged from the clouds, like stars in a dark night sky.

"Enemy bogeys, I count about two squadrons, they're probably going toward our aircraft carrier—" Swift replied but he cuts off himself before finishing as he saw six of the black dots breaking away from the formation and banked hard right. They are flying directly toward them.

"Tartarus—they spotted us. Prepare for combat," Swift ordered into the radio, banking his aircraft downward.

The 1st Airwing dove into the clouds, attempting to lure the Changeling fighters into pursuit, while the 2nd Airwing cruised above at seven thousand meters in altitude, ready to pounce.

1107 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran
??? - BV-201B

Phantom Buzz, a junior Changeling aviator attached to the 4th Interceptor Airwing, piloted a BV-201B equipped with a supercharged nineteen-cylinder engine. He was confident in his machine, believing he could easily outpace the recently reported new Marelandian heavy fighter-bomber.

His formation cruised along the cloud tops, escorting the 2nd and 3rd Fighter-Bomber Airwings to strike the Eldoran airstrip or the reported Carrier taskforce to the northeast, when one of his fellow Changeling aviators reported strange shapes flying at about seven thousand meters in the sky, visible—though not clear—through his natural night vision.

Enemy fighters, Phantom Buzz thought, and he was correct. After his formation redirected their course toward the suspicious shapes to investigate, the air-to-air radar confirmed that they were a formation of around 15 fighters or more.

Radar was a recently adopted technology in the Changeling Empire; initially, it had been dismissed as useless or merely a 'fad' by some of the higher-ups.

Consequently, it wasn’t integrated into the Changeling armed forces until the final four years of the war against the Equestrians. This left them somewhat behind in radar technology.

However, the tech proved useful in the hooves of the Equestrians during air raids, prompting the Changelings to give it a try.

The technology quickly proved itself, leading to the establishment of multiple research bureaus aimed at improving their radar capabilities.

Phantom Buzz grinned in anticipation as his formation of six BV-201Bs spotted about ten enemy fighters diving toward the clouds, perhaps attempting to evade them. By Chrysalis, you’re not getting away, pony scum, he muttered to himself.

His formation dived down chasing after the Marelandian aircrafts, Phantom Buzz using his natural night vision spotted a silhouette of a fighter, it's image and description fitting that of the rumoured brand-new Marelandian fighter-bomber.

After comparing the silhouette on the radar with his visual confirmation, a sharp smile crept across his face. He pressed down on the fire button on the control stick. RATATATATAT—The autocannons roared to life, unleashing a hail of rounds forward, the tracers illuminating the sky as they raced toward their target.

In the distance, something caught fire, the flames painting the thick cloud layer with an orange and yellow glow. Phantom Buzz savoured the moment, marking his second kill, the first being a bomber an hour earlier.

Phantom Buzz turns his attention elsewhere trying to search for more fighters, but suddenly he heard something from behind, a loud terrifying engine—'Damn it' Phantom buzz muttered to himself, he tried to dodge last second but it was too late.

The enemy fighter soon fired, a repeated mighty thunder like sounds—akin to ripping cloths, is heard behind his aircraft.

He then saw his haemolymph splash against the control instruments of his craft, but he wasn't sure as he is blinking repeatedly—wincing from the pain coming from his torso.

He tried hard to keep his eyes open, it was hard but he eventually succeed in the end.

What he saw was worse though, he saw his guts—pieces of his intestine, splashes and chunks of his haemolymph are spilling onto the control instruments as his aircraft is still in a dive. He's as good as dead, he scanned around to see if he can at least try to fly back to the carrier.

The left wing of his BV-201B was snapped clean off, the windshield was riddled with multiple gunshot holes.

This is it.

"This is the end." He winces in pain. "Goodbye, Nectar," he whispered, his voice weakening. His eyelids grew heavy as if they were weighed down by lead. Accepting his fate, he let go of the control stick and closed his eyes as his aircraft plunged closer and closer to the ocean as his story ended with him.

1115 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran
1st Airwing 'Bataan', 1st P4R-4C in formation

Swift Buster hard-banked his aircraft upward, leveling off just about two hundred meters above the ocean. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, and his heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears.

He scanned his aircraft for any damage, finding none. Once satisfied, he surveyed the sky for the pursuing enemy aircraft as the chaos from the dive settled.

The 1st Airwing had lost one pilot when their aircraft, along with the aviator, crashed into the ocean after a lucky autocannon burst from a Changeling pilot.

To his relief, however, one of the six interceptors had been shot down by the 2nd Airwing, which was following closely behind.

Swift and his aviators continued to bank and dodge left and right to evade the approaching interceptors, watching as they were picked off one by one by the 2nd Airwing.

But this small victory was short-lived, as two of the interceptors retreated to the northwest, them outpacing the 2nd Airwing.

He offered a silent prayer for the junior aviator who had been shot down, hoping they would rest in peace before continuing his mission.

The 1st Airwing was quickly reformed into an arrow formation after Swift had cried out the order through the radio.

"Bataan to Midway—We are way off course. Redirect to eighty-seven degrees, following the direction of those interceptors, and climb back to angels six. How copy?" Swift asked, addressing the senior aviator leading the 2nd Airwing.

"Copy that, Bataan. We're following behind you. The 2nd Airwing's got your back. Over and out." the senior aviator from the other side replied.

Soon, both airwings banked northwest, climbing silently back to six thousand meters.

"That was quite something, ain't it?" Thunder Charge said over the radio.

"Not the first time, and probably not the last," Swift Buster replied, a hint of guilt lacing his voice. He knew some of them are not coming home—but it was too soon.

"Don't let it get to your head, it's not your fault," Thunder Charge retorted, concern evident in his voice.

"What' he said. It’s war, Chief, not everything goes according to plan," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco muttered into the radio, his tone laced with a hint of sadness.

"Tsk—don’t you two get all buddy-buddy on me. Keep your eyes scanning, will you?" Swift Buster replied, half-serious, though a small smile tugged at his face from their concern.

"But what about the rest of the Changeling squadrons heading toward Eldoran and Taskforce Lunar?" Thunder Charge asked over the radio.

"2nd Airwing reported it to high command while they were trailing behind us during the dive. They should be prepared," Swift said, though a hint of anxiety crept into his tone. He swallowed hard, eyes scanning the skies once more.

Another half hour passed in complete silence.

The 1st and 2nd Airwing cruised just a few meters above the cloud cover, at over six thousand meters in altitude.

The unnerving stillness weighed heavily on Swift Buster. Swift’s stomach twisted and churned with anxiety for what's to come too. They had encountered enemy fighters just an hour ago, but now, the skies were eerily empty, as if the Changelings had vanished.

Still, Swift glanced at the map on his clipboard. They should be over the enemy fleet in about three minutes—roughly 600 meters out. Well, it's time to tell them.

"Alright, gentlecolts, this is it. We’re dive-bombing in about 600 meters—on my command." Swift paused, the weight of what he was about to say sitting heavy on his withers.

His voice shook for a second before he regained composure. "I hope you've made peace with yourselves. Try not to get shot down, alright? Good luck. Give them Tartarus, stallions!"

A cacophony of "Oorah" filled the radio, the fiery spirit of the aviators in the 1st and 2nd Airwing blazing strong. Swift Buster couldn’t help but smile, pride swelling in his chest of his aviators even though they were heading to their deaths.

Suddenly, the formation was rocked apart by a thunderous barrage of explosions, the sky filling with black smoke all around them. Sounds of cannons echoed loudly from the distance, It was undeniably the anti-aircraft fire of the enemy fleet. They're closer than Swift anticipated.

"Brace yourselves!" Swift shouted into the radio toward his fellow ponies, his voice straining. They are now about three hundred meters from the dive point.

Suddenly, an aviator pony aircraft to his right caught fire, the engine blazing as it dived down into the clouds. The fate of the pilot unknown to the rest. Swift muttered another silent prayer before refocusing himself on the mission.

Suddenly, the concentration of anti-aircraft flak fire coming from below the clouds intensified with each meter that they flew closer to the objective. Swift knew they wouldn't last if this continues, they need to dive right now.

"Shit—DIVE!" Swift practically growled into the radio with his voice laced with urgency.

The 1st Airwing, followed closely by the 2nd, they banked hard and dove below the cloud cover, cutting through it.

As they descended, the full expanse of the Changeling fleet came into view through the green tint of their night vision optics—ninety-eight ships sprawled out beneath them.

Tracers lit up the night sky like shooting stars, streaking past their aircraft from the various anti-aircraft guns on the ships below. The Changelings sailors intentions was clear—they wanted every single one of the Marelandian aviators dead.

"Darn, they really don't want us here!' " Junior Aviator Astral Bronco yelled into the radio from the sight.

Seems that they retreated the aircraft carrier from here with a few escort huh? Swift wondered in his mind, well at least it's out of combat. But he was quickly shook from his thoughts as his aircraft was shook from a shaving-close flak explosion.

The 1st and 2nd Airwing banked hard lefts and rights, dodging through the wall of anti-aircraft fire, but their luck was short-lived. Out of nowhere, Changeling interceptors dived from the clouds, ambushing them in a surprise attack.

Three aviators reacted instantly, trying to evade the incoming threats, but their evasive manoeuvres led them right into the Changeling fleet's deadly anti-aircraft blanket.

The first and second fighter-bomber spiralled toward the sea, burning like a meteor as they plummeted, slamming into the waves violently below.

The last, despite being heavily damaged, veered directly toward a Changeling destroyer—a clear effort from the pilot inside. The impact turned it into a massive fireball, the fighter's bombs detonating in a secondary explosion that tore the destroyer in half, sending it sinking beneath the waves.

Swift watched as several Changeling sailors dove into the sea to save themselves. His stomach churned from the scene as several sailors laid in pieces across the deck.

Swift was brought back out of his trance when suddenly a fighter-bomber on his left was cut down by a Changeling BV-201 interceptor.

His instinct kicked in, he banked hard left, aiming his aircraft's heavy machineguns in the path of the interceptor.

He clenched the trigger on his aircraft's joystick—the six heavy machineguns within his aircraft's wings shook to life as several thundering sounds like cloth-ripping is heard—they fired several bursts of 13mm rounds forward, the tracers guiding his aim.

The Changeling interceptor, caught off guard, was riddled with bullets. Its tail was severed in the hail of gunfire, and the enemy fighter spiralled out of control, diving straight into the sea with a violent crash.

Swift let out a sharp breath, muttering to himself, "Gotcha," before quickly scanning the surrounding for the remaining Chrysalis-class aircraft carriers.

His heart pounded like a drum as he searched for the target, knowing their window to strike was closing fast with the amount of aircrafts and anti aircraft fire pounding them.

"Swift—we need to find that carrier and get the fuck out, we are not going to last if this continues!" Thunder yelled into the radio, his voice laced with urgency.

"Where the Tartarus are the P3s?" He muttered to himself as he multi-tasked, manoeuvring his aircraft to avoid the hail of anti aircraft fire and scanning the surrounding for their targets.

The 3rd, 4th and 5th was supposed to attack at the same time as them, they mostly consisted of the older P3SB fighter-bombers, but they should be sufficient.

Suddenly, Swift's eyes caught a shape to the north. There it was—the second reported Chrysalis-class aircraft carrier. Its deck was swarming with activity, several planes preparing to take off. He's going to sink it before they get the chance to take off.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Swift banked his aircraft hard to the right, his remaining wingmates falling in line behind him. The formation, now reduced to just four fighters, turned toward the looming carrier. They all knew this could very well be their final flight.

"Give it all you've got stallions!" Swift shouted into the comms, as adrenaline pumped into in his veins.

1225 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran
2nd Airwing 'Midway', 1st P4R-4C in formation

The 2nd Airwing had broken off from the 1st during their dive, choosing the southern route in search of the Changeling's heavy battleship. However, the volume of anti-aircraft fire had proven even more concentrated than expected, as the Changeling cruisers filled the skies with tracer fire and flak bursts.

Despite this, the senior aviator of the 2nd Airwing, now steering what was left of the formation, spotted their primary target—the Tirek-class heavy battleship. The massive warship loomed ominously to the west, surrounded by a screen of destroyer escorts. This was not going to be easy, but they're going regardless.

"Ponies—we're going to damage that heavy battleship if it's the last thing we do—for New Mareland!" the senior aviator said over the radio before banking his aircraft, followed by his airwing toward the battleship.

The response was immediate, filled with determination. Several voices shouted in unison, "Oorah!" and "Let's go!" as the remaining aviators braced for the strike.

Their numbers were dwindling. From the ten strong P4R-4Cs, only five remained. Two more aviators were struck down, their planes engulfed in flames as they spiraled toward the sea, leaving behind thick trails of black smoke before crashing violently.

The formation was now within five hundred meters of the Tirek-class battleship. It was time. With a decisive signal from the senior aviator through the radio, the remaining three aircraft banked into a steep dive, their sights locked onto the heavily armoured warship below.

The battleship's deck erupted in chaos with Changeling sailors running for their lives or delivering munition. Anti-aircraft cannons from the deck and the nearby destroyers fired wildly in a desperate attempt to ward off the diving Marelandian aircrafts, but the airwing pressed on, determined to hit their mark.

As the P4R-4Cs plummeted toward the target, the sheer force of the dive pushed the aircraft forward with terrifying speed. The frame of the fighter shook violently as they accelerated faster and faster, the roar of the wind drowning out everything else.

Quickly, they released their payloads of six 200 kg bombs, before banking hard upward. The senior aviator's aircraft wings nearly grazed the surface of the sea as he fought against the crushing G-forces, the adrenaline surging through his veins. The taste of blood was apparent in his mouth as he recovered from the dive.

