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              Fallen Angels: The Cuprum Lords              
                       -by Sheviler-                       
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                     The Cuprum Lords                      
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The Cuprum Lords
The grey-armored Thunderhawk, streaked with faint copper sigils of the Cuprum Lords, waited on the launch deck, engines humming with restrained power. Inside its cavernous hold, the nine Astartes of Tactical Squad Convex finished stepping into their places as Brother-Apothecary Calsin quietly ran through final preparations. His white-armored figure, marked with crimson helix emblems, stood out starkly against the grays and blacks of the squad. A red tabard covered most of his legs and torso, script written on ancient parchment was draped along the center of the red fabric, with ancient prayers and oaths tied closely to his expertise. On his belt chains were wrapped around, holding a copy of the Codex under his power unit.
Brother-Sergeant Procuran strode to the center, his white helm gleaming off the industrial lights, his voice firm and as aged as the rest of him. “Our mission is simple but vital. The 3rd Company bleeds below us. We ensure Brother-Apothecary Calsin reaches them to staunch their wounds and retrieve the honored dead. We will bring him to the 3rd’s Apothecary, then we join with the rest of the 7th and support our brethren in their spearhead.” He scanned the squad as he recited his given orders, each marine acknowledging their leader in silence.
As he moved to the front of the squad, the rustling of chains and fabric followed him; chains dipped in scented oils were stamped onto his chest piece and pauldron, and his personal heraldry was shown off by the loincloth between his legs. He had a chainsword sheathed on his hip, a fierce weapon and his badge of office, the number of enemies it alone killed nearly beat the squads combined tally.
The marines aligned themselves to the clamps above them, waiting as the servos activated and the legs of the overhead machines moved down onto them, securing them in place as the clamps locked onto their ceramite plates.
Locari Venathor, a new member to the squad and the company, shifted ever slightly at the new weight bearing down on his armor. He checked the magnetically secured metal on either side of him, ensuring they had been secured properly. He ran more in-depth checks over his equipment and his bolter for the third time since he arrived in the hanger bay.
Intuitively Locari ran basic tests on his weapons and tools. His set of grenades were correctly secured on his belt; the ammunition he expected to use up were in their respective pouches and compartments; his armor systems were working as effectively as the day he donned his plate, and overall nothing was out of place. He took a glance to the parchment wrapped on his left vambrace; script written personally and blessed by the chaplaincy, a promise that for as long as it remained whole no round fired justly would miss its mark. He could hear the ever faint rustle of the chain secured on his power generator, the number of links on it was too small to go on his pauldron, chest, or arms.
To his left, his fellow marine got his attention, tapping his pauldron as they also checked over their gear. “I hear the 3rd is fielding a Terminator squad for their assault.” Locari looked at the marine, Brother Luvenus Tiron; they had fought alongside each other in the same squadrons during their time in the 8th, 9th, and 10th companies. “What a treat it will be to watch such honored members of the chapter in action.”
Locari respected and trusted any marine in his chapter without question, but being so new to the 7th the vast majority of faces were still new to him. Luvenus was the only man in his squad that Locari knew by heart. He was a man of ambition, Luvenus, he had spoken often of his goal to one day join the Bladeguard, and his sights were set on earning a sword of his own, one he promised would be a relic of its own by the time he was done. Locari had little doubt he would achieve that desire, if his performance within the 8th was any evidence to back the belief.
Locari preferred the smell of bolter smoke to the glint of a well-sharpened blade, but he couldn't truly mark any style of combat as his own. He didn’t have quite the same desire to toss his firearm aside and meet the enemy head-on as Luvenus did, nor did he fully favor the raw power he had in hand during his time among Devastator Squads. Perhaps the Sternguard was his calling but for him it didn’t truly matter; the wisdom of his superiors would decide it when the time came. Duty was all that mattered in the end. Still… what he would give for the opportunity to don the Crux Terminatus.
Locari nodded to his brother's words. “I’m doubtful we will be lucky enough to see them, we’ll be on the flanks for most of the coming assault.” He had never seen Terminators with his own eyes, only the mighty tales of their deeds from the chaplains and in the stories he heard from brethren while dining on a well earned kill in the feasting halls. He cherished any meeting with the chapter's greats, all of them were living legends of the Emperor’s Angels. He would remind himself at times that he was now among these Angels; he was one of them, no longer a boy staring wide-eyed at their ancient statues who’s sizes dwarfed the buildings around them.
Luvenus shrugged at Locari’s response, not taking his eyes off of his Plasma Incinerator. “One can hope.” He was silent for a moment longer, finishing the practiced checks on his armaments. “Think you’ll score yourself some slain warpspawn?” Locari had more in mind than mere mindless entities of the Immaterium, but any kill he’d accept gladly.
“Most certainly,” Locari finished his checks, magnetically securing the bolter to his leg plate. “I’ve itched for the opportunity to add to the pools of spilt daemon blood. I’ll gladly take the chance to put down the abominations.” He had yet to receive the opportunity to fight the Archenemy, his career had been mostly spent facing the xeno threat and traitorous mortals. From his very induction he had waited for the chance to strike at the truest enemy of the Imperium.
The Thunderhawk’s ramp hissed shut, plunging them into a red-lit gloom. The pilot’s voice crackled over the vox. “This is Daedryn at the helm. Strap in. Descent begins.”
The dim light hadn’t affected his sight. Locari’s lenses acted instantly to make up for the lost light, his own eyes would have made up for it as well. He could still see the black on the pauldrons, lower legs, and backs on his brothers; he could see the grey covering the rest of them, and the copper on their trim and symbols.
Seconds later the strapped in marines were jostled as the Thunderhawk lifted. The sound of blaring engines was muffled by the thick walls between it and the cavernous hold they resided in.
“If it's daemon blood you're after you’ll be disappointed,” Locari and Luvenus turned to the Apothecary as he spoke, the white-armor clad marine fiddling with the cogitator mounted on his arm, the servo-arms on his back moving to a dormant position with a press on his instrument. “The daemons lack the courtesy to remain long enough for us to make trophies of them.”
Locari and Luvenus looked at each other for a moment, then back to their senior brother. “Truly?” Luvenus said with mild curiosity.
Locari had known Calsin to a degree since he was accepted into the chapter, having been the Apothecary to oversee the surgeries done to give him his new existence. However it was only during this mission’s briefing earlier that they had truly spoken to each other.
“Yes,” Calsin replied, nodding. “If you want blood, see if you can’t settle scores with the traitors who brought the abominations here.” He finally looked up to the two. “You should be quick however, our 3rd company compatriots aren't the kind to share glory.”
“They can keep their glory,” Sergeant Procuran cut in, turning his head back to face the three. He had been directly in front of Locari, opposite of the main ramp since takeoff. “We’re here to keep Calsin alive, not to add to our tally. You all can worry about making a name for yourselves when you join the battlelines.”
Sergeant Procuran was much like any other honored marine who bore the responsibility of his rank. A hard man, wisened from faithful service dwarfing Locari’s own. He was Firstborn like the Calsin, not Primaris like Locari and the rest. What opinion Procuran had on the arrival of the new breed of Astarte he did not share, nor did any squad member feel it important to ask. He fought well and led better, he had once stopped Locari’s demise from a rather foolish choice on the battlefield.
A rustling shook the vessel ever slightly, Locari had assumed the Thunderhawk had long since departed from the strike cruiser. He looked to where the Techmarine piloting the vessel was, barely able to see the space outside through the open door of the cockpit. They were on course directly for the moon below, and even with a restricted view he could see the battle raging on the lunar landscape.
The pilot’s voice broke over the vox again, but this time it was tinged with confusion. “Sergeant Procuran, something’s off. My instruments are acting strangely.”
“What do you mean?” Procuran said, his voice touched with a hint of concern.
“I’m seeing anomalies—warp signatures, faint but flickering ahead of us. They’re not consistent,” Daedryn reported. “And the cogitators are picking up readings that don’t match the planet’s surface. It’s as if something is… shifting in and out of phase.”
Procuran frowned beneath his lenses, his helmet tilting slightly. “Is the Thunderhawk in danger?”
“No… not yet. But the vox traffic is bizarre. I’m getting fragmented signals from the surface—ours and the Guard, I can’t make anything of it.” Daedryn’s voice faltered momentarily. “They’re saying something to the strike cruiser.”
“Focus on the mission, Brother,” Procuran ordered calmly. “Get us to the drop zone. Ignore the interference.”
Locari could hear what was on the communication from where he stood, his own ears were enough to make out clearly what the Techmarine was listening to on the open comms installed in his cockpit. As stated by Daedryn it was gibberish at best. He knew the traitors used the warp for their own heretical purposes, but what would cause such disturbances to reach all the way up here?
“Wait, I'm getting something through the signals.” The Techmarine was silent, listening carefully to the communications in his helm, comms only he could hear. “By the Emperor…”
Procuran looked up to the pilot's cockpit. “What is it, Brother?”
Without warning, the Thunderhawk jolted violently. Daedryn’s voice crackled back into the hold, louder and more frantic. “Warp tear dead ahead! Emperor preserve us—it’s opening!”
The marine yanked the controls of the Thunderhawk, careening the vessel out of its planned path. The mechanisms holding the men in place did their job in stopping the Astartes from being tossed around the interior.
Locari tensed as did every marine on board, their sites focused on what little they could see outside. Locari could see the nose of some vessel tearing through a growing wound in the space ahead, revealing the chaotic energies of the Immaterium around it.
“Get us out of here, Daedryn!” Procuran shouted through the ship.
“I’m doing what I can! The ship's spirit is plagued by the warp!”
The lights flickered, the cogitators on board buzzing and screeching senselessly as garbled information filled their screens. Luvenus looked away from the warps light entering the ship, not daring to stare too long. Every movement of the Thunderhawk pushed him against his armor.
The rumbling of the vessel's engines flickered and died. “It’s pulling us in! I can’t—”
The Thunderhawk plunged into the warp tear, and for a single—terrible moment, silence enveloped them. It was as if the universe itself had ceased to exist.
Locari could only hear his breathing from within his helmet, the lights of the ship had burst and died, leaving only his armor's sensors and his own enhanced eyes to provide vision. He gripped his bolter tightly, waiting for anything to change in this dead silence. He stared at his brothers, all of whom were shooting their gazes from left-to-right, all their unholstered weapons in-hand.
His vox came to life, Procuran’s comms distorted voice coming through. “Daedryn, respond. What's happening out there?”
Locari looked to the open cockpit; Daedryn wasn’t moving. The marine was slumped over his controls. Crimson leaked from the gaps in his helm.
Locari stiffened, his hands gripping his bolter as faint, sibilant voices crawled through his vox. They weren’t words—just sounds, wrong and invasive. He glanced toward the rear of the ship. Shadows seemed to shift unnaturally there. He raised his bolter, scanning for anything.
“Brother?” Luvenus said, immediately following Locari’s gaze.
“Something is here… I feel it.”
A sharp tearing of metal filled their ears. Every marine darted their eyes across the ship, sounds of things tearing themselves into the ship made their way in.
“Warpspawn!” Procuran shouted, unholstering his sword.
The Thunderhawk screamed to life, cogitators exploding with energy as screams from outside filled the walls. The clamps holding the marines down disengaged, flinging Locari to the back ramp.
Locari slammed into the ramp with a grunt, pinned down by the chaotic forces at bay as he pushed away from the armored structure of the ship. Behind him he heard the explosive sound of unleashed bolter rounds. He turned and aimed his weapon ahead.
Daemons, what he thought to be them, poured in, chittering and screeching as the squad opened fire. Bolters roared, tearing into the unnatural forms, but for every one they destroyed, another clawed its way inside. One was struck, being rendered paste on the hull, and another had its head turned to mist. Calsin fired plasma into them, leaving steaming holes in them; Procuran tore into any who made it inside, the teeth of his sword making short work of the beasts.
“Rakian, behind you!” Luvenus shouted, but it was too late. Rakian was seized by a writhing mass of talons, tearing into his armored body, dragging him from away despite his struggles. His pained shouts echoed briefly before whatever awaited outside claimed him.
The Thunderhawk groaned, the sound of metal tearing splitting the air. “Hold the line, keep the bastards out!” Procuran yelled, his voice a rallying point amidst the chaos, vying to enforce any sense of order.
Locari fired into the mass of daemons, his shots precise and measured despite the storm of emotions clawing at his mind. Each round met its mark, the creatures’ agonized screeches were drowned out by the blasts of purified rounds from his weapon.
A sudden lurch threw him from his position, and he scrambled to reorient. The ramp behind him was torn open, talons and hands of unknowable creatures clawing their way in. He tried standing as he aimed with one arm to the new aggressors, taking no time to line up a shot as each round struck true.
“Brother!” Luvenus came from behind, trying to reach for Locari, his gauntlet nearly touching, but the ship rocked again, a sudden force and grabbing entities pulling the two towards the opening.
Locari tumbled into the sudden dark, his bolter still firing into whatever enemy met his sight. Around him, the Aether swirled with its malevolent energies. His breathing echoed loud in his helmet, and a terrible sense of suffocation gripped him. The whispers grew louder, clawing at him from within.
He looked for Luvenus, for the ship, but found nothing.
One creature clambered to his leg, he brandished his knife, as long as his forearm, just as it plunged its razor appendage into his leg. He sliced it in half. Before he could remove the limb still lodged in his own another dived to him, aiming its serrated arm for his eye. He met its bladed limb with his steel, striking the blow away before decapitating it.
What was he to do? He had no means to orient himself or reach the ship. No strategy he could conjure could aid him in this. He was alone in the heart of the Immaterium, he had no doubt his brothers were fighting off being made meals to the uncaring fiends of this realm. How he still held his sanity he couldn’t know either.
He saw no more signs of the beings that tore the vessel to ribbons after dispatching two, but he doubted they’d forget him. It didn’t matter; he still had his mind, if they wanted him he’d make them pay dearly for it.
He had stopped firing some time ago, sheathing his knife; a dull hum filled his ears at the abrupt silence. It grew into the steady rhythm of his own breathing. The rasp of air through his helmet filters was loud against the oppressive silence. He tried to move, but his limbs felt heavy, his armor unresponsive.
The systems of his Mark X plate stuttered erratically, faint bursts of light illuminating the interior display before fading again. Warnings and runes blinked on and off, stuttering like a failing heart. Suddenly all his helm’s internal lights ceased, along with everything else; no vox signal, no auspex readings, nothing but the sound of his breathing.
He waited, but there was only darkness.
This was wrong, he thought. Of what he knew of the Warp, he knew that silence was anathema to it, moreso pure darkness. He hadn’t gone blind, and he could still grasp his own thoughts, so why was this all he was experiencing?
He glanced down, straining to lift his arm to where his bolter should have been. For a moment, he thought it was gone, lost in whatever chaos had dragged him here. But then it appeared, flickering in and out of his vision like a phantom. One second, it was solid in his gauntlet, the next, it was gone again. He squeezed his hand around the grip, willing it to stay real.
If it wanted his weapon, this place would need his head first.
The void around him was absolute—inky black and all consuming. He turned his head slowly, searching for any sign of the Thunderhawk, his squad, or even the warp storm that had swallowed them. It was as though he had been cast into a bottomless abyss, a forgotten Angel of The Emperor.
Movement, Just barely, he saw something stirring in the black. His helm's flickering sensors came to for a moment but failed to mark it; his instincts screamed danger, he knew it wasn’t human. Without hesitation, he raised his bolter and fired. The weapon roared in defiance, its bark impossibly loud in the dead silence. The flash of the muzzle lit the void for a heartbeat, and in that moment, he saw it—a mass of some indescribable beast, a tentacled limb grasping upon him, it shuddering as it was torn apart by the rounds.
Then, the weight hit him.
He felt himself falling, plummeting endlessly as echoes roared around him. The screams of his brothers, the laughter of unknowable beings—all merged into a cacophony that threatened to drown him. He fired again, into the nameless abomination, his bolter bucking against his grip. Each flash from his weapon gave hints to what hid around him, he swore he could see the bodies of his brothers plummeting with his in the distance.
He lost sight of it as his bolter ran dry. Shifting gravity tugged at him relentlessly, pulling him further and further. His senses told him he was in freefall but he could make nothing of his direction.
A crack of light tore through the void, sudden and blinding. Luvenus turned his head away, the brilliance overwhelming even the reactive lenses of his helm. He dared to look again, he couldn’t allow anything to possibly escape his sight.
‘By His throne’
Darkness had given way to vibrant color. Lush green and snowy white exploded around him, framed by an endless sky of brilliant blue. For a fleeting moment, it was beautiful—but he had no time to spend gazing at scenery.
What form of madness was this? Did he escape? Had the warp infested his mind and distracted him with false hope? He shook his head, trying to see past any illusion, but the ever approaching land was anything but fake.
As he fell, clouds parted around him, and below, a vast forest stretched as far as he could see. The whistling of air flew past his dead armor. The treetops waved in the cold wind, their movement alien in its serenity. He scanned the horizon in the seconds he had, his enhanced vision catching details even in his tumbling descent. Far in the distance, a plume of smoke rose, dark and foreboding against the calmer backdrop of woods.
But there was no time. The trees rose to meet him, their snow covered crowns rushing up like an advancing enemy. Lotari did what he could—bracing his arms and locking his armor’s joints in preparation for impact.
The leaves brushed against his armor, and then the world erupted into chaos. Branches shattered against ceramite, his body twisting as he plummeted through layer after layer of dense wood.
Something more pressing than the very quickly approaching ground captured his thoughts, something that worried him more than the unavoidable impact before him.
There was no bolter in his hands.
Everything went black as he kissed the snowy ground with the force somewhat less than that of a drop pod. He felt organs and muscle do their absolute best to force their way out as his body took the full force of the sudden stop.
He stood still for a moment, allowing an instant of peace from the situation to exhale a groan through his helmet's grill. A second later he clenched his hands and forced himself up to a kneeling position.
He tried to scan his surroundings but found everything still very dark; he doubted night had come so quickly.
He rubbed the face of his helmet, a speck of light entering through making sense of his sudden blindness. He scraped dirt from his lenses but still it clung on, his armored hand doing more to smear it around then remove it.
He took a second to think of his surroundings, even if the air wasn’t breathable he could last long enough to do what was needed. He sighed before clasping under the sides of his helm.
A loud hiss of compressed air seeped from the seal on his neck. Not wasting a moment further he removed his helmet, finally scanning his whereabouts properly.
He already gathered it was a snowy forest; whether by seasonal change or a permanent feature he didn’t care. Looking down for a second to inspect his helmet he finally removed the dirt, using the under armor of his hand to better get it off. As he did this he scanned every inch of his surroundings; every shrub, tree, leaf, and hiding or departing fauna.
He looked for one more time at his helm, a Mk VIII pattern, before strapping it back on, its systems were still unresponsive, the armor feeling looser, and bearing all its weight on him. He stood up, seeking his next priority.
The ground was all disturbed snow and dirt, he scanned for a moment longer before–
A miniscule creature stood to his left, barely taller than his foot. It trembled the moment his eyes rested on it. It was not the white, long eared animal that caught his attention however.
He approached it, barely acknowledging its increased reaction at his approach, he kneeled , still towering over the black eyed animal. He eyed for a moment longer, and just as it took a step back he grasped it, eliciting a fearful squeal; he set the thing aside with a weak toss into soft snow.
He grasped the heavy instrument, wiping snow and dirt away before giving it a decent strike to clear what remained. A quick check of the scope and chamber left him satisfied and he stood.
He needed to find his squad, which trumped any other worry. If he survived then by the Emperor’s grace they might’ve survived as well. By finding them he would locate Calsin, and the mission would continue.
Without needing to recollect he knew exactly where the pillars of smoke were located. He moved from stillness to a sprint in seconds, but to his surprise he was halted, sent to the ground before catching himself. He looked down; his leg, where the abomination scored a hit, had an opening through the ceramite and under suit. Combat stimms must’ve done their work before his armor ceased function, and speaking of his armor…
He heard the whirring engine on his back increase in volume, the tightening of machine muscles wrapped over his own giving a brief calm to himself. The lights in his helm came back to life, a flood of information and readings filling his eyes before they organized themselves.
He stood again, ignoring the feeling in his leg and sprinting off, snapping away branches and trunks that met his pauldrons, each loud stomp he took propagated through the forest.
Hooves crunched on the snowy ground, making quiet clip-clop noises as the cloaked group of ponies gathered around a large patch of snow-cleared grass, the patch was decorated by a complex set of markings, forming a circle around the group. The midday sun cast small shadows on all of them, hiding their hooded faces in shadow.
Chant was standing on one side of the circle, watching as the elder member of the cult reached his place a few steps outside of the glyphs.
Chant was nervous as he looked around at the other ponies, who also had their faces covered by hoods. Some seemed equally nervous as himself, others held a scowl on their muzzle, and a few had a strange calmness to them.
His friend was the one who invited him to the group, that very friend now stood beside him, waiting as did everyone else. Chant had been dealing with hard times for awhile now; he had been fired from his cushy job back in Manehattan, for reasons that made no one else want to employ him, forcing him to leave the city to find bits elsewhere. Everywhere he went either had no job available for his skills; had nothing that paid enough for a family of four, two of which were still foals; or had nothing at all.
He had finally found a job in an old and worn town, but the work had been miserable, and the almost barren town with nothing else to do except lounge in a saloon hadn’t helped. But his wife forced him to stay, she had already been upset with him enough; he could feel their marriage getting worse by the day, his own growing taste for cider only furthering the gap his actions had made between them.
And one day, he had enough; he needed to do something that would finally turn his life around, and his one friend he had made in that place provided it.
‘I know someone who can help, just promise not to tell anypony, alright?’ How quick he was to take up that offer. Now here he stood, in a weird circle as the “Elder” of a cult began reciting something from a book that looked older than the entire forest.
The leader's name was “Colt,” Chant never heard his last name. Apparently the stallion's parents thought it’d be funny to name him that, which is probably what led to all of this.
He seemed nice at first in Chant’s mind, but as he kept going to meetings in a damp basement in the middle of the night, the Elder kept doing things that put Chant off. Kept mentioning “sacrifices,” but would never elaborate on what was to be sacrificed, talking in whispers about a “new era” while he thought nobody could hear him. The only thing he would tell Chant was that if he did what was asked by the group and kept his lips tight he’d get the relief from life's struggles that he wanted so badly, and he wanted it badly.
So he followed along, ignoring every bad feeling he had in his gut telling him to just stay home.
He watched the Elder get in place, setting the book down on a table he brought with him, opening to a page. The page had an illustration of some kind of tentacle monster thing.
“Is everypony ready?” The Elder said as he looked up from the book. With no word spoken the old stallion took it as a yes. “My friends, today is the culmination of years of work; my studying of the ancient, holy text before me, all of your work to help make this a reality, and all of our faith towards the true masters of this world has led up to this moment.”
“The Four Divines have been denied their rightful claim over this world for far too long!” He raised his arms to the air, the horn protruding from his head glowing as the circle around them all glowed the same purple hue. “Today we summon one of their divine servants from the beyond; with it under my control we shall purge the naysayers and heretics, purge the false gods and their heinous rule!”
Chant's mind told him the obvious: this was insane.
He should leave, turn back and bolt before-
The second he took a step back the glyph spurred to life, ripples of malignant energy sparking from line to line.
Why was everyone so calm!? They all stood with those same frowns on their faces, even the worried ones had that same empty look about them.
Just what were they bringing here?
The light around them grew, he couldn't see the ground anymore. The Elder Laughed at the apparent success, the power of his horn growing to match the glyphs.
“It's coming!” The Elder smiled with a manic grin. “Come my new servant! Accept your sacrifices I so graciously provided!”
Finally the others gained some since, looking to their leader in shock and worry. “Sacrifice?” One questioned.
They all tried to back away, finally giving Coven the guts to do the same. But another great flash blinded them.
“Yes! Yes!” The Elder screamed.
A ripple of lightning that seemed wrong in every way he could fathom struck. Coven could only make out what seemed like a massive flaming dragon crashing to the earth as something heavy and searing struck him from his place.
It felt like being crushed by a stone slab; burning pain festered in his legs, like magma hitting the skin. He gasped in shocked breaths as he stared at the thick slab of grey metal and the leaking crimson under it.
It took him multiple raspy breaths before he finally looked straight at what caused the pain he now felt.
He couldn't make any sense of what was in front of him; a boat, a blimp, a chariot? It seemed like a metal monstrosity thought up in a Sci-fi novel.
He watched the others around him gather around him, but they ignored his plight as they stared, awestruck at the metal beast.
“I-I need-” He paused to catch his breath. “-help. It's crushing me!” But nobody even looked his way.
The Elder stood closest to it, a scowl on his face as he checked through the parchment floating in his magic, muttering frustrated nonsense.
Suddenly, a loud heavy thump was heard inside it, silencing the cult around him. He stared in apprehension as the foreboding steps grew louder and louder, thumping to what he assumed was the front of the massive metal structure.
Something made a tapping noise inside, then a frustrated slam on the wall. The front of it started moving, an entrance? They all covered their ears at the screeching of metal on metal before the slab slammed to the ground, launching dirt up on the ponies.
Coven watched with bated breath. The inside was absurdly dark, the only thing he could make out beyond the lip of the thing was two glowing red lights accompanied by smaller ones of varying colors all close together.
His hopes of it being an empty metal shell were turned to cinders as the red lights moved. That same set of stomping hooves followed its movement, far louder now. His ears flattened as it came out from the dark.
It looked like a robotic minotaur. It stood at such an absurd height it dwarfed each and every pony, the tallest member of the group barely reaching above its knee.
It was a pale white, with a crimson red fabric draped over its chest and legs with worn looking parchment on top of it, both partly covered the marking on its chest; he could just make out the design of wings behind the hand currently covering it. Its face had the muzzle of a closed bird beak, and above it was a massive frown forming a glare from its eyes, or what he assumed was its eyes.
It had limbs moving on its back, resembling insect arms but made out of thick metal with painful looking tools at the end. The limbs seemed to act almost like rigid snakes; waiting to pounce on anything close.
Coven tried his absolute best to push away the slab squishing him to the ground, but it would barely even budge. All he could do was watch its scowling gaze glare down at all of them.
The Elder coughed, getting its attention. “Hear me, O mighty warrior of the Four Divines. I have summoned thee to do my bidding! I present to you worthy offerings in return for your service!”
‘Offerings!?’ Coven thought, his eyes darting back and forth at the two. He tried even harder to shove the immovable metal off of him; he wasn’t going to be food for this monster! But every effort yielded the same result, he should've never joined this insane cult.
The atmosphere around the giant went cold, a dread creeping up the spines of the ponies. Its eyes stared down solely upon the lead cultist, a growing sense of contempt bubbling through the seams of its face. It clenched its fist, while the other rested upon its chest, still covering what seemed to be a deep gash. Looking further Coven could make out multiple signs of damage on the giant.
“You want my service, xeno?” Its voice boomed with almost the same thunder as its footsteps, its voice almost seemed mechanical, and there wasn't a hint of emotion behind its words except contempt for the one it spoke to.
It reached for something that glowed a faint blue on its hip.
“Yes, divine warrior! Obey me, and grant me the power I rightfully deserve!”
A deep chuckle escaped the slits on its beaked muzzle as it unholstered the large thing in its hand. “What you deserve…” Only as it aimed the piece in its hand did the Elder’s confidence waver.
“Gladly.”
Coven’s ears were ringing before he could even comprehend what happened. The Elder laid in a heap on the ground, his head and the barrel of his body were gone, the only sign they existed was the smoldering wounds gushing steaming blood.
Most barely had a chance to move before they were struck down with blinding blue bolts from the giant's weapon, evaporating anything it touched. Coven covered his face, wishing to any being above that listened to make this all just a nightmare. He didn’t open his eyes to the shrieks and sounds of slumping bodies.
One unfortunate soul was faced by it head on, impaled by the drill on its mechanical limb, the pony writhed in again as the spinning razor metal tore them apart from within. Another was grabbed by the neck; a sickening crunch of spinal bone was heard as the giant slammed the victim on the side wall of the massive metal monstrosity, leaving a grotesque crimson print on the metal.
The giant took a step forward towards the running creatures in its sights, but with that step it lurched forward, grasping its chest, its aim wavering enough for the terrified ponies to make a few more gallops.
Their hopes for escape were rendered null as what few still stood were rendered a pink mist with thundering booms of consecutive fire.
Calsin swore under his breath as he buckled for a moment from the “gifts” left for him by the vile warpspawn. How he was still standing was entirely by the Emperor’s grace; his primary heart twitched uselessly, his right lung resembled a torn waterskin, and he could feel a number of other wounds working to mend themselves. If he had anything good to say about the daemons’ inability to stay dead, it meant he didn’t have to pull out their severed claws himself.
He aimed his plasma pistol back towards the xenos speaking Low-Gothic, but the joy of ending them himself was taken as consecutive bolter rounds turned the aliens into explosions of viscera.
He faced his rescuer, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Locari. Emperor be praised, Brother, you survived!”
Locari strode to Calsin with measured steps, nearly crushing the shivering xeno beside his boot as he made his way to the other marine. “It seems I was the fortunate one. Did these things do this to you?”
“No, this was left by the abominations that attacked the Thunderhawk.” He let go of his wound, rolling his shoulder as he did so. “But now I wonder how we escaped the clutches of the Warp so easily.”
“As do I,” said Locari, taking a moment to peer into the inside of the ruined ship, his frown grew by the sight of three lifeless brothers resting on the floor, not including the slumped over pilot. “Where are our brothers, Calsin?”
“They met similar fates to you, but few were as fortunate to be as unscathed as you were when you were dragged from the inside.”
“Procuran?”
Calsin sighed. “He lasted longer than the rest, allowing me to barely survive the onslaught, but he fell into that cursed darkness as you did.” Slowly, Calsin went back to the insides of the vessel. “Had that—thing not arrived, scaring away the lesser daemons, I’d have joined our dead.”
“You witnessed it as well?”
“Indeed, it tried prying us from the ship with those damned tentacles before one of you managed a good hit. Then I had to avoid being blinded and suddenly I crashed upon this gathering of animals.”
Locari stared down at the only remaining creature among the dead group, shaking at his red visored gaze with pinprick eyes. “What are they?”
“Xenos.”
“...Descriptive…”
“Indeed… Whatever they are, they certainly aren't horses, one of them spoke Gothic.”
Locari’s head spun to Calsin, then back to the still living alien. He didn’t know what these things not being “horses” was supposed to mean, but quickly his mind focused on a worrying sight. He took notice of the markings on the ground, suspicion rising in his core as the grip on his pistol tightened. He approached the xeno with heavy steps, every step closer seemed to increase the terror in it.
He stood above it, casting a shadow over the pathetically tiny thing. “Speak, animal.”
He waited as the muzzle on the creature began to fidget, before noise escaped its throat. “I-I…”
Locari holstered his pistol, grabbed the shrapnel, and effortlessly tossed it aside, grabbing the alien by the neck as its useless legs dangled under it. It gasped with choked breaths as it stared petrified. “What are these markings? What was their purpose?” He demanded, loosening his grip only enough to let it speak.
“I-I have a family, please!” it begged, but its pleas wouldn’t be heard.
“If you do not answer they will soon join you. Satisfy my curiosity and I will give you ‘mercy,’ scum.” The only mercy Locari would grant it.
“It was a summoning ritual! We were trying to bring what was in that book here, it was supposed to give us what we desired most!” It hoursley spouted out in panic.
’Summoning ritual.’ The words echoed in Locari’s mind, a scornful frown etched beneath his helm as he spoke through his clenched teeth.
“What book?”
It pointed its shaking appendage to something below them. Locari looked down close to his left, grabbing the tome with his free hand. “Calsin,” he stretched his arm to the Apothecary, who made his way over and grabbed the ancient book. “What they were ‘summoning’ is in that.”
Calsin flipped through pages, uncaringly tearing most of the parchment as he scoured through it. “I can’t make anything of these chicken scratches.” One illustration caught his attention, its form familiar with its—
—He slammed the tome to the ground, kicking up dirt with the force and fired a bolt of plasma a second later, vaporizing it and leaving a hole of molten earth. “Vile heretics… the xenos were consorting with the Ruinous Powers, they sought to summon the tentacled daemon.”
Locari glared at the thing in its hands, tightening his grip. It began kicking with renewed panic, coughing and weezing as its throat began closing.
“W-Wait! They tricked me, I swear they-!” With snap it was silenced, its eyes glazing over as its fearful complexion turned numb.
He spun around to face his fellow marine. “These things are what ‘summoned’ us here?” He tossed the limp corpse away without thought.
“From what I can gather, yes. Seems when one of us managed to hit the damn thing their heinous ritual pulled us from the warp instead.”
“Our brothers may be here as well. Luvenus was taken the same way I was.”
Calsin nodded, turning back to the ship. “Then we have our goal.”
Locari nodded gravely, his eyes scanning the wreckage of the Thunderhawk and the strewn bodies of his fallen brothers. The weight of duty pressed heavily on his shoulders, but it was nothing compared to the anger bubbling within. Their arrival on this cursed world had been nothing short of a travesty—a collision of the Warp's malice and xenos' heresy.
Calsin knelt by the nearest fallen marine, the crimson stains of blood and ichor glinting in the dim light. He placed a gauntleted hand on the brother's battered pauldron, the chapter's emblem—a sideways skull bearing a halo and a wing— was marred by the cruelty of the daemonic attack. With a second spent reciting a quiet prayer, his servo-arms began their work.
Locari stood nearby, his gaze fixed on the blue horizon. "And what of this place?" he said with revulsion. "These xenos’ can’t be alone. They must all die for this crime."
Calsin didn't look up from his work. "One step at a time, Brother. We ensure our kin are safe or properly honored. Then we turn our attention to delivering His justice upon the xenos’ heretics."
“What of the mission?”
Calsin looked at Locari with a sideways glance. “Look around you, Locari. The mission died with the ship.”
Author's Note
My first entry into ponyfiction, I hope you all enjoyed it.
I had the idea to make this from playing too much Space Marine 2 and reading Horror and Harmony: The Ultramarine's Oath. I highly suggest reading it for yourself, I think its entertaining.
Feel free to comment criticism on the story, I'm certain I've made some errors. Feel especially free to call me names if I get any Hammer or Pony lore wrong.
Chapter two should come soon enough. Until next time!

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                        The Arrival                        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
The Arrival
Snowflakes swirled lazily in the frigid air, clinging to Mayor Meadow’s green coat as she stood at the edge of the crowd. Her breath formed clouds in the cold, though she barely noticed it, her focus fixed on the thing lying in the snow before her. It looked like an otherworldly knight, a giant clad in armor that in no way seemed possible to wear. A massive blade, jagged and brutal, rested near its outstretched hand, half-buried in the snow while another weapon, something resembling a cannon, rested beside its hip.
Meadow shifted uncomfortably, her scarf pulled tight against her neck. The whispers of the gathered townsponies reached her ears, fragmented and nervous, but she didn’t turn to quiet them. She was the mayor—the one everypony looked to when there were decisions to make. She should have felt decisive, authoritative. Instead, her stomach churned with unease just looking at the glaring face staring back at her, her mind racing to make sense of the impossible sight before her.
How this giant showed up here she couldn’t begin to answer. It was just another day trying to keep the town afloat that some terrible noise broke out from the forest, scaring away flocks of birds. She thought it may have just been a very, very strange animal, but an hour later a group of fillies came running into town yelling about a “giant robot” in the snow, they may have been right in that description. Now here she was staring at it. It hadn’t moved at all her entire time there, and if the gashes and tears all across it were any indication, it wasn’t going to. She didn’t know if that was comforting or worrying.
Her eyes darted back to the sword, its serrated teeth gleaming under the weak sun. It was monstrous in size, clearly not made for hooves or magic, yet the craftsmanship spoke of wealth, power, and something else she couldn’t quite name. It was mesmerizing. She imagined what something like it could do for her struggling town—what the bits from something like that might buy. Just by looking at it she could see the gleaming gold on the pommel all the way to the edge of its spine, it looked pure too. Expensive looking marble, intricate engravings of a language she didn’t know, even gems that would put any other to shame, and all of that was just this creature's sword.
A sudden thought tightened her chest with guilt. She wasn’t a bad pony; she had always worked for her town, fought to keep it standing even as the silver mines ran dry. But looking at that weapon, at the rest of the being, she could practically see the bits pouring from every crevice of it. She swallowed hard and tore her gaze away, but the idea had already taken root.
“Mayor,” a voice called from her side. Meadow turned to see her deputy, his usual stoic demeanor undercut by the nervous flick of his ears. “The ponies are spooked.”
“Send word to the Crystal Empire,” she said. “We shouldn’t keep this here.” Normally she would let Canterlot know about something like this, but she had enough worries on her plate, she didn’t need a giant alien laying dead on her town's border freaking out her townsfolk, and the empire being so close meant this thing would be out of her hooves sooner by letting them take it.
Even as the words left her mouth, her mind lingered on the blade, on all the other polished and gleaming metals. Her gaze flickered back, just for a second, before she forced herself to look away. Just one of those things, if they were as precious as they looked, could give her enough bits to turn the town's dour state around.
“We can’t leave it out here in the snow,” she said. “Somepony get some rope spool… Hickory’s shop can house it.”
They had needed more than one spool. Just moving it out of the crater it made took almost all the Earth ponies in the town. She had tried her magic on it but just making it budge took everything out of her. She didn’t know why but a few hours ago multiple of the townsfolk decided to head off for some “trip” into the woods, which only made moving the giant harder for whoever was still around.
It took some time, a long time, but the townsfolk managed to drag the giant into the blacksmiths shop. She wanted to bring it to her office, but if the effort just to make it move was any sign, her wooden floors wouldn’t fare well.
The air inside the blacksmith’s workshop was warm, a stark contrast to the frigid snow slowly piling up just beyond its wooden walls; this year's Hearth Warming didn’t go easy on the snow, at least it gave the fillies and colts something nice to play in. Meadow stood near the exit, her gaze fixed on the hulking figure laid out on Hickory’s stone floor. The massive armored body took up nearly the entire length of the floor, its cracked and blackened plates gleaming faintly in the firelight.
Cleaned of snow she could get a better look at how terribly damaged the giant was. Meadow could scratch off the idea of it being some robot that escaped from an underground facility; its missing arm revealed a living limb on the inside, she felt a little sick looking at the ripped muscle and exposed bone. All over it looked to be damaged, some gashes so deep she could see the furless skin beneath. She could see what was directly beneath the armor as well; wires and other assortments of machinery travelled all across it.
Hickory, the town’s blacksmith, worked diligently, his hooves moving with practiced ease. The stallion was a gruff but reliable sort, his mane and coat was dirtied with soot from today's work, and likely the day before as well. Tonight, however, his steady demeanor was tinged with awe—and no small amount of frustration.
“This… this stuff ain’t metal,” Hickory muttered, his voice low and reverent. He tapped the vambrace of the armored giant with a small hammer, the ringing sound sharper and higher than any metal he’d worked with before, the noise died as quickly as it came. “At least, not anything I’ve ever seen. Stronger than steel, tougher than dragon scales. Whatever it is, it’s rarer than diamond considering I haven't even heard of anything close to whatever this could be.”
Mayor Meadow’s ears perked at that, her heart quickening. ‘Rarer than diamond’ she thought. The words echoed in her mind, filling her with a mixture of excitement and unease. The blacksmith’s words confirmed what she had already begun thinking to herself: this was her ticket to freedom, or at least financially.
Even now, tucked away in her office, the sword and the tattered loincloth were safely hidden away. She had claimed them earlier under the guise of ensuring they weren’t lost or damaged. But the more she saw, the more she wanted. If the Crystal Empire took the body, there would be nothing left for her or the town.
“Can you remove that bird symbol?” Meadow asked, her voice tight as she gestured toward the chest plate where the double-headed eagle emblem was emblazoned. It looked like copper to her, but a lighter shade, almost like a mix of copper and gold, and whatever it was it seemed much more valuable than the copper she knew.
Hickory shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “Not a chance. I’ve tried everything short of breaking my tools. That thing’s built from something just as tough as the rest of it. Whoever made this didn’t want it coming off.”
Meadow frowned, pacing in tight circles near the entrance, taking a second to make sure nobody was showing up to the shop, she looked back to Hickory. “What about the helmet, then? Can you at least get that off?” The white helmet looked… angry. She had no idea what she would do with it, but somepony would pay a good price for it, right? Maybe some scientist would want it, alien technology wasn’t something that showed up every day, and she’d be helping all of Equestria that way.
Hickory hesitated, glancing at the massive figure on the table. “Might be able to but… what exactly are we tryna’ take it apart for? I thought you wanted the empire to take it?” His dirty hoof scratched his neck nervously. “And I don’t feel too comfortable keepin’ all this weird… alien stuff in the town.”
Meadow’s ears twitched, but she quickly forced a smile. “Oh, Hickory, don’t worry about that. I just want to make sure we… understand what we’re dealing with before they take it.” She waved a hoof dismissively, her tone light and reassuring. “You know how these royals are—they’ll probably just take it, slap some shiny plaque on it, and act like they know everything about it. At least this way, we’ll have something to show for it.”
The blacksmith didn’t look entirely convinced, his brow furrowing as he glanced back at the armor. “I don’t know, Mayor. Really feels like we’re pokin’ at somethin’ we shouldn’t.”
Meadow’s patience frayed, but she kept her tone steady. “Hickory, you’re the best blacksmith—” The only blacksmith “—in Silverton. If anypony can handle this, it’s you. Just focus on the helmet. That’s all I need.”
With a reluctant nod, Hickory turned back to his tools, though the unease in his eyes hadn’t faded. Meadow exhaled silently, brushing a stray lock of her mane from her face. It’s fine, she told herself. Just one more piece.
Hickory moved to the back of it, taking a minute to look at what looked like a weird backpack. “This thing’s almost the most banged-up part of it,” he said, gesturing to the cracked and exposed inner workings. “It’s got some kind of tech in here I’ve never seen before…”
Hickory adjusted his stance, bracing himself as he hooked one hoof under the rim of the backpack for leverage. He pressed against the damaged power unit with his weight, focusing on the helmet’s neck. For a moment, it seemed like he was making progress. He managed to find where the helmet met the black thing covering the neck, digging away at it with a screwdriver.
“Almost there,” Hickory grunted, his hoof slipping slightly against the armor’s smooth surface. He adjusted, pressing harder against the exposed inner workings of the backpack. But as he shifted his weight, his hoof slipped further, jamming deep into the exposed machinery.
A sudden, deafening roar filled the workshop. The armor screamed to life, the crimson lenses of the helmet’s visor blazing with an intense glow. Hickory yelped, stumbling back as a wave of heat surged through his leg, leaving scorch marks on his hoof. The back blared with a mechanical fury, the hum and grinding machinery of its inner workings rising to a crescendo before abruptly cutting out. The glow in the helmet faded, and the suit fell silent once more, the only sound the panicked breathing of the two ponies.
Meadow’s heart pounded as her wide eyes darted between the now-lifeless armor and Hickory. The blacksmith stumbled back, clutching his burned hoof. “Tartarus take me… What was that?!” he gasped.
Meadow didn’t answer, too stunned to speak. Her gaze slowly drifted downward, her blood running cold at what she saw. The armored figure’s hand, once lifeless, was now embedded in the stone floor. The moment of power had been enough for it to dig its massive fingers into the rock as if it were soft clay.
‘Sweet Celestia,’ she thought.
“We-e’re done,” Meadow said, her voice trembling. “We’re stopping here. No more.”
Hickory nodded quickly, limping away from the armored figure, his face pale. Neither of them dared to look back as they hastily exited the workshop. He winced with each step, “I think I’m gonna need the doc.”
As Meadow stepped outside, the cold air hit her like a slap. She inhaled deeply, trying to steady her racing heart. But before she could collect herself, a sharp voice made her jump.
“Mayor Meadow?”
She turned sharply, her eyes meeting those of a winged stallion clad in armor with a crystal sheen, matching their crystal blueish coat.
“We’ve come to retrieve the… giant,” the guard said, his tone professional but carrying a hint of confusion at the situation.
Meadow swallowed hard, forcing herself to nod and smile. “Yes, of course,” she said, her voice thin. She stepped aside, gesturing toward the workshop. “It’s… it’s inside. We kept it warm while… waiting for you to arrive.”
The guards moved past her in an orderly formation. As they entered the workshop, Meadow remained outside, her legs trembling beneath her. She glanced at Hickory, who sat nearby on an overturned barrel, inspecting his injured hoof.
“I think I’m gonna need to see the doc, that burn felt deep.” He winced when he touched his hoof.
“That would be wise,” Meadow said, feeling sorry for Hickory’s leg. “Thank you for helping. You should take the rest of the holiday easy.”
Hickory nodded, giving Meadow a farewell as he limped away to the doctors home, he didn’t enjoy knowing he’d have to wake up the likely sleeping doc.
Meadow waited outside as the guards did their work. It took a long time for them to finally get the giant out and onto a cart that seemed almost designed for the giant, by the time the guards gave their professional farewells and trotted off with the giant in stow, Luna’s moon had already taken its place in the sky.
Festivities would begin soon, everypony would be celebrating at the town center for Hearth Warming Eve. Meadow decided it would be a good way to unwind from the situation. She had a lot to celebrate for after all, she had just earned the town a hopeful future.
The prospects in her mind put a smile on her face, the anticipation getting to her easily. Maybe she could put those bits into a new income for the town? First she would take some to purchase Hickory something nice for sacrificing a good hoof, maybe he’d like some new tools?
A sudden thought hit her, something that had been on the back of her mind for a while now: A ski resort…
With the growing warmth and excitement in her chest, she trotted off to join the townsfolk; tonight would be her greatest celebration in a long while.
“The sun hasn’t moved,” Locari said almost absentmindedly. Another body laid limp in his hand as he patrolled around the Thunderhawk. He strode to the center of the xeno creation and set the winged body in with the rest, the corpses had formed a small pile.
“I’ve noticed,” said Calsin with a grunt of pain. He had remained within the Thunderhawk, his attention focused on his sacred task. Two of the honored dead had their gene seed extracted and their rites given, fabric was draped over them to shield them from this world.
Calsin had spared a moment to examine Daedryn. Whatever Daedryn had seen when they had tumbled into the Warp had left its mark; his eyes were no more, and through Calsin’s auto-sensors he could see everything else was reduced to a chunky liquid seeping from his skull. Calsin still performed the same duty with Deadryn, but had set his geneseed apart from the rest, he would not risk the Warp’s contamination.
Calsin now worked on the last fallen brother, the Narthecium cut into the ceramite chest, its cut clean and precise, a moment more and Calsin was carving through bone and muscle to reach the hallowed organ within. He whispered passages as he completed his work, doing as best he could to limit the damage his instruments caused on the armor and body.
Locari had set the final body into the pile. Before they could leave they had to cleanse this site of its immaterial taint, wood staff's burning sacred incense had been placed around the heretical glyphs on the ground, the vapors overwhelmed the air of the unholy site.
Locari set his eyes on a rune in his helmet, with a blink he activated it, a static humming in his ear as his vox-caster came to life. He let the static go for some time, changing frequencies while he took a standing position just outside the Thunderhawk’s ramp. He had repeated numerous times since he had put the aliens to death, trying to find any signal at all, but the only signal he could get was from Calsin.
“Your leg, how is it?” Calsin had said, his focus still on his work, setting aside extracted bone as his servo-arms delved further into the fallen marine.
Locari hadn’t thought about his injury since he arrived, a numbness was all he felt. “It will heal,” he said, focusing his eyes on the numerous holes in Calsin’s armor, and the pained way Calsin moved and grunted with any significant action. “You’ve suffered worse than me; you should prioritize your own wellbeing.”
“I’m stable enough to complete my task.”
“What counts for you as ‘stable enough’?”
Calsin didn’t reply to the question, with a one more cut he removed the larger progenoid in the dead marine, inspecting it for any clear sign of mutation or damage before storing it within one of the Narthecium’s stasis tubes. Finally he stood, taking an instant longer than he should have to do it, and faced Locari.
“Normally such injuries would require me to implant artificial organs in the injured so they could continue fighting. With me being the injured one my options are limited.” Calsin checked over the data on his Narthecium’s cogitator display, with a touch his visor display showed the state of his own body. “I’ve already injected a compound to help with the problem, and internal bleeding is—by the Emperor’s genius—not something to fret over. I would enjoy stimms to dull the pain but it’d be a waste.”
Calsin changed his display back to its standard layout, turning to Locari. “As I said… stable enough.”
Locari eyed Calsin for sometime, before returning his thoughts to his brothers. “I’ve tried my vox numerous times, I get nothing but static. Do we have anything on their fates?” Alongside his vox, Locari’s other connections to his squad had been severed since he was flung away from them.
“Three locator beacons have been lit since we arrived…” Calsin paused for a moment, regarding his display and letting out a subdued sigh. “Brother Queren rests north of us, Brother Caedus in the south, and Brother Marnel far to the east.”
“Then we have our direction,” Locari said enthusiastically. “We burn this heretical site and go rescue our brothers.”
“The locator is meant for my use,” Calsin said, melancholy in his words. “Its simplistic design and purpose is what lets the signal reach me. It is supposed to activate upon the marine’s demise.”
Locari paused before speaking, now with a more quiet tone. “Then they are dead…”
“Maybe… the beacon can be activated by the marine themselves. I had watched Queren’s—they update by the hour and he has been on the move. We shouldn’t let hope meddle with our expectations, the xenos could be moving his remains.”
Locari felt hatred at the mere idea. “If the bastards dare desecrate our brothers' remains they will pay in blood for every slight against them.”
Calsin nodded in agreement. “Let us finish our work here; burn the heretics and their little project.”
Locari was glad one of his brothers had the foresight to stock a flamer pistol on the ship.
He watched with crossed arms as the bodies burned under the bright flames, feeling a sense of calm as the cleansing fire consumed the Warp-tainted remains. The ground beneath the flames hissed and cracked, purged of its corruption. The sickly stench of the Immaterium gave way to the sharp, acrid scent of burning flesh and wood.
Nearby, Calsin had removed Daedryn from his seat, laying each of the dead gently beside one another. They would receive a proper cremation once the cleansing was complete. Now, Calsin stood beside Locari, his form motionless save for the occasional adjustment of his equipment. Both Marines watched the darkened forest beyond the flames, their senses sharp and attuned to the slightest disturbance.
“I’m worried about how the 7th is faring,” Locari said, breaking the silence. “We should be with them… How many more losses will they take without your efforts, Brother Calsin?”
Calsin didn’t turn his gaze from the trees. “I have no doubt our brothers are celebrating another victory at this very moment, and mourning their losses with pride for their honorable fallen.” His tone carried a solemn reverence, but something in it seemed distant.
Locari glanced at his companion, frowning. “You sound certain… what if they think we are dead?”
“They don’t think we are dead, Locari.” Calsin’s voice hardened as he glared at the smoldering bodies. “They know it. We are dead.”
Locari’s breath caught for a moment, and he stared at Calsin, who finally turned to meet his gaze. The flames reflected in Calsin’s helm gave a tired look on the white ceramite.
“What are you saying?” Locari asked, his voice just above a whisper.
Calsin gestured toward the pyre and the desolation around them. “Look at where we stand, Brother. Our survival here is a fluke—a fleeting moment bought with the blood of the fallen. By the reckoning of our chapter, of the 7th, of the Imperium itself… we are already lost.”
Locari’s voice hardened, defiance creeping into his tone. “But the Emperor knows the truth. If the 7th mourns us, then we must show them they mourn in error. We can return—there must be some way to return our brothers home.”
Calsin shook his head, turning back to the fire. “Perhaps… But until then, we remain as we are. Dead men walking.”
The two Marines stood watching the flames in silence, the flickering light dancing across their armor. The crackle of burning wood and flesh filled the air, a harsh yet oddly rhythmic sound.
After a moment, Calsin broke the long silence, his tone suddenly lighter. “Once while I was passing through your squad’s living quarters, I noticed tiny wooden figures in your room. Is wood carving your passion?”
Locari blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt change in topic. His brow furrowed as he processed the question, then he let out a soft chuckle. “Not quite. I’ve taken to marble sculpting. The wooden figures were practice pieces… experiments in form before committing to stone.”
Calsin tilted his head, his interest clear. “Marble sculpting, hmm? What were you working on?”
“I had hoped to create something for Sanguinala,” Locari replied, his voice softening as he spoke. “The sculpture was nearly completed before we were deployed. Though now… looking back, I doubt I would have finished it in time.”
Calsin’s tone grew curious. “What did it depict?”
“A pair of angelic figures cloaked in light, their wings intertwining,” Locari explained. “It was meant to symbolize and honor our chapter’s path.”
Calsin nodded thoughtfully, his gaze still fixed on the flames. “A noble piece. Perhaps you will finish it one day.”
Locari smiled faintly. “Perhaps.” He hesitated for a moment before turning the question back. “And you, Brother Calsin? Do you have any pursuits outside our duties?”
Calsin glanced at him, his lense catching the firelight. “When I allow myself such indulgences, I tend to plants I collect from the worlds we visit.”
Locari raised a brow. “Plants? Not something I would have expected.”
Calsin’s voice softened as he explained, his stoicism giving way to an almost wistful tone. “I find them on deployment. Sometimes, I discover one with a unique taste. I’ll extract it, refine it into an herb, and give it to the serfs. They use it to season the meals when the company feasts.”
Locari chuckled. “You—a gardener and chef. I never would have guessed.”
Calsin seemed ready to continue their conversation, yet as his vox grill came to life both men’s senses screamed in warning. Locari’s hands were filled by his bolter in an instant, Calsin’s weapon already aimed for whatever struck their senses.
This world, by what they could gather was tidally locked, the sun hadn’t moved since their arrival, and yet shadows now danced across the ground.
Both marines gazed around the landscape, befuddlement was the only thing they could feel at this sight. They gazed at the sun above, it was moving, moving at a speed that should be tearing the star to pieces.
“By the Emperor… what sorcery could…” Locari couldn’t finish his words. Darkness blanketed the land, a moment later and a moon they just now knew the existence of rested on a starry sky.
Calsin had no words, he only gazed at the pale lunar rock above. Both men rested their weapons, but their nerves remained sharpened.
They remained still for some unknown time, they didn’t know how to respond to this. They had no time to ponder the phenomenon, for an alert on Calsin’s cogitator broke the silence.
“By His throne...” Calsin muttered, leaning closer to his display. “Procuran.”
Locari turned to him, his bolter still clutched tightly in his hands. “Sergeant Procuran?”
“His locator beacon,” Calsin replied, his tone urgent yet restrained. “It just activated. North of here. Only a few hours' march.”
Locari’s hearts quickened. A glimmer of hope sparked within him. “You said they could be activated by us willingly. He could be alive!”
Calsin did not share Locari’s optimism. He straightened, his gaze flickering between the cogitator and the darkened forest. “We do not know what activated the beacon. It could be anything. Still, we cannot ignore it.”
Locari nodded firmly, his resolve unwavering. “Then we move. If there’s even a chance, we must act.”
Without another word, Locari made for the Thunderhawk, his movements purposeful as he began readying the necessary equipment. He secured extra ammunition, explosives, and anything else he could see being used, all while keeping his thoughts focused on the possibility that Procuran might yet be among the living.
Calsin followed close behind, his actions more methodical but no less efficient. As he secured his supplies, his gaze drifted back to his cogitator; the display flickered briefly, his jaw tightened.
The beacon was gone as soon as it arrived.
“Damnation,” Calsin swore under his breath. The sudden silence of the cogitator made the weight in his chest heavier. Still, he didn’t pause for long. “The beacon has gone dark.”
Locari paused in his preparations, his eyes narrowing. “That only means we must hurry. It could have been interference.”
Calsin nodded grimly, securing his pistol to his thigh. “Then let us not waste another moment.”
To a normal man, the speeds at which Locari moved would have made the passing trees and plants little more than a blur, but Locari’s eyes were not those of a normal man. For hours, he had run tirelessly, Calsin close ahead. Any creature in their path wisely fled at the thunderous stomps of the two Space Marines, their presence an imposing force in the quiet wilderness.
Only when Calsin slowed did Locari follow suit. They reached the forest's edge, where the dense trees and shrubs gave way to long, flattened stretches of snow. Before them lay a sight both found woefully unappealing.
The settlement was crude by Imperial standards—little more than wooden structures clustered together, with faintly glowing lights strung overhead. The two Marines took cover behind a dense patch of trees, their enhanced visors scanning the settlement for any signs of their missing brother.
Locari could hear Calsin’s heavy breaths from behind his helmet. Locari regarded Calsin for a moment, Calsin’s chest moving with each inhale. Locari did his best to ignore the sight.
“A town of the disgusting creatures,” Locari muttered, his voice laced with contempt. He frowned as his optics zoomed in on the numerous small figures moving about the settlement. “Are you certain he’s here?”
“This is where the signal originated. He was here,” Calsin replied, his breath no longer heavy, his voice calm but measured.
Locari’s hope faltered as he took in the still-standing village. The fact that the settlement remained intact, its inhabitants alive and moving freely, meant only that Procuran wasn’t. A cold anger simmered within Locari, but he tempered his desire. Justice would come in time.
Locari swept his gaze across the settlement, scrutinizing every detail. To the left, a trail in the snow caught his attention—a path leading from one of the buildings into the forest. Something heavy had been dragged across the ground, the hoof-shaped prints around it revealing the involvement of the xenos. “They moved him,” Locari growled. “Dragged his body into their den. They led him into…” His gaze traced the trail to a structure with a stone floor. “They took him in there.”
Armored figures—pathetically armored—went to-and-fro from the trail. Perhaps they were the warriors of this species. Using his auspex he focused on where they were going, some were huddled around something in the woods, perhaps studying whatever was there. A closer look and Locari could make out some crystalline structure on their bodies and equipment, much to his confusion. Neither man made a comment on the new type of alien.
Calsin’s eyes shifted to a separate set of tracks—larger sled marks leading away from the settlement and into the mountains. At the end of the trail, faint lights glowed against the snow capped peaks, hinting at another settlement or facility. “Then he was moved again,” Calsin said. “They’ve taken him into the mountains.”
“We have our lead,” Locari said, standing and preparing to move.
“But where is he being taken, and why?” Calsin asked, placing a hand on the beaked muzzle of his helmet, his tone thoughtful.
Locari’s grip tightened on his bolter. “Whatever their reasons, they will die the same for it. We may be able to reach the desecrators while they are still on the move.”
“Hold, Brother.” Calsin’s voice was calm yet commanding, halting Locari mid-step. “We are running blind. Charging after them without understanding their intentions or capabilities is reckless.”
Locari turned sharply, his frustration evident. “You would have us sit idle while they defile Procuran's remains? Or worse, use them for their heretical machinations? We must act now.”
“And if we are walking into an ambush?” Calsin countered. “They have civilization and sapience. Our only knowledge of them is their willingness to commune with the Warp. That alone makes them a threat— an unknown one at that.”
Locari scoffed, gesturing toward the settlement. “Look at them, Brother. They are small and weak—their bodies break with the smallest effort. We have faced far worse than these pathetic creatures.”
“As true as your words may be,” Calsin replied evenly, “now is not the time for needless risk-taking. Precision will serve us better than brute force.”
Calsin paused, his gaze focusing on a particular alien near the center of the settlement—a green-coated creature wearing a scarf. It moved with purpose, receiving deference from the others. “That one may be their leader, mayor, or whatever equivalent they have. We will interrogate it.”
Locari tempered his irritation, lowering himself back into cover. “How can you tell?”
“By its behavior and the way its kin act around it,” Calsin explained. “It directs their celebration. While I cannot be certain, it is a logical conclusion.”
Locari watched the xeno for a moment. His brows furrowed watching its horn light up with sorcerous power, moving objects with its mind. “When will we move?”
Calsin studied the settlement for a moment longer before replying. “They are in celebration. We will wait until the one in charge separates from the flock and is alone.”
Meadow’s hooves felt like lead as she trudged up the snowy path to her office, which also served as her home. The night had been cathartic in some ways—the celebration did numbers to ease the stress she built up over the year. She turned the key and pushed open the door, weariness settled in like a heavy blanket.
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, the warmth of her home like a fresh breath of air. Every now and then her thoughts went back to the alien objects now laying around her office, her mind going towards what she could do with them. Who would want such things? A giant sword chainsaw, a cannon she could almost fit her hoof into, a locked container she felt would belong in a church, and the few other things she managed to get off of the giant. Maybe some rich business man who wanted a new display piece? Or maybe even a scientist or more who wanted to study them? She guessed she’d figure it out soon enough.
Meadow eased into her chair, letting out a sigh as she placed her candle on the desk. Her eyes fell on one of the trinkets—a small red wax seal, with writing dangling beneath it in a language she couldn’t make anything of.
It shimmered faintly in the dim light, the wax design depicted a skull she never had seen before. A pang of guilt struck her chest, but she told herself it would be worth it. These could change everything for the better. Couldn't they?
She wouldn’t have to rely on everything outside of the town just to keep it afloat.
She reached out to touch the wax, but a sudden chill swept through the room, sending shivers down her spine. The candle’s flame wavered in the draft. She frowned, glancing toward the window, which now stood wide open, curtains fluttering gently in the cold night air.
“That’s strange…” she murmured to herself. She couldn’t remember opening the window—it wasn’t something she ever did, especially on a night as cold as this.
Meadow peered out into the night from her window, the cold wind nipping at her face. She saw nothing unusual beyond the quite forest ahead. She exhaled heavily, a puff of mist escaping her lips, and shook her head. “Just nerves,” she muttered, pulling the window shut.
As her hooves reached for the latch, something outside moved..
A massive armored hand smashed through the window frame, glass shattering in jagged shards. Before Meadow could even scream, the hand clamped around her neck with a grip so crushing she thought her skull might burst. Her legs flailed helplessly as she was yanked from the safety of her home and into the frigid night. Shards of glass bit into her coat, slicing at her as she was dragged out.
She was slammed against the outer wall of her home, rattling her teeth. The wood groaned and creaked, threatening to collapse under the force. Her chest heaved, desperate for air, but the iron grip on her throat didn’t relent.
Her wide, terrified eyes met her attacker’s face. A monstrous, white beak-like helmet loomed over her, glowing crimson lenses glaring down at her like the eyes of some unfeeling predator. She tried to speak, to beg, to cry out—but no sound came. Her body shook violently, paralyzed by fear and the suffocating presence of the giant.
Unconsciously, her horn sparked to life, her magic flaring in a panicked reflex. She didn’t even know what she was attempting—her mind was a storm of terror and confusion.
The figure reacted instantly. Its other hand shot out and grasped her horn. Meadow’s mind barely registered what was happening before a sickening snap filled the air.
Her horn disappeared under the giant’s grip. A jarring, alien sensation flooded her senses, like a wave of emptiness crashing over her. For a moment, her mind was blank, her vision swimming.
Then the pain struck.
A howl of agony tore through her chest, but before it could escape her lips, the giant’s hand clamped down over her muzzle. Her bones groaned under the pressure, her jaw threatening to break as the armored fingers crushed her cry into silence.
Tears streamed down her face as the pain and fear overwhelmed her, her legs twitching feebly. She would only take her eyes from the white beast when another giant met her eyes. It was taller, it looked angrier, staring down at her like she was an insect.
She heaved again and again, her body begging for air when she had plenty. Her nostrils burned as she forced cold air down into her. They didn’t move, they merely stared. No, they weren’t just staring, they made noises, a strange click came from their grill mouth and beak respectively.
Her eyes darted to them both. It was more of those giants, the grey faced one shared the same face, just different in color and armor only slightly more imposing. She had to blink, her eyes stinged from the cold but she was too scared to let them out of her sight.
But what difference would it make?
Another click and the grey and black armored one walked, walked through the wood of her home; the wood bent and gave in with no effort made by the giant. It was in her home, its heavy feet destroyed her floorboards, she could hear it do so.
“Are you their leader?”
Her eyes darted back to the white one, it spoke. Its voice grated her ears, it was unnatural as if shoved through a radio time and time again before reaching her. It let go of her muzzle, she wanted to scream for help but she couldn’t.
Leader? Leader of what? She thought.
Right, mayor, I’m a mayor. She didn’t want to do or say anything, she gave it a shaky nod.
“Good…” the voice grated again, cold and unnatural, like metal grinding against metal. The lack of anger in its tone somehow made it even more terrifying. It wasn’t enraged—it was calculating.
The other giant, the grey-and-black-armored one, moved throughout her home. It moved with its unnatural weight, each step cracking and splintering the wooden floorboards beneath it. Meadow’s heart sank as she heard her home being ruined, but she would rather it be turned to ash than be here an instant more.
The white one, who still held her pinned to the wall, tilted its head slightly. “Where is he?”
Meadow blinked, her breath catching in her throat. “W-where is who?” she stammered, her voice trembling.
The giant’s grip on her throat tightened, not enough to choke her again, but enough to remind her how easily it could. “Do not play coy, xeno,” it said, its voice dropping even lower. “Where is the one you took? The one who was here.”
Meadow’s mind raced, but she was too terrified to really think. “Th-they took him to the Crystal Empire!” she blurted out. “I—I don’t know why, I swear! The Crystal Guard—they came, they took him away. I didn’t have a choice!”
The white-armored giant stared at her, its silence more menacing than any accusation. “Why was he brought there?” it demanded after a long pause. “Why desecrate his remains?”
“I—I didn’t…” Meadow began, but the look—or what she thought was a look—stopped her. “We—we didn’t mean to do anything to him! He was already—already broken when we found him. We just… we didn’t know what to do!”
The giant said nothing, letting her words hang in the freezing air. Its grip loosened slightly, but Meadow didn’t dare move.
Inside her home, Locari’s voice came through the destroyed hole in the wall, distorted but clear. “Calsin, I’ve found them. His belongings.”
Calsin’s head turned slightly toward his brother. Locari stepped out of the ruined door frame, holding Procuran’s items reverently in his hands. The massive chainsword rested across his arm, its serrated teeth gleaming in the moonlight. A crimson fabric, the one draped between the dead giants legs, tattered but unmistakably sacred, fluttered in the cold wind as he carried it out. The cannon that looked small on the giant was stuck on its thigh.
Locari’s movements were deliberate and careful, as though handling relics too precious for mortal hands. Meadow couldn’t read his expression behind his helm, but there was something in the way he moved—reverence and suppressed fury.
Calsin’s gaze returned to Meadow, his red eyes narrowing beneath his helmet. “A mayor and a thief,” he said, his voice cold and unfeeling.