He heard several explosions erupt behind him—they did it! Yet, he had no time to assess the damage that had been dealt.

As he scanned the skies for the remains of his airwing, he expected to see his fellow aviators close behind. But there were no aircraft following him; he was utterly alone. A deep sense of despair washed over him before forcing himself out of the trance, banking his aircraft toward safety.

However, luck was not on his side. A Changeling interceptor dove down, its autocannons already trained on him.

It was already too late to dodge even though he spotted it through the mirror in his aircraft. Time slowed down around him, but he had nothing to say.

Thunderous shots erupted, and the sound of shattering glass echoed in his ears as his face planted first into the control instruments along with his brain matter with a sickening wet thud. His consciousness faded to black with no pony ever hearing or knowing their success.

1235 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Somewhere south of Eldoran Island
1st Airwing 'Bataan', 1st P4R-4C in formation

The formation flew closer to their target as the concentration of tracer fire and flak bursts thickened with each passing second.

“five hundred... four hundred... three hundred...” Thunder counted down the distance to their target over the radio, the anxiety and anticipation rising among the aviators with every tick of the clock.

Swift closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. “Here we go... DIVE!” he barked the order into the radio comms.

The 1st Airwing, now reduced to four P4R-4C fighters, was directly above the Chrysalis-class aircraft carrier. With a single command from Swift, the pilots plunged toward their target.

“HERE WE FUCKING GO—!” Swift yelled as the formation dove toward the aircraft carrier.

As the aircraft accelerated toward their targets, they descended with terrifying speed. The frame of Swift's fighter shook violently in response to the G-forces; the howling and screeching of the wind from the descent almost drowned out the radio chatter deafeningly.

Suddenly, Thunder's aircraft, positioned to the right of Swift's, almost spiralled out of control as a lucky anti-aircraft shot clipped its left wing, severing it completely.

“Shit—Shit—SHIT! Swift, I'm going down!” Thunder Charge yelled into the radio, his voice thick with panic.

"THUNDER TRY TO LAND HORIZONTALLY ON THE WATER!" Swift boomed in the radio, concern flooding his voice.

"I can't—I CAN'T MY FLAPS A GONER!" Thunder shouted back, the sound of rustling coming from his cockpit crackling through the radio. Suddenly, his frantic yelling stopped, and the radio buzzed as he took a deep breath.

"Get your' craft under control Thunder—," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco muttered in the radio with stress within his voice, trying to focus on the dive rather than the situation being heard in the radio chatter.

Thunder's plane plummeted toward the carrier, faster than Swift and the remaining aviators' aircraft. Swift knew what was coming but he hadn't the heart to accept it.

"Swift, take care of my kid, will you? I don't want him in the adoption system. Just... take care," Thunder said calmly, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. The line went dead, leaving only the crackle of static in Swift's ears.

"Thunder? Thunder—THUNDER I CAN'T LOSE YOU TOO—THUNDER!" Swift helplessly yelled into the radio as he called for his friend multiple times.

Instinctively, as if on command, Swift pressed the drop payload trigger on his joystick at the agreed altitude from earlier. The remaining pilots of the 1st Airwing followed suit, releasing their bombs before banking upward from the dive to escape the chaos below.

The warheads plummeted, gaining speed as they hurtled toward the carrier, trailing behind Thunder's doomed aircraft.

Swift glanced into the mirror of his cockpit, watching as he and the other two aviators pulled away from the scene of destruction. Thunder's aircraft slammed into the deck of the carrier, erupting into a massive fireball.

Moments later, a secondary explosion erupted as the payloads Thunder had been carrying detonated, followed by the bombs released by Swift and the remaining pilots, lighting up the sky with a fiery display.

But amidst the carnage, the radio chatter on the comms fell silent, the usual voices replaced by a deafening roar of anti-aircraft fire from the Changeling fleet. A trace of regret and despair overcame the surviving pilots, but right now there was no time to mourn, they have to get away.

"All remaining pilots—on me, we're getting the Tartarus out of here," Swift barked the order into the radio, there was however no response from the 2nd Airwing. The remaining 1st Airwing aviators responded to his command immediately.

"Chief, you have my' condolences," Junior Aviator Astral Bronco muttered in the radio to Swift, his tone filled with sorrow.

The formation quickly and silently flew away into the night.

1305 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Bridge of the ship
NMRS 'Celestia', Jet Set class Fleet Carrier

Admiral Rain Rider was a whirlwind of motion as he managed his aircraft carrier, his brow slick with sweat that trickled down his forehead, soaking into his uniform and fur.

The situation was dire; the 4th and 5th Airwings—forty P3SB aircraft in total—had been obliterated while climbing toward their designated altitude, falling prey to the speed and firepower of the Changeling interceptors. He felt the weight of each lost pilot pressing heavily on his conscience—but there was no time to mourn.

His mind raced, grappling with the harsh and unpredictable reality of the battlefield. He had severely underestimated how fast the new Changeling interceptors could fly, and now he was paying the price.

As such, he cancelled the order for the 6th Airwing to go on their previous naval strike mission, and instead to commit the remainder of the aircrafts to CAP (Combat Air Patrol) around the fleet to intercept Changeling fighter-bombers.

As he yelled orders to the helmspony to evade incoming bombs, the thrum of explosions in the sea followed by sea water splashing the deck echoed and boomed around him, a grim game of spot and manoeuvre.

The thunder of anti aircraft guns on the carrier and other ships sounded all around him as he went around the bridge going from window to window scanning the sky for incoming bombers that are being illuminated by the fleet search lights.

Worse, his radar operator reported several Changeling fighters streaking past them, heading most likely toward Sunset, likely to bombard the location for the incoming invasion fleet.

“They're targeting our defences,” he muttered, wiping his brow of sweat.

Even worse, the radio communications officer reported that, apparently Fleet Admiral Grey Shore is being engaged by a fleet twelve times larger than the one he's facing, with several more Tirek class heavy battleships and Chrysalis class aircraft carriers. Meaning they can't come to reinforce him nor can they escape.

“This is beyond FUBAR,” Rain Rider thought bitterly, fighting the urge to throw his clipboard against the wall in frustration.

The sudden moment of distraction costed Admiral Rain Rider dearly. A 50 kg bomb, although smaller than the 500 kg munitions he had been dodging earlier, struck the deck with a resounding explosion, unleashing chaos and destruction. The blast sent debris and shrapnel flying everywhere, and the shockwave knocked several crew ponies off their feet.

“Medical team—Fire control—to the flight deck! NOW!—” he bellowed, his voice hoarse from the smoke and panic that enveloped them. He could feel a knot of fear tightening in his chest as he heard the yelling and crying of several ponies on the flight deck.

He watched as the medicos, obviously fatigued and overwhelmed, rushing to the scene trying to tend to multiple injured crew ponies moaning and screaming in pain, their intestines, limbs, bits and pieces of flesh and blood sprawled across the flight deck.

Fire control ponies tirelessly rushed forward with water hoses and extinguishers trying to put out the fire in the crater left by the 50 kg bomb.

Admiral Rain Rider could only watch in horror as he is trying to order the helmspony to manoeuvre, as more Changeling fighter-bombers took the opportunity—diving in for the kill, their 500 kg bombs plummeting toward the flight deck. The air thickened with tension, and he braced himself for the impending impact.

But instead of hearing multiple detonations going off on the deck of his carrier, or worse his vision blackening signalling his end, a bright blinding white light engulfed his vision instead.

1306 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Bridge of the ship, Upper Bridge.
CIS 'Chrysalis Might', Chrysalis class Fleet Carrier

Admiral Glimmer Shroud huffed in relief as she sipped her mulberry tea. She knew she was likely facing demotion after having one of her fleet carriers rendered mission-killed and one sunk by those damn ponies, but she was determined to make it up somehow.

Fortunately, the bombs dropped by the Marelandian fighters on the CIS Minotaur heavy battleship were not armour-piercing bombs, so they caused little to no significant damage—well, aside from the unfortunate loss of several Changeling sailors on deck. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling of impending repercussions.

So to avoid said repercussions, she is going to make up to the losses by sinking the Marelandian carrier to the northeast, its visual distance right now.

They probably didn’t know that Queen Chrysalis had successfully harnessed the power she obtained to produce spell crystals for the Changeling navy. Powerful enough to teleport entire fleets when used—this was how she had outflanked the nearby Marelandian fleet and is currently pummelling them with her airpower.

Her second carrier fleet had successfully scrambled their interceptors and caught forty older Marelandian fighter-bombers climbing, a stroke of blind luck that was nonetheless welcomed.

Admiral Glimmer Shroud pulled out her binoculars, activated the Night-vision magic enchant and maximized the zoom, watching as her aviators launched their assault on the Marelandian fleet.

She barely caught sight of an explosion on the deck of a carrier ship once more. This carrier was proving incredibly difficult to crack; she had seen several bombs hit it before, yet it had survived each time.

Sink already, you damn pony... she cursed under her breath before taking another sip of her tea, feeling a flicker of irritation.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, a blinding flash of light erupted in the distance as several bombs from her fighters neared the carrier. The sudden brightness caught her off guard, forcing her to close her eyes and shield her face.

The entire bridge erupted into chaos from the flash; paperwork, snacks, and drinks—including her beloved tea—were spilled across the floor, adding to the disarray.

Admiral Glimmer Shroud was utterly bewildered. Regaining her composure, she grabbed her binoculars once more and scanned the direction of the fleet—or rather, where it used to be.

"RADAR! TELL ME WHERE THAT CARRIER WENT!" Glimmer yelled at the radar operator, a Changeling who looked utterly dazed with his combat helmet backward, still processing the unexpected turn of events.

"Uh, Admiral? They're not anywhere within our radar range," replied the radar operator after checking his radar repeatedly, even restarting it.

Confused, Admiral Glimmer turned her attention to the radio communications officer, who was smiling awkwardly, as if trying to hide his own unease.

“RADIO! Contact me the 2nd and 4th Airwing. I need recon data from the 2nd and a progress report from the 4th Airwing heading toward Sunset!” she ordered, her tone sharp and demanding.

The radio officer quickly nodded, his fingers flying over the controls as he attempted to establish a connection before listening in. Glimmer’s heart raced as she waited for a response, the uncertainty of their situation pressing heavily upon her. Her retribution for her failures earlier during the battle is getting away.

A few seconds of awkward silence permeated as the communications officer worked his flank to get the information.

"Uh. Admiral?" said the communications officer, his face now more confused than ever. Glimmer turned to him, her expression stern and critical, a sense of unease pressing upon her.

The Changeling gulped, steeling himself before delivering his report with a straight face. "The 2nd Airwing reported that the fleet is not anywhere within one hundred Nautical Hoofs, and the 4th reported that they were attacking Sunset defences when a bright light blinded them temporarily. Now, Sunset and the landmass surrounding it are nowhere to be seen."

Glimmer's heart raced as she processed this unsettling information. "What do you mean ‘nowhere to be seen’? Can’t you triangulate their last position? There must be something!”

The communications officer hesitated, glancing nervously at his equipment. “Th... They're trying, Admiral. But all the airwings are reporting the same thing.. It’s as if... they just vanished. The 4th has also reported just now some of their aviators and craft are missing.”

"....What?"

That was the only word in the mind of Glimmer Shroud and the rest of her crew.

Author's Note

Hello! Thanks for reading my story, I am not that new to writing but I am an amateur, please provide feedback or improvements I can do to the story. Thanks!

11/11/2024 - EDIT 1; Changed some words.
14/2/2025 - EDIT 2; Improved readability of the first part of the chapter.
15/2/2025 - EDIT 3; Changed time frame, 17/11/1012 ALB ---> 10/3/1012

Ch 2 - Aftermath (Last edit: 17/2/2025)

Author's Note

Woops, forgot to add this, thanks for reading my fanfic!

Please provide feedback on grammar, errors or anything that you think can be improved in the fic. Thanks! (Please)

Changes log:

20/10/2024 (EDIT 1) - Changed some lines. Added extra lines.
21/10/2024 (EDIT 2) - Shortened the weapon exposition part by ~63%, due to suggestion by comment section. Also improved some dialogues. No worries, I am also writing chapter 3 at the same time.
24/10/2024 (EDIT 3) - Changed the calibers of munition.
3/11/2024 (EDIT 4) - Changed some details to fix the timeline for future chapters.
19/11/2024 - Hubby ---> Honey
13/12/2024 (EDIT 6) - Changed some details to fix the timeline for future chapters.
10/2/2025 (EDIT 7) - Fixed some grammar and changed some of the story to improve readability.
12/2/2025 (EDIT 8) - Jet Set: light blue fur ---> pale whitish-blue fur. Also cut out several old information. Expanded on Pony guard section of this chapter. Revised dialogues.
15/2/2025 (EDIT 9) - Edited time frame, changed from 17/11/1002 ALB to 10/3/1002. Also changed some older deprecated information.
17/2/2025 (EDIT 10) - Revamped Brigthfeather part + added Changeling character.

Ch 2 - Aftermath (Last edit: 17/2/2025)

1257 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Downtown, Western harbor industrial area, Sunset City.
Sunset County, New Mareland

It was a tranquil night over Sunset City, a rare sight since the start of the Changeling invasion of New Mareland. The city lays in various states of disrepair and or ruins from constant air raids from Changeling heavy bombers across the Celestial sea.

Complete darkness engulfed the city, following the strict orders of New Mareland Military High Command. Not a single light flickered except in bunkers or underground covers, and the once familiar glow of urbanization and the enchanting glow of the high-life entertainment and shopping districts had vanished.

With light pollution reduced to zero, the stars and distant galaxies shone brilliantly and beautifully, casting their radiant mesmerising glow upon the residents of Sunset City. Despite the looming threat of war, the residents walked quietly with their loved ones beneath the starry sky, savouring what little peace remained.