Meadow’s ears flattened, and tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to steal!” she cried, her words tumbling out in desperation. “I only took a few things to keep them safe, to make sure they weren’t lost before the guard could take them. I—I thought—”
“You thought to profit,” Calsin interrupted, his tone unchanged. “To line your pockets with the relics of the righteous. Am I wrong?”
“No!” Meadow’s voice broke, tears streaming down her face. “I just wanted to help everypony here. Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t understand—”
“Your ignorance does not absolve you.” Calsin’s voice was a judgment rendered, cold and final. “You defiled what you could not comprehend. And for that, you will answer, pony.”
He released her, and she crumpled to the snow, clutching her chest and sobbing. Above her, they loomed like executioners.
Locari’s voice rumbled again, his gaze fixed on the banner. “What shall we do with it, Brother?”
Calsin didn’t answer immediately. His red eyes bore into Meadow as she shivered in the snow. After a long pause, he turned to Locari.
“We will use it,” he said. “For now.”
Meadow’s sobs caught in her throat as she looked up. What did they mean to do? What did “use” mean to creatures like them?
Calsin turned back to her, his voice cutting through her panic. “You will guide us to the mountains. To where they took him.”
Meadow nodded frantically, the words spilling from her lips. “Y-yes! Yes, I’ll help. Anything, please. Just don’t hurt me, I’ll do whatever you need.”
Her ear flinched at a knocking from behind her, from her front door. She could hear the muffled voices of ponies through the wooden door.
“Ms.Meadow? We’d like to ask you a few more questions about the… giant.” It was the guards. She felt a twinge of hope, maybe they could—what could they do?
“Look, Mayor, we know you took some of what it had. We aren’t here to arrest you or anything, but those items aren’t safe, ma’am.” She wanted them to leave, but she wanted them to bring her with them.
She looked back up at the giants, they stared at each other, that same clicking noise was all she heard from them.
Calsin stared down at her again. “You said you wanted to help this place?”
She doubted it now, she nodded.
“We will give it the help it deserves. Locari…” Locari had secured Procurans belongings to himself, his loincloth sat in a pouch while the sword and pistol were maglocked to his sides. Locari turned to Calsin.
“Make sure she doesn’t run off.”
Locari nodded, kneeling down and grasping Meadow. She tried to kick away but it did nothing. She heard something unsheath from his side, her eyes darted to a large metal glinting in the moonlight. She tried kicking, bucking away, he pushed down so hard she felt a rib would break.
Locari gazed across the aliens body, taking in its musculature. He drifted to its hind legs, grasping them and without another second plunging his knife into it, the xeno screamed.
He stood and followed Calsin, sheathing his knife.
“Ma’am? Ma’am!” one of the guards called from the other side of the door, urgency rising in their tone. Another muttered something about breaking it down, but they wouldn’t need to.
With a single shove, Calsin sent the door flying off its hinges. It struck the pony standing just outside, sending them sprawling into the snow with the heavy wooden door landing squarely on top of them. The dull thud was accompanied by startled gasps from the other guards.
Calsin and Locari stepped through the ruined doorway, their massive frames breaking what remained of the door frame as they moved. The sound of splintering wood and the crunch of snow under their boots filled the tense silence. The armored guards stood frozen, their breaths visible in the cold night air, watching as the two giants came to a halt a few feet away.
The Astartes stopped, their imposing forms towering over the ponies. Crimson visors glared down at the guards, and the faint hum of their power armor added to the suffocating tension. The only sound was the timid, uneven breathing of the xenos before them, and the numerous unarmored civilians that watched from the streets and their homes.
Calsin’s voice came through the vox-link, cold and precise. “Kill the winged ones first.”
Locari’s gaze shifted slightly as he scanned the guards. His reply was quiet but curious. “What makes them special?”
“We can’t have one flying off to tell the world about us,” Calsin answered.
As the two Marines exchanged their private dialogue, the sensitive audio receptors in their helmets easily picked up the whispered words of the guards’ leader. The crystal mare, trying to remain calm despite her trembling voice, leaned toward one of the pegasi.
“Get to the Crystal Empire,” she murmured urgently. “Notify the princess immediately. Go. Now.”
The pegasus nodded, fear in their eyes as they spread their wings. Locari moved faster than any of the xenos could comprehend.
Before the pegasus could lift off, Locari raised his pistol and fired a single round. The weapon’s roar shattered the stillness of the night, and the pegasus crumpled to the ground in an instant, a smoking stump where its head had been.
The other guards recoiled, stunned and horrified. Blood stained the snow beneath the fallen pegasus, steam rising faintly in the frigid air. The lead guard saw drops of crimson dripping from the edges of her helmet.
Civilians screamed, their cries piercing the cold air as they bolted in all directions. Mothers pulled foals close, stallions shouted frantic warnings, and ponies scrambled to flee the town square. The guards, their resolve shaken but not yet broken, formed a protective line between the fleeing townsfolk and the two towering giants.
“Form up! Don’t let them near the civilians!” barked the crystal mare, her voice straining to remain authoritative despite the quiver of fear. The guards raised their spears, their armor glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Calsin moved first. His power-armored frame surged forward, boots crunching through the snow with a deliberate pace. He didn’t rush—he didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to sow terror. One guard lunged, spear aimed at his midsection, only for Calsin to swat the weapon aside with a flick of his gauntleted hand. The spear shattered on impact, splinters raining down as the marine brought his other fist down on the hapless guard’s head. The armored pony crumpled instantly, their helmet dented inward as they hit the ground with a sickening thud.
Locari followed, his bolter roaring to life. The explosive rounds tore through another guard’s chest, the detonation sending shards of crystal armor scattering in all directions. The pony toppled, their body lifeless before it hit the snow. The civilians' panicked cries grew louder as they realized the guards’ efforts were futile.
A group of guards tried to encircle Calsin, their spears and swords glinting in the moonlight. “Surround him!” one shouted, rallying their comrades. They charged, weapons raised high.
Calsin turned to face them, his visor glowing ominously. With a fluid motion his Narthecium’s chainblade came to life—its line of teeth the size of a short sword to the ponies—and stepped into their formation. The first guard’s spear thrust glanced off his armor harmlessly. Calsin responded with brutal efficiency, driving the roaring chainblade through the pony’s chest and twisting it before yanking it free. Blood spattered the snow as the guard fell, their comrades hesitating just long enough to seal their fates.
Locari’s bolter barked again, mowing down another guard attempting to flank his brother. The explosive round struck true, obliterating the pony’s torso in a burst of blood and shattered armor. Locari turned his attention to the civilians next.
He aimed at a group of ponies sprinting toward an alley and fired. The bolt detonated at their feet, sending a shower of snow and debris into the air. The fleeing ponies screamed, some stumbling as they scrambled to change direction, but most were silenced seconds after with rounds hitting bodies.
One stallion turned back, shielding a foal behind him. “Go! Run!” he shouted, brandishing a woodcutting axe in trembling hooves. Locari regarded him for a moment, then stepped forward. The stallion swung wildly, the blade of the axe bouncing off Locari’s chest plate with a metallic clang. Locari didn’t even flinch. With a swift motion, he swatted the stallion aside, the sheer force sending him crashing into a nearby wall. He collapsed in a heap, unmoving.
Calsin moved toward the guards still standing, and still trying to fight.
The guards charged again, desperation driving them forward. One managed to land a glancing blow against Calsin’s knee joint, the blade sparking as it struck ceramite. The marine turned to the offending pony and crushed them underfoot, their scream cut short as their body crumpled beneath his weight. The rest met their fate by his chainblade, bisected in a single swipe.
By now, the remaining guards and civilians were in full retreat, the former shouting for order while the latter scattered in every direction. A pair of pegasi took to the skies, their wings beating furiously as they attempted to flee. Locari’s bolter barked once, then again, and both fell like stones, their lifeless bodies crashing into the snow.
Locari turned to the leader, the crystal mare, who stood trembling yet defiant. Blood stained her armor, her spear was raised at his chest. “You won’t… You won’t—”
Locari didn’t give the mare the chance. Another empty casing left her spilling herself on the ground, life ebbing away from her eyes.
Locari strode to Calsin’s side, his bolter smoking, the ruined town around them littered with bodies. The civilians who had escaped were gone, their screams fading into the distance. The guards lay dead or dying.
“Some got away,” Locari said.
“Only the unimportant. Let cold finish them.”
She had crawled to her destroyed front door, her hind legs were useless.
The snow around Meadow was stained red, the air heavy with the stench of blood and smoke. She sat trembling, her hooves clutching the icy ground. Her wide, tear-streaked eyes stared blankly at the devastation before her—the shattered bodies of the guards, the lifeless forms of fleeing civilians, and the eerie quiet that followed.
Locari approached her, his boots crunching loudly through the snow. The towering marine stopped before her, his imposing form casting a long shadow over her trembling figure. His bolter was locked to his thigh. He regarded her for a moment, his red visor lenses glowing faintly in the cold night.
“You know how to reach this Empire of yours?” Locari’s voice was flat, it was enough to make her flinch.
Meadow didn’t speak, her throat tight. Slowly, she nodded, her movement was stiff.
Locari reached down, grabbing her without hesitation. She let out a weak gasp as his massive hand encircled her midsection, lifting her as if she weighed nothing. Her hooves dangled uselessly in the air, her body too drained to resist.
“Show us,” was all Locari said.
Meadow nodded again, her breath shaky. She didn’t dare speak. She stared ahead, her mind blank, her body numb as Locari turned and began walking with her dangling in his hand. The town lay in ruins, its silence broken only by the whimpers of the dying and the crunch of his boots.
Calsin followed, his massive frame moving with deliberate purpose. His gaze remained fixed on the distant mountains and glowing sky above it.
The crystalline walls of the room shimmered faintly in the soft light of the Crystal Empire’s palace. Every part of it exuded warmth and comfort, but now it felt cold and heavy. Princess Cadence stood silently, her eyes fixed on the two massive forms lying on the polished crystal floor. The room, usually reserved for the care of her subjects, had been hastily adapted to house the strange, lifeless beings.
One was recently brought in from the town of Silverton a few hours ago. His armor was battered and torn, the once-pristine plates marred by jagged tears. His weaponry, his weaponry hadn’t come with him, she sent her guards back to see if they could find them, she doubted this one arrived empty handed.
Beside him lay another, discovered along the trail leading to the Empire. His form was no less intimidating, though his damage told a slightly different story. Deep gashes ran along his armor, and portions of it were dented inward as though struck by tremendous force. His helm had been removed, revealing a still, lifeless face—tan, with features that spoke of a hard and terrible life.
Cadence shifted uncomfortably. She had experienced plenty of odd things in her life, but nothing such as is. Aliens were the only explanation she could come up with, but how they arrived here, and why they were dead, she couldn’t answer.
Aliens. The thought was both thrilling and worrying. Equestria had faced many strange and powerful beings in its history, but this… this was different.
Cadence glanced at the recently arrived one. His lack of weaponry troubled her. The previous had such massive and threatening weapons with him. She had sent guards back to Silverton to search for anything that might have been left behind. The idea that someone—or something—had taken such abhorrent tools added another layer of unease.
Her thoughts turned to Twilight. She had wanted to send a letter to her sister-in-law the moment the second one had arrived, but with Luna’s moon already in the sky she didn’t want to disturb her, she was likely asleep by now. Cadence decided she would send the letter as soon as she woke up tomorrow.
A faint creak from the door broke her thoughts. Cadence turned, her weariness giving way to a small smile as she spotted a familiar face peeking through the slightly ajar door.
Flurry Heart.
The young filly’s wide, curious eyes darted toward the massive figures lying on the floor, their forms dimly illuminated by the faint light of the crystal walls.
“Mommy?” Flurry Heart’s small voice whispered. “What are those?”
Cadence’s heart tightened. She moved quickly, turning off the lights with her magic, plunging the room into near darkness. The silhouettes of the giants were all that remained visible, and even those were faint. She stepped toward her daughter, placing herself between Flurry and the unsettling sight.
“Don’t worry about it, sweetie,” Cadence said gently, leaning to her daughter’s level. She placed a hoof on Flurry’s shoulder, her voice soft but firm. “You should be in bed. It’s very late.”
Flurry Heart looked up at her mother, her brow furrowing. “They’re so big… Are they monsters?”
Cadence hesitated, glancing back at the now-darkened room. “No, they’re not monsters,” she said, though the words felt hollow even to herself. “They’re… something I’m trying to understand. But you don’t need to worry about that right now.”
Flurry looked unconvinced, but she nodded. “Okay…”
“Come on,” Cadence said, her smile returning as she guided her daughter away from the room. “Let’s get you back to bed. You need your rest.”
Together, they walked through the quiet halls of the palace, the sound of their hoofsteps soft against the crystal floors. Cadence felt a flicker of relief at the distraction. For now, she could focus on Flurry Heart—on putting her back to bed and, hopefully, easing her own restless mind in the process.
As they reached Flurry’s room, Cadence tucked her in gently, brushing a lock of her daughter’s mane from her face. Flurry yawned, her wings twitching slightly as sleep began to claim her. Cadence kissed her forehead and whispered, “Goodnight, my little star.”
Author's Note
You can probably tell this was supposed to be out sooner. Ah well, what can you do.
Thanks for reading, until next time!

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                    The Crystal Empire                     
//-------------------------------------------------------//
The Crystal Empire
I leave the ruined home of one of their kind, the mangled remains of its dwellers still in the blood-soaked wreckage. The stench is heavy, but I am numb to it, as I am to most things now.
Outside, the settlement sprawls below the dead tree at its heart, a massive, decaying skeleton of wood that looms over the houses and streets. Its bark, likely once vibrant, is now dry and lifeless. The creatures hover in the skies above—griffons, their wings carrying them in uneven, desperate patterns. Their claws wait to rend flesh, their gazes filled with anger, fear poorly hidden behind their bravado.
I have ammunition, but I do not use it. Every shot expended is one I cannot replace. The gun remains mag-locked to my hip.
Another group rushes at me, brave in their folly. They shout in their strange noises, but I do not care to understand their words. My combat knife shines faintly as it tears through flesh and bone. The feather-things die as all xenos do, broken beneath the will of the Emperor. I am efficient, precise. Their screams are brief.
My mind drifts elsewhere, to memories blurred and broken. I cannot recall how long I was in the Warp’s grasp. Days? Months? Time held no meaning in that accursed place. Only pain. Only its unrelenting presence, clawing at my soul. I feel the phantom weight of its touch even now, its non-existent scars seared into my being. The air here is fresh, crisp, but I long to tear my helm off and breathe it unfiltered. I deny myself that urge. I refuse.
The battle wanes. The remaining beaked-things scatter, their courage evaporating. I do not chase them. Their retreat grants me a moment of unwanted peace. The silence presses on me, heavier than any battle.
I glance at my armor, gray and copper dulled by the blood of the xenos and the dirt of this alien world. I do not know where I am. The stars are unfamiliar, the landscape alien. I am alone. My brothers… they are dead. Of this, I am certain. I cannot feel them, cannot hear their voices through the vox.
A strange pull grips me, deep in my core. A direction, faint yet undeniable. West. I do not understand its source, but it compels me. West, it whispers.
I tilt my head to the sky. The moon hangs above, pale and serene, an indifferent observer. I let my gaze linger for a moment, searching for answers it cannot provide.
Then, I step forward, reaching the edge of the cliff overlooking the desolate landscape far below. Without hesitation, I step off, my armored form plunging toward the earth. I do not fear the fall. The ground rises to meet me, and with it, the promise of something.
The valley stretched endlessly, a desolate expanse of white and grey bordered by the looming, jagged peaks of the mountains. Snow swirled in lazy flurries, carried by the wind that whistled through the narrow pass. Meadow dangled in Locari’s iron grip, her once-pristine coat now matted with dirt, sweat, and dried blood. The cold bit at her fur, but it was nothing compared to the gnawing dread that had settled in her chest.
The two giants marched onward in silence, their armored boots crunching through the snow with mechanical precision. The weight of their presence was oppressive; every step they took seemed to echo with a dreadful finality, reminding her of how little control she had over her fate.
She stared at the snow-covered ground passing below her, her hooves swinging uselessly. Every jolt of Locari’s movement made her wince, her body battered and bruised. Her mind, though, bore the brunt of the torment. The massacre of her town, the sight of her people being torn apart as if they were nothing—all of it haunted her every thought. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the bodies. With every breath she could still smell the burning and death.
Meadow had told herself she was doing the right thing when she’d taken those relics. She had convinced herself it was for the good of the town, a way to save her people. But now… what had it all been for? Her town was gone, her people slaughtered. And she was here, a broken, pathetic creature being dragged through the snow.
She thought of Hickory, she hoped the poor stallion had escaped.
Finally, she mustered the courage to speak, her voice trembling against the weight of her terror. “W-what will you do to me?” she stammered, her words barely audible over the wind.
Locari’s gaze didn’t waver as he marched on, his voice felt flat and unfeeling to her ears. “Do as we command, and you will not suffer more by our hands.”
The words should have brought her comfort, but they didn’t. There was no warmth in them, no reassurance. Only the cold declaration of a predator momentarily sparing its prey. She glanced up at the beaked helmet of the other giant—Calsin, she heard him called by the other. He was silent, his attention focused on some device strapped to his arm, the faint glow of its screen casting an eerie green on his armor.
Locari's voice cut through her thoughts like a blade. “Tell me of this Empire.”
Her ears twitched, and she forced herself to lift her head. “W-what do you want to know?” she stammered.
“Troop numbers. Fortifications. Everything.” The questions came without pause, delivered in a manner that left no room for hesitation.
Meadow’s mind raced, the answers coming unbidden. “There are guards—hundreds, maybe? I don’t know! They’re stationed around the city, but they’re not… they’re just ponies.”
“What else?” Locari pressed. “Weapons. Defenses.”
“The Crystal Heart,” she said quickly. “And the guards have spears, maybe a few unicorns. But that’s it. The city is peaceful, I swear!”
The other giant, the one carrying the stolen relics, stopped to listen. Its red lenses bore into her, unblinking. “What of this ‘Crystal Heart’?”
Meadow’s blood ran cold. “It—it protects the city,” she stammered. “It keeps out the snow and cold, and it keeps the ponies safe. It’s… it’s powered by love and harmony. I don’t know how it works…”
The beaked giant tilted its head slightly. “Sorcery,” it said, the word dripping with disdain. “Or technology disguised as it.”
A short pause and she could see the white armored one come close. “Alien,” Calsin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence. Meadow flinched, her ears flattening against her head. “Hold still.”
Before she could react, he reached out and plucked her from Locari’s grip, holding her in his hands as if she weighed nothing. Meadow’s heart pounded as she squirmed weakly, her strength sapped by exhaustion and fear. Calsin’s grip was unyielding, his cold crimson lenses fixed on her with an unsettling intensity.
She yelped as a sharp, metallic instrument pierced her neck. The sensation was cold, clinical, and wholly alien. Blood flowed freely into a small vial, the crimson liquid catching the faint light of the moon. Meadow’s body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat as a wave of helplessness crashed over her.
Calsin’s voice was detached, analytical. “Fascinating,” he murmured as his cogitator began its analysis. “No chaos taint as far as I can see. Her body matches closely with equines, strangely so, even down to the smallest features.”
Meadow barely understood his words, her thoughts consumed by the icy metal leaving her neck. Her hooves twitched as she tried to push herself away, but it was useless. She was nothing to them—an insect to be examined and discarded.
Calsin glanced at the cogitator strapped to his arm. “Material within the horn’s structure appears unique,” he said. “Its biological properties extend throughout the xeno’s body.”
Locari snorted dismissively. “A curiosity. Nothing more.”
“Perhaps,” Calsin replied. “Even mere curiosities can prove worthwhile.”
Meadow shivered, the icy wind biting at her fur. She was barely aware of being moved next to the red fabric draped over the giant's chest, her body slumping against his armored chest. Her mind raced as she stared at the horizon, where the faint glow of the Crystal Empire was just visible through the swirling snow.
“The Crystal Empire is close…” she whispered, her voice trembling with desperation. “I-I’ve done everything you asked. You’ll let me go, won’t you?”
Calsin didn’t answer. His grip on her remained firm, his focus entirely on the path ahead. The silence was deafening, and her heart sank deeper with each passing second.
As they reached a fork in the path, Calsin stopped, lifting Meadow slightly higher. “Which way?” he demanded.
Her ears twitched, and she raised a hoof toward the right trail. “That way,” she murmured.
Calsin’s visor flickered faintly as he regarded the path. He had briefly considered using the xeno further, to gather more intelligence about her kind and their society. But the thought was dismissed as quickly as it arose. She had her purpose. She was no longer necessary.
He resumed his march. Ahead of him, Locari paused abruptly, his posture shifting. Without a word, the marine quickened his pace, his armored form cutting through the snow with renewed urgency. Calsin followed his brother’s gaze and saw it: the faint tip of a structure piercing the horizon. Distant but unmistakable, he was surprised to see the glow he had seen in the sky coming from the very walls of the city.
“You spoke true every way, alien,” Calsin said, his voice carrying a note of acknowledgment as the Crystal Empire came into clearer view.
Meadow’s ears twitched at his words, and for the first time since her capture, she felt something other than dread. Relief, fragile and fleeting, coursed through her. “We’re here!” she exclaimed, her voice trembling with disbelief. “Yes, this is it! You’ll let me go now, right?”
Calsin didn’t respond immediately. His visor remained fixed on the city as the full scope of the Crystal Empire unfolded before him. Its structures glimmered, crystalline buildings and soft grass in stark contrast to the white expanse of snow surrounding them.
Finally, Calsin knelt, his massive frame lowering Meadow into the snow. She blinked up at him, her wide eyes filled with disbelief. He had kept his word. They were here, and he was releasing her. She had done as they commanded.
“Thank you… oh Celestia, thank you!” Meadow sobbed, her voice breaking as she collapsed onto the snow. Relief poured out of her in waves, her tears warm against her fur as she buried her face in her hooves.
Calsin watched her without a word, his movements precise as he raised his hand expectantly to Locari, who stood beside him. Locari regarded Calsin’s open hand for a moment, already knowing the older brother's intent. He unsheathed his tool and gave it to Calsin.
Meadow barely noticed him until the blade entered her neck. The action was swift, the cold steel filling her spine in an instant, separating nerves and spinal discs. Her body tipped forward, crumpling into the snow, her breath cut short as the world around her dimmed. Her last conscious thought was a strange mix of gratitude and confusion.
She had felt nothing.
Calsin stood, his shadow stretching over the still form of the xeno. Without sparing her another glance, he turned to Locari, who was already scanning the crystalline city ahead.
Locari shifted his gaze from the city to the still form of the xeno lying in the snow. He looked back to Calsin, who stood with the same resolute calm that seemed to always radiate from him. Even through that, Locari could sense his brother's running thoughts.
Calsin moved slightly, the large combat knife still held loosely in his hand. Locari’s eyes went toward the knife. He extended his hand, waiting. “My knife, Brother.”
Calsin turned his head, glancing at the blade as though he’d forgotten it was there. He let his arm drop to his side but didn’t return the weapon. “You have a blade already,” he said, his voice low and calm but with a reverence for what sat idle in Locari’s possession.
Locari’s gaze shifted to his hip, where Procuran’s chainsword rested, mag-locked securely to his armor. He reached for it, his hand hesitating as it hovered over the hilt. “I don’t believe I’ve earned such an honor,” he said, his tone quieter.
“Then earn it,” Calsin replied simply. “I imagine you’ll soon have the chance.”
Locari’s fingers curled around the hilt of the chainsword, and he removed it from its mag-lock. The weight of it settled into his hand, heavier than he had expected—not in its physical weight but in its very presence. He held the weapon before him, the intricate engravings on the spine catching the moonlight.
He leaned closer, inspecting the tiny carvings that ran along the blade’s surface. The words were too small for mortal eyes, but to his enhanced vision, they were clear. Each tiny engraving recorded the history of the weapon, a chronicle of the battles and victories it had seen. It was older than Procuran himself, a relic of the chapter’s past that carried the echoes of countless wars won on its teeth.
“Something as grand as this…” Locari murmured, his voice trailing off as he ran a gauntleted finger along the spine of the blade. He paused, the weight of his thoughts settling. “Yes… It would be an insult to let it idle. I will honor Procuran by bathing it in the blood of the bastards who dragged him here.”
Calsin nodded. “Then let its spirit sing once more. Procuran would demand no less.”
Locari tightened his grip on the chainsword, and gave the holy relic actuation. He could feel the faint hum of its ancient mechanisms through his gauntlet, it resonated with anticipation; it was hungry. For only a moment did he let the blades of it go free, before putting it back to a temporary rest, sheathing it.
The silence between the marines stretched on, broken only by the occasional gust of wind. Locari was the forest to break the short silence. “If these xenos speak Low Gothic,” he began, glancing toward Calsin, “there must have been some human presence here. An outpost, a forgotten settlement. Something.”
Calsin’s attention was on the cogitator built into his gauntlet, the screen displaying data from the blood sample he had taken earlier. His voice, when it came, was calm and measured. “Or they stumbled upon it through exposure to some long-dead fragment of humanity. The galaxy is vast, Brother. Strands of the Emperor’s light touch even the darkest corners, but not all endure.”
“Even so,” Locari said, his tone resolute, “if this empire represents the height of their civilization, it may hold the technology or resources we need to at the very least set up a distress beacon. We are not lost.”
Calsin tilted his helm slightly, the faint glow of his crimson visor reflecting off the swirling snow. “Not lost,” he agreed, “but displaced. Do not let hope blind you, Locari. It is a blade with no edge.”
“Hope is what separates us from those devoid of His light,” Locari countered. “It binds us to Him.”
Calsin let out a quiet, static-laden snort. “Duty binds us. Hope is the indulgence of mortals.”
When the city came into full view, both marines paused. The crystalline structures shimmered in the moonlight, their translucent forms reflecting a faint inner glow. Streets wound through the city in symmetrical patterns, leading to a towering castle at its center.
“Curious,” Calsin remarked, his gaze sweeping over the alien city. “A civilization built of light and glass, yet defended only by spears and flesh.”
Locari regarded the castle at the city’s heart, gleaming faintly. “It is a poor fortress. A hive spire noble might accept such grandeur, but it will shatter like all the rest.” He glanced at Calsin. “Queren’s signal is strongest there, isn’t it?”
Calsin nodded, his crimson lenses narrowing as he focused on his cogitator. “Yes. The beacon is strong here. We are nearing them.”
His gaze settled on the castle at the city’s center. He would admit to Locari’s point that a hive city noble would enjoy such a design on their spire peaks. He moved his arm, activating his cogitator, and watched as the signal displayed on its small screen aligned with their destination.
Queren’s signal was here. Procuran would undoubtedly be with him. The realization set his thoughts into motion. It seemed that the rulers of this place had taken an interest in their kind. A misstep on their part, as far as Calsin was concerned.
He looked to the castle again, his thoughts laced with a faint trace of sarcasm. It seems we have an audience with nobility, he thought. How quaint.
Locari felt a hint of nostalgia from the sight before him. The crystalline city, for all its alien wrongness, bore a strange beauty under the faint moonlight. He crept alongside his fellow warrior, readying himself to bring crumbling down all the enemy held dear. It reminded of the many campaigns he fought—brothers by his side, the righteous fire of the Emperor’s will guiding his every step. He had been forged for this, molded in blood and duty, and tempered by the lessons of countless battles.
But this was different.
His grip tightened on Procuran’s chainsword, its weight unfamiliar in his hand, not because it was cumbersome but because it wasn’t his. This was a relic of their chapter, a weapon that had cleaved through heretics and xenos under the hand of greater warriors. Locari felt unworthy of it. Procuran’s death—his brothers’ deaths—gnawed at Locari’s mind like a wound that refused to heal.
His thoughts flickered back to the days before this nightmare. The chapter halls, the sermons of Chaplain Hadranatis, Searvus, Therian, the stories told of their ancients with reverence and awe. Those were memories he held onto tightly, and ones he believed he would make more of. He thought of the brothers who had stood with him then, their voices raised in prayer, their hands clasped in mutual faith. If he listened closely, he could almost hear them.
Locari knew his belief they could return was hopeful at best, but he held firm to it. He shared Calsin’s belief on the matter—their survival was a fluke—but he would not accept that, not entirely. For them to have survived the Warp could only be by the Emperor’s will. What else could explain how he and his brother still stood? What could explain the absurd chances that had happened for them to be yanked away from certain death by fools deserving of said death?
He held hope, hope that the Emperor had sent him here so that this world would face the judgment of His Angels.
His gaze flicked to Calsin. The older marine moved with the precise, unyielding efficiency of a veteran who had long since abandoned the luxury of hope. Calsin had never voiced it, but Locari could see the resignation in his every step. He didn’t share Locari’s faith that they could return.
Locari respected that, even admired it in some ways. But he couldn’t let himself fall into that same abyss. Someone among them had to believe that the Emperor had a plan for them, even here, even now. That Locari was certain of.
Bodies of those unfortunate enough to stumble upon the two Space Marines lay still in their wake. Snow had given way to fresh grass, freezing temperatures to a cool breeze, and empty mountains to glowing streets alive with activity.
Calsin and Locari moved silently through the city, the faint hum of the ongoing celebration filling the air around them. Laughter and chatter drifted through the streets, muted by the architecture. It was clear the celebration was nearing its end. The youngest of the xenos had long since retired, leaving only adults wandering the streets, their crystalline forms shimmering faintly under the moon.
The marines kept to the shadows. They stuck to alleyways and dark corners, their towering forms did little to help them blend in, but both marines were more than experienced for the task. The faint sound of music echoed from the central plaza, a distant melody filled with joy.
Locari's visor scanned the streets ahead, his heightened senses ensuring they remained unseen. He glanced toward a group of xenos passing through the street, their demeanor calm and their guard nonexistent. "They celebrate while our brothers lie dead within their walls," he murmured, his voice low and laced with disdain.
Calsin said nothing, his focus fixed on the castle looming in the distance. Its tip reached high into the night sky. His cogitator displayed Queren’s signal, originating from the higher levels of the castle. Each step closer tightened the urgency building in his chest.
The two marines paused in the shadow of a larger structure, the noise of the celebration slightly louder now. Locari tilted his head, his grip tightening on Procuran’s chainsword. From their view point, they could see the edges of the plaza, where groups of xenos mingled around tables and decorations. Some sang, others danced, their movements fluid and free, free of the years burdens.
Locari turned his gaze back to the castle, its shimmering walls reflecting the faint glow of the city. “If this Crystal Heart the xeno spoke of exists, it's likely within the castle,” he said, focusing on the thing standing at the center of the celebration, floating on a podium. It was heart shaped. “Or perhaps not.”
Calsin had noticed the floating crystal as well. “If this artifact is so important to them, I doubt they'd leave it exposed. It should be somewhere inside the castle.”
Locari shifted slightly, scanning for patrols or any sign of resistance; there was little. The xenos were either entirely complacent or confident that their celebration would not be disturbed. “How do you propose we proceed?” he asked as he watched the celebration.
Calsin considered the question, his gaze lingering on the castle. “We need a distraction to draw their attention. Their defenses are lax, but that will change the moment they realize we are here. If the xeno was right, we will have a hundred and likely more bearing down on us.”
Locari tilted his head, a faint smirk forming beneath his helmet. “And you want me to be that distraction?”
“You will draw them to you,” Calsin said simply. “Make enough noise to hold their attention. You are to keep them occupied for as long as necessary. Bash through their doors and meet them head on, cleave your way through their castle walls.”
Locari regarded the castle entrance, where the pairs of guards continued their idle watch. “And should they bring their full strength against me?”
Calsin’s voice didn’t falter. “You show them the strength of His Angels is greater.”
Locari smirked, the faint hum of his chainsword activating in anticipation. “They will know His wrath,” he said, rising to his full height and stepping toward the main thoroughfare. He turned to face Calsin one more time, and spoke with a solemn weight to his words. “Grant them peace, Brother.”
Calsin looked to Locari, nodding with resolve. “It is my duty.”
Locari stepped out from the shadows, his massive form illuminated by the faint glow of the crystalline streets. The hum of celebration filled the air, but his presence began to draw attention. He noted that Calsin had already disappeared into the night, moving to circle the castle and reach the other side undetected.
There was no need for subtlety here. Locari strode forward, letting the thud of his ceramite boots echo ominously through the plaza. A small group of ponies, their laughter trailing off as they noticed him, froze in place. Their crystalline coats shimmered under the soft lights, and their eyes widened in terror as they realized what approached.
Locari did not waste time. His chainsword roared to life with a deafening snarl, the serrated teeth spinning hungrily. In one brutal arc, he cleaved through the group before they could even cry out, the blade carving through flesh and crystal with ease. The air filled with the sickening sound of rending bodies, and blood dripped from the teeth of the weapon, pooling beneath him.
For a moment, the plaza was still, the music and laughter silenced. All eyes were now firmly fixed on him.
Locari allowed a moment of quiet to stretch, savoring the fear that radiated from the xenos. Then he raised his voice, the vox amplifying his words into a booming proclamation that echoed across the city.
"Hear me, xeno scum!" his voice thundered, reverberating through the crystalline streets. "I am Locari Venathor, Angel of the Emperor, warrior of the Cuprum Lords! I have come to bring His judgment down upon you vile abominations. Look upon me, creatures, and know the hour of your reckoning is at hand! Your homes, your peace, your pitiful existence—all will be reduced to ash in the face of His wrath! Awaken your rulers, raise your guards, and flee in terror, for on this night, your empire dies!"
Princess Cadence stood on the balcony of the Crystal Castle, watching over the plaza below with a soft smile. She had tried and failed to sleep, so instead settled with watching the festivities with a serene smile. The celebration had entered its peaceful later hours. The music had softened to a gentle melody, and the ponies moved in smaller groups, sharing quiet conversations. The sight warmed her heart, a welcome moment of serenity after a year filled with countless responsibilities.
Her peaceful thoughts were interrupted by a distant, mechanical roar that cut through the night air. She blinked, her ears swiveling toward the sound. A flicker of movement caught her eye—a towering figure striding through the plaza. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized the shape.
A giant. Alive.
Her eyes widened in shock and terror as she saw it strike. The monster raised its weapon—a churning blade that snarled like a beast—and swept it through a group of ponies. Blood sprayed into the air as their bodies collapsed lifelessly to the ground. The plaza erupted into screams, ponies scattering in all directions as the giant turned its glowing red gaze upon them.
“No…” Cadence whispered, her heart pounding in her chest, she could hear it shouting to her ponies. She spun around, rushing back into the castle. Her hooves echoed against the crystalline floor as she burst into the royal chambers, where Shining Armor lay in a peaceful slumber.
“Shining!” she cried, shaking him awake. “Wake up! It’s one of the giants! It’s alive—it’s here!”
Shining Armor’s eyes lazily opened. “What?” he said with sleep still lingering, sitting up slowly. “What do you mean, a giant? The one from Silverton?”
“No, another one,” Cadence said, her voice trembling. “It’s in the plaza—it’s killing our ponies!”
Shining Armor’s eyes snapped open, jaw tightened, his expression hardening as he bolted from the bed. “Get the guards,” he said sharply. “We need everypony mobilized. I’ll deal with this.”
As Cadence turned to leave, Shining Armor’s voice called after her. “And Cadence, Flurry—”
“I know,” Cadence said, already running down the hall. She stopped a guard stationed near the royal chambers. “Find Flurry Heart and take her somewhere safe. Do not let her out of your sight until I tell you otherwise.”
The guard saluted, his face pale but determined. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Cadence paused, taking a steadying breath before racing through the castle. Her heart ached for her people, for the ponies now screaming in terror in the plaza below. But there was no time for hesitation. Her ponies needed her.
The city hummed with faint music and quiet laughter moments ago, but now chaos reigned. Ponies scattered in all directions, the sounds of celebration replaced by screams and panicked cries. Shining Armor had barely managed to bark an order before the hulking intruder struck again. Its roaring blade cleaved through a group of guards with terrifying ease, sending blood and gore spraying across the crystalline plaza. The weapon—if it could even be called that—spat viscera as the giant marched forward. Locari advanced through the chaos with deliberate intent, his heavy footfalls echoing like the toll of a death knell. He let them see him, he gave them time to make their formations; he needed all of their attention on him alone, and that's exactly what he got.
The Royal Guard, despite their fears, fought hard. Groups of Pegasi swooped down from above, their spears aimed for—what they could determine—were gaps in his armor. Locari tracked their movements, his enhanced senses making their attempts to confuse or outpace him null, he could tell a change in direction or speed before their wings finished the act. A Pegasus dove too close, its spear glinting in the dim light. With a single motion, Locari’s gauntlet caught the shaft mid-thrust, pulling it back and causing the pony to slam their head into his pauldron. The pegasus dropped like a stone, its wings fluttering weakly before going still.
Another Pegasus came at him from behind, but Locari’s helmet sensors tracked the movement before it could close the distance. He turned sharply, grabbing the flier by its hind legs and swinging it into a nearby wall with enough force to shatter bone and crystal alike. The body crumpled into the wreckage, bone jutting out at awkward angles.
“Focus your attacks!” a Unicorn guard shouted, his horn glowing. “Don’t let him pick us off!”
Locari’s helm locked onto the speaker, analyzing the glowing horn. Magic. Psyker filth. He felt a faint tug at his legs as the Unicorn attempted to root him in place with its sorcery. The effort was fruitless. Locari’s muscles tensed, his armor servos groaning as he took a deliberate step forward, breaking the spell’s grip with ease. The Unicorn’s eyes widened in terror as Locari closed the distance in three massive strides. His chainsword roared to life, and with a single sweep, the blade tore through the guard’s torso. Blood sprayed across the street, the Unicorn’s body collapsing in two pieces and gore spilling from the fresh openings.
Other guards hesitated, Unicorn horns flickering as they reconsidered their attacks. Locari gave them no time to regroup. He turned his gaze to a pile of rubble nearby, augmented strength allowing him to hurl a large chunk of debris toward a cluster of unicorns. The improvised projectile struck with devastating force, the weight caving in helmets and crushing ribs. Screams filled the air as the survivors scrambled and limped away.
The guards adapted quickly. A group of earth ponies charged from his left flank, coordinated as they moved in unison. They carried enchanted ropes, their intent clear: to bind his limbs and bring him down through sheer force. Locari waited for them to close the distance, feigning a slower reaction as he assessed their tactic. When they were mere feet away, he surged forward with blinding speed, his massive frame colliding with the lead pony. The impact crumpled the leader's spine. Before the rest could recover, his chainsword descended, cutting through armor, flesh, and bone. One pony managed to rise, his face a mask of defiance and tossing aside survival bucked the Astartes leg plate; Locari felt it—a little. Locari grabbed him by the throat, lifting him high before slamming him into the ground.
From above, another group of Pegasi attempted to capitalize on the opening, diving with spears aimed for his exposed joints. Locari shifted his stance, raising his pauldron to absorb the strikes. The spears glanced off, and with a single upward swing of his chainsword, he cleaved through two of the attackers mid-flight, leaving a small trail of spilled innards. The third hesitated, a fatal mistake. Locari’s bolt pistol barked, the explosive round tearing through the Pegasus’s chest and sending them plummeting to the ground in hefty chunks.
He heard flapping wings behind him, Locari facing his pauldron to another two Pegasi diving towards him. They struck him with hooves, surprising Locari as the force was felt through his armor, even pushing his foot back an inch. What surprised him more was their still whole limbs.
Before they could dart away he cleaved one through, the other’s eyes widened as they tried flapping away. He grabbed its tail, the wings flapping widely to escape, another second and the Astartes slammed it beneath his boot and stomped. He tossed the headless body at another building, the force letting the wall crumble over the fresh corpse.
“Unicorns, together!” a guard called, his horn glowing as he rallied his comrades. “We can stop him if we work as one!”
The remaining unicorns formed a loose semicircle, their horns glowing in unison as they cast a coordinated spell. Locari felt the telltale pressure of their immobilization sorcery, his limbs slowing as the combined magic took hold. His armor servos strained against the force, his muscles beginning to ache as he fought to maintain control. For a brief moment, the unicorns’ efforts seemed to work. Locari’s movements slowed to a crawl, his frame locked in place.
Locari, for a moment, could see the field of magic dispelling around the scripture of his left vambrace.
Sweat dripped from the Unicorns’ brows as they poured more power into the spell. One of them dared to smile, believing they had finally halted the unstoppable juggernaut.
Then Locari’s bolt pistol rose, inch by agonizing inch, its barrel leveling at the nearest Unicorn. The guard’s smile vanished, replaced by wide-eyed panic. Before Locari could fire, a brilliant beam of magic struck him from the side. The spell hit with the force of a battering ram, launching Locari across the plaza. His massive form crashed through a fountain, shattering the crystalline structure before skidding to a halt.
Locari sneered as he pushed himself up from the shattered remnants of the fountain, crystalline fragments falling onto his armor then bouncing off. The armor's shock absorbers and his Astarte physiology ensured he was unharmed, but the sheer force of the magical beam that struck him was unlike anything he had encountered thus far. His eyes focused on the source: a horned and winged abomination, her wings spread wide as she hovered above the battlefield, her horn glowing with unholy energy. The light of the Crystal Heart shimmered faintly behind her, framing her in a regalness he assumed was accurate.
Beside and below her, a male clad in armor stepped forward, his white coat marred with sweat. Shining Armor’s horn flared with defensive magic, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto Locari with outrage. His voice carried across the battlefield with authority. “You will not harm another of our ponies. Not while we stand.”
Locari analyzed the pair in an instant. The pink one was likely the more dangerous of the two—her earlier strike had proven that—but the males barriers were formidable. Together, they posed a legitimate threat, one he could not dismiss as mere bravado. For the first time in the battle, Locari felt the faintest flicker of acknowledgment: these two were no mere pests. They were something that could best him, true threats.
Still, they were xenos, and they must die.
Cadence descended, her hooves touching the ground as she surveyed the carnage. Her heart clenched at the sight of her guards—those still standing, spread a distance around the Crystal Heart, their morale hanging by a thread. Her horn flared, casting a soothing wave of magic that bolstered their spirits, mending minor wounds and infusing them with newfound courage. She turned her gaze to Locari, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. “Stop this at once! Surrender!”
Locari didn’t respond. He had no reason to humor them. Instead, he raised his bolt pistol and fired, the explosive round streaking toward Cadence. A shimmering barrier sprung to life in front of her, Shining Armor’s magic absorbing the impact. The detonation sent a shockwave rippling through the plaza, but the barrier held firm.
Before Locari could rise another barrier surrounded him. He struck against it, his sword's teeth failing to break through, even a bolt round failed.
Shining Armor frowned, his confidence bolstered. “You’ll find we’re not as easy to break as you think.”
Locari took only an instant to think, unstrapping his Bolt Rifle, aiming it at the magic before him. Flicking it to full auto a torrent of rounds blasted the field, cracking it faster than it could replenish. Shining looked in surprise as the barrier became loose shard and quickly formed another for himself as round hurled his way.
Locari moved, his massive frame a blur as he dashed to the side, using the rubble-strewn battlefield to his advantage. He was testing them now, probing for weaknesses. He fired again—relying once more on his pistol, his rifle put away again—this time at Shining, but the stallion’s barrier expanded to shield not only himself but the guards behind him. Locari’s eyes narrowed. The unicorn was skilled, his barriers adapting with impressive speed.
Cadence’s horn glowed brighter, and she fired another beam of magic. Locari dodged with unnatural agility, his transhuman speed carrying him out of its path. The beam struck a building behind him, slicing clean through the structure and sending it collapsing into a cloud of dust and debris. Locari used the chaos to reposition, his towering frame vanishing into the smoke.
“He’s hiding,” Shining muttered, his horn glowing as he reinforced his barriers. “We need to keep him in the open.”
Cadence nodded, her wings flaring as she took to the air. “I’ll flush him out. Keep the guards protected!” Her horn lit up, and a wave of magic swept through the plaza, clearing the dust and revealing Locari’s position. He was already on the move, sprinting toward another group of guards near the Heart.
“No!” Cadence shouted, firing another beam of magic. Locari anticipated the attack, diving behind a collapsed wall as the spell scorched the ground where he had been. He emerged on the other side, his bolt pistol raised. The guards scrambled to form a barrier, but they were too slow. A single shot obliterated their defenses, and Locari was upon them.
Before he could strike, Shining Armor’s magic flared, a dome of light enveloping the guards and pulling them out of Locari’s reach. “You’re not touching them!” Shining roared, stepping forward to confront the marine directly.
Locari pivoted, his chainsword roaring to life as he charged. Shining’s barrier met the blade, sparks flying as the weapon’s teeth ground against the magical surface. The shield held, but the strain was evident in Shining’s gritted teeth. Locari pressed harder, his strength threatening to shatter the barrier through sheer force.
“Now!” Cadence yelled, diving from above. Her horn blazed as she unleashed a cascade of crystalline shards, each infused with magic. The projectiles rained down on Locari, forcing him to disengage and evade. Several shards struck his armor, chipping the ceramite but failing to penetrate. He felt the distant hint that something struck and passed the undersuit.
Locari switched tactics, using his speed and bulk to stay one step ahead of their combined assault. He hurled a chunk of rubble at Cadence, forcing her to shield herself and momentarily breaking her line of sight. Turning his focus to Shining, Locari charged again, this time feinting a strike with his chainsword that the pony made a shield to block, Locari immediately aiming his bolt pistol at the exposed side.
The round struck Shining’s hastily made barrier, exploding with enough force to send the Unicorn skidding backward. The shield flickered but held, Shining pouring more magic into it despite the strain.
It’s too fast, Cadence thought, her wings flapping as she circled above. She fired another beam, this one aimed to cut off Locari’s path. The marine anticipated her move, diving into a roll and emerging behind a crumbling wall. He fired at her from cover, the explosive rounds forcing her to conjure a barrier, the force pushing her back.
Shining seized the opportunity to rally the remaining Unicorn guards. “Focus your magic on slowing him down!” The Unicorns nodded, their horns glowing as they cast a coordinated immobilization spell. Locari made for cover but felt the tainted pressure grip his limbs, his movements slowing as the magic took hold. He strained against it, his muscles and servos pushing to their limits.
Cadence joined the effort, her horn glowing as she added her power to the spell. For a moment, it seemed they had him. Locari’s limbs shook, his motion reduced to a crawl. But even as the spell took hold, his thoughts were focused. With a tremendous effort, he raised his bolt pistol, aiming at the nearest Unicorn.
“No!” Cadence shouted, breaking away from the spell to fire a beam of magic. It struck Locari in the side, sending him sprawling across the plaza. The impact left a crater, but the marine rose almost instantly.
Locari felt the heat of the hot ceramite trying to reach him. He couldn't allow another blow like that, he can’t guess how many more his armor will take.
He moved again, faster this time, using the rubble again for cover and obscurement. He shifted foes, targeting the Unicorns one by one to prevent another coordinated spell. He didn't need bolt rounds, relying on small—for him—chunks of crystal, tossing them fast enough to maim.
Most were stopped by Shining’s magic, but one by one a throw would escape past him. Shining would keep losing sight as Locari ran as fast as he could manage, then stopping to throw another bit of rubble at any vulnerable guard.
Shining gaze shot around, desperately trying to keep sight of the monster. In doing this he got a better look at the carnage. He was running out of troops, Pegasi stopped taking to the skies, knowing they'd be struck down moments later, Earth Ponies dwindled in number—he had the suspicion a few ran and Unicorns were now being targeted.
He didn't know if they still had enough Unicorns to try another immobilizing spell. Cadence had the magic for it but the beast made sure to keep her focus on protecting. Shining knew if they kept this up it would only insure more guards deaths.
Locari shot out of cover again, Shining had almost managed to try catching the Astartes in another barrier, but he was too swift, flicking a pebble with enough force to gouge into a pony's eye, leaving them wailing on the ground.
The monster darted back into rubble. Shining knew this was his chance.
“Everpony! To the Heart!” He yelled, placing himself in front to ensure the rest made it. He grabbed the now one-eyed pony, tossing them as gently as he could manage under the castle.
Cadence dove from the sky, her wings folding tightly against her sides as she descended rapidly. The ground approached quickly, but she landed gracefully beside Shining Armor, her hooves skidding slightly. Her horn glowed immediately as she conjured a protective shield to intercept a stray chunk of debris thrown by the giant.
“Cadence!” Shining shouted, his expression a mix of relief and urgency. “We can’t keep this up much longer!”
“I know!” she replied breathlessly, her horn sparking as she focused her magic. She raised a series of jagged crystals from the ground, their sharp edges forming a barrier between the intruder and the remaining guards. The crystals shimmered faintly in the plaza’s glow, their magic radiating outward.
It formed a physical barrier, making a wide circle covering the plaza. It would slow the giant down, hopefully, just long enough to think of a solution.
“It’s cutting down our ponies,” Shining said, his voice tight with worry.
Cadence gritted her teeth, her horn flaring as she cast another spell, protecting a pulling what few remained quicker to the castle. “We use the Crystal Heart.”
Shining turned to her, his eyes wide. “Are you sure? It’s not—”
“We don’t have a choice!” Cadence cut him off, her voice resolute. “Our magic isn’t enough and we’re losing too much. We need to stop it before our ponies' despair is too great. We need the Heart, its power can overwhelm it.”
Shining hesitated for only a moment before nodding, his resolve hardening. Together, their horns glowed as they poured their magic into a new barrier. A shimmering dome of pink and blue energy expanded outward, encasing the remaining guards, the Crystal Heart, and themselves beneath the castle’s shadow. The barrier hummed with raw magical energy, its surface rippling as it absorbed the blows of the giant’s relentless assault.
Shining turned to the guards inside the dome, his voice firm and commanding. “All unicorns, to me! Add your magic to the barrier. Strengthen it as much as you can!”
The unicorn guards hesitated for only a moment before moving to his side. Their horns lit up one by one, adding their power to the barrier. The dome grew brighter, its surface stabilizing as the combined magic reinforced it.
Cadence took a deep breath, her wings fluttering slightly as she steadied herself. “That—should hold him for now,” she said, her voice quieter but no less determined. “But it won’t last forever.”
Shining nodded, his gaze fixed on the giant outside the barrier. The monster paced like a predator, his crimson lenses glowing ominously as he studied the dome. The roaring teeth of his chainsword bit into the barrier again and again, sending ripples of energy across its surface. Each strike caused the dome to shimmer and dim momentarily, but it held.
Both of them knew that with all their ponies scattered and afraid, channeling the Crystal Heart’s power would take time. They need to keep the monster back for as long as they possibly can.
“For now is all we need,” Shining said, his voice grim.
Outside the barrier, Locari regarded the shimmering dome with a mixture of intrigue and irritation. The xenos’ sorcery had proven resilient, but he could see its flaws—the way it wavered under the impact of his chainsword, the strain visible on their faces as they channeled their power. He knew it was only a matter of time before it collapsed.
His chainsword roared again as he swung it down, the blade grinding against the magical surface of the barrier. Sparks flew as the weapon’s teeth bit into the energy, but the dome remained intact. Locari tilted his head slightly, observing the way the magic reacted to his assault. They were clever, these xenos.
“Stall me all you want,” he said, loud enough for all of them to hear, his voice distorted through his vox. “It won’t change your fate.”
Inside the barrier, Cadence and Shining exchanged a glance. Their horns glowed brightly as they continued to pour their magic into the dome, their combined power keeping the Crystal Heart and their guards safe for now.
The barrier trembled under another earth-shaking blow from Locari’s chainsword. The roaring teeth of the weapon ground against the magical shield, sending ripples of strain through the guards and unicorns channeling their power into it. Cadence could feel the weakening pulses in the magic as the shield wavered, the collective effort of her ponies beginning to falter under the unrelenting assault.
Her heart sank as she turned to the exhausted faces of her ponies. Their horns flickered, their legs trembling as they poured the last of their strength into holding the barrier. Shining Armor was no exception; his shield spells were steady but smaller now, the toll of constant renewal evident in the beads of sweat on his brow.
Cadence clenched her teeth, her mind racing. They couldn’t hold much longer. The giant’s raw strength would eventually break through, and when it did, there would be nothing to stop him from reaching them.
Unless… She shuddered at the thought forming in her mind. There was one option, but it was risky. If she could stall him, distract him long enough for the Crystal Heart to be ready, they might stand a chance.
Taking a steadying breath, Cadence stepped forward, keeping her magic flowing into the barrier. Her hooves felt heavy as she approached the edge of the glowing dome, every step drawing her closer to the towering figure outside. Her dread gnawed at her resolve, but she pushed it down. She had to be strong. For her ponies.
Stopping just shy of the barrier’s edge, she craned her neck upward to face the giant. He loomed over her, his chainsword humming with restrained power as he prepared another strike. She swallowed hard, then shouted.
“Stop!” she called out, her voice carrying through the castle underside. “Stop this madness!”
To her surprise, the giant paused, lowering his weapon slightly. His crimson lenses fixed on her, unblinking and intense. The sheer presence of his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, but she maintained a strong face regardless.
For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the barrier and the faint hum of his chainsword. Then, the giant spoke, his voice was dreadfully calm, distorted through his helmet’s vox. “You speak to stall me, xeno.”
Cadence’s heart pounded in her chest, but she held her ground. “Please,” she said, her voice steadier now. “Why are you doing this? My ponies have done nothing to you or your kind. What purpose does this destruction serve?”
The giant tilted his head slightly, a motion that seemed almost curious. “Your kind defiled my brothers,” he said, the accusation laced with venom. “You desecrated their remains, touched what was sacred. For that, you will die alongside your rotten kin.”
Cadence’s breath caught. The two armored giants—the lifeless forms in the castle hospital—this was about them. “We didn’t know,” she said quickly. “We didn’t understand what they were. We didn’t mean to desecrate anything. We hoped to understand them, then put them to rest!”
“Intent is meaningless,” Locari replied coldly. “The Emperor’s judgement is absolute.”
Cadence flinched at his tone but pressed on, her mind racing. She needed to keep him talking, keep him distracted. “If this Emperor of yours values justice, then let us prove our intentions. We meant no harm. We can… return what remains of your brothers to you.”
Locari’s crimson lenses bore into her, unyielding. He knew what she was doing. This xeno thought it could buy time with words, stall him with its pleas. He would play along.
“Your offers mean nothing,” Locari said, his tone almost dismissive. “You seek to delay your fate. But I will indulge you, if only to see what lies you’ll weave next.”
Cadence took a steadying breath. He was listening—at least for now. “We don’t want bloodshed,” she said, her voice firm despite the quiver in her wings. “We can coexist. There’s no need for this violence. Look around you. These are families, friends—mothers, fathers, children. They’re not this enemy you believe them to be. They’re innocent.”
Locari let out a sound, something between a scoff and a snort. “Coexist? Your kind would sully this galaxy with your filth, more than it is already. There is no coexistence. There is only His Imperium.”
“What will this accomplish?” she asked. “Killing us won’t bring your brothers back. It won’t undo what’s been done.”
“It will bring retribution,” Locari said simply. “And that is enough.”
Her heart ached as she looked into the glowing crimson of his visor, the unwavering conviction in his voice sending a chill through her. He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t listen. But she had to keep trying.
The barrier trembled ever slightly, but Cadence stood firm, her horn glowing brighter as she funneled her magic into maintaining the shield. Behind her, Shining Armor and the guards redoubled their efforts, their magic bolstered by her courage.
“Your Emperor… would he truly want this? What kind of justice is there in this horrible act?” she asked, desperation creeping into her voice. “Would he want you to slaughter innocent ponies?”
Locari’s response was swift and short. “Yes.”
Cadence bit back a retort, her mind racing. She had to stall him, had to keep him talking. Every second she bought was a second closer to the Heart reaching its full potential. But with each word he spoke, her hope waned, the cold reality of his fanaticism crushing her spirit.
Locari observed Cadence carefully, the subtle tremor in her voice, the way she tried to mask her dread behind a facade of courage. To him, it was almost amusing. This xeno—a witch as far as he was concerned—was attempting to negotiate with him, an Angel of Death, a servant of the Emperor.
The faint hum of his chainsword died down as he tilted his head slightly, feigning consideration. Then his vox crackled to life, his voice carrying a mocking tone beneath the metallic distortion.
“A negotiation?” he asked, his crimson lenses locking onto her with predatory intent. “Very well, xeno. I will lay down my terms.” He lowered himself to one knee, his knee plate thudding loud against the hard ground, he lowered the tip of the chainsword to the ground, his hand resting on the flipped handle.
He leaned forward slightly, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her as the barrier glowed faintly between them. The pause was deliberate, designed to make her squirm.
“Order your men, your women, your children,” he continued, his voice low and venomous, “to lay down their arms and accept their deaths. And I will make yours painless.”
The words hung in the air, dripping with cold finality. Locari’s grip on the chainsword tightened ever so slightly, the weight of his words pressing down on all who could hear. He wasn’t expecting her to comply, of course. He knew what she was doing—But he could play this game just as well as she could.
Cadence swallowed hard, the cold edges of his terms cutting through her resolve. Her eyes darted to the barrier, then to the ponies behind her—her guards, her subjects, her people—Shining. Her heart ached as she saw their faces, their exhaustion, their fear. She could feel the barrier tremble under their collective strain, and she knew they couldn’t hold forever.
“May I…” she began, hesitating for a moment before mustering her courage. “May I know your name?”
Locari tilted his head slightly, the motion slow and deliberate. “My name?” he repeated, his vox-modulated voice low and grating. “Why would you want to know the name of your reaper?”
Cadence held her ground, despite the chill that ran down her spine at his words. “Because I see more than just a weapon before me,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the knot of fear in her chest. “A name has meaning. It tells a story, it shows who you are. Surely even you, warrior, have more to you than just death and destruction.”
Locari stared at her in silence, the glowing eyes of his helm unflinching. Then, with a faint edge of mockery, he said, “You first.”
She hesitated, then spoke with quiet dignity. “I am Princess Mi Amore Cadenza, ruler of the Crystal Empire.”
There was a long pause, and then Locari’s voice came again, sharper, colder. “Locari Venathor,” he said, each word deliberate, as though carving them into stone. “Angel of the Emperor, warrior of the Cuprum Lords, your executioner.”
The final title hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Cadence swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. “Locari…” she said softly, tasting the name, anchoring herself to the living person it represented. “May I… see your face?”
Locari didn’t move, and for a moment she thought he might ignore her entirely. Then he took a step forward, his massive frame looming over her as he spoke. “You think this face will give you your desire?” he asked, his tone sharp with disbelief. “You think seeing the man beneath the helm will somehow delay your fate?”
“I don’t know,” Cadence admitted, her voice softer now. “But I need to try. There is something alive beneath that terrible armor—I can feel it. I need to know who it is I’m speaking to.”
Locari regarded her for a long, tense moment. Slowly, he raised his gauntleted hands, the hiss of the seal breaking the silence as he unlocked his helm. The motion was deliberate, almost ceremonial. He lifted the helm free and lowered it to his side, revealing his face to the princess.
Cadence blinked in surprise. His features were sharp and sun-kissed, his bronze skin tanned from a life spent under the sun. His eyes were light brown, piercing and intense, set beneath dark brows that furrowed slightly as he regarded her. His hair was black and long enough to brush the edge of his neck guard, parted neatly at the sides. A faint scar carved through his lower lip, the only visible mark of the battles he must have endured.
“Satisfied, Cadenza?” he asked, her name rolling off his tongue with a faint, mocking edge.
She stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. He looked alive, more living than she had expected, but there was something about him that felt… distant. She saw no love in his eyes, no true happiness, just a pit of contempt.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said quietly.
Before Cadence could say more, a panicked shout broke through the tense exchange.
“Your Highness!”
Cadence turned sharply to see a guard stumbling from the castle entrance, his crystalline armor scuffed and battered. He dashed toward the protective barrier, his face pale with fear.
“What is it?” Shining Armor demanded, his horn glowing as he maintained the shield around them.
The guard’s breath came in ragged gasps as he skidded to a halt. “Flurry Heart… she’s not in her room. We’ve searched the nearby halls, but there’s no sign of her. The remaining guards are still looking, but we don’t know where she is.”
Cadence’s blood ran cold. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the barrier flickered under her strain. Shining’s face darkened, his jaw tightening as he poured more magic into stabilizing the shield, sweat dripping from his chin.
“Keep looking,” Shining ordered, his voice sharp and commanding. “Check every room, every corner. Find her, now!”
The guard saluted, turning and sprinting back into the castle. Cadence and Shining exchanged a brief, desperate glance before her attention flickered back to Locari.
Locari’s gaze was fixed on her, his face unreadable. He had heard enough to know something significant had occurred, but he made no move to attack. Not yet. He simply stood there, watching, waiting, as though savoring the cracks beginning to show in their resolve.
Calsin’s armored form ascended with a calculated grace, hidden by the balcony’s shadow. His gauntlets gripped into the crystal of the castle where he could find no other leverage, each movement precise and silent. The climb had been uneventful, no sign of detection from the xenos below. They were all occupied with Locari, as intended.
As he reached the edge, Calsin swung himself over the railing, landing quietly on the balcony floor, a testament to the genius that went into the Corvus pattern design. He paused, his crimson visor scanning the area as he activated his auspex. The device emitted a faint hum, its sensors sweeping the room beyond the door. Clear. Satisfied, he approached the entrance and pushed it open, his massive frame barely fitting through the ornate doorway.
Inside, the atmosphere was eerily still. The room was spacious, the only light coming from the moon. At its center, laid reverently upon raised platforms, were the still forms of Queren and Procuran.
Calsin stopped in his tracks, his gaze locking onto his fallen brothers. For a moment, he allowed himself to stand in silence, taking in the sight. Queren’s armor was battered and rent, his helm removed to reveal a face marred by the toll of battle. His expression was serene, almost as if he had fallen asleep. Procuran, however, bore wounds far more brutal. His once-pristine armor, now battered and near ruined, told the story of his final moments.
Calsin stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing faintly in the quiet chamber. He stopped at the edge of the platform, lowering himself to one knee. His hands rested on the edge, and he bowed his head in silent reverence.
“Brothers.” he murmured in greeting, his voice low and heavy.
He reached for Queren first, his servo-arms extending to delicately remove the insignias and purity seals still affixed to the battered armor, he made sure to take the bolter beside Queren and the ammunition that fed it. These would not remain here, in the hands of aliens. They were sacred, belonging to the chapter and no one else. Each seal was placed carefully into a secured compartment on his armor, the bolter was locked to his free leg plate. He did the same to Procuran.
Next were the most prized adornments, the chains. Each link bore a name, etched into the metal—a silent testament to the brothers who had fallen before them, the inner core of each link filled with copper from Cupris, their home. Procuran’s armor was heavy with these chains, far more than Queren’s, draping his battered chest and shoulder like a shroud. The inscriptions gleamed faintly in the dim light, each name a reminder of sacrifice and service.
Carefully, Calsin began to remove the chains, his gauntleted hands moving with deliberate reverence. The soft clink of the links echoed in the quiet room as he laid them out, his eyes scanning each name. Brothers long gone, their memories carried by Procuran until his final moment. Queren’s chains, fewer but no less meaningful, were handled with the same care. Calsin clutched the gathered links for a moment, the weight of their legacy pressing into his hands. With silent resolve, he secured them within his armor.
As he worked, he muttered softly, reciting an ancient prayer of reclamation:
"Blessed be the warriors who fell in His name,  
Their sacrifice eternal, their duty complete.  
May their relics return to holy hands,  
And their memory endure in the annals of the chapter.  
By the Emperor’s will, we reclaim what is ours."
Calsin scanned the room once more with his auspex, ensuring the area was still clear. Satisfied, he turned to Queren’s still form and activated the chainblade of his Narthecium. The quiet hum of the blade filled the room as he began cutting into the chest plate to reach the Progenoid Gland. His movements were precise and skillful, from centuries of his profession.
As he worked, he allowed his thoughts to escape him, his voice barely audible within his helmet, his vox deactivated, ensuring only he could hear. “Queren,” he began, his tone steady but laced with the weight of loss. “You were loyal to the last. A warrior as resolute as they come. You stood where others would falter, even when the odds were beyond reckoning. But you deserved better—all of you did. A death worthy of song, not this… ignoble end on a unknown world.”
“I wish I could have traded places with one of you,” he said, his words barely above a whisper. “That my existence could have been the cost to save another. But…” He let out a faint, bitter exhale. “I can already hear Procuran berating me for such foolishness. Always so stalwart. He wouldn’t have allowed it. My survival was the mission, after all.”
Calsin paused for a moment, his eyes flicking toward Procuran’s still form. His servo-arm adjusted, finishing its work on Queren with mechanical precision. “You would have wanted us to endure. To keep the Chapter’s will alive, no matter what. Locari is doing exactly that, you know. He’s stayed strong, even in your absence. He carries your example like a banner, refusing to falter.”
His gaze dropped, the bitter edge to his voice softening as his tools dug deeper into Queren’s chest. “But I see the hope in his eyes, the way he speaks about returning to the Chapter. It’s almost… admirable. That he believes so strongly that there’s some sure way out of this place. That we can find a path back to where we belong.”
Calsin’s servo-arm whirred again, extracting the precious gland from Queren’s body. He held it carefully, cradling it as though it were the most sacred relic. “I understand his reasoning,” he admitted quietly, his voice edged with a grim resignation. ““But it blinds him. Keeps him from seeing the truth of this place.” His tone betrayed no anger or bitterness, only a stark acknowledgment of reality. “There is no way back; the galaxy does not grant reprieves. This is our end; we will die on this world.”
The gland came free at last, and Calsin held it for a moment in his gauntleted hand, the small, fragile organ seeming so out of place against the imposing backdrop of the room. He placed it in the containment vessel, the neck gland soon following, and exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
He wished to give Queren his sermon, but he would need to wait just a moment longer. He stood and went to Procuran, kneeling beside him.
Calsin’s hand moved with precise care as the Nathecium’s chainblade hummed softly, carving through Procuran’s battered chest plate. He was immersed in his grim work, his focus absolute, when the faintest creak broke the silence. His entire body stilled.
The sound had come from the door.
In an instant, his hand darted to the handle of his still mag-locked plasma pistol, his senses sharpening. He cursed himself for the single moment of carelessness, allowing his awareness to lapse even slightly. His auspex flared to life, scanning the room’s entrance. The scan was clear, but what it showed left him momentarily perplexed.