The tranquillity was shattered by the sudden, ear-piercing wails and shrieks of air-raid sirens blaring across the city, their intensity growing with each passing second. Ponies on the streets of Sunset City paled with fear and uncertainty as panic took hold. Luckily, it was stopped by local enforcers before it resulted in stampede.

Under the guidance of the police officers, the ponies scrambled to follow evacuation routes, rushing toward the nearest bomb shelters or underground train stations to weather through the upcoming storm.

Less than a minute later, several spotlights swept the sky in a grid pattern, searching for the incoming Changeling naval bombers reported approaching Sunset City earlier.

The violent roar of spinning aircraft engines in the distance soon filled the air, drowning out the wailing sirens. The shrill whistle of diving bombers followed, and then, with ear-shattering force, the explosions began like drums across the city. The booming thunder of anti-aircraft guns echoed across the city. Tracers streaked upward like shooting stars as the gunners tried their best to thwart the bombers.

The distant horizon lit up in a fiery hue from the fires burning the city, turning from yellow to bright red, hiding the stars and contrasting the now pitch black night sky as firestorms that started in the aftermath of the bombing raged on burning anything flammable in its path.

"Lad! Bit' more to the right!" Yelled the firefighter pony with a thick accent standing to his left.

Brightfeather silently clenches his talon on the firehose as he stood on his hind paws. With a grunt he lurches it over to the right as instructed by the pony, the blazing fire inside of the building growing dimmer as he did.

He furrows his brow in annoyance. Being instructed to roleplay fire fighters was the last thing he'd thought he would be doing in the Military. 'I swear to Boreas....' He muttered to himself before letting out a muffled sigh.

"Good job! You're on point," The pony said with amusement in his tone. He then cantered over to Brightfeather's left, assisting the other volunteer and soldiers acting as fire fighters, currently trying to save the industrial district.

Brightfeather has recently answered the call to fight released by the New Mareland Government to its citizen. Having to say goodbye to his beloved mother and tribe in the New Hoofington Griffon Reservation was gut wrenching to say the least.

He, like many griffons who chose to answer the call has had their fair share of disagreements with the ponies in power. But being ruled by the Changelings would bring more harm to them than the ponies ever would, especially after learning of the 'love-extraction' pods being used on Ponies and Griffons (Nova Griffonia) alike in Mainland Equus. Not to mention the amount of atrocities being committed.

"Bright, we need' move this hose to the right." Said the uniformed 'pony' behind him, his accent like a lilting brogue.

Brightfeather spun the valve, ending the stream of water as he prepared to move. "Alright, alright."

If he wasn't much brighter, he would pass the Black-furred 'pony' as any other, but it is in fact a Changeling. Sometimes ago in 998 ALB the Changelings got into a small Civil war, where a bunch of them became refugees. Who knew Chrysalis had a sister named Eyrinn?

Long story short, Eyrinn in disguise went to Equestria, learned about Harmony and its principles, started a rebellion which failed and later got executed on a hill near Vraks. Her followers eventually fled to Equestria with Princess Celestia's permission. They then immigrated to New Mareland under Princess Celestia's order, after they faced significant racism from ponies. Well, it was mainly the nobles who pressured the Princess to do so. Anyhow they are here.

Brightfeather looked behind him as he tried to coordinate the movement with the Changeling. His sharp cat-like eyes and sharp fangs protruding from his upper jaw sending a shiver in the Griffon's spine. "Has anyone told you look creepy as fuck?"

"You mean buck? Come on now, its not hard to say." He poked fun at the Griffon. "I've been told numerous times now, its got pretty bland."

Brightfeather exhales with amusement. "That so? When are you stabbing my back Bug?"

"You want me to stab you in the arse? I don't swing that way Bright, you're out of luck." He quipped back. The two briefly chuckled at the banter before continuing their job.

The duo then quietly moved the fire hose to the next position. Brightfeather quickly spun the valve again, a jolt of force pushes against him as the water burst out of the fire hose toward the fire in front. A question came to mind as they fought the fire. "Say, how do you have fur like the ponies? Don't your Mainland cousins have holes and smooth carapace or something?"

"The brains in Equestria told us its because Magic of Harmony or something along the lines. We look just like an Earth pony, just with all-black fur, except we have fangs, sometimes a protruding horn or fish-like dorsal fins. Those brains also said we're weaker than Earth ponies since we don't have strength magic, but I'd reckon I can beat them and you in a boxing match."

"Hah, as if. I'd crack your carapace with a single swing." Brightfeather rebutted before going silent in deep thought. Though he is knocked out of his thoughts the moment he felt the sweat welling up under his uniform and feathers, making him extremely uncomfortable with how sticky it was. The searing heat of the fires is finally catching up to him.

"Hey, Mirage? Do you creatures not feel disgusting under these garbs?" Brightfeather asked with irritation in his voice. "I'm sweating bullets under these." He hadn't seen the necessity in wearing the surplus olive uniforms considering Griffons already have feathers, but he followed the orders trying not to piss off his superiors.

"I don't know about ponies, but us bugs don't sweat." Mirage replied with a teasing tone. "Too bad you have a second uniform under those. You might want to look like a featherless chicken next time, eh?"

Brightfeather sighed with irritation. "Lucky you bug." The duo would be interrupted in their banter, as the distant sound of what seems to be the thrumming of propellers got louder and louder each passing seconds.

"Buck—Bomber!" Mirage bellowed behind Brightfeather, followed by other soldiers. Hearing this, he instantly shut the valve, ending the jet of water. The duo dropped the fire hose, followed by the other Pony, Griffon and Changeling volunteers in the area.

The faint whistling of a Changeling bomb filled the air—several of them—which made the strike audible to the volunteers instilling fear in their hearts. This proved effective as most of the volunteers are gripped with fear, sowing panic and chaos as they tried to scramble for any cover they could find.

Brightfeather scanned the night sky as he and Mirage waited on the curb due to the wave of fleeing volunteers. Then he briefly saw the unmistakable silhouette of a falling bomb against the moon. It was heading straight for him and Mirage.

"TAKE COVER—!" Bellowed Brightfeather. He instantly grabbed his friend by the torso and dived for cover as he had his eyes close shut. The volunteers and fire fighters in the area also scrambled for cover as the bombs hurdled toward the ground.

But before falling on the hard asphalt, a bright blinding light engulfed Brightfeather and Mirage whilst they were in air—overwhelming their senses in an instant. Then an oppressive force, like that of a speeding truck, slammed into him from behind, launching Brightfeather and Mirage a few meters forward before they painfully tumbled to the ground.

The deafening blast rang in his ears as he struggled to recover. Smoke, soot, ash, and embers filled the street, reducing visibility to less than five meters. He coughed out several whiffs of soot and ash which filled his lungs and blinked hard, his vision still blurry.

"Buck—You good?" Asked Mirage next to him on the curb. He struggled to stand up onto his hooves after being launched along with Brightfeather.

"I'm fine bug—cough—you? What in tartarus was that flash?" Brightfeather said the moment he regained his composure. He scanned around, checking for any injuries on himself and Mirage. But soon the duo noticed a significant change in their surroundings.

The Night had turned to Day. Mirage and Brightfeather hadn't seen the sunlight in weeks due to Queen Chrysalis's stolen powers. Soon the other soldiers in the area got out of their cover, also bewildered at the sight. They also noticed the lack of crater from the bombs dropped earlier.

"What's going on?" Asked Mirage with confusion laden in his voice.

Brightfeather briefly glances at him, then toward the street, and then the other soldiers, choosing to stay quiet. He also noticed that the fires are still raging on in the various buildings. Wait.

"THE BUILDINGS ARE STILL ON FIRE!" He bellowed to the entire street after realization. Instantly the volunteers noticed—they then rushed back toward their dropped equipment to fight the fires.

1405 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
Governor's House, Eastern Goverment District, Sunset City.
Sunset County, New Mareland

Three sets of knocks echoed inside the room.

"Come in," said the black-maned pony. The wooden door creaked open, and a unicorn pony in a black suit entered, levitating an unmarked file onto the table.

"Mister President, I’ve compiled the report about the 'anomaly' from various departments," the pony stated, then stood silently, awaiting a response from the pony in front of him, who seemed busy.

The President, a stallion unicorn with a black mane and pale whitish-blue fur, wearing a pince-neigh glass and a brown checkered suit which is unkempt, quickly turned his head from the paperwork on the table toward the messenger. He gave him a slow, scrutinizing look before meeting his eyes, maintaining an intimidating silence.

A hint of nervousness welled up inside the unicorn. The President furrowed his brow, then took a deep breath before replying professionally, his voice echoing in the large room.

"...Thank you, you may leave."

The pony nodded respectfully and turned to exit, closing the door behind him. The President was now alone in his office.

”Sigh…” Jet Set huffed once the pony had left.

From being appointed Governor of New Mareland by Princess Celestia herself, to being held at gunpoint by Wingbardian invaders, leading a rebellion, becoming the first President of New Mareland for two terms, and rebuilding the country from the ashes of revolution... now he is a wartime leader. He certainly had his fair share of adventure.

His wife, Upper Crust, had been the one to suggest and encourage him to take the Governor position when it was offered by Princess Celestia, saying it was his chance to prove he was more than just a socialite. And prove himself he did, but now... now he was an old, tired pony.

He briefly wondered where she was before focusing again on his work.

Retirement had never seemed so alluring. He still had two years left, though. He would finish his duty, then retire with his wife in a quiet part of New Mareland. He wants to at least spend some time with his foals but he's getting busier and busier each day.

Jet Set levitated the paperwork he had reviewed to the left side of his table, adding it to the growing—towering—pile. Then he picked up the file, rolling his eyes before flipping it open to read the detailed report.

“So, apparently, all the Changeling forces just disappeared into thin air? And the night turned to day?” Jet Set muttered, trying to make sense of the baffling news. The report described a giant, blinding white light that had emerged across New Mareland and the fleets stationed around Discovery Coast.

He had been in the presidential bunker when the event occurred and had only felt a brief earthquake-like tremor. Reading the reports now, it all seemed like a fantasy—but it was real. Thousands of witnesses backed up the story.

What had happened? He had no idea.

Did Celestia free herself and regain her powers? He wondered as he continued reading. Naval Carrier Taskforce, ‘Lunar,’ was missing from radio contact and radar? He would need to send orders to Fleet Admiral Grey Shore to deal with that.

Now for the hardest part of his job: writing tomorrow’s address to the nation in Congress.

Jet Set shuddered at the thought of Congress. He loathed it, especially the 'Republican Fascists Party' or RFP, with its two most prominent figures, Duke Haygle and Picket Fence, constantly criticizing him over mundane issues to make him look bad. Whenever he pointed out the flaws in their logic, they accused him of slander. How had they gained enough support to be there? He didn’t know.

Jet Set especially disagrees with their constant racism, whenever he brings up the Civil Rights bill which is currently in the works, those two always tries to start a debate, conflict or a shouting match with him, which he would usually use as munition against them.

One time after the revolution in 1005 ALB, Picket Fence spent over NINE WHOLE HOURS, doing an entire speech about how Jet should not trust the Harmolings and Thestrals and how they should be exterminated.

Excuse me? Again, who voted for these stallions? Jet Set muttered under his breath after recounting the memory, barely containing the frustration present on his face as he multi-tasked. Debating them always led to more media coverage, which only resulted in more paperwork than he had time for. At least the Socialists, Democrats, and normal Republicans were more tolerable.

That young unicorn mare dabbling in politics—Lufty Star, wasn't it? She was far more respectful and logical than those RFP buffoons. She was part of the Socialist Democrats of New Mareland Party, or SDP. Jet Set preferred to use their official name, not their other, less favorable nickname: the Communist Party of New Mareland.

Recently, the SDP had experienced a falling out with a faction led by a mare calling herself 'Big Sister'—if she even exists. That faction had broken away, forming the 'Marelandian Socialism Party' or MARESOC. They were a more extreme bunch, forcing Jet Set to assign several Mareland Intelligence Agency agents to keep an eye on them and the stalliongrad refugees.

As for the Democrats, or the 'New Mareland Democratic Party,' they were led by Gladmane, an earth pony stallion, entrepreneur, and philanthropist. He was popular in New Manehattan and respected as a businesspony, now dabbling in politics.

Interestingly, Gladmane had once wanted to join the 'New Mareland Freedom Party'—the Republicans—but changed his mind due to differences in opinion. Jet Set respected the Republicans—more so than the other parties, especially one of its member; the young earth stallion pony, King Fisher.

He had fought alongside Jet Set during the rebellion. After the war, King Fisher had left the Harmonic Party to form the MFP. If Jet Set had lost the election to him, he wouldn’t have minded—King Fisher was a good stallion at heart.

Jet Set levitated a blank sheet of paper from his cabinet and placed it next to the report. Unscrewing his fountain pen, he began drafting his address for tomorrow’s session.

The door creaked open again. He looked up, pausing. A small smile formed on his muzzle—it was the yellow-furred, shaded pink-maned unicorn mare who had captured his heart—Upper Crust.

"Hey, honey," she teased with a playful smile as she entered, levitating a hot cup of coffee onto the table. "Don’t work yourself too hard, okay? I’m off to the market with our colt, we’ll be back by six for dinner. Make sure to pick up our filly from the Kindergarten."

She used her telekinesis to lift the towering pile of reviewed paperwork to his left.

She gave him a quick peck on the muzzle before leaving, carrying the paperwork with her and closing the door quietly behind her. Jet Set smiled in bliss.

He took a small sip of the coffee, savouring the warmth, before returning to his work.

"Mr. President? Jet? Hello—o?"