A small, delicate form stood in the doorway.
Calsin turned his head slowly, his crimson lenses locking onto the figure that had entered. It was... a child. A young filly by the proportions of this xenos race. She was small—absurdly so—and yet she had managed to slip into the room unnoticed. How? He dismissed the question for now, focusing instead on the impossibility of what he saw.
The filly didn’t look afraid. She didn’t scream or cry. Instead, she stared at him with wide, curious eyes, her expression filled with wonder rather than terror. It was so incongruous, so alien to his expectations, that he found himself momentarily rigid.
The door creaked further open as the filly took a tentative step into the room, her small hooves clicking faintly against the crystal floor. Calsin’s plasma pistol remained mag-locked to his thigh, but his hand hovered over its grip. His mind churned through possibilities, none of them aligning with this strange encounter.
“Locari,” he voxed quietly, his voice low and controlled. “The rulers of this empire… what features do they bear?”
Locari’s response crackled through the vox with a faint note of confusion. “Wings and a horn, Brother. The witch has both. Why?”
Calsin’s gaze flicked back to the filly, noting the small wings tucked against her sides and the stubby horn atop her head. Realization dawned with clarity.
The child of the rulers.
His hand left the plasma pistol’s grip, and he turned back to his work. The Nathecium’s chainblade still whirred faintly in his hand, awaiting his next move.
“It is... late, young one,” Calsin said, his distorted voice reverberating through the room. He spoke haltingly, recalling with some difficulty the cadence of speech meant for children. It had been centuries since he had addressed one, and it was a human child.
“You should be in bed,” he added, his tone deliberate but devoid of overt hostility.
Calsin’s chainblade hummed softly as he resumed his work, carefully carving through Procuran’s chest plate. The filly remained by the door, her gaze fixed on him with a mix of curiosity and unease.
“What are you doing?” she asked suddenly, her voice high-pitched and soft, breaking the silence of the room.
Calsin froze for a moment, the unexpected question lingering in the air. He glanced toward her briefly, ensuring his movements were deliberate and non-threatening. “Tending to my fallen,” he said, his vox-modulated voice quieter than usual.
Her head tilted slightly, her curiosity growing. “Fallen? Are they… your friends?”
Calsin paused before answering, his gaze returning to Procuran’s lifeless form. “They are my brothers,” he said firmly. “We are bound by more than blood.”
The filly took a tentative step closer, her hooves clicking lightly on the crystal floor. “Are you helping them?”
Calsin’s lips pressed into a thin line beneath his helmet. He didn’t wish to frighten her, not yet. “In a way,” he said carefully. “It is… a sacred duty.”
The filly seemed to ponder his words, her small face scrunching with thought. Calsin could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He adjusted his posture slightly, ensuring his actions appeared methodical rather than hostile. To his surprise, she edged closer, her fear seemingly overtaken by her curiosity. His free hand, out of the filly’s sight prepared a serum with practised ease.
As he worked, he keyed his vox-link to Locari. “Brother,” he said quietly, ensuring his voice wouldn’t carry beyond the channel. “How fare the xenos?”
Locari’s response came through with a faint edge of frustration. “They’ve fortified themselves behind a barrier. It holds for now, but they cannot delay me forever.”
Calsin’s gaze flicked toward the filly again, who was now only a few steps away. An idea began to form in his mind, pragmatic and ruthless. “A barrier, you say,” he mused aloud, his tone giving nothing away. He took an operating tool, setting it near him on the ground.
“Yes. A shimmering wall of their foul sorcery, It slows my advance, but I can see their strength waning.”
Calsin’s gaze lingered on the filly. A child of the rulers, here by chance, unaware of her value. She might prove a useful tool, he thought, though he kept that to himself. “Understood,” he said simply before cutting the vox-link. He diluted the serum, it was meant for his kind, the full strength wouldn’t work.
The filly’s voice broke his thoughts. “What’s your name?” she asked, her tone less timid now.
Calsin turned his head toward her, his crimson lenses locking onto her wide, curious eyes. “Calsin Morvath,” he said after a brief pause, deciding there was little harm in the answer.
She hesitated, then pointed a hoof at Procuran. “And… his?”
Calsin clenched his jaw, the name of his fallen brother reverberating in his mind. “Brother-Sergeant Procuran Valthas,” he said reverently.
The filly took another step closer, emboldened by his calm demeanor. Calsin adjusted his movements further, ensuring every motion was slow and deliberate. “Why are you wearing all that?” she asked, motioning toward his armor. “It looks… heavy.”
“It is my shield,” he replied simply. “It protects me, just as I protect others.” The serum was loaded into a syringe, he picked the smallest he had available, meant for the eyes.
The filly’s face scrunched again, clearly trying to process his words. Calsin let her think, focusing once more on his task. As he carefully removed Procuran’s Progenoid Gland, he kept his movements precise, knowing the filly’s eyes were on him the entire time. He had to tread carefully—both with her and with the plan forming in his mind.
When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “You’re not here to hurt anyone… are you?”
Calsin’s gaze shifted to her, the hint of a faint smile almost forming beneath his helmet. “Not if I can help it,” he said. It wasn’t a lie, he wasn’t here to hurt, but it wasn’t a promise either.
Calsin carefully set the extracted Progenoid Gland aside, he only needed the neck gland now, his movements precise and deliberate. He turned his helmeted gaze to the filly, who had now inched close enough to touch the edge of the makeshift operating table. Her wide, curious eyes never left him.
“What is your name, young one?” he asked.
She hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Flurry Heart,” she said, her voice small but clear.
Calsin regarded her for a moment, committing the name to memory. “And what brings you here, Flurry Heart? Why are you wandering the castle at this hour?”
Flurry shuffled her hooves, glancing down briefly before looking back up at him. “I couldn’t sleep,” she admitted. “And then… I heard noises outside. Lots of them. I looked outside, but I couldn’t see anything. Just ponies running around.” Her voice wavered slightly, her curiosity tempered by unease. “So I came to the other side of the castle to look from the balcony.”
Calsin processed her words, his mind working swiftly. He couldn’t allow her to suspect the truth, not yet. “The celebrations are still going,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “Perhaps the ponies you saw were part of that.”
Flurry tilted her head, doubt flickering across her face. “Celebrations? Still?”
“Yes,” Calsin said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “It is a tradition among some to carry on their joy until dawn.” He gestured slightly toward the balcony. “Did you not hear the music?”
Flurry’s ears perked up, as if trying to catch the faint sounds of festivities. The plaza had grown quiet under Locari’s assault, but distant echoes of the initial celebration still lingered. She seemed to relax slightly, nodding. “I guess… maybe you’re right.”
Calsin gave a faint inclination of his head, satisfied with her acceptance of his explanation. He returned his attention to his work, carefully sealing the extracted gland and ensuring it was safely stored. Out of the corner of his vision, he noted Flurry stepping closer, her curiosity still unabated.
“What are you doing?” she asked again, her voice softer this time.
“Tending to my brothers,” Calsin replied, his answer deliberately vague but honest enough to satisfy her curiosity without frightening her.
Flurry nodded slowly, her wings twitching slightly at her sides. “Are they okay?” she asked, her tone laced with childlike concern.
Calsin hesitated, the weight of her question pressing against the truths he carried. He glanced at Procuran’s still form before speaking. “They are at peace,” he said..
Flurry seemed to accept the answer, her eyes drifting toward Procuran’s body. “They must have been very brave,” she said softly.
Calsin paused for a moment, his gauntleted hand resting on the floor. “They were,” he said, his voice carrying a note of reverence. “Braver than most.”
Flurry tilted her head as she continued to study Calsin, her wide eyes filled with unfiltered curiosity. “Are you a robot?” she asked suddenly, her voice innocent but tinged with awe. “Like a big metal machine?”
Calsin paused, his hand resting mid-motion on his Narthecium. A small, almost imperceptible chuckle escaped his vox, though it carried more as a low metallic rumble, his attempt to fake laughter. “No. We are not machines. We are alive, warriors of flesh and blood beneath this armor.”
Flurry’s gaze lingered on the ornate engravings and the dark metallic finish of his armor. “But Why do you have a beak?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she tilted her head further. “Are you a bird?”
Calsin blinked behind his visor, momentarily thrown by the question. “It is not a beak,” he said, his tone betraying a hint of exasperation. “It is a helm, forged to protect me in battle. It is a symbol of mankind's genius and might.”
To his complete bewilderment, Flurry’s expression softened into a smile. “I think it looks cute.”
Cute. The word hung in the air like a bizarre anomaly in his world of war and death. Never, in all his years, had such a term been attributed to him. He didn’t know how to respond, his mind momentarily grinding to a halt. He decided to simply let the comment pass, turning his focus back to his task.
Flurry took another step closer, her small form now just within reach of him. Calsin’s mind began to race, weighing his options. The filly was close enough now, her trust in him good enough. He saw an opportunity.
“Flurry Heart,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “Might I ask a favor of you?”
Her ears perked up, her wings fluttering slightly in interest. “A favor?” she echoed.
“Yes,” he said, inclining his head toward her. “There is a tool beside your hoof. Could you bring it to me?” He gestured subtly to the surgical implement resting just inches away from her, his palm open. He kept his other hand hidden.
Flurry glanced down, spotting the tool. She hesitated for a moment before nodding, picking up the tool in her mouth before reaching right next to his foot. She waited patiently for him to take it.
He leaned down, his left hand reaching for her. He watched for her reaction as his hand drew closer. She was trusting.
“Thank you,” He said.
His hand bolted forward, and before she could even form a surprised face, his other hand plunged the concoction into her small neck. He held her firm as her widened eyes slowly became heavy, and her tense body into his hand.
He held her carefully in his arm, letting her lean against his tabard. His hand reached behind him, removing an explosive charge. He could not take his brothers with him, but he would insure their remains would not be sullied any further. He set it between the two, pressing the actuator and waiting for a loud click, it was ready.
He looked to Procuran and Queren. His voice, low and solemn, carried through his helmet, the echoes of his prayer meant for the Emperor’s ears alone.
Calsin bowed his head, resting his gauntleted fist against his chestplate.
“—Go now, Brothers, He awaits you both,” he said, ending the recitation.
The words were said, Calsin looked down to Flurry. She was still breathing, nestled in his loose grip. He was glad he added more dilution to the sedative; he was doubtful even such a small amount of the drug would be safe enough not to instantly kill her.
“Let us go see your parents, Flurry Heart,” he said, his voice devoid of the demeanor he feigned.
Cadence and Shining Armor stood firm, hope beginning to flicker in their hearts. The Crystal Heart, slowly growing brighter, radiated its ancient light. It wouldn’t be long now—just a little longer—and the evil before them would be swept away. Their faith bolstered the barrier that separated them from their enemy.
On the other side of the shimmering field of energy, Locari knelt with an unnervingly calm demeanor. His helmet rested beside him, his unyielding eyes meeting Cadence’s gaze. He hadn’t moved since their standoff began, as if waiting for something—someone. Cadence could feel it in her core: should the barrier falter for even an instant, he would strike.
The tension tightened like a noose as hope swelled within the hearts of the Crystal Empire’s defenders. The light of the Crystal Heart was proof their will could outlast this nightmare. Victory was so close.
Then, like a thunderclap, the heavy door of the palace—inside the field of the barrier—smashed open. All hope crumbled.
Calsin emerged with an eerie calm, his massive form moving like a specter of death. At first, his presence was an abstract terror. Then Cadence saw what he held, and the world seemed to tilt.
Flurry Heart.
Her daughter.
Dangling from his grasp like a broken doll.
Shining Armor froze at the sight, the cold dread piercing deeper than any blade. The gathered ponies gasped in unison, their faith shattering as fear rushed to fill the void.
Cadence’s horn sparked with energy, her instincts screaming to strike, but before she could cast, Calsin’s voice boomed. It carried the weight of finality, loud enough for all to hear.
"I would advise against using your sorceries." His tone was calm but venomous. "Know that in the time it would take for your nerves to command your body to move, I’d have already rendered her head a fine paste." He unclasped his plasma pistol and pointed it to Flurry's side, his intent clear. "Or reduced her lower half to atoms."
The light of the Crystal Heart wavered, dimmed by the rising despair of the ponies who bore witness to this horror.
Calsin’s cold, predatory gaze turned to Shining Armor. "Are you its sire?"
Shining Armor's shock turned to rage. "Let her go!" he shouted, his voice shaking with desperation.
Calsin shifted his head slightly, locking eyes with Locari, who had been motionless this entire time. Calmly, methodically, Locari secured his wavy hair beneath his helm and reattached it with a decisive click. A silent vox transmission passed between them, unheard by anyone else.
Locari’s answer was simple. "We cut the snake’s head here."
With that, Calsin’s focus returned to Shining Armor. His tone became mockingly cold. "You want her back?" He let the question linger. "Very well."
Before anyone could react, he flung Flurry Heart into the air, sending her tumbling toward Shining Armor. The stallion’s eyes widened in terror as he realized his magic was still bound to the barrier. He leapt forward, his hooves outstretched to catch his daughter.
It was exactly the moment Calsin had waited for.
The plasma pistol barked with a deafening roar. A lance of searing energy struck Shining Armor mid-motion, sending him crumpling to the ground, limp. Flurry Heart landed in his still arms, unconscious but alive.
Time seemed to stop for Cadence. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out the screams of terror from her ponies. Her body wouldn’t move. She couldn’t process the sight of her husband on the ground, the life bleeding from his body. The barrier faltered, the Crystal Heart dimming further.
The spell broke. She bolted forward, her instincts overpowering her despair.
But she didn’t make it far.
A cold, iron grip clasped her head, halting her motion with inhuman strength. She felt the teeth of a chain blade press against her neck, its motor silent but its promise unmistakable. She could only gasp as the razor teeth cut into her neck, before she was shoved to the ground.
There was an oppressive silence, the only sound was trickling liquid and the faint hum of the Crystal Heart. The sound of clanking spears hitting the crystal ground reverberating off the walls. The ponies, their courage shattered, scattered in despair, leaving behind the remnants of their failed defense. Locari stood tall, watching them flee. Their fear was palpable, their unity broken.
He sheathed his chainsword with a heavy click and exchanged a nod with Calsin, who stepped forward, his crimson visor fixed on the Crystal Heart. The relic glowed faintly, its light pulsating with a rhythm that seemed almost alive. Locari's eyes were drawn to it, this alien artifact of unnatural design and power.
Locari reached out, his gauntleted hand hovering over the Crystal Heart. Calsin’s voice came low and sharp through the vox. “Locari, wait—”
But Locari had already clasped it. The moment his hand made contact, the Heart erupted in blinding white light, engulfing the castle's underside in its brilliance. Locari staggered, his helm’s sensors overwhelmed, his body screaming in protest as the surge of energy coursed through him. He fell to one knee, his hand still locked to the glowing relic, unable to release it.
The light wasn’t just light—it was something more. Locari could feel it pressing against him, searing through his armor and into his very being. It wasn’t just blinding; it was deafening, overwhelming every sense he had. Amidst the brilliance, a voice echoed, faint and fragmented, like a distant call lost in the void.
“It is here…”
The words were distant, barely audible, like whispers struggling to pierce through a storm. Locari’s breaths grew ragged as he strained to make sense of the sound. The light pulsed, each wave bringing with it another fragment.
“…a bastion… against the dark…”
His head throbbed, his thoughts scattering with every syllable. The voice carried weight—authority that sent chills through him.
“…in their unity… it shall burn…”
The words came in fragments, disjointed and cryptic, pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t see. The voice grew stronger, clearer, but still unknowable to him.
“…in their love, it shall forge a shield… no evil can breach…”
Locari gritted his teeth, his body shuddering under the strain. The light flickered, the intensity fading, but the voice pressed on, its presence lingering in his mind.
“…remain steadfast… no shadow shall claim them…”
The brilliance ceased, the overwhelming radiance fading into nothingness. The voice receded like a dream half-remembered, leaving Locari on one knee, his breaths ragged and his thoughts clouded with confusion.
Calsin moved with precision, yanking Locari’s hand free from the Crystal Heart. Locari tried to stop him, his voice strained and desperate. “Calsin, wait—”
But his warning came too late. With an unflinching motion, Calsin seized the Crystal Heart, slammed it to the ground, and brought his armored boot down upon it. The artifact shattered with a sharp, crystalline crack, fragments scattering across the floor like shards of glass.
The light was gone. The surroundings dimmed, its glow replaced by an oppressive silence.
Calsin turned his unreadable visor to Locari, who still knelt on the ground. “Set your charges, we are done here,” he said. Without another word he grabbed clumps of the powerless cyrstal, he turned and began to leave, his boots crunching over the scattered shards.
Locari pushed himself to his feet, his hand still shaking from the encounter. He looked to the shattered remains of the Heart, his thoughts a storm of confusion. His mind replayed the voice he had heard, the words lingering. He silently followed Calsin’s command, placing two charges on the walls of two of the castle's four supports.
A faint movement caught his attention. He turned sharply to see Princess Cadence, her body frail and weak, dragging herself across the floor. Blood marked her trail as she reached Shining Armor and Flurry Heart, pulling them into her trembling embrace. Tears flowed equally as did blood, her eyes lifeless as she stared to the ground, but her grip to them firm.
He stood, staring down at them. The little one breathed still.
He turned, leaving the plaza. He caught up to Calsin, both silent in their march. They could see a raging storm moving to envelope them, they did not falter. Locari could hear a detonation and crumbling buildings behind him but he didn’t look.
He looked to Calsin. “Did they have anything, Brother? Anything we could use?”
Calsin looked back, the reflection of a crumbling palace in his red lense. “Nothing.”
They saw the moon begin to dip, and light peaking through the mountains.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                       Griffonstone                        
//-------------------------------------------------------//
Author's Note
Chapter 3 will likely get a rewrite sometime later, I'm not satisfied with how it went.
You may have noticed the increasing length. I don't plan on the wordcount increasing each time, I'll try not to flood the story with 100k long chapters.
Lmn your thoughts, I enjoy reading them.
Until next time.
Griffonstone
Luna drifted through the Astral Plane, her form—ethereal, weightless, lacking the solidity of reality—gliding effortlessly across the vast, star-filled expanse, though stars aren't what really dotted the realm. Dreams pulsed faintly around her like candles in the dark, each one a flicker of her subjects’ and every other being’s slumbering minds. She moved with practiced grace, her presence gentle yet watchful, safeguarding the peace.
Though her time as co-ruler of Equestria had passed, this was one responsibility that would always be hers.
Luna often found herself marveling at the Dream Realm’s otherworldly nature, its endless expanse shaped by the wills and emotions of the slumbering souls it cradled. Here, she was sovereign; the realm obeyed her every command, bending and twisting to her desires with an ease that felt almost natural. The dreams of her ponies formed clusters of light within the vast expanse, each one glowing with a distinct vibrancy that reflected its dreamer’s essence. The space between them was calm, a soft glow emanating from the unseen fabric of the realm. It was comforting, familiar.
Luna had been to every part of this domain, no inch of it was left unexplored. There was more out there, beyond where the sleeping souls of her ponies and others inhabited. Luna knew better than to wander too far there.
Beyond the edges of Equus’s dreams lay a vast unknown, a boundary she rarely approached and never crossed. There, the tranquility morphed into something stranger—darker. The comforting glow gave way to orderless patterns, swirling in unnatural currents that defied sense.
Once, long ago, curiosity had driven her beyond that self-imposed border. She had dared to venture into the uncharted depths, her magic shielding her as best it could. What she found there couldn’t be described. What was beyond seemed alive, pulsing with a malevolence that probed at her barriers and sought entry. A strange prattle of noises she never had heard danced in her mind, then a babeling, and a dread unlike anything she had ever known consumed her. She was washed with the unmistakable feeling that she wasn’t alone.
Luna had fled, tearing herself away from the encroaching danger and sealing her will tightly against it. She never spoke of what she saw—what she felt—and she never returned. Something had followed her that day—because of her foolish curiosity—she was only thankful itlingered no longer.
But here, among her ponies? This was her realm, as familiar to her as the stars and the moon. Yet tonight, an unease pressed against her, subtle at first—a discordant note in an otherwise harmonious melody. She paused mid-flight, her translucent midnight-blue wings fanning out as her senses sharpened. Something was wrong.
Her gaze turned northward, toward the area where the dreams of the Crystal Empire’s inhabitants should have shimmered like a cluster of vibrant gems. But the stars were dim there. But they weren’t dim. No—they were absent.
Even on nights of celebration, she knew when her ponies slept and when they woke. She could feel the rhythms of their lives, their joys, and their sorrows in the Dream Realm. Many of the Crystal Ponies should be sleeping, but with the sun almost set to rise not even one of the young foals were in bed. She reached out, her magic brushing against the plane where the Crystal Ponies’ dreams should have been. It was like touching the surface of an empty well—cold and hollow.
“None slumber,” she murmured, her voice a soft echo in the void, but no actual words could be spoken, only her thoughts made into nonexistent sound. Yet even as she spoke, she sensed it was not quite true. Some minds in the Crystal Empire were awake, but not all. And the absence of the others felt wrong, like a room stripped of its furniture—emptied of life.
Her wings flared as she turned her attention toward Silverton, a small northern settlement just on the border. It was the same. Luna’s breath hitched. She could feel the faint echoes of a few waking minds, scattered and frantic. Her brow furrowed, and her mind screamed for her to act.
She knew such an absence meant only one thing; but on this level? She couldn’t accept it as a possibility.
Gathering her power, she surged toward the Crystal Empire within the Dream Realm, her movements swift and determined. The dreamscape obeyed her will, bending and twisting to bring her closer to the source of the disturbance. The vast plains of the north rippled beneath her, shimmering like moonlit water. Then, without warning, an immense wave of light erupted from the direction of the empire.
The light was blinding and alive with an energy that defied the realms usual tranquility. Luna flinched, instinctively raising a shield of light-blue magic to protect herself. The wave crashed over her, its force palpable even through her protection. She braced herself, her hooves planted firmly on a conjured platform of starlight.
The sensation was overwhelming—heat and cold, pain and clarity, a paradox of feelings that made her wings tremble. Beneath the radiance, she felt something deeper: a lingering, a power she couldn’t place. It passed as swiftly as it came, leaving her breathless.
“By Faust…” she whispered as she lowered her shield. Her mind raced, grasping for answers. What could unleash such power in the Dream World? Her thoughts turned to the Crystal Heart. But no, even the Heart could not do this… could it?
She knew she had to leave. Her realm could aid her no more—it was the waking world that demanded her attention. With a surge of her magic, Luna willed herself back to her physical body, her consciousness snapping into place like a lock finding its key.
The transition was jarring. One moment, she was weightless, ethereal, her form shaped only by her mind; the next, her hooves touched the warm bedding then floors of her room in Silver Shoals. Her ears caught the faint rustle of the morning breeze through the window.
Her horn ignited, the glow casting long shadows as she prepared a teleportation spell. She didn’t pause to gather her thoughts—an itch told her there was no time. The air around her shimmered, and with a flash of magic, she was gone.
Luna reappeared high above the Crystal Empire, her wings beating against the fierce storm that greeted her. Snow whipped around her, carried by howling winds that bit at her coat despite her protective magic. She squinted through the chaos, her heart sinking as she beheld the city below. The first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, bathing the storm in an eerie light, but the sun’s presence did little to quell the desolation before her.
The once-vibrant city was unrecognizable. The streets, once glowing with light, were blanketed in dull gray snow. The shimmering buildings had lost their luster, their surfaces dulled. Ponies littered the streets, some still standing, their gazes hollow as they stared at the carnage. Others lay crumpled in the snow, their forms horribly still. Most she could feel hiding in their homes; hiding from the cold—and something else.
And at the heart of it all, the castle—the proud symbol of the Crystal Ponies—was reduced to a crumbled ruin. Its shattered spires jutted into the sky like broken bones, their jagged edges stark against the storm’s fury. Luna’s breath hitched, the weight of the scene pressing down on her chest. She flapped her wings harder, fighting the biting wind as she descended toward the ground.
Her eyes danced across every inch of the ruin around her, searching for anything that could be the cause of this. She found nothing, not the black magic of Sombra or a somehow returned Chrysalis. She couldn’t see any hint as to what evil inflicted this.
The storm obscured much of her vision, the thick flurries of snow swallowing the landscape. She cast a wide-ranging spell, her magic sweeping out like a wave to search for signs of life—or anything that might explain the devastation. But the spell returned nothing useful. Whatever had caused this destruction was hidden, either by the storm or by powers she could not yet discern.
Landing amidst the rubble, Luna’s hooves sank into the snow. Her horn flared as she cast another spell, pushing aside the debris. The broken remains of the once-grand structure scattered before her power. She shouted, “Princess Cadence, Captain Shining Armor!”
There was no response. Only silence.
Luna’s chest felt tight, but she refused to give in to despair. Reaching into the Dream World once more, she searched for any sign of life. There—a faint flicker. The unmistakable presence of a sleeping mind. Flurry Heart.
Luna focused her magic, her aura ripping through the debris. Finally, she uncovered a small, intact bubble of shimmering magic beneath the rubble. Inside, Flurry Heart lay curled, her tiny form protected by the remnants of a protective spell. Cadence’s magic lingered faintly, interwoven with Flurry’s own, but its strength was fading.
Luna’s gaze shifted to the figures cradling Flurry. Her breath caught, her vision blurring as she recognized them. Cadence and Shining Armor, their lifeless forms still holding their daughter close, shielding her.
Grief welled up within her. She stood frozen, her mind reeling. But there was no time for mourning—not yet. Swallowing her ache, Luna gently lifted Flurry Heart from the barrier with her magic, cradling the filly against her chest. The young alicorn shivered in her sleep, her breath faint but steady.
Luna turned her gaze to the storm raging around her. She could feel the remaining Crystal Ponies, scattered and hidden in their homes, their fear palpable even from afar. She would return for them. But first, Flurry needed safety.
With a surge of her magic, Luna cast a teleportation spell. Her surroundings shifted in an instant, the warmth of Canterlot Castle enveloping her. The familiar scent of polished stone and burning torches grounded her in the present. She appeared in a guest chamber, the room quiet and still.
Gently, she placed Flurry Heart on the bed, her magic tucking the filly beneath a thick blanket. She lingered for a moment, her hoof brushing the filly’s mane. “You are safe now,” she whispered, her voice heavy.
Straightening, Luna turned and left the room, her hooves striking the marble floor with purpose. She had to find the royal physician. She had to warn Twilight. She had to prepare.
Twilight sat in her study, surrounded by a fortress of books and scrolls. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, mingling with the faint scent of melted wax, ink, and parchment. Her quill scratched furiously across a sheet of notes, the words growing more erratic with each line. Around her, the once-pristine organization of her study had unraveled into chaos—books piled haphazardly, half-rolled scrolls scattered across the floor, and empty teacups abandoned on every available surface.
She paused, her wings shifting restlessly, and glanced toward the corner of her desk. A cup of tea, long forgotten, sat cold and untouched. With a sigh, she lifted it with her magic and took a tentative sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. “Ugh,” she muttered, setting it aside. “Cold tea never gets better with time.”
Leaning back in her chair, she rubbed her temples with her hooves, her thoughts drifting. Tomorrow—no, later today—she was supposed to have tea with a few nobles she could actually stand being near. Or was it brunch? She couldn’t quite remember. She made a mental note to check her planner later.
Her gaze flicked to the sketch pinned to the edge of her desk. The image stared back at her: a hulking figure encased in battered armor, its chestplate adorned with a winged skull that seemed to glare at her, mocking her inability to decipher its meaning.
Twilight frowned, her mind circling back to the being found near Dodge Junction. When the Royal Guard had reported the discovery—a crater with this massive, motionless figure at its center—she’d immediately taken charge of the situation. Guards were stationed around the site, and nopony was allowed near the body except her. It was too strange, too unknown, and Twilight wasn’t about to risk anypony else’s safety. The last thing she needed was a curious colt fiddling with it and setting off a bomb or something else just as horrible.
The being itself haunted her thoughts. Its size, its armor, the strange parchment affixed to its surface—all of it radiated an unsettling aura. This was no peaceful traveler. Whatever it was, it had been equipped with only violence in mind.
Moving it was tougher than she had expected, but she managed to envelope it and transport it back to Canterlot. Something about it resisted her magic, she had to put some focus and effort into it but she was able to force her spells to work.
Twilight pushed back her chair and began pacing the study, her hooves muffled by the thick carpet. She glanced out the window, where the morning sun now shone brightly over the waking streets of Canterlot. Somewhere out there, her friends were probably already starting their day—or wrapping up their mornings, in Pinkie Pie’s case. Twilight smiled faintly at the thought of Pinkie preparing an over-the-top breakfast spread for her Lil ‘Cheese, it was a cute thought.
She hesitated, her smile fading. Maybe I should write to them, she thought, her gaze drifting to the stack of scrolls on her desk. It had been too long since she had wrote to one of them. Even if for no reason in particular it would be nice to hear from them.
Her eyes returned to the bookshelves. Twilight scanned their spines with practiced efficiency, her magic tugging out an ancient tome. Its cracked leather cover bore the faded sigil of an unknown mage, and she hesitated before opening it. The pages smelled of age and dust, but the words offered no insight. She slammed it shut with a frustrated huff, her magic setting it on a growing pile of disappointments.
What are you? she thought again, her frustration simmering. The strange writing on the parchment affixed to the being’s armor remained an enigma. Even her most advanced translation spells had failed, producing only garbled nonsense. The closest she got was forcing a spell to change the unreadable calligraphy into her language, but the letters seemed random, thrown around with no order.
Twilight sighed, her quill hovering above her notes before dropping limply onto the desk. She glanced at the window again, squinting against the brightness of the sun. It had been two sunrises since she’d last slept, and it was starting to show. She briefly considered lowering the sun for a while—just to make the light less harsh—but dismissed the thought. Even a princess needed to follow the rules of nature, and Celestia wouldn’t approve of adjusting the day for her own convenience.
She flopped back into her chair, her wings drooping. Maybe I’m overthinking this, she thought. Her mind drifted to her friends again, the comfort of their camaraderie calling to her. Applejack would probably tell her to get some fresh air, and Dash would scoff at her for being cooped up for so long yet again. Fluttershy might gently suggest a cup of tea that wasn’t cold and bitter.
Twilight sighed softly, the sound breaking through the quiet of the study.
Her thoughts lingered on the plans she’d made for later in the day. A meeting with Mayor Mare about the upcoming Summer Sun Festival. A brief conference with the School of Friendship faculty. Maybe—just maybe—a little time to relax afterward. She made another mental note to squeeze in a quick nap somewhere in between.
She glanced at the sketch one last time, her eyes narrowing. "Tomorrow," she said aloud, her voice tired. "I’ll figure you out tomorrow, mister."
She bottled up her ink, set her quill somewhere it wouldn't get lost, and with a glow of her horn the heaps of paper began to sort themselves. She smiled with satisfaction at all her work flying to its organized place. Maybe I can squeeze that nap in now? She yawned.
A flash of blue light filled the room, followed by the sharp crack of teleportation magic. Twilight yelped, her wings flaring in surprise as she spun around. Standing in the center of her study was Princess Luna, her midnight-blue coat and mane shimmering faintly in the dim light.
“Princess Luna!” Twilight exclaimed, her voice shaky from the sudden intrusion. “What are you doing here? You startled me—”
“Princess Twilight,” Luna interrupted, her tone urgent but tinged with sorrow. “I bring grave news. There is no time to waste.”
Twilight blinked, her thoughts scrambling to keep up. She stepped closer, her mind already racing through a dozen possibilities. “Grave news? What are you talking about? Is something wrong?”
Luna’s turquoise eyes softened, the weight of what she had to say apparent in her expression. She inhaled deeply before speaking. “The Crystal Empire… it is gone.”
Twilight froze. “What?” she said, her voice caught between disbelief and confusion. “What do you mean… gone?”
Luna hesitated, searching for the right words. “The Crystal Heart is no more. The castle lies in ruins, its streets littered with the dead. Cadence and Shining Armor…” She faltered, her gaze dropping momentarily. “They are gone.”
Twilight stared at her, uncomprehending. “That… can’t be right. That doesn’t make any sense.” Her voice was calm, too calm, as if she were trying to convince herself. “I was just there a day ago, they were fine. If something had happened, they would have sent word.”
“I saw it with my own eyes,” Luna said, her tone steady but strained. “I stood among the devastation. The palace has collapsed. Your brother and sister-in-law gave their lives protecting Flurry Heart and their ponies. She is the only survivor I could find in the rubble.”
Twilight shook her head, a forced smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “There has to be a mistake. Maybe… maybe you’ve seen a bad dream from one of the ponies? Anything can happen in the Dream Realm, right? Somepony was just having a nightmare and—”
“Twilight,” Luna interjected, her voice firmer now. “I would not come to you with such claims unless I was certain. This is no misunderstanding. It is reality.”
The calm veneer Twilight had been clinging to began to wane. Her wings rustled at her sides, and her hooves shifted restlessly against the floor. “But… how?” she whispered. “How could this happen? The Crystal Heart—it’s supposed to protect them.”
“I do not know,” Luna admitted, her eyes heavy with sorrow. “A powerful force struck the city, so swift that by the time I had arrived it was gone.”
Twilight’s breathing quickened, her mind grappling for any shred of logic, any explanation that could make sense of what Luna was saying. “This doesn’t make sense,” she muttered, pacing frantically. “Shining and Cadence are strong. They wouldn’t just—”
Her voice broke, and she stopped mid-step, her head hanging low. “No,” she said, her voice barely audible. “No, this can’t be real.”
Luna stepped closer, her hoof resting gently on Twilight’s shoulder. “I grieve with you, Twilight,” she said softly. “But… we must act swiftly. Flurry Heart is safe for now, but the Crystal Ponies remain in peril. They need Equestria’s help.”
Twilight swallowed hard, her throat dry and tight. “Flurry Heart,” she croaked, her voice shaky. “Where… w-where is she?”
“She rests in a guest chamber,” Luna said. “The royal physician is tending to her. She remains unharmed, but she has yet to wake.”
Twilight’s legs carried her out of the study before Luna could finish speaking. Her hooves struck the marble floors in rapid succession, her breath coming in short gasps as she raced through the castle. The walls blurred around her, her focus narrowing to the single thought of her niece.
Twilight entered the guest chamber, her forehoof striking the door open. The room was quiet save for the soft murmurs of the royal physician, who stood by the bed where Flurry Heart lay. His horn glowed faintly as he worked, various equipment had made for a full bedside hospital setup, a heart monitor beeped softly. Flurry’s small form was swaddled in blankets, her chest rising and falling with a slow, labored rhythm.
Twilight approached the bed slowly, her hoof twitching as she reached out to touch Flurry’s forehead. The filly was warm, her breathing faint but steady. Twilight sank to her knees beside the bed, her wings drooping alongside the sudden weakness in her legs.
“They’re gone,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Shiny…Cady...” She lowered her head, tears spilling onto the blanket. “I wasn’t there. I should have been… Maybe I could have…”
“You could not,” Luna said from the doorway, her tone firm yet gentle. She stepped inside, her presence a steady anchor for Twilight. “What happened was beyond your control.”
The sight made before Twilight gave her an ache in her head. “How is she?” she asked, her voice quiet as she gazed down to her niece.
The physician, an older unicorn stallion with a pale gray coat and a somber expression, turned toward her. His horn dimmed as he gently set a clipboard aside. “Your Majesty,” he began with a bow of his head, his tone professional but laced with concern. “She’s stable, for now, but… her condition is unusual.”
Twilight’s wings twitched nervously. “Unusual? What do you mean? Is she hurt?”
The physician shook his head. “Not physically, Your Highness. At least, not in a way we’d typically expect. From what I can determine, she’s been exposed to a chemical sedative of staggering potency. Its composition is unlike anything I’ve seen before.”
“A sedative?” Twilight repeated, her brow furrowing. “How potent?”
The physician sighed, his gaze flicking to the filly on the bed. “Terribly potent. If the amount in her system had been even slightly higher, it could have caused severe harm—cardiac failure, organ damage, brain damage, even death. Frankly, Your Majesty, her being an Alicorn is likely the only reason she’s still with us. Her unique physiology let her take the worst of it.”
Twilight’s heart sank further, the implications hitting her like a physical blow. “If… if it had been a normal filly?”
The physician hesitated, his ears folding back slightly. “I wouldn’t even want to speculate, Princess. The damage would have been catastrophic. Whoever or whatever administered this to her… I doubt they cared if she woke up. That much is clear.”
Twilight’s jaw tightened, her eyes narrowing as she processed his words. Her gaze shifted back to Flurry, who lay motionless beneath the blankets. “Will she wake up?”
The physician nodded cautiously. “I believe so. The sedative is wearing off, albeit slowly. Her natural Alicorn resilience is helping her recover. But she’ll likely remain weak for some time, and the aftereffects could linger for days.”
Twilight exhaled shakily, her wings sagging slightly as relief mixed with simmering anger. She didn’t know who was responsible for this, but she would find out. Flurry Heart was family—her family—and the thought of anyone harming her was unbearable.
“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice steadier than she felt. “Please, keep me updated on her condition. I’ll need to know the moment she wakes up.”
Luna stepped closer, her expression etched with a mix of grief and determination. “Twilight,” she began, her voice steady but laced with a faint edge of concern, “would you have my sister and I assist you? Together, we can—”
“No,” Twilight interrupted sharply, then hesitated, her wings twitching at her sides. She softened her tone but kept her resolve firm. “No, Luna. This is my responsibility now.”
Luna’s eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing, allowing Twilight to continue.
Twilight took a deep breath, steadying herself against the storm of emotions roiling within. “Equestria is my kingdom. Its ponies look to me for guidance. Celestia and you stepped aside so I could lead, and if I can’t face something like this, then I don’t deserve the role you entrusted me with.”
Luna studied her for a long moment, her turquoise gaze piercing yet thoughtful. “Do not let pride cloud your judgment, Twilight,” she said gently. “Even rulers must know when to seek help.”
“It’s not that,” Twilight replied, though there was a faint tremor in her voice. “I… n-no you're right. I just… I just need time, I-I need a moment to think.” More than a moment, she thought.
Luna inclined her head, a shadow of a smile ghosting across her lips. There was no condescension in her expression, only respect. “Very well,” she said. “Then I will defer to your judgment, Princess.”
Twilight’s legs felt heavy, her mind racing with plans as she turned toward the door. She glanced back at Flurry Heart, still unconscious beneath the thick blanket. “Thank you for bringing her here, Luna. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”
“You are welcome, Twilight,” Luna replied, her voice quiet but steady. “I will be there should you need me. For now… I will do what I can for the Crystal Ponies” With a flash of magic Luna disappeared.
Twilight nodded to herself, her comportment hardening back to the regalness expected of her as she moved swiftly through the castle’s halls. Her horn flared with magic as she summoned parchment and quills, sending orders to Equestria’s armed force. “Ready the airships. Gather supplies, medical teams, and winter gear. The army and airforce is to mobilize immediately and await further command,” she dictated, the scrolls vanishing with flashes of light as they flew to their recipients. Another scroll soon after to more senior officers, and another to any other she needed.
As she approached the grand balcony overlooking Canterlot, Twilight paused, her gaze drifting over the city bathed in the soft glow of sunrise. The sight did little to ease the weight in her chest. Grief and anger swirled within her, but she forced herself to remain composed. What kind of monster could do such a thing? she wondered, her thoughts returning to the Crystal Empire, to her—
Her chest tightened as a sudden lightheadedness swept over her, and she clutched the railing before she could hit the hard balcony floor. It felt as though the ground had tilted beneath her hooves. Her breath hitched, and for a moment, the castle around her faded into a blur.
Her spine shivered, her heart pounding against her ribs. “Oh, Celestia…” she whispered hoarsely, her voice strained and her throat hurting. The words felt like a plea, though she wasn’t even sure who she was asking for help. Her former mentor?
Mom, Dad…
The thought struck her like a blow, and she sucked in a breath, her vision blurring with unshed tears. She would have to tell them. They deserved to know, but the very idea of speaking the words aloud made her shudder. Did they already know? It was unlikely. News of the Crystal Empire’s fate wouldn’t reach them so soon. That responsibility—like everything else—fell on her.
A part of her wished they knew already, that somehow the pain had reached them through some unspoken bond. At least then, she wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her father and mother that their child, her brother, is dead. But another part of her—the part that still longed to be their little filly, protected and loved—wanted to go to them. To see them, to hold them, to let their presence remind her of a simpler time when something so cruel could only exist in a nightmare.
More than any point in her life did she wish this was just a nightmare.
Her breathing grew uneven, her wings limp slightly as she fought against the rising tide of emotions. She lowered her head, squeezing her eyes shut as tears began to spill down her cheeks. “I wasn’t there,” she choked out, her voice breaking. “I couldn’t… I didn’t…” She couldn’t finish another word, the choking was too painful.
The cold seeped into her bones, but it was nothing compared to the chill that had settled in her mind. The weight of her guilt, her helplessness, pressed down on her as if she was struck by the very castle she stood on. Twilight Sparkle, the Princess of Equestria, the ruler entrusted with the safety of her people—yet when her family needed her most, she had been powerless. Instead of being there and stopping whatever cruel beast did this, she was wasting her time on a corpse.
Her breath was ragged, each exhale visible in the air. She pressed her forehead against the cool marble of the railing, the sensation grounding her—or at the very least letting her believe it did. Shiny’s laughter, Cadence’s warm smile, and the way Flurry Heart’s tiny wings had fluttered when she called her “Auntie Twily” played in her mind like cruel ghosts, taunting her that she wouldn’t hear Shining or Cadence do either, ever again.
The distant sound of hooves against stone drew her attention for a brief moment, but she didn’t turn. It was only the castle guards making their rounds, oblivious to the princess who stood crumbling on the balcony. She was alone here, and she was grateful for it. She didn’t have the strength to face anyone right now—not even herself.
“I have to be strong,” she whispered, as though saying the words aloud would make them true. But they felt hollow, as fragile as the frost beginning to form on the railing beneath her hooves, a frost only real to her. “For Flurry… for them.”
Slowly, she lifted her head, her tear-streaked face catching the sun's warmth. The star above seemed distant now, an unfeeling witness to her. Twilight swallowed hard, her chest still heaving, but her breathing began to steady.
She wasn’t ready to face her parents. She wasn’t ready to face her people. But she didn’t have a choice. Equestria depended on her, and now Flurry Heart did, too. The luxury of breaking down, of retreating and hiding from everything, was one she wouldn’t have again.
The grand hall of Canterlot Castle was a sanctuary that, for all its grandeur, now felt suffused with unease. The high, arched ceilings, adorned with gold filigree and intricate carvings of Equestrian history, seemed to echo the tension that hung around the room. Stained glass windows cast muted patterns of light across the polished floor, their depictions of harmony and triumph feeling like a lesser reassurance amidst the present crisis. Even the golden sunburst emblems—kept despite new leadership—etched into the draped banners seemed duller, as if reflecting the current demeanor of the room's occupants.
At the center of the hall, a circular table gleamed under the chandelier's soft glow, its surface reflecting the gloom of those gathered. Twilight sat at its head, her wings folded neatly at her sides, her crown resting lightly atop her head. To any observer, she appeared calm and composed—or at the very least she hoped that was the image she was presenting. She felt the weight of the room pressing on her shoulders—the worry, the expectations. All eyes turned to her for answers she wasn’t sure she could provide.
Around her sat representatives of Equestria's governance, their faces a mix of confusion, indignation, and frustration. Many hailed from the northern territories—leaders of towns like Vanhoover, Manehatten, and smaller villages nestled near the Crystal Empire. They had come not only to understand the crisis but to demand protection, and Twilight could feel the pressure of their unspoken fears.
The Crystal Empire’s absence felt like a deep wound. The Yaks had sent word through a courier that their borders were now closed, an action that many of Equus rulers had followed. Yakyakistan’s proximity to the ruins of the Empire had driven many of them to flee southward, abandoning their ancestral homes. Twilight ached for them—for the fear and uncertainty that had pushed them to such extremes—but she couldn’t fault their decision. In their position, could she have done differently?
The silence that lingered over the room was oppressive, like a gathering storm waiting to break. A noblepony seated near the far end of the table finally spoke, breaking the stillness. Duchess Reverie, a stately unicorn mare with a pale silver coat and piercing blue eyes, leaned forward slightly, her tone sharp though her voice failed to hide her worry. “Your Majesty,” she began, “the northern settlements are in a panic. Vanhoover alone has sent half a dozen requests for additional troops. And who can blame them? The Crystal Empire is gone. What assurances can you give that Equestria won’t be next?”
Twilight’s gaze met the Duchess’s, steady and unwavering, though inside, her thoughts whirled like a tempest. Assurances. What could she say to reassure them when she wasn’t even sure herself? When her own grief threatened to steal her focus every moment? She forced herself to speak, her tone measured and calm. “I’ve already ordered Equestria’s military to begin mobilizing,” she said. “Patrols have been established across the northern territories, and scouts are monitoring the area around the Crystal Empire. We’re also working to organize evacuation plans for any settlements that might be at risk.”
But even as she spoke, she questioned herself. Was it enough? Could anything they did truly be enough? Whatever had swept through the Crystal Empire did so swiftly and precisely. What hope did a dormant, volunteer-driven military—one that hadn’t been tested in more than a century—have if whatever monster was responsible faced them?
“Plans aren’t enough,” a stout earth pony stallion interjected, his voice heavy with frustration. Mayor Dustmane of Whinnyapolis leaned forward, his hooves planted firmly on the table. His gray mane was disheveled, and his eyes held a weariness. “We need action, Princess. My town has only a handful of reservists. If whatever did this comes our way, how are we supposed to defend ourselves?”
“Dustmane’s right,” another voice chimed in, this time from Count Highwind, a pegasus noblepony with sleek, silvery feathers. His wings pressing to his sides as he spoke, the tension in his frame palpable. “Equestria may be large, but we’re spread thin. The Army, the Air Corps—they’re barely functioning. And the Wonderbolts? They’re skilled, sure, but they’re not equipped to deal with this. How do we know Canterlot won’t pull resources from the smaller towns to protect itself?”
Twilight’s wings shifted slightly, betraying the frustration she worked so hard to suppress. She wanted to tell them that their fears were unfounded, that every town and village mattered to her. But would they believe her? Did she even believe herself? They would believe and trust Celestia, she thought. They would trust her. She straightened her posture, her voice calm but edged with assurance. “I understand your concerns,” she said. “I assure you, every settlement matters. We’re working to ensure that no area is left unprotected.”
“We’re doing everything we can to ensure Equestria’s safety,” she said, Twilight felt like she was just repeating herself. “The Army, Air Corps, and Wonderbolts are doing their best with what they have available. Yes, it has been… awhile since they’ve been needed, but that doesn’t mean we can’t trust their ability. If whatever harmed the Empire tries to harm us, we’ll be ready.”
The tension in the room remained, but the conversation shifted, moving away from direct challenges to Twilight’s actions to uneasy cooperation between the officials. A few arguments quelled was her main contribution, mostly she was watching over as the governors and mayors discussed what they would need and what they might need, among other things, and her saying yes or no when her input was needed.
Twilight’s eyes flickered briefly to one of the many stained glass windows lining the grand hall, its vibrant colors accentuated in the sun's light. It depicted a scene she had seen countless times before: Discord, subdued and sprawled on the ground, his form coiled in defeat. Celestia and Luna soared above him, their wings spread wide, their gazes resolute and the Elements in their grasp. The artistry captured their grace and power in a way that demanded attention, and most ponies would stop there, marveling at the depiction of harmony’s triumph.
But her eyes caught on a smaller detail, something nestled between the grandeur of the alicorns and Discord. An Earth pony stallion stood amidst the conflict, unassuming. His coat was a simple brown, his black mane devoid of flair, and his lack of ornamentation made him easy to miss. He wasn’t glowing with magic or armored like a warrior—just a lone pony, his head slightly tilted, as though lost in thought.
Twilight might not have given him a second glance had she not paused long enough to see the expression. It wasn’t triumphant or stern, nor was it joyful. It was… contemplative, almost detached. His gaze wasn’t directed at the scene around him but somewhere beyond the frame, as if watching something no one else could see.
She blinked, her mind brushing the oddity aside. It was an artistic choice she guessed, symbolic of unity or the ordinary ponies who stood strong during chaos. It wasn’t worth dwelling on, not with everything else demanding her attention.
The heavy doors of the grand hall creaked open, their groan echoing across the cavernous chamber. Twilight Sparkle’s gaze snapped toward the entryway as a griffon shuffled into the room. His movements were hesitant, lacking the strut typical of his kind. His feathers were unkempt, his wings slightly disheveled, and his sharp eyes darted nervously around the gathered figures before settling on the table. The cadence of his steps, uneven and halting, betrayed his unease—an unease that seemed to settle like a cloud over him.
Twilight straightened in her chair, masking her concern with a practiced air of calm. She had been waiting for the griffon’s correspondence, hoping the delay was easily explained away. She wasn’t expecting a reply in person. The griffons had taken longer than most to respond to her, and now, as the ambassador approached the table, it was clear why.
“Ambassador Garver,” Twilight greeted, her voice warm. “Thank you for coming. I know it must have been difficult to make the journey, and I’m surprised you have.”
Garver gave a stiff nod, his talons clicking faintly against the floor as he reached the table. He lowered himself into the seat with a heaviness that spoke of both physical and mental exhaustion. His claw began to tap the edge of the table, a nervous tick that seemed unconscious but incessant. He made no move to smooth the ruffled feathers along his neck, nor to adjust the faded sash draped over his shoulder—an emblem of his station that now seemed almost an afterthought.
Twilight studied him carefully, her practiced composure never faltering, though she was troubled at the sight. Griffons were a resilient people, known for their sharp tongues and sharper tempers. But Garver was a shadow of that. His shoulders were hunched, his eyes hollow with bags beneath, and the tension in his every movement spoke volumes.
“Ambassador,” Twilight prompted gently, hoping to coax him into speaking. “We are all here to work together. Please, tell us what has happened.”
Garver’s gaze flicked toward her, then around the room, as though he were searching for an escape route. His claws stilled for a moment, clutching the edge of the table before resuming their tapping. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and quiet, each word tinged with a weariness unbecoming of his kind.
“Griffonstone’s gone,” he said simply, the words dropping into the silence like stones into a still pond.
The room collectively froze. Twilight’s stomach twisted at the bluntness of his statement, but she kept her expression neutral, her wings pressed tightly against her sides. “Gone?” she repeated softly. “May I ask what you mean, ambassador?” She knew, and never wanted to hear the word “gone” again.
Garver exhaled sharply, a bitterness escaping him. “What do you think I mean, Princess? It’s gone. Wiped out. Empty.”
The nobles around the table exchanged uneasy glances, their whispered murmurs filling the void left by Garver’s words. Twilight raised a hoof, silencing them. “Please,” she urged, leaning forward slightly. “Tell us what happened.”
Garver hesitated, his talons gripping the table edge hard enough to leave faint scratches. “We didn’t even see it coming,” he began, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to steady it. “One moment, the city was alive—griffons in the market, hatchlings playing in the streets. And then… it came.”
Twilight’s heart sank as Garver’s voice cracked. “What came?” she pressed gently.
He met her gaze, his golden eyes haunted. “An armored monster,” he said, his words clipped and raw. “It was huge, even standing on our hind legs we didn’t reach the top of it. It didn’t speak—w-well maybe it did, we heard something leaving those slits on its head. It got up from a crater it made in the ground, standing almost limply and then… then it just… killed.”
Gasps rippled through the room, and even most composed demeanors in the room faltered for a moment. Twilight’s mind tried to reconcile this account with the destruction of the Crystal Empire. Another one. There were more of these things. Her eyes widened, but she forced herself to remain calm.
An armored monster, tall enough to dwarf us. It was barely anything but it was something. She wanted reports of what the Crystal Ponies saw but none who had seen anything were in a state to comment—understandably more focused on getting away from the snow. An armored monster… Twilight worried that she knew what this armored monster looked like already.
“It moved through the city like it knew exactly where it was going,” Garver continued, his voice growing quieter. “The braver of us tried to stop it, but they didn’t stand a chance. Civilians ran, hid, but it didn’t matter. By the time it was over, the streets were empty. Those who could fled to the forests or beyond. I hid up on the tree, but I don’t think anyone else did, I’m lucky it didn’t climb it.”
Twilight’s wings twitched as she absorbed his words. “And the monster?” she asked. “What happened to it?”
Garver’s claws stilled, his gaze dropping to the table. “After it was done, it went to the cliffs,” he said. “We thought it would stop, but… it didn’t. It just leapt off, disappeared into the trees below. Last we saw, it was heading west. Toward here.”
Toward Equestria.
The room was deathly silent, the weight of Garver’s account pressing down on everyone present. Twilight’s mind raced, questions swirling faster than she could grasp them. Why? Why had it attacked Griffonstone? Why the Crystal Empire? What were they looking for? And—most of all—what would they do next?
She opened her mouth to speak, to offer reassurance she didn’t truly feel, but the sound of Garver’s claws tapping the table cut through her thoughts like a blade. It was a rhythm of helplessness, of frustration, and it echoed her own feelings far too closely.
Twilight’s gaze lingered on Garver, her mind churning with thoughts she couldn’t fully organize. The griffon’s account was fragmented, raw with his own inner turmoil, but she needed clarity. Every detail mattered, she needed to know everything.
She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and turned to the gathered nobles and governors, who were already murmuring anxiously among themselves. “Thank you all for your input today,” she said, her voice calm and resolute. “This discussion is far from over, and I encourage you to continue planning and sharing ideas in the council chambers nearby. For now, I need to speak with Ambassador Garver alone.”
The room fell silent. A few nobles exchanged glances, some looking irritated, others relieved to have an excuse to leave. Duchess Reverie was the first to rise, her steps deliberate as she inclined her head toward Twilight. “Your Highness,” she said smoothly. One by one, the others followed, bowing briefly before making their way out of the grand hall.
The heavy doors shut behind them with a faint echo, leaving Twilight and Garver alone in the now-quiet room. The shift in atmosphere was easy to notice. The earlier hum of voices was replaced by a sudden silence, punctuated only by the faint sound of Garver’s talons tapping the table again—a nervous habit he seemed unable to suppress.
Twilight moved closer, her hooves soft against the polished marble floor. She took a seat beside him rather than at her usual place at the head of the table, her proximity meant to put him at ease. “Ambassador Garver,” she began gently, her tone quieter now, “I appreciate you sharing what you’ve seen, but I need to understand everything. No detail is too small or insignificant. Please, start from the beginning.”
Garver’s claw stilled against the table, his gaze flicking toward her, hesitant. For a moment, he said nothing, the weight of his memories dragging him down like an anchor. Finally, he sighed, his voice low and heavy. “It started with an ear splitting noise that woke everyone in town up. Then something absurdly bright flashed through our windows; I managed to get a look at it, some crack forming just above us.” he shivered at the memory. “Just looking at it was…”
“Please… take your time. I know this must be hard for you. It was…?” Twilight gently pushed.
“Nauseating.”
It was a calm night in Griffonstone, one that mirrored the town itself—quiet and weathered. The air was cool, carrying a faint breeze that rustled through the crooked, almost sagging rooftops of homes built long ago. The smell of damp wood and pine wafted lazily through the winding streets, mingling with the faint tang of iron from some of the older structures that still stubbornly stood.
The heart of Griffonstone lay still, its streets empty save for a few griffons who refused to let the night rob them of their pursuits. A lone baker toiled in his kitchen, his talons deftly shaping dough as the warm, faint glow of a fire illuminated his feathers. Nearby, an aged cobbler sat beneath a flickering lantern, muttering to himself as he worked on a pair of talonslips, the steady rhythm of his hammer echoing faintly in the silent air.
Down one of the narrow lanes, a pair of younger griffons whispered conspiratorially, their voices soft as they shared plans for mischief beneath the cover of darkness. Their laughter broke the silence in short bursts, though they kept it low enough to avoid the ire of their elders. Above them, an old watchgriff sat perched on a creaking balcony, his eyes half-closed but ever watchful, his beak resting against his chest.
For the rest of the town, the night was a time of rest. Homes were dark, save for the occasional candlelight that peeked through cracked shutters. The town felt timeless in its stillness, as though it could sleep forever, cradled by the gentle hum of the wind and the faint creaks of shifting timber.
This peace was not to last.
It began with a sound. A shriek of noise so violent that it seemed to split the very fabric of the world. It tore through the silence with a ferocity that defied comprehension, a sound so sharp and sudden it was as though a titanic ship of metal had been wrenched apart in an instant. The noise rolled across Griffonstone like a thundercrack, rattling windows and shaking the town to its foundations.
Then came the light.
A blinding brilliance flooded the night, banishing the glow of the moon and stars. It surged through the cracks in shutters and doorways, painting the streets in shades of violet and electric blue that shimmered and danced like an impossible aurora. Griffons who had been roused by the noise shielded their eyes, their feathers illuminated in the strange glow.
Garver was one of them. Startled from his sleep, he stumbled to his window, irritated but nonetheless spooked. As he looked to the sky, he froze.
There, hanging above Griffonstone, was a wound.
It was not like the tears in old buildings or the scars on stone—it was something far worse. The sky itself had been ripped open, exposing a roiling, twisted light that defied explanation. The tear pulsated and writhed like a living thing, its edges frayed and bleeding with energy that crackled and snapped in defiance of reality. The longer Garver stared, the harder it became to look away, his eyes watering as nausea built in the pit of his stomach.
The sound of crackling lightning filled the air, mingling with the low hum of something vast and alien pressing against the world. Garver gripped the windowsill tightly, his talons digging into the wood as his breaths came in short, panicked gasps. He felt something creeping into his mind, a vile sensation that churned his thoughts and made his feathers stand on end. It was wrong, utterly wrong—a presence that clawed at his soul, trying to force its way in.
Then, from the center of the rift, something fell. A shadow, barely discernible against the blinding light, plummeted toward the earth like a stone cast from the heavens. Garver barely noticed it; his gaze was fixed on the tear, the terrible wound that seemed to laugh at the gape of his beak.
It was gone.
The tear vanished with a suddenness that left Garver’s vision swimming, its light extinguished so quickly that the night seemed impossibly dark in its absence. The calm of the Griffonstone night returned, but it was no longer the same. The wind carried an unnatural stillness, and the familiar hum of the town felt hollow, like a song missing its melody.
Garver stumbled back from his window, his legs felt weak beneath him. All across Griffonstone, griffons emerged from their homes—most refused to leave theirs—their feathers puffed in shock, their eyes wide and darting with fear and confusion. They murmured to one another, trying to make sense of what they had seen, but no words could capture the horror that had unfolded above their heads.
Far from their sight, the thing that had fallen now lay still, its arrival unnoticed by all but the earth itself.
Some griffons turned their eyes to the ground where the figure had fallen, finally taking notice of it. While most remained frozen in their doorways or behind shutters, a handful of those still outside felt their curiosity—or perhaps a flicker of concern—compel them to investigate.
The figure had formed a shallow indent in the dry dirt and patchy grass where it landed. Its body was splayed out, unmoving, its back to the sky. For a moment, it almost seemed part of the earth, like a massive boulder flung from some distant mountaintop.
One griffon, the watchgriff who now was wide awake, was the first to approach. Whether he was driven by curiosity or, quite unlikely, a genuine worry for the seemingly lifeless being, the rest didn’t know. Truthfully the watchgriff didn’t want to go near the thing, but if he didn’t the rest might start wondering why a watchgriff not investigating was still getting paid his bits.
The others watched from a distance as he hesitated, talons flexing nervously. The figure was massive—far larger than anything he had ever seen. Even the largest of griffons would only reach its chest if they stretched themselves to their full height.
Still, he inched closer. His wings twitched involuntarily, ready to carry him away at the first sign of danger. He stopped just short of the figure, glancing over his shoulder at the others.
"Is it dead?" The watchgriff asked aloud. Garver—who had made the decision to stay and watch from his window—thought so. But Garver also doubted if this big metal thing was something that was alive enough to become dead, it certainly didn’t look like flesh and blood.
The griffons behind him murmured their agreement—yes, surely it must be dead. Maybe not from the fall, but they doubt whatever had just finished dropping it here did so kindly.
A low groan, the sound of metal grinding against metal, filled the air. It was an unnatural, dissonant sound that immediately caught gathered griffons’ attention. They took a step back, their talons scraping against the ground, as the massive figure stirred.
Slowly, it began to rise. A sharp hiss escaped from its face, as if it were exhaling or releasing some pent-up energy. The noise was strange, alien, and only added to the thickness now in the air.
The figure lumbered upward, its movements sluggish and almost mechanical, as though each motion required immense effort. Finally, it stood to its full height, casting a long, imposing shadow over the ones behind it. The griffons craned their necks to look up at it, their earlier curiosity now tinged with a sense of intimidation.
It didn’t move toward them. It didn’t speak. Instead, it seemed to stare upward, its gaze fixed on the moon as though lost in thought.
Its posture was off. The figure swayed slightly, its thick boulder-like shoulders slumped, its movements unsteady. It was like watching a beaten beast on the verge of collapse, its strength sapped. It was intimidating, yes, but there was also something deeply unsettling about its perceived vulnerability.
The griffons whispered among themselves, their voices low and uncertain.
“What is it?”
“A robot maybe?”
“It crushed my stand!”
None moved closer. The figure’s presence was enough to keep them at bay. There was an unspoken understanding that it did not belong in Griffonstone—or anywhere as far as they were concerned—and the air itself seemed to thrum with its alien nature.
The griffon whose stand had been crushed was the first to step forward, their fear eclipsed by indignation. Their feathers were ruffled, and their eyes glinted with a mix of greed and anger, a dangerous cocktail of emotions fueled by their destroyed livelihood.
"Hey! You big… whatever you are!" the griffon squawked, their voice sharp and grating against the tense silence. "Do you have any idea what you’ve done? That was my stall!"
The figure remained still, its hulking frame silhouetted by the pale light. It neither flinched nor acknowledged the griffon’s tirade, its gaze still fixed on the moon above. The griffon's shouting grew louder, emboldened by the apparent lack of response.
Other griffons murmured among themselves, some inching closer, others holding their ground. The mood was shifting. The fear that had kept them rooted in place began to erode, replaced by a creeping sense of defiance. This thing, whatever it was, looked slow and injured. Perhaps it wasn’t so dangerous after all.
The vendor, puffing out their chest, jabbed a talon toward the figure’s leg. "Are you even listening?!" they screeched, their voice cracking. "Look at me when I’m talking to you!"
Still, the figure did not respond.
Frustrated, the griffon stomped forward and placed a claw on the figure’s knee plate. “Look at me when I’m talking, tin head!” The talon scraped against the thick, battered armor with a faint metallic screech, but it did nothing to the surface.
That was when it moved.
Slowly, deliberately, the armored thing lowered its gaze. The moonlight caught the lenses of its helm, turning them into twin, soulless orbs that reflected the griffon's furious expression back at them. The griffon's indignant squawking faltered, their words catching in their throat.
The marine’s attention was unnervingly intense. It was not anger or even irritation—it was something colder, heavier. The kind of gaze one might reserve for a pest, insignificant but bothersome. Yet beneath that gaze, with the slight tilt of its head, it seemed almost confused.
The griffon, now visibly trembling, took a step back. "W-what are you looking at?" they stammered, failing to mimic their prior bravado.
The figure said nothing. Slowly, with an almost casual motion, it reached across its chest and drew its blade. The weapon was massive, to the point where the griffons who watched could only describe it as a sword. But to the figure, it was merely a knife—a massive and razor edged slab of hardened metal.
The griffons gasped as the blade caught the light, its edge gleaming with an unnatural sheen. The vendor stumbled back, their wings flaring in panic.
"Wait—no, I didn’t mean—"
Before they could finish, it moved.
It was swift, impossibly so for something so large. The blade lashed out in a single, fluid motion, its edge slicing cleanly through the air. The vendor had no time to even gasp when the thick metal cleaved into them with ease.
A sudden spray of pink mist followed by pools of red drenched the ground, the shocked mob stumbling as the dangling head of the wide eyed griffon struck the ground along with the slumped body, somehow the head was still attached, connected only by a few neck muscles and stretched skin.
Garver had never been one to call himself a hero. Like most griffons in Griffonstone, he kept to himself, looking out for his own interests and staying out of trouble. But tonight, trouble had found everyone. As the monster tore through the streets, leaving devastation in its wake, Garver found himself frozen in his doorway, his heart pounding like a drum.
He had told himself he would stay hidden, let the others deal with it. He wasn’t a fighter—he wasn’t even particularly brave. But when he saw the vendor fall, saw the blood pooling in the dirt, something overcame his fear. His talons gripped the door frame as he willed his legs to move.
“Run,” he whispered to himself, but his feet refused to obey.
The monster turned—Garver now immediately regretting letting himself leave his sanctuary—its massive form looming over the street like a shadow of death. Its soulless, glowing eyes scanned the panicked griffons, and for a moment, it seemed to settle on Garver.
Something leapt into his throat. “No, no, no…” Garver muttered, backing away. But it was too late.
With speed that shouldn’t be possible for its size, the giant lunged forward, its gauntleted hand closing around Garver’s midsection. His breath left him in a wheeze as the crushing grip pinned his wings to his sides. He flailed and squawked, his talons scratching against the monster’s unyielding armor.
“Let me go!” he had tried to shout, but all that came was panicked squawks.
It tilted its head, as if studying him. For an instant, its grip tightened, and Garver felt his ribs strain against the pressure. He closed his eyes, bracing for the end he wasn’t ready to see.
But then something unexpected happened.
A fierce cry rang out from above.
“Let him go, you brute!”
A griffon dive-bombed the monster, claws outstretched. It was an older griffon, feathers streaked with grey but eyes blazing with fury. His talons found their mark, digging into the black material beneath the monster’s armor below the pauldron.
It recoiled slightly, a low, guttural sound escaping its helmet. It wasn’t pain, exactly—it was surprise. Its grip on Garver loosened, and before the monster could react further, it flung him aside like a discarded toy. Garver tumbled through the air, hitting the ground hard and skidding to a stop in a heap of feathers and fur.
Dazed but alive, Garver looked up just in time to see the griffons fight back.
The older griffon circled back, joined by two younger ones. They darted in and out of the monster’s reach with practiced agility, their claws striking at its joints and weak points. Another griffon—a muscular female—swooped low and struck at the back of the monster’s knee, causing it to stagger.
“Take it down!” she roared, her voice rallying the others.