Jet Set almost jumped in his seat after hearing his Secretary's voice—Juniper Montage, a light-yellow Earth pony with a teal-coloured mane tied in a bun, she dons her standard black suit with a suit-skirt with a thick-frame magenta glasses.

She is also standing in front of his desk facing him, whilst also carrying the tower of paper he had on his desk, on her back.

"H-hu—ahem. Yes, Jun?" said Jet Set after almost choking on his coffee. He carefully set the mug back onto the table before looking up again at her.

"I said I'll be taking these papers," she replied before going silent with a contemplative look on her face, "Are you good? You're not seeing any hallucinations again are you?"

Jet Set didn't really listen to what she said and briefly wondered where his wife went, the feeling of the soft peck on his muzzle was gone. What's going on? he wondered, sliding his right hoof against his muzzle in confusion before replying to Juniper.

"Ye—yes! Everything's fine," He said frantically before giving her an awkward smile. "Do you need help with those?"

"Thank you, but there's something for you to tend...." She raised an eyebrow at him before going back to a neutral expression, adjusting her glasses with her right hoof. "Excuse me."

"Enjoy your coffee, I think Bane's coming here to discuss something with you, I'll be here after I deposit these papers."

She coughed into her right hoof once before quickly turning tail for the office door.

Was I hallucinating.....? muttered Jet Set to himself. He shook the weariness out of his head before continuing the work on his concurrent task.

Six minutes later

Out of nowhere, the door to his office slammed open. His defense minister, Bane Shield, escorted by two Military Police officers, stormed in. Jet Set put his pen down and turned toward him, noticing the seriousness on Bane's face.

"Jet, you’re not going to believe this—but the Equus Volunteers, you remember them? The ones stationed on the border with Wingbardy?"

"Uh-huh? Continue." Jet Set replied, puzzled.

During the retreat from Equestria, Jet Set had allowed his admirals to rescue Equestrian Armed Forces personnel and United Pony Alliance civilians, those military personnel eventually formed the 15th Infantry Regiment, 'Equus Guards,' in agreement with New Mareland until they could return home.

The unit is made up of formerly Royal Guards, Marines, Military Police, Hoof Infantry, and sailors rescued during the evacuation. But what did this have to do with them?

"Well, they reported Griffonian knights—like, knights of old, carrying spears and wearing medieval armor. They tried crossing the border but were told to turn back. There was a brief alleged exchange of words which made one of the pony border guard faint, but they agreed to leave."

"What?" Jet Set stammered, absolutely flabbergasted. "You don’t think they’re hallucinating, do you?"

"No, Jet. They’re telling the truth. They also sent these pictures," Bane Shield said, laying out several photographs taken from the outpost towers along the border. The images showed Griffonian knights of old in full armour, approaching the tower. One even showed the regiment commander, wearing a red Equestrian beret, speaking with the knights.

Genuine Griffonian Knights, just like the ones told in old Griffonian stories, but without colourful plumes sticking out of their helms. What is Wingbardy doing? Why are there knights approaching our border? Countless questions ran through Jet Sets mind.

"...What do you want me to do with this information?" Jet Set asked, still confused on the entire ordeal.

"Well, after checking in with our geologists, biologists, thaumaturgists and other specialists across the border..." He paused briefly. "I can tell you with eighty percent confidence that..." Bane Shield paused again, taking a deep breath. "..And also with an envoy sent by the king of those knights..."

Jet Set’s anxiety grew as he anticipated the news.

"...We might've have been teleported into another reality. Judging by the large amount lingering magical radiation near the border."

"..."

"Dear Lord...."

Jet Set is pretty sure more of his jet black mane turned white at the news. He also threw the address he wrote into the trash to start anew. That address can wait on Monday.

1325 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1012 ALB
North of Hoovesplain, Outskirts near the border of Wingbardy.
Hoovesplain County, New Mareland

More than an hour ago.

"Princess Celestia probably freed herself from Chrysalis. Any thoughts?"

"Might be a thingamajigs from the thaumaturgy department. Who knows, they might've figured out a way to control the sun without Celestia's flank-magic."

"Quite possible, but a huge stretch considering we've barely able to produce telekinesis using machines, no?"

"Fair... Buck, I am bored to death here, let's speed up the game."

Two Earth ponies stationed in a outpost tower along the Wingbardian border were passing the time playing cards as they shared their thoughts about the mysterious flash. Their guns—‘battle rifles’ as New Marelanders call them—sat beside the table. A small camera was also present on the table, marked with the name 'Comet' drawn roughly on the side with crayons.

New Mareland's advancements in weaponry were significant, a result of learning from both failure and successes on the battlefield and its unparalleled industrial might compared to other nations of the time. The Haysaght Bronco SA-BR (Ponified tanker's M1 Garand chambered in 7x40mm) with eight rounds capacity was born from these factors.

In late 1009 ALB, when Chrysalis’s blitzkrieg was initially halted by reinforcements from the United Pony Alliance, New Mareland Military finds out that, its main bolt-action rifle—the Rose Rifle (a Jungle Enfield Carbine chambered in 7x40mm)—lacked the firepower and speed needed to counter advancing Changeling infantry squads.

The Changeling infantry squads not only carrying bolt action rifles, but also carrying other form of weaponry like Submachineguns and Light Machineguns boosting their offensive capabilities. They outperformed and outgunned the under-prepared and under-armed UPA ponies.

As a result, the Marelandian Military-industrial complex was tasked with closing the capability gap, resulting in weapons like the Sunset Arms F1 SMG (Ponified Owen SMG w/o the front grip, chambered in 11x23mm), the Coltstone Automatic Light Machinegun (ponified Bren LMG chambered in 7x40mm), and of course the Bronco SA-BR.

"Celestial Flush, you owe me ten bits."

"Blast, you've won thrice already."

"A deal’s a deal. If you don’t pay up, I’ll tell the colts to never gamble with you."

"Buck off will you? I'm already broke you damn skank."

"If I'm a skank you sniff manure on a daily basis."

The Earth pony on the left side of the table wore a wide-brim slouched Studson hat (Stetson), while the one on the right has a New Mareland-issued Equine M11 helmet (Stahlhelm), a thin steel helm design inspired by the Changelings. Both, despite being Equestrian Volunteer members, are particularly dressed in surplus New Mareland Ground Forces olive drab uniform and ammunition rig that carried six pouches, with pairs of black military rear-hoof boots.

He looked toward the other pony with an amused smile. "You're projecting on me, shrewd pony?"

"As if, pay up already." retorted Solar Comet whilst extending his right hoof. The Earth pony sporting his usual Studsons gave his friend a stabbing stare that conveys seriousness.

Brisk Strike sighed, clenching his teeth before letting out a huff. He reluctantly pulled out exactly ten bits in paper money and promptly handed them to Comet, who wore a smug smile on his muzzle.

But something caught Brisk Strike's attention out of the corner of his eye, toward the Wingbardian side. After 'The Flash,' the grass on both sides had taken on an unmistakable contrast—the Wingbardian side was noticeably more vibrant, almost cartoonishly green. The dirt road that had led into Wingbardy also noticeably disappeared.

New Mareland's Military Command had long suspected that Wingbardy might attempt a second invasion in the future. Thus the reason why the Equestrian Volunteers are stationed at the border, ready to act as a reactionary force. Their primary purpose it to slow down any potential Wingbardian advance until the main New Mareland divisions could retaliate with Quick Reaction Forces.

Brisk Strike couldn’t help but prepare himself for the worst. His stomach growled and ached as his anxiety began welling up.

"Formation, Comet—Formation!" Bellowed Brisk, both of the pony scrambled to grab their rifles, before standing guard near the railing of the tower. Solar Comet had grabbed his cracked binocular before scanning the hills for any movements.

Brisk did the same. Though unlike Solar Comet, he scanned over the area where he had spotted the movements and saw something. 'A Griffon Knight?' he said to himself in bewilderment.

"One' O clock, Northeast," muttered Brisk Strike. Solar Comet flicked his binocs over toward the direction, spotting the strange sight.

"Seeing what I’m seeing?"

"Ehyup."

"Oh good, I’m not going crazy."

Suddenly, ten more knights emerged over the hill, making their way toward the tower, stepping over the barbed wire as if it wasn’t even there, though some of them briefly got stuck. Solar Comet rested his rifle on the edge of the guard tower and switched it from safe to semi-auto, his hoof hovering near the trigger in anticipation

"Hold your fire. I'm going to... Try and talk to them, yeah?" Brisk Strike suggests, seeing as his partner's grip on the trigger of his weapon get tighter. He's not going to be responsible for a diplomatic incident.

Comet glances at him. "If you want to get stabbed, be my guest?"

"Comet, cover my flank. And tell my dam I love her." Brisk Strike said with a smirk before descending down the guard tower spiral staircase. "Radio the Commander too. He might want to see this." The Griffon Knights had already spotted him, and the air grew tense as he approached them.

Solar Comet cantered over to the Radio, laying his Battle rifle against the rail. Arriving at the table, he quickly flipped the electrical switch, the display showing a bunch of numbers representing the frequency of the Radio.

"Baltimare Three reporting to Sire Foal, how copy?" He spoke into the microphone hooked up to the contraption.

"Sire Foal h—s you loud and clea—r," the pony on the other side responded. "Send your tr—fic, over."

"Baltimare Three has spotted dozen or so, Wings on hoof arriving from Wingbardy direction and has trespassed. My partner is approaching them to warn before conducting any forceful actions. They are also wearing.... Knight armour. How copy?"

"...Ov—r? Why are they wearing Kni—ght armor?"

Solar briefly huffed. "Unknown to me, requesting reinforcement. Possibly Commander Erwin for interdiction and communication. Possible diplomatic route. How copy?"

"Wilco, I am alerting Com—ander Erwin. Stand by and po—sibly tell the Talons to march back to the b—rder. Over and out."

Solar then grabbed his camera sat on the table that they were gambling on. He went back to his position, slung his rifle over his head and took a picture of Brisk approaching the Griffons.

"Turn back! This is New Mareland soil, you are trespassing!" Brisk Strike shouted in Griffonian, wincing inwardly. He was fairly certain he had butchered the pronunciation.

The senior-looking Griffon at the front stepped forward, his armour clinking with every movement. He raised his visor, revealing a weathered face with a prominent scar running over his right eye. The knights following him also had stopped in their tracks, just about 20 meters from the tower as they met face to face with Brisk Strike.

"You ponies are far from Equestria or the Riverlands," the Griffon replied in a deep, almost regal tone. His eyes gleamed with curiosity, but there was no immediate hostility in them. "Your Griffon tongue is fairly good though you need to improve on your pronunciation. Say, why has your land appeared off the shore of my Kingdom?"

Brisk Strike froze in place like a deer in a headlight. He partially understood what the knight said. Nervously he thought about his next course of action.

"Uh, I don't understand Griffonian. Do you speak Equestrian?" Brisk Strike asked the knight, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Hah, I knew thy well. You ponies don't waste a sliver of thy time to practice Griffonian," the older Griffon replied with a arrogant-like regal tone, seamlessly switching to Equestrian before giving Brisk an advice. "Use thee free time to practice Griffonian, understood?"

As he spoke, the younger-looking Griffon knight beside him lifted his visor and gently tapped the older knight on the shoulder.

"Sir Griedlin, I believe it prudent that we cast aside the 'Canterlotian' accent, for we are not discussing with Monarchs," the younger knight suggested, his voice more respectful but firm.

Sir Griedlin regarded his companion with a raised brow, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his beak. "Aye, young Kaldrik, you are right. We are not here to talk like nobles. What brings your country to be teleported over the western Wingbardian coast, pony?"

"What do you mean by 'teleport'?" Brisk Strike asked, confusion evident in his voice.

"Over an hour ago, a bright blinding flash was seen by local villagers who live near this area, where I am standing, is on a cliff facing the southern Aquillan Sea. We are a scouting force sent by His Majesty Gumberto II to investigate," Griedlin, the elder Griffonian knight explained.

"...You're kidding me?"

"Pony, I would have never obtained the rank of Knight Captain if I were constantly lying, would I?"

"Say, what's the date?"

"27 years after the fall of the Griffonian Empire. Or 1002 ALB in your Calendar. Why do you ask?"

"Sweet Celestia."

Brisk Strike fainted before collapsing onto the ground with a thud. Solar Comet, who had been listening the entire time from the tower, rushed down the stairs toward him. The knights were stunned by the pony's sudden collapse, briefly exchanging confused glances.

"Knights, I suggest you step back over the barbed wire. My Commander—I am his subordinate—will arrive in a couple of minutes to speak with you," Solar Comet said professionally, locking his piercing gaze onto Griedlin's eyes. "We don't want any problems, do we?"

"Alright, alright," Griedlin replied without resistance, turning to face his fellow knights.

"Kaldrik, contact the King with your magic crystals. Knights, we're marching back past the wires," Griedlin called to the knights, who immediately began walking back.

"This is going to be a long day," muttered Solar Comet before turning his attention back to the unconscious pony in front of him.

Using his muzzle, Solar Comet bit down on Brisk Strike's uniform and began dragging him toward the Guard Tower.

1300 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
Royal Carriage, on a train toward Manehattan
Somewhere in Equestria

"Sister, we feel as if a large amount of magical energy has appeared somewhere to the east."

"Luna, you're probably just nervous about the events in Manehattan. Take a rest, will you?"

Princess Luna rolled her eyes at her older sister, Princess Celestia, who is lounging on a couch in a corner of the carriage, engrossed in a newly released Daring Do novel.

The two alicorn diarchs of Equestria were currently on the Canterlot train, heading toward Manehattan in eastern Equestria for a grand ceremony to open the new harbor, to which they had been invited.