Encouraged by the bravery of their kin, more griffons joined the fray. They swarmed the monster from all sides, their wings beating furiously as they struck with talons and beaks. One griffon threw a heavy stone, which struck the giant square in the chest with enough force to make it take a step back.
Garver could hardly believe what he was seeing. The monster was slowing, its movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Sparks flew as their claws raked across its armor, and dark fluid dripped from the gashes they had managed to carve into its undersuit.
The monster stopped moving entirely, its head tilting downward. For a moment, the griffons felt triumph. To them it looked to be faltering, giving in to their strikes.
With a sudden burst of speed, it lashed out. Its hand grappled the lower jaw and neck of the female griffon, cutting off her cry before it could fully escape her beak. Her wings flailed weakly, her talons scratching at the unyielding armor in a desperate, futile attempt to free herself.
With a crunch her throat and jaw gave. She felt bone stabbing into her as gurgling escaped her oozing throat, said throat drowning her in ichor. She stumbled back, not noticing a piece of her still in its hand as she hit the ground, clawing at her exposed neck for air.
The monster turned, swatting another griffon out of the air like a fly. It moved with purpose now, its attacks focused. Even as the griffons landed blows, they began to realize a horrifying truth: their strikes, while enough to wound, were not stopping it.
Garver watched in horror as the older griffon who had started the attack lunged for the giant’s back, only to be caught mid-air. The monster’s hand closed around his skull, a gasp was the last thing the elder gave as his cranium bent and imploded, the body slumping down as the mass of brain matter and cranial bone was flung away by the monster.
Another, one of the two young males who had helped the older one, yelled as he tried for the monster's neck. Finally it brought its blade out again, smacking the griffon to the ground with a thud. It didn’t use the sharp side, maybe not even noticing as it proceeded to bash at the downed griffon again and again with the blunt back of the blade.
Again and again it struck, even long after any fleeting life had already left the corpse. It struck again, a spurt of blood coating over the dried blood on its armor. It didn’t stop until what was left resembled a rotten soup.
“No…” Garver whispered, his voice trembling.
The remaining griffons faltered, what courage they had abandoning them. Blood dripped from its armor. It didn’t even seem to notice the injuries it had sustained, only a now dry stream of clotted blood and puncture holes evidence it was hurt.
Garver staggered to his feet, clutching his side where bruises were already beginning to form. He glanced around, looking for any way to escape. Many griffons had already chosen to flee, taking to the skies while the monster focused on their unlucky kin. Garver followed their example.
He shot to the air, immediately diving towards the massive tree that the more wealthy called home. He didn’t care to wait for invitation as he crashed himself into the closest building, resting on a thick branch. The home was empty. He raced around the home, looking for something to hide in. He finally stopped and simply huddled to the ground, shaking and pooling sweat. He heaved and hacked dry breaths.
He could hear more screeching as they were torn apart, those voices coming from the few who sought shelter in their homes that the monster simply bashed into. Even from where he hid he could hear splatters and screaming hatchlings. He covered his eyes, pleading for it to end.
Quiet came, he didn’t move for a long moment but eventually he dared to clamber up to the window he had flung through, if only to be sure it wasn’t climbing up the dry wood to reach him.
It stood at the cliff. Then leapt off.
Garver’s talons tapped against the table still, the nervous rhythm increasing in tempo. His eyes were unable to settle on anything for long.
“I… I didn’t volunteer for this,” Garver stammered, his voice uneven. “I mean, I didn’t even want to come here. They shoved a bag of bits in my claws and pushed me out the door.” He paused, glancing down at his talons, which had stilled for a moment. “They slapped ambassador on my name, but…” He shook his head. “I’m not one. I’m just… I just saw most of it.”
Twilight tilted her head slightly, her quill hovering mid-air as she took in his words. “And you left to come warn us,” she said gently, her tone devoid of judgment. “That matters, Garver.”
Garver let out a strained laugh, more a dry wheeze than anything else. “Does it?” He leaned forward, gripping the edge of the table as though it could steady him. His eyes, wide and haunted, locked onto hers. “I-I’m here because they couldn’t force anyone else to go. Nobody wanted to go wherever it was going.”
Twilight’s wings shifted as she set down her quill, her violet eyes softening. “What you did—what you’re doing—is important. You brought us a warning we might not have had otherwise. I think that is brave.”
Twilight waited, giving him space to continue. When he finally looked up, the weight in his gaze was enough to make even her stomach twist. “It’s not just that it killed, Princess,” he said. “It… it enjoyed it. Or maybe it didn’t care. I don’t know which is worse.” He swallowed hard, his feathers bristling slightly. “We tried to stop it. We really did. But it just… kept going. It was like we were nothing.”
Twilight’s expression grew more serious, but her voice remained steady. “And when it left Griffonstone, you said it went west?”
Garver nodded quickly, a little too quickly. “Straight off the cliffs,” he said. “It jumped like it didn’t care where it landed. Just—gone. I didn’t see where it went after, but I heard rumors. Some griffons said they saw it moving through the forest. Fast.” He hesitated. “Like it knew where it was going.”
Twilight’s eyes flicked to a map laid out on the table beside her. “West,” she murmured, her horn lighting up as she traced a line across the parchment. “That would take it towards the ocean, and crossing that would be Baltimare.” Her quill resumed its motion, scribbling notes in a precise hand. Any of her eastern towns or cities were at risk now. Baltimare, Manehatten, Filly Delphia. It was frustrating, having no idea where it was, where it was going—when it would arrive.
Garver’s talons froze mid-tap. “You can stop it, right?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “You have to stop it. I don’t think it's gonna stop, it won’t—” He broke off, his breath catching. “You don’t understand. You think you’ve seen monsters, but this… this thing isn’t just a monster. It’s something worse.”
Twilight nodded, though her expression was solemn. “Garver, I will do everything I can to protect Equestria, and all of its friends. That includes you.”
Garver blinked at her, his beak opening slightly as though to argue, but then he closed it again. He stood, his legs shaky beneath him. “If you’ll excuse me, Princess,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think I need some air.”
“Wait,” Twilight said. Garver turned back to her, pausing for whatever she would say.
“Do you know Gilda?” She needed to be sure.
“Gilda? Not really, no,” Garver only needed a moment to know the real question being asked. “I didn’t see her, or her family. But they are fine, or at least I know it didn’t get them.”
“Thank you, Garver.” She didn’t feel relieved, but it was one less tragedy, for what that was worth.
Twilight watched as he shuffled toward the door, his wings tucked tightly to his sides. Her quill hovered in place as her gaze returned to the map, her mind racing. She had faced countless threats before—monsters, villains, forces of nature. She never thought she would hear of something so irredeemably cruel, so filled with malice.
Finally alone, Twilight let out an exhausted breath, rested her hoof to her head and her chin to the table. She wanted sleep—the sweet embrace of unconsciousness—so much now. If only to escape everything for just a moment.
Those thoughts came back again, and before she could choke on them she stood, letting her parchment go with a puff back to her study. She would help the griffons, they needed it. First, she felt Garver needed a helping hand.
More commands were issued, each one meticulously crafted and dispatched with urgency. Forces preparing to march north were now redirected east, their objectives shifting in response to new threats. All of this for two—at least two. Twilight now knew exactly what the monsters looked like. They shared the same appearance as the body housed deep in the castle, she only needed to make a general sketch and copy it. drawings were sent to every scout, every patrol, with explicit orders: any sighting, any trace, was to be reported to her immediately.
She couldn’t let them vanish into the unknown, free to bring the same destruction they had wrought upon Griffonstone and the Crystal Empire.
Twilight sat on the balcony of her chambers, the cool night air brushing against her coat and tugging at her feathers. The room behind her still felt foreign, its polished elegance wasn’t yet a home to her—not her home, at least.
Her gaze was fixed on the moon, its pale silver light casting Canterlot in an ethereal glow. It softened the sharp edges of the city’s towers and spread long, still shadows across the clean streets below. The sight brought Luna to mind.
Luna had kept her updated on the Crystal Empire through letters. Aid had arrived swiftly, with pegasi working tirelessly to assist the Crystal Ponies. They ferried the injured to field hospitals set up just beyond the storm’s edge, while those still able to walk were transported south to Canterlot.
Celestia had joined Luna in the north, both now putting their retirement to the side, as Twilight learned through their correspondence. Knowing that brought her a sliver of relief. Celestia’s presence was a beacon, one that could rekindle hope even in the most despairing hearts. If anypony could lift the spirits of the Crystal Ponies, it was her.
Twilight felt… hollow. The ache in her chest had dulled, settling into a strange numbness. It was as though her grief had reached a point where it could no longer be expressed, leaving only an unbearable quiet.
A faint ripple of magic washed over her, soft and familiar. Twilight turned her head sharply, her breath catching as a warm glow filled the doorway to her balcony. There, stepping gracefully into the moonlight, was Princess Celestia. Her flowing, radiant mane shimmered in bright hues, and her serene expression carried both strength and tenderness.
“Twilight,” Celestia greeted softly, her voice as warm and comforting as a hearth on a cold night.
“Celestia,” Twilight breathed, standing from her cushion. For a moment, the weight on her shoulders lessened. “You’re here.”
Celestia nodded, stepping closer until they stood side by side. “I wanted to see you,” she said, her voice gentle but purposeful. “I thought you could use some company.”
Twilight blinked, her ears twitching. “But… shouldn’t you be in the Crystal Empire? Luna said you were helping the ponies there.”
“I was,” Celestia replied, her gaze turning briefly to the horizon. “And I will return soon. But Luna is more than capable of managing things in my absence. She is leading them admirably. Right now, I wanted to check on you.”
Twilight’s wings twitched, and she looked away. “I’m fine,” she said quickly, her tone betraying her words. “Everything is going smoothly now, the mayors are still demanding more protection in the north and east, they already have all their reserves raised.” She didn’t mention many in the south making the same demands, another thing she would have to handle.
Celestia tilted her head, her eyes soft but searching. “And what about you, Twilight?”
Twilight stiffened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m fine,” she repeated, more firmly this time. “There’s too much to do to worry about me.”
Celestia stepped closer, her expression gentle but insistent. “Twilight,” she said softly, “I know that look. It’s the same one I wore after losing my sister to the Nightmare. You’re carrying more than you should alone. Please, talk to me.”
Twilight’s composure wavered, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep the emotions at bay. “I don’t even know what to say,” she admitted finally, her voice trembling. “I’ve faced so many crises before, but this… I couldn’t stop it. Cadence, Shiny, the Empire—it’s all gone, and I wasn’t there to help. I wasn’t there to save them.”
Tears welled in her eyes, spilling over as her voice broke. “How do I fix this? How do I carry this?”
Celestia extended a wing, gently draping it over Twilight’s back. “You don’t have to carry it alone,” she said softly. “Twilight, your strength has always been your heart—your ability to bring others together. That strength is still yours, even now. Let others help you. Let me help you.”
Twilight sniffled, leaning into the comforting warmth of Celestia’s wing. “I just… I don’t want to lose anyone else,” she whispered. “I don’t know if I can take it.”
Celestia’s voice was quiet, filled with both sadness and reassurance. “Loss is a weight no ruler should bear alone. I know that pain too well, Twilight. I’ve lost friends, allies… even those I thought would never leave. When my sister was gone, I thought I had nothing left. And in the early days, I nearly gave in to that despair.” She paused, her gaze fixed on the moon. “But I held on because of the connections I made. My sister, when she returned. My friends, even in their fleeting years. And you.”
Twilight blinked, her breath hitching at the depth of Celestia’s words. “Me?”
Celestia nodded, her eyes filled with warmth. “You, Twilight. And now I see that strength in you. Let those around you share your burden. You are not alone.”
Twilight nodded, her tears falling silently as she looked back at the moon. For a long moment, they simply sat together, the elder offering solace and the younger finding strength in her presence.
“How’s Luna?” Twilight asked after a while, her voice steadying.
Celestia’s smile returned, faint but warm. “She is doing well. The Crystal Ponies look to her as a beacon, and she has risen to the challenge beautifully.”
Twilight gave a small nod, her gaze distant. The ache in her chest hadn’t vanished, but it felt less unbearable now.
After a pause, she turned to Celestia. “Can we just… sit here? For a while?”
“Of course,” Celestia said softly, her smile tinged with solemnity.
And so, they sat side by side, watching the moon as its light bathed Canterlot in a gentle glow. The city below hummed faintly with life. For a moment, Twilight felt lighter.
The sound of waves crashing against the shore echoed faintly in his ears, a steady rhythm that tugged at something within his mind. He stood at the edge of the tree line, his massive frame partially obscured by the shadows of the dense foliage. The salty tang of the ocean air mingled with the scent of earth and bark, grounding him—if only for a fleeting moment.
He felt… more lucid. The haze that had clouded his mind since his emergence flickered, allowing him brief clarity. His blade had long been sheathed, the act of doing so a vague memory. For now, his hands remained empty, hanging loosely at his sides, though the tension in his massive fingers betrayed the restlessness simmering beneath his calm facade.
Before him lay a modest port, a cluster of wooden docks stretching out into the water. Small ships bobbed gently on the waves, their sails fluttering in the breeze. The scene was almost tranquil—simple creatures scurrying about their tasks, unloading crates, shouting orders, and casting lines. The distant clatter of cargo and the creak of timbers reached him, familiar yet alien to his ears.
He watched from the shadows, his crimson lenses fixed on the activity. He didn’t dare move closer. Not yet.
The ocean stretched endlessly beyond the port, its dark, roiling surface glinting faintly in the light of the rising moon. It called to him, whispering promises of passage westward. His path lay beyond that horizon, he knew. But the waters were deep, and though his armor could withstand the crushing pressure of the sea bed, he couldn’t trust the journey. The tides were treacherous, the depths an abyss he couldn’t risk.
And the ships. He had observed them long enough to know their frailty. The wooden vessels, creaking and swaying under the weight of their meager cargo, wouldn’t hold him. He would sink them the moment his boots touched their planks.
He needed something stronger.
The marine’s thoughts swirled like the eddies in the ocean, a constant churn of fragmented memories and gnawing urges. His focus wavered, his gaze flicking between the workers and the vessels as his mind struggled to hold on to the moment.
He clenched his fists, the servos in his gauntlets whining softly.
Then he saw it.
A larger vessel, hulking and metallic, glided into the port. Its size dwarfed the other ships, and its steel hull gleamed faintly under the moonlight. Cargo containers were stacked on its deck, their weight a testament to the ship’s sturdiness. This… this could hold him.
He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as he studied the vessel. It was a freighter of some sort, its crew bustling about as it docked. They moved with precision, tying ropes, securing the gangplank, and shouting orders to one another. The sight stirred something faint in his mind—a memory of ships far grander, vessels that sailed the void rather than the sea. He pushed the thought away.
The sailors were strange. Some kind of four legged creature, not like the feathered things before. They had hooves, he could hear the clicking of their hooved feet. They seemed to be some kind of horse.
He would need to board it, but not now. He had to wait, to watch. His patience was frayed, but he forced himself to remain still. His mind fought against him, fragmented thoughts tugging at the edges of his focus.
You are wasting time. Go.
No. He needed to plan. He couldn’t afford to be careless. Not here.
The minutes stretched into hours as he observed from the shadows. The crew unloaded cargo, crates and barrels moving steadily from the ship to the docks. Lanterns flickered in the night, their light casting long shadows across the water. He noted the patterns of their movements, the moments when the dock grew quieter, when fewer eyes would be watching.
Finally, he moved.
His boots crunched against the gravel of the shoreline, leaving deep impressions behind as he approached the dock.
The workers, initially too absorbed in their tasks, soon noticed the towering figure striding toward them. Voices faltered, crates and ropes were dropped, and a tense silence fell over the bustling port. Some froze, their wide eyes reflecting the lantern light; others slowly backed away, their ears pinned and tails twitching nervously.
He ignored them. They were insignificant distractions, not worth the energy to acknowledge. His crimson lenses remained fixed on the metal ship before him, the low groan of his armor’s servos punctuating the quiet.
When he reached the gangplank, it shuddered under his weight. Each step was accompanied by a deep, ominous creak, the wooden parts of the dock protesting loudly. He adjusted instinctively, shifting his bulk to stand only on the metal supports, which groaned but held.
As he stepped onto the deck, the ship itself seemed to resist his presence. The steel beneath him warped ever so slightly with each movement, the vibrations rippling outward in low, dissonant tones. He paused, his head tilting slightly as he processed the sensation.
The crew had gathered near the center of the deck, their expressions a mixture of fear and confusion. The ponies ranged in size and color, but all of them wore rough, practical clothing suited for dock work or sea travel. Some clutched tools or ropes, though none seemed prepared to use them.
His gaze swept over them, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing. These creatures… they were strange. Equine in shape, but their proportions, their colors, even the intelligence in their wide, fearful eyes were alien to him. His thoughts fractured further as he tried to make sense of them, his mind tugged in conflicting directions.
He stopped before a smaller group, his attention settling on one who seemed older, their weathered features marked by age and authority. The captain, he assumed.
The marine stared down at the pony, his red lenses reflecting the flickering light of the ship’s lanterns. He felt… nothing. No curiosity, no hostility, not even the faintest spark of understanding. They were shapes, movements, sound.
Finally, he spoke.
“This ship… is it yours?”
The voice that emerged from his vox-grille startled even him. It was dry and broken, a gravely rasp that seemed to claw its way into the air. The distortion of the vox only made it worse, reducing his words to a guttural growl barely recognizable as speech.
The ponies flinched at the sound. The captain, though shaken, managed to take a step forward, his hat slipping slightly as he craned his neck to look up at the armored giant. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly, as though searching for an answer—or the courage to give one.
The marine tilted his head, the movement slow and deliberate. The silence stretched, broken only by the groan of the ship beneath him and the faint whisper of the waves.
“I asked…” he began again, his voice scraping like metal on stone. “Is it yours?” He believed they could understand them, he didn’t know why.
The captain’s voice wavered as he finally managed to respond. “Yes. Yes, it’s mine.” His words tumbled out quickly. “What do you want with it?”
The marine paused, the question reverberating in his head. What did he want? The answer came slowly, emerging from the tangled depths of thought.
“To cross,” he rasped. “West.”
The captain blinked, momentarily taken by confusion. “West?”
“Yes.” The marine's tone hardened, his patience fraying. “Your ship. Will it hold?”
The captain glanced at the deck beneath the marine’s feet, where the metal plating was already groaning under his weight. “I… I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.
The marine straightened, the towering bulk of his frame casting a shadow over the group of ponies. His fractured mind churned with indecision, the pieces of his thoughts splintering further with each passing moment. Finally, he looked down at the captain.
“It will hold,” he said with finality.
The captain, despite every nerve in his body screaming at him to avoid provoking the giant, knew he couldn’t simply abandon the cargo and the job entrusted to him. His crew was watching, and though fear gripped them all, they needed him to maintain at least the appearance of authority.
He hesitated before asking, his voice was steady enough to carry. “Do you… have payment?”
The words hung in the air, the weight of his question pressing down on the deck. The moment they escaped his lips, he regretted them. It was a foolish question, one he had asked out of reflex, the way he always did when dealing with travelers. But this was no ordinary traveler.
The marine stared down at him, unmoving. The red glow of his lenses locked onto the captain, and an unbearable silence followed. Around him, his crew shifted nervously, some gripping tools or ropes as if they might serve as weapons—not that any of them believed such things could harm the figure.
The silence dragged on, the tension rising with every passing second. The captain swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the marine’s gaze. To him, the stillness felt like judgment, like a predator assessing whether its prey was worth the effort.
Finally, the marine spoke, his voice a rasping growl. “No.”
The answer was blunt, delivered without hesitation. It wasn’t an apology, nor did it carry any hint of shame. It was simply the truth. He had no payment, no currency to offer. What he carried—his weapons, his armor—was worth more than the ship itself, but none of it was something he would part with.
The captain’s ears flattened against his head, and he nodded quickly, eager to diffuse any potential anger. “That’s… that’s fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll be heading out soon anyway.”
The marine gave no indication that he had heard or cared about the captain’s words. He simply stood, his massive form a silent, immovable presence on the deck. His lenses turned back toward the horizon, the faint hiss of his armor’s systems the only sound accompanying him.
The captain turned to his crew, motioning for them to continue their work. He whispered sharp commands, urging them to focus on the cargo and the ropes, to keep their eyes low and avoid drawing the figure’s attention. The ponies obeyed, though their movements were jittery, their hooves clattering nervously against the deck.
The marine watched the waves. He didn’t see ocean often, only from orbit. He had felt the ship begin its voyage, barely noticing its movement until they were far from shore.
He had time to think, and think he did. He wondered what he would find west.
He listened to the horses’ whispered words, and heard them talk of some settlement called… Man hat ten? That was the destination it seemed.
He wondered if Locari had survived.

//-------------------------------------------------------//
                     The Next Journey                      
//-------------------------------------------------------//
The Next Journey
The return to the Thunderhawk passed mostly in silence.
Locari had only spoken once, recounting what he had experienced while distracting the xenos—Calsin now had names for their types: Unicorn, Pegasi, and “Earth pony,” still no name for the pink one Locari killed—even then, his words were sparse, his mind elsewhere. His voice lacked its usual sharpness, every sentence spoken like it was being pulled from somewhere far off.
Calsin didn’t press him about his sudden despondency. Whatever was stealing his Brother’s thoughts could have him for the time being. The quiet worked for Calsin. It allowed him to plan. He would address the change of behaviour once they set off.
Their course was clear, the weight of their next steps pressing against his thoughts. The Thunderhawk was dead weight now, a hollowed vessel that would decay in this alien land until scavengers picked its bones clean. They would not return once they left; there was nothing left for them here but a gravesite.
They needed to travel light, move efficiently. The xenos were organized; it was only a matter of time before the city’s kin noticed its destruction.
Calsin mentally sifted through their resources with the precision of long-ingrained habit. Bolter ammunition remained adequate for now, bolstered by what he had retrieved from Procuran and Queren’s bodies. If they maintained their current rate of fire, their supply would last a week—less if they became careless.
He glanced toward Locari, who during the latter half of the trek back had occupied himself with watching the skies for any Pegasi unfortunate enough to stumble across them.
“Ration your bolts from now on,” Calsin said, noting that Locari only had a single magazine of his pistol left on his belt—his rifle fairing slightly better with thrice the number. “Unicorns get priority. Pegasi only if necessary.”
They wouldn’t take chances with the Unicorn type. From what Calsin had observed and what Locari had learned, Unicorns and whatever the royal alien was seemed to be the only members of the race that used sorcery—the only ones that could manifest it with mere thought. It reminded Calsin of the Astropaths, if only for the genetic mutation that gave the breed of psyker their gift. He assumed the horns on the ponies heads was caused by a vaguely similar mutation, and was what allowed them to channel the warp.
Locari gave a grunt in affirmation. Calsin grew slightly irritated by the ongoing behavior of the younger Astartes.
Calsin continued anyway. “The Earth ones…” he let the word settle, “…we cut them down by hand.”
Locari’s response was a simple, “aye.”
Calsin suspected the gloom over his Brother was the result of the Crystal Heart and whatever reaction it had to Locari’s touch. Another reason to investigate, Calsin thought.
Calsin’s fingers traced the worn grip of his plasma pistol as they neared the Thunderhawk. It was still a powerful tool, but a limited one. Every shot used was irreplaceable. He had already traded Locari for Procuran’s bolt pistol—the only other weapon properly suited for a Firstborn—to take its place. Plasma would be reserved for anything a bolt couldn’t break. He could use Primaris weapons but found them annoying to wield—he remembered an adage about old dogs and thought it fitting for his preference on weapons.
Locari, ever favoring his bolter rifle, would enjoy hoarding the rifle rounds.
Calsin almost said as much. It was the kind of remark that would’ve drawn a comment from Locari on any other day—Locari seemed to enjoy wit and converse of that type—but not today. Calsin would likely fail attempting the humor anyway.
Rations were a lesser concern. They had enough to last a month, longer if they stretched it. Their bodies could endure far beyond mortal limits. Even when hunger gnawed at their strength, it wouldn’t slow them. They only needed that month to find prey big enough for their needs—the ponies might be enough, but neither Astartes wanted to stoop to Fenrisian barbarism just yet. Water was abundant. Any stream, river, or puddle would do.
When they reached the Thunderhawk, Calsin stepped inside without a word, moving with the cadence of a plan already set. Locari drifted to his own space, his silence heavier now, as though the sight of the Thunderhawk—and more likely what rested within—had pressed a new weight onto his shoulders.
Calsin let him be.
Locari settled into routine. He focused on maintaining his arms, setting his bolter aside as he began cleaning the chainsword of any bone or meat still stuck to the teeth. His movements were precise but lacked the usual rhythm. He purposely sat in a direction facing the exit of the ship, so he wouldn't stare too long at the dead.
Calsin busied himself with the supplies, grabbing and laying out everything not bolted to the walls, methodically sorting their gear. He made sure to step carefully as not to disturb the dead at his feet. Everything chosen had to earn its place—no wasted space, no unnecessary weight. What they could not take would be destroyed.
His hand brushed against the final explosive charge, confirming its presence. It had been left for this very purpose.
The silence stretched between them again, too long this time. Long enough Calsin grew sick of it.
“Locari.”
The younger Marine didn’t look up from his work. “Brother.”
Calsin’s voice stayed level, but there was something quieter beneath it. “How’s the shoulder?”
Calsin had asked a similar question earlier, noticing his Brother constantly rolling the appendage on their way back. Apparently two Pegasi managed a hardy hit on his pauldron—somehow not crushing themselves at the speed they went—and while the attack left no permanent damage it was enough for Locari to still feel it afterwards.
Locari paused for half a second, feeling the soreness. “Fine. Merely sore.”
Calsin didn't pester further, but he didn’t look away either. The shoulder wasn’t the problem, neither was it the actual question he was meaning to ask.
He resisted an exhale and returned to his work.
Their destination was set. During their movement to and from the xenos city, Calsin had been tracking the other beacons besides Queren's. Caedus had gone dark, his signal vanishing after a sudden disruption, it returned later a significant distance west of where it was. Marnel, southeast, remained steady, and Calsin used his signal to make an estimate of the distances he was working with. Though still far, Marnel was closer than Caedus. Their path was decided.
Another matter remained.
The shards.
Calsin removed the pouch from his belt, holding it in his palm and unlatching the leather to expose the inside. The fragments shimmered under the sun's light, catching the faint reflection of his armor. Unknown. Dangerous. He had taken them for a reason, but he wasn’t going to allow them so close without proper measure any longer.
The Cuprum Lords did not take xenos relics lightly. They did not hoard alien artifacts for curiosity’s sake, nor did they allow unchecked study. Knowledge was a weapon, but one to be wielded with care. Every artifact they took was cleansed, examined, then destroyed. No exceptions. Corruption, taint, the insidious touch of the warp—these things festered in the tools of the alien, waiting to take root in the minds of those weak and unprepared.
Calsin moved to the Thunderhawk’s storage and retrieved a containment unit. It was a tool of the Indomitus Crusade, originally designed for securing Tyranid bio-samples. Its function had since expanded. The device hummed softly as he placed the shards inside, the field generator activating, locking them in stasis.
“It's dangerous to keep those with you,” Locari spoke at last. His tone was sharp, his gaze fixed on the container. “Without the Chaplaincy to cleanse it.”
The sword once in his hand now rested on the seat beside him—clean of major debris. His empty bolter lay in hand, its chamber exposed as he ran through inspections—but his attention was now elsewhere.
Calsin sealed the unit, ensuring the locks were tight. “I know the risks,” he replied evenly. “If this thing was so important to them, I want to ensure it won’t be a threat. If there are more, we need to understand them. Then it will be destroyed.”
A pause hung in the air.
Calsin looked at Locari a moment longer. His gaze drifted—not to the armor, but to the subtle, stiff way Locari moved. The quiet signs of pain. Apparently the familiar comfort of the Thunderhawk let Locari lower his guard ever so slightly. Just enough for Calsin to see the clear sign of an injury being hidden.
The few new scratches of ceramite were nothing to fret over, but the hole in Locari’s undersuit? That was something to fret over.
Calsin blink-clicked a rune in his helm’s retinal-display, his vision washed with green and the clear sight of what Locari seemed to be hiding.
Before Locari could reply, Calsin moved closer. Without hesitation, his hand clamped onto Locari’s pauldron, yanking him slightly forward. Locari barely had time to register the movement before Calsin’s other hand gripped something embedded in his abdomen and tore it free in one swift motion.
Pain flashed, sharp but brief. Locari inhaled sharply, his hand clenched. Calsin straightened, holding a jagged crystal shard between his fingers, its edges glistening with fresh blood.
Locari exhaled, voice tight and louder with displeasure. “Was that necessary?” He chambered his weapon closed and left it on a seat beside him. His fingers brushed the spot where the pain lingered. He hadn’t noticed the wound—had assumed it was a strained muscle or bruise too minor to bother with.
Calsin crushed the crystal into dust. “It was necessary the moment you failed to report an injury.”
Locari leaned left and right, testing the wound. Already, it was sealing. “It was minor. You could’ve warned me at least.”
“No wound is minor,” Calsin said, voice edged with irritation. “Especially not to me. And quit your whining.”
Locari scoffed. “You worry over me like a mother bird to her hatchling.”
A spray left Calsin’s belt and into his hand. He sprayed disinfectant into the wound as he checked for any unusual signs. No chances were to be taken, regardless of their physiology.
He set the tool back to his belt, satisfied Astartes healing would finish what remained.
“I worry over you like a brother,” Calsin corrected. “You didn’t complain this much when you were put before me on the operation table.”
Locari smirked, flexing his shoulder once more before letting it rest. “After the first few cuts, I didn’t have the voice for it.”
Calsin snorted. “Yet you still had the throat to yell throughout the whole night. Be glad you weren't as bad as some of the other Aspirants.”
The exchange felt familiar. Almost normal. But the normality didn't last long enough to savor.
Locari shook his head amusedly, but the amusement settled as his gaze drifted back to the contained shards.
“That wasn’t just some piece of xenos tech or a random artifact,” Locari said. His voice was lower, more measured. “What it did… I worry just where it derives its energy from. If it still holds surprises.”
Calsin regarded the shards himself. He had seen it as well. The surge of light, the power that had flared to life the moment Locari had touched it, the cold Calsin felt run up his spine as the energy froze his brother in place, leaving him shouting while kneeled. That couldn't happen again. Had the enemy activated the Heart sooner they may have had both Astartes at their mercy.
“If any more surprises happen, we destroy it immediately,” he said, his tone final.
Locari studied Calsin a moment longer, then nodded. “Good to hear.”
Daedryn and the others lay peacefully in the hold of the Thunderhawk, their bodies gathered in solemn procession. Even in death, they remained unbowed.
The cracked ceramite, the warpflame-scorched plating, the bloodstains that would never be washed away—these were the marks of their final battle. Their deaths had been brutal. Unfitting. With no victory to give their efforts meaning.
They could not bury their dead, nor burn them in a proper pyre—there was no time, and they could not draw attention so soon. Their bodies would be consumed when the Thunderhawk was destroyed, their remains erased along with the vessel.
It was not the sendoff they deserved, but it was what the circumstances allowed.
Their souls, however, would be given their due.
Calsin knelt beside Daedryn first, placing a gauntleted hand on the fallen Techmarine’s chest. The cold metal met cold armor, but the weight of the gesture was not lost. He murmured the recitations, the words heavy with the weight of tradition.
His voice was steady. It did not falter.
Calsin had performed these rites more times than he cared to count. Each name spoken was a weight he carried, but his duty did not allow for hesitation. An Apothecary did not waver in the face of death. These brothers deserved more than a weak-hearted man incapable of giving them their rites without pause or stutter.
But Daedryn was different.
The red of Mars adorned his armor alongside the gray and copper of the Cuprum Lords, a symbol of his dual allegiance. Most Techmarines grew distant over time, their minds slowly aligning more with the cold logic of the Omnissiah than the flesh-and-blood brotherhood of their Chapters. Many among the Chapter shunned them; considered them barely above outsiders.
Daedryn had never fully embraced that distance.
Calsin remembered a moment in the quiet aftermath of another battle won, aboard the Sworn Under Dawn, the flagship of the 7th company. The Thunderhawk’s machine spirit had been uncooperative, its systems aggravated and restless after having survived a freak artillery shot by a now dead group of traitorous mortals. Calsin had watched the ongoing repairs in the edge of his sight, his own task overseeing the cargo of gene-seed he had amassed from the battle. It was a particularly nasty conflict, Calsin had remembered.
Daedryn had been working on the reactor's diagnostic core, his mechadendrites weaving through tangled cables with inhuman precision. Calsin had made a remark, half in jest, about the Techmarine’s binary incantations.
"All those chants, yet it still sputters like a dying servo-skull, is it getting anywhere?" Calsin had said, watching the Techmarine mutter strings of Machine Cant.
Most of Daedryn’s peers would have responded with doctrinal rigidity, a lecture on the Omnissiah's will or the sacred rites of maintenance. But Daedryn had simply paused, his green optics flicking toward Calsin.
"The Machine Spirit listens, but sometimes it just needs a firm hand," Daedryn had replied, his vox-grille distorting what might have been a dry chuckle.
Then, after a beat, he’d added, "Not every spirit bends easy to prayer. Some things respond better to understanding. Or a wrench."