The Element Bearers were also following them in another carriage because Celestia's unicorn student, Twilight Sparkle, had begged to join her. Celestia, the ever-benevolent ruler she is, agreed, still charmed by the cute antics of her student.

"Sister, we are being serious. Perhaps we should investigate it ourselves?" Princess Luna urged.

"I would prefer if you didn't, Luna. We have a lot to do tomorrow," retorted Princess Celestia, setting the novel aside on the couch, her expression now stern. Celestia looked directly into Luna's eyes, her piercing gaze sending a shiver up Luna's spine.

Luna furrowed her brow in protest but ultimately relented. "Fine."

Princess Luna promptly retreated to her quarters in the Royal Carriage, slamming the door shut in protest with her telekinesis.

Sigh... Celestia huffed, still very concerned for her sister. Helping Luna assimilate into modern Equestria was one thing; dealing with her antics was another. Celestia felt a deep sense of guilt for having banished Luna to the moon all those years ago.

From Celestia's perspective, as the older sister, it was her duty to protect Luna, but she had failed over a millennium ago. She is determined not to fail again. While Celestia had worries about the future, she remained hopeful that it would turn for the good.

Rising from the couch, Celestia approached the desk beside it and lifted the letter of invitation from the Mayor of Manehattan once more, rereading it.

It was going to be a long day tomorrow; hopefully, nothing too major would happen. Hopefully.

Ch 3 - First Contact (Last edit: 15/2/2025)

Author's Note

Sorry for not uploading more often, I've been very busy irl and also writer's block sucks.
I will probably not upload anything until mid February or after.
I dropped the EAW map for a custom map compiling ideas from several community maps, I posted a snip of it below.
I decided to drop the Shakespearean English in the Griffon dialogues because it took too much time. Plus all the creatures in MLP spoke Muhrican english!
Fifth chapter will probably about what occurred to Taskforce Lunar or update on Congress and the griffon's subsequent visit.
Not proud of this chapter because its way too wordy and I've taken too long writing it.

Reference:
1 Hoof = 0.5 meters = 1.6 foot (US)
1 Talon = 0.7 meters = 2.3 foot (US)

Equus refers to the continent which Equestria (the country) sits on and where most of MLP takes place.

Griffonia refers to the northeast continent where the Griffons originate from and where Griffonstone is set in.

Zebrica refers to the southeast continent where Zebras, Felinids and more originate from. It is located south of Griffonia and is connected by a vast desert.

'Equestria' whilst referring to the country also refers to the planet where MLP takes place.

Griffish/Griffonian > Griffon Language (Mix of various Germanic languages)
Equis/Equestrian > Western Pony Language (Modern English)

Also, heres the current map of the surrounding:

Current New Mareland Flag:

And again: provide feed back and alert me of mistakes, be brutally honest. Thank you.

EDIT;

I accidentally wrote 'hind talons' forgetting that Griffons have lion paws lol. Changed some words and improved the text by a bit. 12/2/2025
I added extra lines for Griedlin. 14/2/2025
Changed dates to fit time frame of story. 17/11/1002 ALB --> 10/3/1002

Ch 3 - First Contact (Last edit: 15/2/2025)

1335 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
Kingdom of Wingbardy.
Central Wingbardy, Karthin

Glaucus nervously adjusted the folds of his toga for the third time, his claws fumbling with the fabric and decorative metal pieces as he approached the grand double doors of the throne room. His brow twitched with unease. He had been suddenly summoned by King Gumberto II—on such short notice, no less.

He suspected a shift in the kingdom's current agenda and sighed at the thought of more work. Nevertheless, it was his duty as a diplomat, and he took pride in serving Wingbardy whenever he could. After all, it had been his suggestion to invade Falcor in the first place.

King Gumberto II—a young griff at the time of his ascension two years prior—had been eager to expand Wingbardian influence in Western Griffonia, motivated by the thoughts of making his father proud. He had sought advice from his royal advisors, which had quickly devolved into bickering and disagreement.

Watching from the spectator benches, Glaucus had scoffed at the display before rising from his seat to interject. He then proposed that Falcor should be the target of Wingbardy's expansion. Most of the advisors were left speechless at his audacity to interrupt the session, some tried to argue, but in the end the King would shut them down to hear the proposal from him.

Falcor, formally known as the Falcorian Queendom, was a 'peaceful griffon realm' to the east of Wingbardy. At the thought of such softness, Glaucus let out a low groan of contempt. A “peace-loving griffon realm”—a gathering of softbeaks, pathetic. Anyways, the queendom bordered the Duchy of Fransmistra to the north and was ruled by the young Queen Fiammetta, who had ascended the throne following the untimely death of her mother.

Like her predecessor, Queen Fiammetta adhered to pacifist diplomacy, staunchly opposing militarism with her introducing further straining budget cuts to the military. This policy had led to a decline in the discipline, equipment, and training standards of Falcor's guards. They were laughably weak in Glaucus's view.

In short, it was the perfect target for Wingbardy.

The King had applauded and agreed with Glaucus's suggestion after hearing his reasonings and ordered the Royal Wingbardian Levée and Knights to begin preparations for an invasion of Falcor. After a year of meticulous planning, Glaucus was sent, along with his fellow diplomats, to Falcor City with a list of Wingbardian demands:

Falcor was to become a vassal of Wingbardy.
Falcor was to pay reparations of 90,000 bits annually to Wingbardy for five years.
Failing the above: Falcor would face the might of Wingbardian warbands.

Unsurprisingly, Queen Fiammetta rejected the outrageous demands outright and promptly expelled Glaucus and the Wingbardian envoys from her court. Upon Glaucus’s return to Kathrin, the King ordered the Royal Levy and Knights to march on Falcor City.

Miraculously, the Wingbardian army capitulated Falcor City within three months, forcing Queen Fiammetta to flee to Southern Falcor, rallying the remains of her army at the major trading city named 'Matton'.

Despite the overwhelming initiative to chase down the routed and unorganized Falcorian Guards, the King had chosen to halt the advance of the Wingbardian army, sparing the retreating Falcorian forces—an act of mercy Glaucus strongly opposed.

Mercy, he thought bitterly, ruffling his feathers at the memory. Mercy was weakness, and weakness was a luxury Wingbardy could ill afford if they wish to achieve their ideals.

Despite his disagreements, orders were orders. The Royal Army fortified Falcor City under the King's order, and Glaucus was dispatched to Matton to 'negotiate' (pressure would be more accurate) Queen Fiammetta into surrender. A year of tedious negotiations had shown promise, Glaucus knew it was only a matter of time before she broke.

"The weak deserve to be conquered by the strong," Glaucus muttered to himself, before he raised his beak toward the royal double doors. He shook his head, still trying to rid himself of the nausea from being teleported from Matton all the way to the palace in Karthin. Copying the ponies does have its downsides after all.

By the time Glaucus reaches the heavy doors of the throne room he was still quite uneased. But he's sure, whatever the King demands of him, it will serve the grand purpose of securing Wingbardy’s future, it must be handled with dignity and professionalism.

Glaucus instantly straightens his posture, pushing his unease aside. With a sharp breath, he pushed the doors, their hinges creaking under the strain, and stepped inside.

King Gumberto II sat upon a gilded throne, decorated with gems of various kinds. Undoubtedly a relic passed down from the legendary rulers of ancient Karthin. His expression is unreadable—a regal mask of calm, yet his presence radiates authority worthy of respect.

Eight Royal guards flank his left and rights, their armour a coal-black colour, sharing the same unreadable expression. They also wore a dark blue surcoat over the armor, ensigned with the emblem of the Falcor Royal Knights.

The tension in the throne room was thick, making Glaucus swallow a thick sludge of saliva before he continued striding forward.

His talons clicked and clacked against the polished marble floor, as he approached the throne. Stopping five talons away, he bowed low, tucking his wings neatly at his sides.

“At ease,” King Gumberto says, his voice calm but firm.

Glaucus straightened, meeting the sovereign’s sharp gaze. “Your Majesty, I am at your service.”

The King leans forward slightly, his jewelled sceptre gleaming in his right talon. “Listen carefully, Sir Glaucus. This task may sound absurd, but its significance cannot be overstated.”

“Earlier today, alarming reports arrived from the southern villages,” Gumberto begins, his tone measured. “An earthquake shook the region, followed by a blinding white light over the western cliffs facing the Aquillan Sea. Before anygriff could get their bearings, a new landmass appeared off the coast.”

Glaucus blinks, his mind racing, but he says nothing as the King continues.

“I dispatched knights to investigate in order to calm the villagers down, expecting the story to be false. But twenty minutes ago, the knights I have sent contacted me through a magic gem with a communication spell. They have confirmed the presence of the landmass and… a border force of ponies calling themselves ‘New Marelanders.’"

“Ponies?” Glaucus’s beak curls slightly in disdain, though he catches himself before speaking out of turn.

“An entire nation, Glaucus,” Gumberto said, his voice lowering. “Not a caravan, not a rogue settlement—an entire nation has materialised on our doorstep."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

“Their intentions are unknown,” the King continued, his gaze sharpening. “And their mere presence will shift the local political landscape exponentially. I am sending you to establish diplomatic contact and assess the threat they pose. The Chief Magician will teleport you to our knights. Do not fail me, Sir Glaucus.”

Bowing deeply, Glaucus replies, his voice steady, “Your Majesty, I shall see this matter handled to your satisfaction.”

The King nods, leaning back in his throne, his sceptre resting on his lap. “Good. Be swift and thorough. You leave immediately.”

As Glaucus strides out of the throne room, his talons clicking in rhythmic steps, his mind turns to the task ahead. A nation of ponies suddenly appearing? Absurd, as the King had said. Still, the ponies’ reputation as a peaceful race makes their threat 'negligible' in his eyes. They are as good as under Wingbardy’s talons already.

The Ponies, unlike the Griffons are a peaceful and idealistic race, they prefer diplomacy to force or conflict. The Griffons, however—unlike the ponies of Equestria, wherever they are, or the ponies of the Riverlands to the east of Griffonia—has a natural warrior-like culture, focusing on individualism and pride with a strong dislike of cowardice.

In Glaucus's opinion, the ponies are cowards for preferring diplomacy. To have power is to rule and use it with an Iron talon. Is it highly ironic and hypocritical of him preferring war to diplomacy as a diplomat? Yes. Does he care? No.

Ever since the fall of the Griffonian Empire caused by the Idol of Boreas being stolen, it shows that Griffons must not be united because of a stupid statue, but instead united by a strong figure of power. The stagnation, decay and isolation of Griffonia that occurred due to the lost idol is proof.

Wingbardy shall be that 'strong figure' and it shall also no longer be subjugated like it once was by Griffonstone, instead it shall subjugate Griffonia, Zebrica, and later Equus under its iron talons.

Glaucus allows himself a sinister grin as he turned the corner toward the magician quarters. If their arrival is a twist of fate, it is one that bends neatly to Wingbardian ambition. Another conquest is on the horizon.

The ponies simply don’t know it yet.

1344 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
Southern Wingbardy
???, "New Mareland" Border

A thunderous crack reverberated through the air as Glaucus materialized onto a hilly grassland. The teleportation spell’s lingering nausea churned his stomach, forcing him to steady himself with a talon pressed to his forehead until the sensation faded.

About six talons away, Knight Captain Griedlin stood with an iron spear resting casually on his shoulder. The visor of his Griffonhelm was raised, exposing his sharp amber eyes and the cocky grin spread across his beak. He nodded in acknowledgment of Glaucus’s arrival and extended a talon in greeting.

“Welcome, a pleasure to see your beak again, Sir Glaucus,” Griedlin said, his voice carrying a mix of camaraderie and sarcasm. “Here to start another war, or just sightseeing?”

“Charming as always,” Glaucus replied nonchalant before shaking his talon, ignoring the jibe. The jabs earned a few chuckles from Kaldrik, the young Griffon knight standing next to Griedlin and the other knights currently resting on the grass.

“So, care to brief me on the situation, Sir Griedlin? And greetings, Squire Kaldrik,” Glaucus asked, scanning the surroundings. His eyes fell on a towering green metal guard tower in the distance, complete with a spiraling staircase leading to the top, complete with a room, windows and railings.

“What a waste of resources,” Glaucus muttered under his breath. “Building with metal and glass instead of stone or wood? What were they thinking?” There was also a few weird looking contraptions on the edges of the railing, but Glaucus gave no heed to them.

Glaucus shifted his attention to the pony, near the railings, wearing a broad-brimmed hat—a Studson, if he recalled correctly, signature of Earth ponies—holding on with its front hoofs—what seems to be a long wooden stick, it rested against the railing and pointed at them. Glaucus then squinted toward the dirt road, noticing a faint rumbling sound further down the road, though he spotted nothing.

Griedlin chuckled at Glaucus's antics. “Straight to business, huh? Here’s the situation.”

Gesturing toward the fence in the distance, Griedlin began his explanation. “We crossed what they called ‘barbed wire’—nasty trap. Some of our feathers and edges of armor got snagged slowing us down. When we made it over, we encountered a pony who warned us, in broken Griffonian, that we’d entered ‘New Mareland territory.’”

Glaucus tilted his head, acting ignorant. “New Mareland? Sounds…vaguely Equestrian.”

“Agreed,” Griedlin said with a nod. “One of them fainted the moment we asked how their land had appeared on our western coast. The other dragged him back to that metal tower and told us to wait for their ‘Commander.’”

“It seems these ponies didn’t arrive here by choice, they also probably had a 'version' of Wingbardy in their world considering how that pony 'greeted' us,” Griedlin explained his assessment, before planting his iron spear into the ground with a swift motion.

“That should cover everything?” Glaucus asked, his gaze thoughtful.

Griedlin briefly glances at the border separated by the wires. "Other than the large amount of magical energy radiation in the air from their teleportation..."

“That should be all. We’ve been waiting for about five minutes, and I suspect that rumbling sound is their Commander on the way,” Griedlin replied, casting a wary glance at the approaching noise.

He then leaned toward Glaucus, his expression serious and tense. “I’m telling you now, Glaucus—these ponies might not look like much, but something about them feels off. Call it a knight’s intuition, but I think diplomacy is the way to go here.”

Glaucus offered him a small, fleeting smile before turning back.

A sly grin flickered across Glaucus’s beak. “You’re too cautious, Griedlin,” he thought. “These ponies are weaklings. What’s there to fear? This might be the perfect opportunity to secure glory for the kingdom.”

The faint rumble originating from the road immediately broke Glaucus’s musings. His sharp eyes glanced again toward the dirt road—then locking onto a green rectangular quad-wheeled wide metal carriage, with panes of glass on its front where a pony can be seen in the inside, the back of the carriage is covered with a dark-tan coloured fabric which obscures the passengers. The carriage then rumbled to a stop at the base of the structure, and a pony adorned with a sloped maroon hat stepped out from the front, shutting the door behind him with practiced precision.

“Strange… no pony pulling it,” Glaucus muttered. “Magic?”

Griedlin looked at him and shook his head in disagreement. He noticed there was a distinct lack of magical energy radiating from the carriage besides its occupants. Griedlin silently turned his attention back to the sight, of which he couldn't help but gawk a bit in astonishment of 'how' it moved.

Several more ponies—eight in total—exited from the back of the carriage orderly before forming a line facing the maroon-hat pony. They wore dark olive and tan uniforms dotted with rough brown and dark green patches (Ie. Denison Smock UK WW2 Pattern) along with kettle-like helmets (Brodie), and many carried wooden or metal sticks of different shape and sizes with straps slung over their withers, they also had matching black or tan boots on their hindhoofs. Glaucus noted they are also wearing a light-blue band on their right-hoof, nearing the wither.

Their disciplined movements sets Glaucus on edge, these ponies weren't what he expected. They were considerably more organized than what he had read on griffon books about ponies growing up.

Though, he also noticed four of the eight ponies being wrapped in somewhat-bloodied bandages on their hoofs or torso. Utilizing injured soldiers? They must be lacking ponies to fill in their ranks. Glaucus briefly flashes a sinister grin before subsiding to his usual poker face.

“Ponies look strange in uniform,” Griedlin remarked, glancing at his knights, who were lounging nearby, their curiosity barely veiled.

The Studson-wearing pony descended from the tower and saluted the stallion with the maroon hat, who returned the gesture. They exchanged a few words seeing as their muzzles are moving, Glaucus mentally noted as he continued observing.

Some of the ponies glanced over at him and the knights, though they were too far—about fifty talons away—for Glaucus to read their expressions clearly, even with his sharp griffon vision.

The pony in the maroon hat, presumably their Commander, nodded to the Studson-wearing pony before turning to face Glaucus and the knights. He began marching toward them, escorted by two ponies, now holding the same strange sticks from earlier, slung over their wither and held in one hoof. Griedlin signalled for two of his own knights—including Kaldrik—to join him at the fence, then gesturing for Glaucus to follow.

“That must be their Commander,” Griedlin muttered as he readied himself to speak diplomatically. Glaucus nodded, narrowing his eyes as the pony approached, flanked by two escorts.

The Studson-wearing pony begins ascending back to the top of the tower, where two of the ponies from earlier—with red crosses on their kettle helmets—followed him up.

As the Commander drew closer, Griedlin and Glaucus could finally get a good look at him. He was a light green unicorn with a well-groomed greenish-black mane, dressed in a dirtied and battered multi-coloured buttoned tan uniform just like his subordinates, with brown wraps on his back hoofs along with a pair of tan boots, a light-blue band with a white star on the right hoof and a rig that attached several small saddlebags to him. There was also few drops of old dried out brown blood stains on his uniform that Griedlin noticed.

On his maroon hat, Glaucus noted an emblem crafted from silver or iron, depicting the two Alicorn sisters of Equestria. Though he wasn’t sure if these figures actually existed due to the recent isolation of Griffonia, they were likely symbolic in his opinion.

Both parties met at the fence, a tense atmosphere settling between them. Before Griedlin could break the silence, the stallion Commander spoke first.

“....So, you must be the beakfaces my ponies mentioned,” he asked in Griffonian condenscendingly, his slightly deep voice carrying some gruffness comparable to Griedlin's, though also a bit higher in pitch. His sharp eyes scanned the griffons before resting back on Griedlin.

The escorting pony left of the stallion Commander casts a disapproving glare at his back silently, meanwhile the other escort pony only stood in silence. Kaldrik bristled at the insult, his grip tightening on his spear, but Griedlin kept his composure.

Glaucus only raised an eyebrow, only slightly angry as he was more surprised, ponies are usually not the ones you expect to use a slurs or insults.

“That’s correct,” Griedlin replied evenly in Equis before transitioning to a snarky tone. “Though I prefer ‘Griedlin’ to 'Beakface', and what's your name haymuncher?”

The unicorn smirked, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement. “Field Mar—", Erwin suddenly paused before clearing his throat with a cough. "Commander Oven ‘Erwin’ Baker, Equestrian Volunteers. And you?” The unicorn then raised his right forehoof. Griedlin extended his talon and gripped the stallion's hoof accepting the 'hoofshake'.

Griedlin then shook his hoof in a firm talon-hoof-shake with both giving a nod of respect for each other. “Knight Captain Griedlin of the Wingbardian Royal Knights. A pleasure, Commander Erwin.”

“Hearing that young stallion fainted after talking to you was quite funny. And your stiff-looking friend?” Erwin asked, nodding toward Glaucus.

“This is Sir Glaucus, envoy of the king,” Griedlin said. Glaucus only gave a small nod to show respect. "I didn't expect that pony to faint actually." The reply earned a single chuckle from Erwin.

Glaucus, not trying to look belligerent quickly gapped to Erwin. "Commander Erwin, I have a question if that doesn't burden you, but what is the carriage you rode here called?" He points to the four-wheeled vehicle (M-Bz UNIMOG) from earlier.

"It is called a 'General Purpose Logistical Truck' or in short, 'GPT'. We usually use it to transport supplies or ponies around."

Griedlin was intrigued by Erwin's answer, but Glaucus only kept the word 'truck' in mind whilst disregarding the other info in case he has to refer to it in the future.

Erwin gave another scan toward the two griffons before adding. "That truck and more are lent to us by the New Mareland Military Command, because we're technically not part of the New Mareland Armed Forces officially—anyhow, anything else you have for me?"

“Well, since we’re here, I'd thought it prudent to establish some diplomatic ties, so I contacted the king with this here Kaldrik, our Messenger Griffon-Knight and also a Squire serving under me, to summon Sir Glaucus.”

Erwin’s gaze lingered on Glaucus, his sharp eyes betraying a flicker of curiosity before he sighed. “Well, this just got more complicated. I’ll have to report this to my superiors before letting you in.”

Muttering under his breath, barely audible to Griedlin, “...and probably write up another bucking report.”

Kaldrik, the escort knight and, Glaucus promptly sat down on the grass to await their approval to cross, seeing as it is going to take some time. The Knight Captain however only watched with a small smile as the Commander Pony contemplates his decision.

Erwin straightened, his weariness momentarily replaced with a wry grin before turning toward his escorts. “Let’s not waste time. Cut the barb wire,” he ordered his escorts. “They’re coming with me.”

“Hah," Griedlin chuckled at the pony's decision. He then ordered Kaldrik to relay to the rest of the Knights to return to Karthin, and to grab another as escort.

“What?” Glaucus squawked bewildered as he scrambled to get onto his talons.

1346 Hour
Saturday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
New Mareland, Guard Tower.
???, New Mareland Border

Soon both Griedlin, Glaucus, Kaldrik and the other escort knight made their way to the base of the metallic guard tower, closer to the ponies in strange uniforms they had seen earlier. The ponies watched them with curiosity. There, Glaucus was able to see their weapons more clearly—rather than just long sticks, these weapons had bits of black-coloured metal tubes sticking out from one end, along with other metallic parts.

And how were they holding it with their hooves? Griedlin racked his head as he tried to figure it out, must be a type of magic.

“Another intriguing device,” He murmured, tilting his head to examine them more closely.

Glaucus scoffed. “Hmph, nothing more than sticks with bits of metal. Where are their spears? Their armour besides a cheap helmet?” His tone dripped with disdain and underestimation.

He noticed some of the 'instruments' have blades affixed near the end of the metal tubes, though not all, introducing more questions than answers. Why?

Erwin led the group into the guard tower, ascending a narrow spiral staircase to a cluttered room at the top. Inside, a group of three ponies sitting on chairs abruptly ended their card game, going onto their hooves before saluting.

The Studson pony and the two others—a Pegasi stallion and a Unicorn mare—wearing helmets with red crosses, stood up, pausing their card game to salute Commander Erwin. Griedlin noticed that the pony who had fainted earlier was sleeping on the ground near a drawer atop an olive-green stretcher.

“At ease,” Erwin said, and the ponies lowered their salutes in response. “Medics, any updates on Brisk’s condition?”

"Just fainted. He’ll be up in an hour, good as new." reported the older-looking Pegasi pony, his right eye covered by a maroon-stained white bandage which made Kaldrik a bit squeamish at the sight. The young Unicorn pony nodded in agreement.

Erwin then briefly look toward the Studson-wearing pony, top to bottom before gazing at the fainted pony. "Mind explaining to me, why are you two are wearing the yank's uniform, kit and guns?"

The Studson wearing pony gave another salute. "Permission to speak, Field Marshal?"

"Speak, and call me by my new rank, we're no longer in Equestria."

The Studson-wearing pony dropped his saluting hoof before replying in a formal tone. "Our uniforms including the issued hoofbands are undergoing stitching and a thorough wash as we speak. As such, the Quartermaster issued us surplus uniform and kit. As for the guns, the yanks were charitable enough to donated a few rifles to our platoon."

Erwin only gave him an amused nod before silently walking toward a weird looking machine set atop a table, catching Glaucus's attention with him following behind. Griedlin however stood still for a while staring at the helmets of the ponies, Kaldrik and the other guard followed him to not interfere with the diplomat's work.

Griedlin then approached the ponies wearing helmets marked with red crosses. “Those symbols on your helmets—do they signify you’re perhaps doctors?” He said with curiosity. Griedlin had read about the red cross symbol in a book years ago about pony societies.

The older stallion chuckled, rubbing the bloodied bandage with his hoof. “Not quite, 'doctors' in the traditional sense, but close. We’re combat medics—and we're trained for first aid during battles, usually at the front lines. The surgeons, doctors and other medical specialists stay back at the field hospitals.”

“During battles?” Griedlin repeated, his brows furrowing. The idea intrigued him. While the knight's battles relied on post-fight magical healing or rudimentary herb treatments, having medics amidst the fray seemed revolutionary—and risky.

Kaldrik sounded behind him with a comment in Griffionian, “Seems like folly, wouldn't the 'medics', on the battlefield, quickly become a big target?”

The older stallion shrugged. “It’s dangerous, sure, but necessary to bring ponies home alive." He replied composed, pointing his hoof toward the bloodied bandage covering his right eye.

"We patch up the wounded quickly so they can fight another day. Plus I can defend myself thanks to this beautiful piece of machine.” He added before gesturing toward the 'stick' on the table.

"And before you ask. Yes, I did learn Griffonian as a disaster volunteer years ago."

Griedlin is still puzzled by what the pony elaborated. What if it has something to do with how they fight? Their country came from another dimension after all, their battles must be significantly different to his. This only fed his ever growing curiosity. He could also use the knowledge to potentially improve the Knight's organisation back home.

He then smiled faintly after thought, amused at the younger knight’s skepticism. His attention shifted to the weapon leaning against the table—a mix of polished wood and black metal that gleamed ominously under the sunlight from the glass windows of the tower.

"I am also curious on your weapons—can you tell me how it works? Young Kaldrik here might also have questions," asked Griedlin whilst pointing his talon at the older stallion's weapon leaning against the table.

Kaldrik sighed, his wings drooping slightly before replying in Equis. “With respect, Sir Griedlin, shouldn’t we focus on our concurrent tasks? Like protecting Sir Glaucus over there?”

“Knowledge is always practical,” Griedlin replied, his tone firm but kind. “Come, young Kaldrik, a few questions won’t hurt.”

The older stallion chuckled. “Fair enough, I’ll answer what I can. So long as you don’t ask for state secrets.” He glanced at Kaldrik, who approached hesitantly but with growing curiosity.

“Fine,” Kaldrik muttered. “Suppose it’s worth knowing something about these strange ponies.”

As the medic began explaining, Griedlin leaned in. Kaldrik stood beside him, his skepticism slowly giving way to genuine interest.

The Commander's horn glowed neon green, causing a stool from the other side of the room to be dragged near the table before sitting. He then levitated a piece of paper from the table in the air in front of him to read—it has several unfamiliar symbols that Glaucus couldn't understand—which was weird considering he knew the ponies usually uses the standardized 'Canterlotian Script' (except for the Eastern Riverland ponies).

At the table, Glaucus studied the metallic device Erwin was working on. Buttons, dials, and a glass panels on the main rectangular metal box—there it displayed the unfamiliar symbols again, and a thin smooth black wire protruded from the box to a round mesh contraption.

It reminded Glaucus of a diplomatic visit he’d made years ago to the Minotaurs in the southeast during their technological expo. They, too, had peculiar wonder-contraptions adorned with various buttons and dials, which their dexterous appendages called 'fingers' made easy to operate. His talons though made great substitute to adjust the machines unlike hoofs of the pony envoys who struggled with it due to their hoofs—embarrassing!

The machine suddenly crackled ominously to life, breaking his train of thought.

Glaucus flinched at the sound, instinctively stepping back. Erwin glanced over his shoulder with a sly grin. “Relax beak. It’s supposed to make those noises, this thing is called a radio.”

Glaucus narrowed his eyes but said nothing, and ignored the rude nickname Erwin had given him, his mistrust of the machine a 'radio'—and its operator—firmly intact. Soon the machine stopped its ominous buzzing sounds, and strangely he noticed, he could make out some faint Equus chatter originating from it.

The pony might be wasting his time Glaucus thought, but he continued observing as Erwin adjusted the dials on the machine before moving his muzzle close to the cage-contraption.

"November Apple—This is Sire Foal reporting from Post Baltimare Three, how copy?" Erwin spoke clearly and concise into the cage-contraption. Glaucus raised an eyebrow at his action, did he expect somegriff to reply from the machine?

"November Apple h—s you loud and c—ear," a voice boomed from the radio, notably crackling with occasional buzz. "Send y—ur traf—ic, over."

This made Glaucus flinch again, he can never predict these ponies as well as he originally expected. Some sort of communication machine? Does it use magic like the Magic Gems like Kaldrik's? Many questions bounced around his thoughts unanswered.

Erwin glanced at Glaucus who is deep in thought, then Griedlin whom is now conversing with the Studson-wearing pony—otherwise known as Lance Corporal Solar Comet—before continuing. “We’ve got Wingbardian envoys at the tower requesting to establish diplomatic contact. Knight Captain 'Griedlin' and the Envoy 'Sir Glaucus' along with two escorts."

"I've got them in the tower and I am requesting permission to transport them to Sunset for further talks with the Department of Foreign affairs, over.”

"....Say ag—in your last tran—mission, Sire Foal?" replied the Radio pony from the other side, confusion evident in his voice.

"You've heard me right November Apple, I think its better for them to talk with you to explain the situation, I'm passing the microphone to Envoy Glaucus, is it fine?" answered Erwin with uncertainty on his face, the radio pony from the other side didn't reply for a few seconds.

There was a pause before the operator spoke again, his tone exasperated. “Let me re—ind you, you’re currently breaking several prot—col by bringing them into the to—er without HQ pe—mission. But... I’m keeping quiet to save your flank. You sti—l owe me three pints of cider Erv'.”

Erwin chuckled softly at the jab. “Noted. Thanks.”

“Sta—d by, I’ll call the Gen—ral.”

The radio went dead silent as Erwin finished speaking with the operator. He set the receiver down, exhaling slowly showing fatigue. It seemed Griedlin and the others had already descended the tower, leaving only him and Glaucus.

Still seated on the stool, Erwin turned to face the griffon, his expression weary. “So, why are you beaks here, anyway? I thought the Marelanders already had an ambassador in your nation. And dressing up like knights of old?” He let out a dry chuckle. “What’s the deal?”

Glaucus regarded him with an unreadable stare before finally speaking. “…Mhm. Well, pony, hate to burst your bubble, but we’re not the same Wingbardy you once knew—at least, not the one from your world.”

Erwin raised a brow, his grin turning bemused. “What do you mean, ‘not the one from my world’? What, you’re gonna tell me I’m in another world now?” He scoffed. “Hah! Good one, beak.”

A few seconds passed in silence. Erwin’s chuckle faded as he noticed Glaucus’s dead-serious stare. The commander’s smirk wavered.

“…Yes, Commander. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

The grin vanished from Erwin’s muzzle in an instant, replaced with a sceptical half-smile.

Glaucus continued, his tone unwavering. “This morning, several villages near our southern border reported a bright, blinding white light and tremors near the cliffs. After everything settled, your nation—‘New Mareland’—had appeared where the Southern Aquillan Sea should have been.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Judging by how your soldiers reacted to our knights, I take it you had your own version of Wingbardy?”

Erwin only nodded, his expression neutral.

“Then I’ll be blunt,” Glaucus said, locking eyes with him. “You are no longer in your old world. Whatever wasn’t on your landmass when this happened is gone—left behind. That includes your version of Equestria, your family, and everything else that wasn’t in New Mareland at the time.”

Silence followed as soon as Glaucus finished.

Erwin simply stared at him, expression hollow, as the weight of the words sank in. But then, instead of anger or despair, a smirk flickered across his face. It grew into a chuckle—then full-blown laughter with guffaw. He ran a hoof down his face, shaking his head.

Glaucus observed him quietly, slightly surprised. He had expected sadness, grief, maybe rage—but laughter? Strange pony.

Erwin finally steadied himself, exhaling through his nose. “So… we fought a losing war, risked our flanks every single bucking day as we lost ground, then barely escaped through Manehattan’s ports to reach Griffonia… only to scrape by defending New Mareland with morale crumbling to dust.” His smirk turned bitter. “And what do we get for our efforts?”

His voice wavered, tinged with quiet fury. “Our families left to the bugs in Equestria. Our fallen ponies—everything they sacrificed…” His jaw tightened. “All of it. For nothing.”

A heavy silence followed. Glaucus remained impassive, watching as Erwin lowered his head.

After a few moments, Erwin let out a small, humourless chuckle. “Know what’s funny?” he muttered, his glassy eyes staring past Glaucus. “My whole herd got wiped out by a stray shell in Vanhoover. I was away in Canterlot, studying, when it happened. Just the start of the invasion.”

Glaucus said nothing.

“My little sister was the only one who made it out,” Erwin continued, voice steady despite the weight of his words. “She was in the basement with her friends, playing.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “That’s when I signed up. I wanted vengeance.” His lips curled into a bitter half-smile. “And look where that got me, huh?”

A heavy silence followed. Glaucus remained impassive, watching as Erwin lowered his head. Then, barely above a whisper, the pony muttered, “Faust… you truly are one cruel bucking alicorn.”

Erwin wiped at his eyes with a hoof before looking back up at Glaucus, forcing a strained, almost mocking smile. Then, without another word, he turned back to the radio.

Glaucus said nothing. He simply turned away, stepping towards a nearby window and staring out at the rolling green hills beyond.

‘Weak,’ he thought. Ponies had always been an emotional race, far more so than griffons or minotaurs. They weren’t suited for war, for loss, for bloodshed. Erwin’s ‘outburst’ only reinforced that belief.

And yet… the pony hadn’t collapsed into a sobbing mess like he’d expected. Just one tear. Nothing more.

That, at least, was a surprise. Not that Glaucus showed it.

He also briefly wondered—what did he mean by risking their donkeys? Anyhow, soon this 'New Mareland' shall fall to the superior Griffons—clearly because these ponies are no different to the ponies of his world.

The radio crackled to life once more, breaking the awkward and somber silence.

“Alright, Sire Foal. The Gen—ral’s ready. Pass the micro—hone to the envoy.”

Erwin glanced over his shoulder at Glaucus, who was still gazing out at the hills beyond the tower. With a small smirk, he reached out with his telekinesis and tapped the griffon on the shoulder. Glaucus flinched, startled, earning a quiet chuckle from Erwin.

Shaking off his surprise, Glaucus turned to face him with an irritated look. Erwin, now grinning, gestured toward the radio. “You’re up, beak. Just speak into it.”

Glaucus eyed the strange contraption warily with fear before clearing his throat. “Ahem—do I just speak into this?”

Erwin gave a 'duh' nod. "It ain't going to bite ya'."

Hesitantly, Glaucus took a seat on the stool as Erwin shifted to stand beside him. The pony nudged the microphone closer to the griffon’s beak with indifference to his protests.

“Alright—hello?” Glaucus said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the device in front of him.

The reply came swiftly, the static clearing slightly. “Am I spe—king with Env—y Sir Glaucus?” The voice was hoarse yet youthful—unmistakably a griffon.

Glaucus straightened, his expression shifting as he donned the mask of a seasoned diplomat.

“Yes, you are. I speak on behalf of King Gumberto II of Wingbardy. My nation seeks to establish diplomatic relations with yours.” His tone was crisp, professional—so much so that Erwin raised a brow at the stark contrast to his earlier behaviour. “May I ask whom I am addressing?”

A brief pause followed before the voice on the other end responded, this time more direct. “Gen—ral Baldewin 'Steel Talon', New Mareland High Co—mand. I oversee the e—stern border.”

Glaucus stilled for a fraction of a second. A griffon… in the New Mareland military? Interesting.

The General didn’t waste time. “Now t—ll me—why are you bl—kes seeking diplomacy when we alr—ady had ties in the past?”

Glaucus sighed, rolling his shoulders before continuing. “To put it simply, based on the accounts from your stallions and the stories shared by our knights, your nation—New Mareland—has… transmigrated into another reality. You now find yourselves on the southern border of my kingdom.” He took a measured breath. “As such, you are no longer dealing with the Wingbardy of your past.”

He leaned in slightly towards the radio, his voice carrying a note of persuasion. “In your position, forging new alliances would be highly beneficial, wouldn’t you agree? The Kingdom of Wingbardy can provide your nation with valuable intelligence about this world—in good faith, of course. In return, we ask that you grant Wingbardian merchants trade rights.”

Silence followed.

The radio remained dead for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken deliberation.

Glaucus turned his head slightly, casting Erwin a smug, knowing look.

Erwin rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “Tsk.” But his grin betrayed his amusement.

A crackling noise broke the silence as the general spoke again, his voice was reluctant. “Strewth, you've g—t me there b—rd'."

"If you are speaking the truth, I’ll honor your request. But know, if this is a trick there won't be second chances. Stand by and pass the radio back to the Commander.”

Without a word, Glaucus vacated the seat, gesturing for Erwin to take his place.

“Sire Foal?"

Erwin floated the microphone back toward himself, his voice now smooth and confident as he replied, “Sire Foal hears you loud and clear. Send over your transmission Talon Mane, over.”

"You are to tran—port the 'V.I.Ps' to the 'Governor's house' in Sunset so th—y are able to converse with the Foreign affairs department, I am going to gi—e them a heads-up about your a—rival. As for the report, I will handle it for the sake of your conv—nience so you can tran—port them, your mission has been mark—d as high priority."

“Oh, and consider yourself lucky this time. Breaking protocol won’t go unnoticed you insolent wanker. In all seriousness, don’t let New Mareland down, Commander. Over and out.”

The radio let out one final crackle before falling silent. Erwin chuckled softly at the implied jab, shaking his head.

“Well, that was quicker than I expected.”

He exhaled through his nose, collecting his thoughts before turning to Glaucus with a stoic expression. “Well then, Sir Beak-cus, looks like we’re headed for Sunset City. If you’re serious about speaking with the New Mareland government, we’d best get moving.”

Glaucus narrowed his eyes at the nickname but chose to let it slide. “Hmph. And how far is this ‘Sunset City’ from here?” His tone remained neutral, though a hint of irritation crept in.

A brief silence passed before Erwin finally answered, his voice slightly uncertain. “About sixty kilo-hooves… or around thirty kilometres. That is if I calculated it correctly.”

Glaucus’s eyes widened in shock. Sixty thousand hooves!? That was at least a two-day journey on foot without teleportation. Even flying would take an entire day. And what in the king’s name was a meetruh?

Noticing the griffon’s concern, Erwin smirked and waved a hoof dismissively. “Relax, Beak. We’ll be there in about an hour and a half if we take the truck.”

Glaucus remained sceptical but nodded silently, accepting the plan as he reminds himself the existence of the magicless transport.

Suddenly, three deafening cracks and whiplash rang out from below the tower,, also echoing inside the room they are in. The sharp noise sent Glaucus stumbling backwards, his wings flaring as he lost his balance and hit the floor.

Erwin, however, only froze for a split second before his ears flattened, his expression shifting from mild amusement to cold calculated fury. Without a word, he turned and sprinted for the stairs, his hooves pounding against the wooden floor as he readies himself to tear some pony a new one.

Glaucus quickly righted himself onto his talons, his heart still racing at the loud noises. Before rushing after the pony in haste.

1352 Hour
Thursday, 10th of March, 1002 ALB
New Mareland, Bottom of Guard Tower.
Hoovesplain County, New Mareland Border

“What are you waiting for, Featherbrain? Shoot!” Kaldrik says nonchalantly, right after asking the rifle pony nearby for pegasi slurs to irritate the pegasi pony in front of him.

Corporal Bandage Wrap let out an irritated whinny at the squiregriff’s impatience. “Can you hold your feathers, you damned hatchling? I’m trying to shoulder this rifle properly.”

Moments ago, Bandage the pegasus-pony had been chatting with the two knight-griffs in the tower, explaining his role as a medic. The revelation that they had been transported to another world was another shock to him, but he quickly brushed it off, knowing his family was safe in New Manehatten. Others, however, were unlikely to be as fortunate.

Now, Bandage was seated at the base of the tower, his rifle lowered, focusing on three tin cans positioned about one hundred hooves away—roughly fifty metres. Why? Because he and Kaldrik had gotten into an argument after Griedlin asked him about his weapon.

Bandage first asked if the griffons knew what a firearm was, to which both Griedlin and Kaldrik responded with a curt ‘No, we do not.' After thinking for a moment, Bandage began recounting the history of firearms, as he had learned in a random history book when he was studying in Albion. He explained how the Minotaurs of the Asterion Kingdom had first used them against the Colthaginians at sea in his original world.

He went on to explain that firearms used an explosive powder known as ‘gunpowder’ to propel projectiles at hundreds of hooves per second, rendering armour nearly useless. He aimed to impress upon them how significant firearms were and how they had transformed warfare forever since their introduction.

Kaldrik, however, had scoffed and leaned in with a smug grin on his beak. He dismissed Bandage’s explanation as ‘ludicrous lies’ and challenged him to prove the weapon’s capabilities. Bandage, undeterred, smiled knowingly. He knew he would wipe that smug grin off Kaldrik’s face easily. Confidently, he accepted the challenge and led the group down the tower for a demonstration.

“...Say, pony, how are you even holding that rifle with your hooves?” Griedlin asked from the sidelines, watching alongside Kaldrik and the other pony soldiers.

“Hoof magic,” Bandage replied without looking at him. “I imagine ponies in this world don’t have anything like it?”

Griedlin nodded vaguely at him. Though Bandage only briefly gave him a scrutinizing gaze before turning back to the target.

“Well, think of it like a unicorn’s telekinesis, but instead of horns, we channel it through the bones and surface of our hooves. Works like artificial 'talons', you could say. There’s more to it, but I’m keeping it simple for you. If you’re curious, you can always visit a library in Sunset City.”

“If there are no more questions...” Bandage muttered, adjusting his stance and pinning his ears down. “'Ere goes.”

With a smooth motion, he placed his left hoof against the rifle’s hoofguard and raised it to take aim at the tin cans in the distance using his uncovered left eye. Slowing his breathing, he aligned the front sight nub with the rear aperture sight, focusing intently on the far-left target.

Griedlin quickly covered his ears with a talon, heeding the warning from a rifle pony near the truck. Kaldrik, however, ignored the advice, confident in his ability to ‘take it’. The ponies at the base of the tower also pinned their ears down, including the young unicorn medic-mare from earlier.

All of them watched with amusement—except for the younger medic pony, who observed with growing concern. “He can’t be serious. We’ve been ordered to conserve our ammunition,” muttered the young unicorn.

The studson-wearing pony next to her chuckled. “Oh, he’s serious all right. Let him have his fun. We’ll watch the marshal tear him a new one afterward.” His grin was malicious.

“By the way... where were you this whole time?” the young medic asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I see you lot talking to the feather-dusters, so I went down to catch up on some news from the other stallions and colts at the truck,” the studson-wearing pony replied, glancing at the medic. The young unicorn simply stared back with a deadpan expression, knowing they had a radio in the tower.

“Fine, I was just trading for magazines. Gets boring out here, don't judge me.” He admitted, offering a whimsical smile, like somepony who knew they’d been caught. "So.... Name's Solar Comet."

The young medic sighed in disappointment before turning her attention back to the scene unfolding before them. “Name’s Madeleine Hoofbert. Bucking stallions,” she muttered back.

His rifle, the Lavender Bolt-Action Rifle (a ponified Lee-Enfield No.4 Mk 2 in .315 Equis or 8x37mmR) was designed for precision shooting, equipped with a crossbow-lever-like trigger to be used by ponies. Along with an aperture sight designed for targets up to six hundred hoofs.

Bandage, even with all the trust in his rifle, still felt a twinge of nervousness as he readied himself. What if he missed? He pushed aside the intrusive doubt to the edge of his mind, refocusing on the target. His right forehoof slid onto the lever-trigger with anticipation.

He also had the nagging feeling he was forgetting something... but if he couldn't remember it, it was probably nothing important. Wrong he was.

Bandage exhaled slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment before reopening them. He quickly squeezed the trigger in between his heart beat. A sharp crack split the air, followed by a deafening bang. The first tin can flew backwards, a clean hole punched through its centre, dirt scattering in all directions.

Without delay, he released the pressure on the trigger then racked the bolt—up, back, forward, down—in a swift motion, chambering the next round as the spent casing spun off to his right. He quickly adjusted his aim, shifting to the second target. Within a second, he stabilised the rifle and pulled the trigger once more.

Another thunderous bang. The second tin can exploded into hundreds of tiny metal fragments, embedding themselves into the dirt berm behind it.

Following the 'Mad Minute' drill drilled into his head, he cycled the bolt again, chambering another round while ejecting the spent cartridge.

He swung the rifle towards the final target. This time however, he accidentally squeezed the trigger in sync with his heart beat, causing his aim to be slightly off. The last tin can was struck, spinning wildly to the left, its right side torn apart with a gaping hole.

“Miffed that last one,” Bandage muttered, lowering his rifle and ejecting the final spent cartridge before raising his ear. He turned towards the watching griffons. “So, what do you think?”

Griedlin removed his talons from his ears, giving Bandage a slow, deliberate round of applause with his talons. Kaldrik, on the other hoof, was lying on the ground, his talons pressed to his ears in visible pain. Bandage smirked, amused—seems ear-shattering noises weren’t exactly great for ears.

“Nice shooting, pony!” Griedlin called out, his voice booming with approval.

As he tried to sling his rifle over his shoulder, he suddenly heard the furious bellow of a very angry pony. His heart skipped a beat after recognizing it.

"CORPORAL BANDAGE! Who the BUCK told you that you could waste my BUCKING MUNITION?!"

The Commander stormed forward, grabbing Bandage by the collar, his expression livid. His telekinesis yanked the Lavender Rifle from Bandage’s hooves and tossed it towards another riflepony, who caught it with ease. The other rifleponies watched with glee, as if they were spectating a game of hoofball.

Bandage could already tell he was about to get his flank chewed out. Possibly inside out.

Glaucus, who had followed Erwin down the tower, watched from the bottom of the stairs at a distance, his expression now unconcerned—unlike when he was inside the tower.

Bandage barely had time to blink before Erwin hauled him even closer, his furious glare sharp as a bayonet to the gut.

“Corporal Bandage,” Erwin’s voice was calm—too calm. That only made it worse. Bandage knew he was in huge trouble now. “Who in Celestia’s sun-kissed flank told you that you could just piss away my precious bucking ammunition for a street show?!”

Bandage gulped, but to his credit, kept a straight face and took responsibility. “…I did, Commander.”

Erwin's eye twitched. “Oh, you did, did you? Well, I must’ve missed the memo where you became the Commander and lifted the munition rationing!” He promptly pushed the pony backward and released his collar, causing Bandage to fall onto his back on the ground.

"On your hooves, Corporal!" Erwin howled, his voice loud enough to make Kaldrik flinch. Griedlin remained silent, simply watching. Bandage immediately got up in silence, the right side of his clothes now smudged with dirt. Erwin grabbed him by the collar once again.

"If, and if I catch you wasting my munition for some smug-feathered gold grubber who didn’t even have the sense to cover his ears, I swear, you’ll be digging latrines from here to Tartarus with nothing but your Celestia-damned hooves. And you’ll be lucky if I don’t make you eat out of them too." Erwin uttered with ferocity, nearly spitting on Bandage's face. "Let’s make something crystal bucking clear, Corporal. This isn’t Equestria. We don’t have factories churning out .315s like sweets. Every. Single. Round. Counts. Understood?"

“…Yes, Commander,” Bandage replied, looking at the ground.

Erwin’s eyes narrowed, his expression stern. “LOUDER!”

"YES, COMMANDER!"

The Commander finally let go of Bandage’s collar with another forceful shove, though he didn't fall this time, snorting in irritation. He turned to the riflepony still holding Bandage’s weapon. “Get his rifle back to him.”

The riflepony gave a crisp nod, returning the weapon with a throw. Bandage caught it, his ears still pinned down—not from shame, but from knowing he wasn’t going to hear the end of this anytime soon from his fellow squadponies.

Erwin exhaled, annoyance still present on his face. “Bucking Celestia, you ponies are gonna be the death of me…” He turned to the rest of the squad, who were still watching the spectacle with barely concealed grins of amusement. “What in Tartarus are you mucks staring at? Shoulder to shoulders!"

The gathered ponies scrambled to form a line. Griedlin gave Bandage an amused glance and a pat to the shoulder before walking off to discuss with Glaucus. Kaldrik silently went to grab the other escort knight, following Glaucus's orders that they were moving out.

Within a few seconds, the eight-pony-strong squad stood at attention, shoulder to shoulder. Erwin scanned them with a scrutinising gaze, contemplating the punishment for a certain pegasus medic who had disobeyed orders and revealed potentially sensitive information to a possible foe.

Closing his eyes, Erwin let out a long, deep sigh. When he opened them again, his expression was as hard as steel. His voice was composed and direct as he addressed the squad.

“Gentlecolts, we’ve received new orders from General Steel. We are to escort these griffon envoys to Sunset City at short notice. This is a top-priority mission, and I WILL tear you a new one if you let these diplomats get so much as a scratch. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Commander!” the squad responded in unison, their voices sharp and disciplined. Erwin allowed himself the barest hint of a proud smile before snapping back to formality.

He paused, his eyes sweeping over the line of ponies once more. “Lance Corporal Crunch and Private Hoofbert, you two are to reinforce this position and will remain here until the next troop rotation."

"That means you do not abandon this post for any reason short of Tartarus itself opening up beneath your hooves.” His gaze then settled on Hoofbert, the young unicorn medic. “Private Hoofbert, your primary task will be taking care of Corporal Brisk Strike. Make sure he wakes up in one piece.”

He then turned his head towards Bandage Wrap, his expression shifting to one of measured disapproval. “As for your senior...” He let the words hang, staring Bandage down before speaking again. “Corporal Bandage, since you’re so eager to make new friends, I think it’s only fair that you be their babysitter, guide, and bodyguard for the trip back. Consider this your punishment.”

Bandage simply gave him a whimsical smile before Erwin glanced over to the rest of the squad.

“Pack your gears. We’re leaving in five, and I am not waiting for anypony. Move it!”

With a shout of the command, the ponies broke the line formation and scrambled to pack up their camp supplies right side of the truck. The two ponies ordered by Erwin to reinforce the tower followed Solar Comet up the tower quiet and orderly.

Erwin quietly turned on his hooves and strode towards the driver’s door of the General Purpose Truck, already mentally preparing himself for the long drive ahead.

"Dear Celestia, you're heavy—"

Bandage grunted as he pulled at Griedlin’s right foretalon with both hooves, his wings flaring in frustration. The griffon’s armour, while undoubtedly impressive, made hauling him into the truck bed an absolute nightmare. Bandage wasn’t weak, but even for a pegasus, deadlifting a fully armoured knight was a tall order.

The rest of the pony squad had already climbed aboard, waiting patiently as the griffons struggled to hoist themselves up. Glaucus, dressed in nothing but a toga, was already seated near the front, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement. He smirked as Griedlin and the others floundered, even with two rifleponies attempting to assist.

“Hmph, Sir Griedlin, have you been on desk duty for too long? I thought you were training knights, not feasting in banquet halls.” His grin widened at his own jab.

Griedlin shot him an unamused glare. “Oh, shut it, will you? It’s my armour, not my weight.”

Glaucus simply chuckled and leaned back, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Seeing the struggle drag on, an earth pony sergeant finally rose from his seat and stepped beside Bandage. Without a word, he grabbed Griedlin’s foreleg and, with a casual tug enhanced by strength magic, yanked the heavily armoured griffon up into the truck bed as if he weighed nothing. Griedlin let out a grunt of surprise as he landed with a dull thud, casting the sergeant a thankful smile.

The sergeant smirked at Bandage. “Next time, learn to call for help.”

“Thanks, Sarnt.” Bandage, still catching his breath, wiped the frothing sweat from his brow and chuckled sheepishly.

With Griedlin finally aboard, the process continued. Bandage, the rifleponies, and the sergeant helped pull Kaldrik and the escort knight into the truck bed, their armour clanking against the wooden planks as they landed.

Once everyone was secured, a stallion near the front leaned over and called out, “All aboard!” He rapped his hoof against the truck’s rear window twice, signalling to Erwin that they were ready to move.

Kaldrik and the other escort knight settled next to Bandage, relaxing against the soft seat cushions of the transport truck.

“Hold onto your seats. The suspension’s broken to my knowledge,” Bandage warned, gesturing toward their hind paws with his hoof. “It’s going to shake like Tartarus.”

Kaldrik quietly gripped the front edge of his seat with his talons, taking the advice without question—his previous experience with pony contraptions had taught him well. Meanwhile, some of the ponies, including Bandage, waved goodbye to those stationed at the tower. The ponies returned the gesture before turning back inside.

The engine then coughed to life with a sputter, then roared as Erwin pressed the accelerator. The truck shuddered violently before lurching forward, kicking up a thick cloud of dust as it rumbled away from the tower.

Glaucus’ talons shot out to grip the truck’s side as his wings flared instinctively, nearly lifting him from his seat. His composed expression broke into alarm. “By Boreas—it's so shaky!” he barked, his voice half-lost beneath the engine’s growl and the rising howl of wind against the truck’s canvas cover.

Kaldrik wasn’t faring much better. His claws scrambled for something—anything—to grip as his seat didn't offer much grip to his inconvenience. He glared at the wooden planks beneath him, jaw clenched as he tried to stop sliding.

Griedlin, on the other hand, maintained his composure—mostly. He glanced around the truck bed warily before exhaling through his nostrils and leaning back against the metal siding, doing his best to ignore the bone-rattling vibrations. “So this is the landbound contraption your kind relies on? Interesting.”

Bandage smirked at their reactions, casually stretching his wings as he relaxed against the side. “Welcome to modern transportation. Hope you don’t puke before we get to Sunset.” He chuckled.

The truck bounced over a pothole, causing Kaldrik to jolt violently and nearly lose his grip on the railing. He hissed in irritation, muttering griffon curses under his breath as Griedlin gave an amused smirk beside him.

Glaucus merely sighed and muttered, “...At least this won’t give me headaches like teleportation.”

The truck loudly rattled on the dirt path before turning right to an asphalt road as the rifle squad and the Griffonian envoy continued their journey to Sunset.