It had been a small thing—but it had stuck with Calsin.
Daedryn wasn’t just a tool of the Mechanicus, another freak sacrificed to the Machine Cult. Calsin would come to find that brotherhood won over Omnissial superstition in Daedryn's mind; Calsin respected him for that and more.
And now, the man who had once kept their Thunderhawk flying against impossible odds—kept their armor and armaments pristine—lay still, his work unfinished. And it never would be finished.
Calsin’s hand lingered on Daedryn’s chestplate for a moment longer than usual: out of respect.
For Locari, this was different. He had dealt with the dead before. He had his brother dying in his arms more times than he wished. But not like this, not so many.
He lingered over each body, taking in the names engraved on their armor. These weren’t just warriors—they were men. Men with lives and histories he’d never had the chance to fully hear.
Altheon. A man who enjoyed good wit and banter. That was Altheon’s gift—cutting through the grimness of war with humor that actually landed.
There was even a rumor—one that Altheon wore like a badge of honor—that he had once managed to get a chuckle from Captain Leontus. The very thought was absurd—Leontus regarded comedy as he would a tumor—but no one had ever managed to disprove it, and Altheon wore that rumor with pride, as if it were the greatest accolade he’d ever earned. Perhaps it was in a way.
Brother Vartus.
When Locari had first met him, there had been no complicated impressions, no layers to peel back. Vartus was an arse. Plain and simple.
From the moment Locari joined the squad, Vartus had made his opinion on the new blood painfully clear. His words were sharp, often dismissive, and he had a way of pointing out flaws that grated the nerves. It wasn’t that he lacked respect for his brothers—he simply had no patience for anything less than absolute perfection.
“If you’re going to fight like that, Venathor, make sure you’re the first to die. Saves the rest of us the trouble.”
Those had been Vartus’ first words to him after a joint training exercise. No preamble, no camaraderie—just brutal honesty delivered without flinching.
Locari disliked him for it.
But over time, he came to understand that Vartus wasn’t cruel. He was uncompromising. His abrasiveness was a push to be better. The bar he set for himself was impossibly high, and he expected no less from his brothers. If you could survive his lip, you could survive anything.
Locari could still remember the first time Vartus had shown him something resembling approval: After a grueling engagement against a xeno warband, Locari had held a defensive line alone—a sudden break in fortifications the Guard had failed to hold despite their efforts—his armor cracked and his bolter down to its last magazine.
After the battle, Vartus had clapped a heavy hand on Locari’s shoulder, his gauntlet pressing into the fresh dents in Locari’s pauldron.
“You didn’t die,” Vartus had said gruffly. “Shame. I was starting to like the idea of less competition.”
It was the closest thing to a compliment Vartus had ever given. It meant a lot to Locari. He had grown to admire Vartus, for never hiding his opinion behind worthless niceties or manners. Every conversation, Locari would learn from.
But no more.
Then there was Brother Serrian.
Serrian had been an Initiate of Lord Hadran, same as Locari, though they had little interaction—different squads. A brother connected by lineage, by shared lessons, by the same voice that had once guided them both. Locari felt a tightness in his chest—a weight heavier than what he would soon carry.
He remembered overhearing Serrian during training exercises, reciting Hadran’s teachings with a quiet reverence that mirrored his own. They had shared a bond, even if unspoken—a shared respect for the Chaplain who had shaped them both.
Locari had heard the whispers of Serrian in the barracks one day, the quiet conversations between Neophytes after lights out. Serrian had almost been taken by Sol’s Touch.
Sol’s Touch, Ember Curse by some, was something every Neophyte endured after surviving the gene-seed surgeries. Locari remembered his own trial—the searing heat radiating from every inch of his body, his muscles locking as if his very bones were aflame. The pain had been indescribable, a torment that bent even the strongest minds toward madness.
It wasn’t just the heat. The agony twisted the mind, making it impossible to make sense of the surroundings. Initiates became violent, lashing out at anyone nearby. To prevent harm to themselves or others, they were restrained with chains bolted to the ground. The iron bit into flesh as much as it did into sanity, holding them down while the body decided whether to accept the Emperor’s gift—or reject it.
Locari had survived it.
Others did not.
Neophytes taken by it suffered a cruel death. Their bodies would combust, consumed by flames that no amount of suppression could save them from. Even if the fire was extinguished, it didn’t matter—the gene-organs would violently reject the host, tearing them apart from within. Once the fire began, death was inevitable.
Serrian had come close. Too close.
Locari had heard that Serrian’s skin had blistered to the point of rupture, that his restraints had groaned under the strain of his thrashing. But he avoided the final death toll. Somehow, he had pulled back from the edge.
Most would have seen that as a victory. It was a victory. One among the many Serrian Veilen would earn.
Now all that was left was the corpse below his boot. How he wished for the small mercy to grant Serrian a proper pyre, in the very least.
What would Hadran say if he saw this?
Locari’s jaw clenched beneath his helm. He wished he had known Serrian better. There was a sense of failure gnawing at him—not because he hadn’t fought hard enough, but because he hadn’t listened enough. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t learned their stories, their victories, their ambitions.
They were more than names etched into copper-cored chain links, but that’s all they were to him now. And that felt like betrayal.
He felt an emptiness without Altheon’s wit, Vartus’ judgment, Serrian’s comradery.
Locari knew by now the 7th company would be finished mourning these men. He didn’t know how to feel about the fact that they mourned him. He wanted to believe some would know the truth, but that would be a ridiculous idea.
He would have to be the one to illuminate the living on that matter. He would ensure some justice came to the truly dead.
With the rites completed, they turned to the irons draped over the dead.
Calsin retrieved them from the fallen, the links heavy in his hands. He added the recent dead to the long line of honored men. Each one bore the name of its owner, and a mark of their place among the Chapter. These would not be left behind—never were they left behind. No Lord was ever forgotten.
Locari stood before him, waiting. By the standard of tradition, as the surviving member of the squad, he was to carry them. Calsin held them out, but Locari hesitated.
"Would you bear some of them?" Locari asked, his voice softer now. "I wish for them to be beside you as well. To aid you, even in death, to guide you alongside the Emperor.”
By chapter traditions Brother-Apothecaries did not bear the weight of many chains in their service. When a warrior met their end their chains were removed from their person, and in the best scenario would be taken to the Chaplains of the company. They would bless the chains as they added the link of the man who died, including them in the line of honored dead.
There were only a few possibilities for who they would go to. The squadron the marine served, a dear friend among brothers, a specialist of shared profession, or the man they had selected to replace them should they have held rank.
To put it simply, the Apothecary was the one who carried the hallowed adornment to their new bearer. Rarely was it for them to take on the weight themselves.
Calsin regarded him for a moment, then nodded. He separated the links, dividing them between them. He removed a tool from the vessel, a stamping tool, to affix the chains to their armor.
In better times, such a sacred practice would be carried out in the quiet halls of the company shrine. Incense holders would burn special mixes into the air; sermons written for that moment would be sung by the Chaplain overseeing the process.
Oaths would be written and wrapped around the chains, said parchment drenched in oils that seeped to the metal, binding oath to iron. Only the grandest of chapter relics held a purity and power that bested such a thing. Of all the embellishments a warrior could hold, the chain stamped to their plate was regarded most above all.
Calsin took his set and stamped the chains onto Locari’s pauldron, securing them with a firm press, another set stamped to his chest, and another wrapped to his right arm, where they would remain. Locari did the same, stamping the links onto Calsin’s left vambrace, and another set joining the ones already wrapped around his belt.
The weight of them was almost unfamiliar. It had been long since he had to take on the burden. The chain wrapped around his belt was aged and worn, some as old as the armor he wore.
They had been his brothers. Men he knew so long ago, and now these men he fought alongside so recently.
Now they would go where the living walked. Beside them in battle, even in death.
Locari retrieved the last charge from its container. He set the device at the Thunderhawk’s core.There was no hesitation. The ship had served its purpose—it would not fall into enemy hands.
The charge was set on a timer, long enough for them to be far beyond the blast radius. By the time it detonated, they would be little more than shadows among the trees.
Locari straightened, his helmeted gaze sweeping over the vessel’s interior one last time. The Thunderhawk had been their bastion, their refuge after every engagement. It had carried them across the void, across countless battlefields before even his own time, its hold once filled with the voices of their brothers. How many men had this vessel seen? How many wars has it fought and won? It was hollow, now. A tomb, waiting for its final breath.
His gaze lingered on the fallen for a moment longer—not in sorrow—in acknowledgment. They were at peace now. They had served their Emperor with honor.
He left the Thunderhawk, stopping just outside of its entrance. He opened a pouch, removing a long red bundle of rolled fabric: Procurans heraldry. He let the loincloth unfurl, moving lazily with the cold wind.
“Will you burn it with the rest?” Calsin asked from behind.
Locari gave the thought a moment to mix with his own. Without precedent, the choice was his to decide.
“No,” was the decision he settled on. “It goes with me. And if we—by the Thrones grace—return, I will have it displayed to honor him. Honor all of them.”
He took the cloth, leaning his chained pauldron forward enough to reach the chains on it. He worked in silence, securing the cloth beneath the tightly wrapped iron, weaving it under the chains as if binding it to them. The fabric settled there, tucked under it. It was wrapped in a way that one would still see the heraldry clearly.
Locari turned, grabbing the bag of supplies set aside for him and his weaponry, securing his pistol in its holster, sword to his thigh plate, bolter to his back plate, and the bag’s strap resting on his shoulder. Calsin was already set to go, taking the lead as they stepped into the forest.
The noises of the forest had grown quiet, the only sound echoing throughout the wilds was the rattling of chain on plate and the heavy steps of their boots. They moved at an easy marching pace, thirty kilometers an hour, they had to be wary of shrapnel.
Minutes passed in silence. Then—
A sudden, violent eruption tore through the forest.
A searing white light flared behind them, bright enough to carve their shadows into the trees ahead. The ground shuddered beneath their boots as a shockwave ripped through the air, sending a rolling wind howling past them, scattering leaves and branches like chaff. A moment later, sound caught up—an earsplitting detonation—had they been without their helms—not a mere explosion but an unmaking.
The Thunderhawk did not burn. It ceased to exist.
Where it had rested, there was now only a billowing column of fire and pulverized earth, reaching skyward in a roiling plume. Molten shrapnel—some chunks thick as the heavy logs—shot through the trees, sizzling as it embedded into bark and dirt. The sheer force of it left a pressure in the air, pressing against their armor even at a distance.
Calsin did not look back. Neither did Locari.
They moved forward, the forest swallowing them once more.
Their last tether to their original mission was erased.
Gone were the snow-laden woods near the Thunderhawk’s resting place. As they moved further south, the land beneath their boots softened, the thick frost giving way to patches of damp earth where ice had begun to melt. The air lost its northern bite, turning heavier, wetter.
The trees, once skeletal with frost, now dripped with meltwater, their trunks dark and slick. What had been a silent, frozen forest was now alive with the quiet sound of water dripping from branches, pooling in the undergrowth.
A distant murmur of moving water reached their ears—a river ahead. The northern winds failed to reach here, leaving the normal climate to win out.
Locari barely noticed.
The weight of the new chains against his armor was an ever-present reminder of their burden. With each motion, the links jingled softly—a familiar sound, yet not one that soothed him. He had always carried the dead with him, but today, their presence did little to temper his thoughts.
His mind had not been clear since they left the city.
It was the voice.
That was what had been gnawing at his thoughts. Not the battle. Not the blood. Not even the weight of the dead.
That voice.
He still didn’t know what to make of it.
It was powerful—not in force or volume, but in presence.
It carried weight, not like a High Chaplain’s sermon or an officer’s command, but something else. Something undeniable. It had not commanded him. Had not tried to bend him to its will. It simply was.
And that was what disturbed him most.
Daemon whispers had a tell—there was always something unnatural about them, a sickness that clung to the words, twisting into the mind like barbed hooks. Sorcery left a mark, an aftertaste of filth that even the purest flame could not scrub away.
But this?
This voice had been clean.
“…a bastion… against the dark…”
“…in their unity… it shall burn…”
“…in their love, it shall forge a shield… no evil can breach…”
“…remain steadfast… no shadow shall claim them…”
Locari’s jaw clenched. He remembered the words too clearly, burned into his thoughts like a brand. It wasn’t just the words, either. It was what came with them. A feeling. A weight lifted.
That was no comfort.
His whole life had been one of weight—of purpose pressing against him like unrelenting stone. Duty was a weight, faith was a weight, the memory of the fallen was a weight. But they were his weight to bear. He had never felt the absence of them before, and now, for the first time, he did. A weight he never even knew to be there, a pressing on his mind, now gone.
And he despised it.
His mind was forged in fire, hardened against the horrors of war. He had seen monsters beyond reason, had cut down things that would have shattered a mortal’s sanity. He did not falter. He did not dwell on foolish thoughts, especially not the echoes of some dead xenos artifact.
Yet, he still remembered.
Not the words exactly—only the few he could gain through the blinding light—but the feeling.
And every time his eyes flicked toward Calsin’s belt, toward the container holding the shards, that feeling came creeping back.
He exhaled sharply, his frustration crackling through the vox like static.
He was letting nonsense distract him.
He forced his thoughts elsewhere. The world around him was changing, and he forced himself to see it.
The snow had faded, retreating into slushy hollows. The ground beneath their boots was soft and damp, not the brittle frost-covered dirt they had grown accustomed to. Water dripped lazily from thawing branches, pooling in the thick roots of ancient trees. The air carried a different scent now—earthy, rich, alive.
It was strange, how the world had gone from frozen silence to this quiet renewal.
Good. Focus on that.
Not on the shards.
Not on the voice.
And certainly not on the unsettling feeling in the pit of his gut that refused to leave.
His gaze shifted to Calsin, and then to the blinking light on his Narthecium.
A notification.
“Your cogitator calls for you,” Locari said, his tone flat, though the words felt like a small anchor pulling him back to the present.
Calsin raised his arm, glancing at the small display on his gauntlet. “How could I have forgotten,” he muttered, more to himself than Locari, though there was a faint edge of annoyance in his voice—whether at the oversight or the data, Locari couldn’t tell.
Locari tilted his head slightly. “What is it?”
"The blood analysis," Calsin said. The sample had been fully processed hours ago, but the chaos of the mission had pulled his focus elsewhere.
Calsin pulled the vial from his belt, examining it for a moment before speaking again. “It needs cleaning anyway.” His tone was dismissive, but Locari could hear the underlying curiosity in his words.
Calsin popped the stopper and let the fluid drain onto the ground, the dark liquid pooling briefly before being absorbed by the damp earth.
The further they walked, the more the snow faded, shrinking into slush-filled hollows beneath the trees. The ground turned soft, the frozen crunch of their boots replaced by the muffled steps of damp soil.
“Are you always this thorough with waste?” Locari asked after a moment, his voice cutting through the quiet. It wasn’t mockery or a real question—just an attempt to shake off his own lingering thoughts.
Calsin didn’t look up. “Thoroughness is why we’re still alive, Brother.” His tone was measured, but there was a faint hint of dry amusement there.
Locari snorted, his lips curling into the briefest of smirks beneath his helm. “Here I thought it was our charming personalities.”
“If that were true, we’d have died long ago.”
Thin streams of water carved winding paths through the underbrush, pooling in shallow puddles that rippled as droplets fell from overhead branches. The scent of wet bark and rich earth hung thick in the air, replacing the dry sting of frost.
The wind still carried the last breath of the cold north, but here, deeper in the woods, the chill couldn’t reach the land.
Calsin approached the river they had been following and plunged the vial into the cool waters. He watched as the remnants of the blood mixed with the current, swirling briefly before being carried downstream.
An alien fish darted past, its scaled body glinting in the filtered light. It vanished the moment Calsin shifted his gauntlet beneath the surface.
Locari watched from a few paces away, his gaze flicking between the river and the container strapped to Calsin’s belt. The shards sat silent, but the memory of the voice gnawed at him.
Calsin pulled the vial from the water, shaking off the excess before tapping his gauntlet interface.
Hours had passed since he had begun the analysis, yet with everything that had transpired, it had been left to idle within the machine’s memory. Finally having a moment of quiet, Calsin could satisfy his curiosity.
He raised his arm, tapping through the interface.
Lines of data unfurled across the small screen—readouts of biological structure, chemical compositions, and genomic sequences. At a glance, nothing unusual stood out.
"Nothing too notable," he murmured, mostly to himself.
Locari shot him a glance. “Are you disappointed?”
Calsin didn’t respond immediately, his focus locked on the data. “A little. With them resembling Equines so much I had expectations for a surprise. I guess such a similar hemoglobin somewhat satiates that want.”
It was standard—predictable. The hemoglobin structure was functional for a terrestrial vertebrate, its oxygen-carrying capacity efficient but unremarkable. Enzyme profiles aligned with creatures adapted for endurance, metabolic rates consistent with their stature. Skeletal density, calcium retention—everything as expected.
Calsin’s voice was low, almost clinical as he spoke aloud. "Hormonal regulation is standard for a vertebrate of their stature. Neurological structuring aligns with quadrupedal coordination. Even their skeletal calcium retention is predictable given their apparent dietary habits.”
Locari let out a dry chuckle. “You sound like a Magos Biologis giving a sermon.”
Calsin’s lips twitched faintly, but he said nothing.
Then he stopped.
The words had left his tongue without thought, a routine continuation of a process he had done a thousand times over. But now, as his mind caught up with what his eyes were seeing, he felt his breath still in his chest.
The screen had flagged something.
At first, he thought it a mistake—some insignificant irregularity, an anomaly to be dismissed with further testing. He adjusted the parameters, refining the scan.
The readings returned unchanged.
Calsin narrowed his eyes.
He was looking at something fundamental—something that should not have been.
The genome sequencing had completed, each chain mapped, each data point analyzed and categorized within the cogitator’s vast library of known structures. The system had already run its comparisons, cross-referencing with the exhaustive biological records stored within the Narthecium.
That was where the problem lay.
It wasn’t xenos.
It wasn’t alien.
It wasn’t other.
He scrolled back, isolating the comparative analysis, confirming what his instincts had already told him.
The genetic structure was Terran.
His gauntlet stiffened as he gripped the vial tighter. His thoughts slowed, filtering through the information with clinical detachment, yet his body remained tense.
Xenos did not share genetic structure with humanity. It was a fact so ingrained, so absolute, that it had never needed questioning. In all his years as an Apothecary, in all the records of xeno studies, in all the histories of mankind’s encounters with the other, never had a species shared the sacred genetic foundation that marked those of Terra’s origin.
Yet here it was.
Base-pair formations. Protein synthesis patterns. Molecular replication processes. Every fundamental aspect of this blood—of this creature—aligned with the life forms that had once walked upon mankind’s cradle.
Not a facsimile. Not an approximation.
A match.
Calsin exhaled slowly, barely aware of the movement. His hands worked mechanically, retrieving disinfectant, clearing the vial with crisp efficiency, but his mind was elsewhere.
He ran the comparison again. The data returned the same. Every time.
He had known.
Somewhere, deep beneath his rationale, beneath his assumptions, he had known.
Even before the results.
Because the moment he had seen them—the moment he had laid eyes on their forms, on their world, on their expressions—some small part of him, some unconscious fragment of memory buried within the depths, had whispered a single truth.
They were not xenos.
They were Terran.
Calsin didn’t dwell on the thought. He rarely did. But there had been a flicker of something familiar when he first saw them. Not in their faces, nor their colors, but in their shapes—the way their bodies moved, the way they carried themselves, the noise of their hooves on the ground, the animal noises they made in fear of him. It had stirred something he hadn’t thought of in centuries.
Before he had become Astartes, before the endless wars, he had been the son of a Feudal World nobleman—the name of both long lost to him. Horse riding had been as natural to him then as wielding a bolter was now. The creatures he’d once ridden—noble, strong, loyal—remained in his memory. He kept an image of one in his quarters, he believed it was what his horse had looked like.
The ponies of this world were not horses. But they were close enough that some deep part of him had recognized the difference. They were too similar. Too familiar.
It hadn’t registered then, not fully. But now, with the data in front of him, he could no longer deny it.
They were not xenos. They were Terran.
The thought settled over him like a weight, heavy, immovable. It was not shock, not disbelief. It was something colder. Something deeper.
This changed everything.
And yet—
His grip tightened around the vial.
It changed nothing.
Mutation. Corruption. Divergence. The sins of genetic deviation; diverging from the Emperor’s will. For that, then, they will die.
They were abominations, a twisting of what should have been sacred flesh. No matter how close their blood aligned with humanity, they had strayed too far from His vision. The Imperium’s will was clear: the mutant, like the heretic and the witch, must be purged. It was a simple truth, ingrained in him since his earliest days as an Astartes. They had shared man's cradle once, but they were not human. They were a stain upon what the Emperor built.
The knowledge settled in his bones like steel. He did not hate them, they were mere animals. He would not feel pity. He only felt action to be taken.
He had faced horrors across the galaxy—daemons of the warp, the filth of the xenos, the arrogance of the traitor. These creatures were another footnote in the ledger of necessary extermination.
Calsin stood slowly, his mind still parsing through the weight of what he had just confirmed. His gauntlet flexed around the vial, he returned it to its pouch.
He thought back to what Locari had said before, ‘some human presence.’ Calsin wasn’t certain, but he knew Locari’s idea had more credence now. He wondered why; why were these things, these offshoots of Terran life here? Were they made purposely? Was this world one of the many that had not survived the perils of Old Night, where humans had only been able to leave their markings behind?
His mind was still sorting through the implications. He noticed Locari’s gaze facing the sky, his attention firmly on distant specks.
“Seems they noticed the detonation,” Locari observed.
Calsin followed Locari’s gaze to the sky. A group of Pegasi circled over the billowing smoke rising to the clouds. Even from so far away he could see the glint and color of golden war-plate on their bodies. A different unit, perhaps? He couldn’t say with certainty what the armor change meant, if it meant anything. It could be another faction. For now it didn’t matter.
What mattered was that they hadn’t seen the Marines, and Calsin doubted they could from this distance.
Calsin straightened to his full height. “A blast of that magnitude would have drawn attention from kilometers away.” His tone was flat, clinical. “It will serve as a fine distraction—we’ll have all the time we need to make distance.”
Locari grunted in agreement. His gaze lingered on the distant figures a moment longer before shaking his head. “Still, that took them long enough.”
Calsin let out a quiet exhale through his vox. “They are not trained for war—not ours, in the least.” His tone carried the weight of certainty. “Even the ones that fought us lacked true discipline. Their response time is sluggish.”
Locari scoffed, his amusement tinged with something harder. “You say that now, but I suspect they’ll be faster next time.”
Calsin didn’t give it a response. Locari wasn’t wrong. These creatures were organized enough to build cities; it would be foolish to assume they couldn’t adapt.
They walked in silence for a time, the distant river murmuring beside them. The only other sound was their own: the rhythm of chains, their stomping steps, the whirring of power packs, the noises that came standard with forcing heavy material to move so fluidly.
But Calsin hadn’t forgotten what he noticed about his brother. The quiet and temperament.
Calsin had seen it before: the way a brother withdrew into himself, letting his thoughts fester in the silence. The mission was done, but Locari’s mind was still in that city. Whatever held Locari’s thoughts had done so long enough.
Calsin wasn’t one for idle chatter, but he knew when it served a purpose. If the silence gave Locari’s thoughts too much room to grow, then conversation would fill that space. Even if it was just banter, it might help.
So, he spoke.
“Something is on your mind, Brother. Would you share it with me?”
Calsin let the question linger. He would allow Locari to decide.
“We need a name,” Locari said suddenly.
Calsin tilted his helm slightly, caught off guard but seizing the opportunity. “A name?”
“For the xenos.” Locari adjusted his grip on his bolter. “We need to call them something.”
Calsin noticed the change. He was glad for it. “They already have a name. We heard it.”
Locari shook his head, the motion slight but definitive. “I’m not calling them ‘ponies.’” He repeated the word, slower this time, as if tasting it. “It feels wrong. Almost childish.” He glanced at Calsin. “You called them something before. Something with ‘equine.’”
Calsin considered for a moment. “Equine, yes.” His voice was even, detached. “A broad designation for quadrupedal, hoofed organisms. Their proportions match those of Terran equines, but with anatomical variations. The horns and wings, for instance.”
Locari hummed thoughtfully. “Better. Sounds more fitting.” He gestured vaguely to their surroundings. “This place feels strange to me—wrongly familiar, as if I’ve seen it somewhere before. Maybe it’s because of them.”
Calsin did not respond immediately. He took a measured breath, his mind still sifting through the weight of his discovery. It had taken only moments for the truth to reveal itself, but already, its implications stretched further than he cared to acknowledge.
Locari noticed the silence and turned his head slightly. “What is it?”
Calsin kept his gaze forward. “They are not xenos.”
Locari’s steps faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. His voice was calm, but there was something unreadable beneath it. “They aren't?”
Calsin exhaled through his nose. “The blood analysis. I confirmed it.” He tapped his vambrace. “Genetically, they are not alien. They are Terran.”
Locari was silent. His pace had not slowed, his expression unreadable behind his helm. But Calsin could feel the weight of his thoughts.
When he finally spoke, it was with careful deliberation. “Mutants, then.”
“Yes.”
Locari was quiet for a long moment. His next words came slowly. “How’d that happen?”
Calsin looked down thoughtfully. “Perhaps an echo of Old Night? Maybe some event closer to our time, considering their Gothic; if there were answers I doubt we could find them. But it is unmistakable. Their structure is Terran in origin.”
“Then this world—” Locari gestured around them, to the rivers, the forests, the animals he now viewed differently. “It was ours.”
Calsin nodded. “At some point, yes.”
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant whisper of the river and the rhythmic clink of chains. The realization settled like cold iron, but neither spoke of it further—not yet.
Eventually, Locari scoffed, shaking his head. “By the Throne,” he muttered. “A world of degenerate mutant animals.” He let out a dry chuckle. “What exactly are they mutants of?”
Calsin didn’t immediately reply, his helm dipping slightly in thought. “Technically, they would be closest to a ‘horse.’”
Locari glanced at him. “A what?”
Calsin turned his helm slightly toward Locari, as if ensuring he had actually heard what was just said. Locari, in turn, looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.
Calsin exhaled slowly, his tone flat. “A horse. A larger equine. Common on certain Imperial worlds. They have been used as mounts since before the His Crusade.”
Locari frowned, tilting his head slightly. “A mount.” His tone was skeptical, then after a moment, realization flickered. “Wait—those creatures some Guard regiments ride?”
“Among others.”
Locari made a sound of vague acknowledgment. “I saw them once. They looked ridiculous.”
Calsin let out a slow breath. “They are durable. Reliable.”
Locari raised a brow. “Durable? They seemed fragile to my eyes. Not much use compared to a transport.”
“Not everything requires ceramite plating.”
Locari scoffed. “Maybe not, but I saw one get hit by stray fire and collapse instantly. Didn’t even have the chance to scream.” He shrugged. “I don't see what use there is in taking such a useless animal along. Replace it with something that can take a hit, I say.”
“There's less to lose in a dead mount than a destroyed vehicle. The Guard have their reasons. The victories have proven the strategy sound,” Calsin Countered. “There is a nobility in braving the battlefield, with only sword and steed to fight with. Any loyal mortal with such courage has earned remembrance among their own.”
“There's no argument there,” Locari relented.
He continued, his tone shifting slightly. “So, these things—” he gestured vaguely around them, “are just smaller horses?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Locari hummed in thought. “Strange.” A pause. Then, casually, “Did you ever ride one?”
Calsin looked down in thought, catching Locari’s attention.
“Yes,” Calsin answered simply, but there was a softness in the word that didn’t escape Locari’s notice.
Locari’s helm tilted slightly, intrigued now. There weren’t any horses on Cupris, or if there were any he doubted they survived long, they certainly wouldn’t survive the hive. He waited, as if expecting further elaboration. None came, he assumed that was the end of that conversation.
Locari let out a short breath. “Mutants, then,” he repeated, as if testing the word, turning it over in his mind. His fingers tapped against his bolter, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. “I wish I had known that before.”
Calsin glanced at him, his helm barely tilting. “Would it have changed anything?”
Locari exhaled through his nose, eyes scanning the treeline ahead. “No.” His answer came without hesitation. He stepped over a gnarled root, his stride unbroken. “But I do not deal in uncertainty. If I am to kill, I do so knowing what stands before me.”
He gestured ahead with a flick of his gauntlet. “Alien. Mutant. Heretic. I know their kind. This?” He shook his head slightly, his tone edged with something unreadable. “It’s irritating—how little we know.”
Calsin’s voice was flat. “It does not matter. Xenos and mutants die the same.”
Locari nodded slightly. “They do.” But there was a weight to his voice now, something lingering beneath the words. His next step was heavier than the last. “But a mutant deserves acknowledgement above the xeno.”
Calsin let out a sharp exhale, the sound crackling through his vox. “Spare me.”
Locari continued, unfazed. “A xeno is an insult to mankind, by existing it slights us. The mutant… it is the same, but not entirely.” stepped over a fallen branch, his boots crunching into the frost beneath them. “Before mutation, its lineage was once pure. Once perfect under His light.”
Calsin’s fingers flexed slightly. “And then tainted. A thing that was human—or animal—but no longer is. Their blood is their heresy.”
Locari nodded. “I do not deny that.” His voice had lost the casual edge it carried before, turning colder. “I abhor the mutant. I will not hesitate to bring His justice upon them.” His next words came slower, his pace matching his thoughts. “But I have seen them, Brother. I have seen them, closer than I believe you have.”
Calsin’s helm turned slightly toward him, his crimson lenses flickering in the dim light of the canopy. “And what do you know of mutants?”
“More than I wish.” He set his bolter away, resting its strap on his shoulder. “The underhives of Cupris. The depths nobility never need to look at.” His tone was almost mocking now, but there was no venom in it—just a knowing amusement. “Where men rot, desperation festers. Down there, He is the only light they have.”
Calsin said nothing, but the slight shift of his helm indicated he was listening.
“Down there,” Locari continued, “I saw men twisted by the malice of the galaxy.” He adjusted the strap of his bolter, his fingers brushing against the well worn metal of the gun. “Men who were made victims. They did not choose it. They did not ask for it. Some were barely men at all when they were robbed of their humanity.” His voice was quiet now, almost distant. “I have seen them beg for forgiveness. Pray for the Emperor’s mercy as they extinguished themselves from their miserable lives—the lucky ones were killed young, before they knew what they were.”
They moved through a break in the trees, stepping into a small clearing where the river ran shallow. Few chunks of ice flowed along it, pieces carried away from the colder half of the forest.
Calsin’s voice did not waver. “Mutants are abominations. Their existence is a stain; to think anything else on the matter is a waste of time.”
Locari nodded, leaning forward briefly to gaze into the river, seeing what looked to be a fish swimming, before crossing. “And I will purge them all the same. But I will acknowledge that they were once something greater. That is the tragedy.”
Calsin hummed in thought. “Sentimentality does not suit you.”
Locari chuckled darkly as he stepped into the rushing water, the current lapping against his greaves. “Sentiment? No.” He looked over his shoulder at Calsin, his voice carrying a dry amusement. “Sentiment is sparing them. I do not spare them. I give them the only thing left to take—recognition.” His eyes flicked back to the other side of the river. “The closest to sentiment I will give is His mercy.”
Locari’s thoughts went back to their current foe. “But that is the mutant stripped of humanity. These ponies never had it. They are mere animals.”
Calsin let Locari’s words settle in his mind, giving them thought. He followed Locari across. “You think too softly. I’ve seen where such ideas lead lesser men.” Calsin stepped back onto dry land a moment after Locari. “But you aren't a lesser man. You were taught by Lord Hadran, I presume. Such a philosophy would come from him.”
Locari’s grip tightened on his bolter, his words held a hint of nostalgia. “Not just taught. He was my Initiator.” He stepped onto the shore, shaking the river water from his boots. “All manner of things to being Astartes—I learned from his tutoring.”
Calsin gave a slight nod, as if that answer was expected. “He certainly holds uncommon views among the Chaplaincy.” Calsin stepped out from the water soon after, not bothering to shake the mud from his white-plated legs.
A gust of wind cut through the trees, hitting the two head-on—it was warmer. Calsin’s fabrics and parchment followed the gust lazily. Locari listened to the whistle the wind made going around his chains and armor, letting the silence stretch for a moment before speaking again.
“I learned much from him. His words carried a weight beyond any man beside him, few among us have a greater presence.” His voice was quieter now, reflective. “I remember a time with Lord Hadran. I was still a Neophyte, fresh from Sol’s touch. We had taken new ground from rebels on Kartheos, and I stood among a mountain of their corpses. He had taken time to gaze upon the felled.” He exhaled sharply. “I expected a speech of wrath. Of fire and vengeance.”
“Instead, he knelt beside the dead and said, ‘What a waste.’” Locari shook his head slightly. “At the time, I thought it weakness. It took me time to understand.”
Calsin knew Lord Hadran well, and knew the man's philosophy. “He saw the cost taken for treachery. The wasted lives.”
Locari nodded. “He saw men. Not just enemies. Not just numbers. Men who should have been warriors, should have been honorable soldiers for the Imperium. But instead, they became obstacles to be cut down. Mindless traitors stolen from His light, some willing, some not.” He scoffed. “I used to think it made him soft. Now, I know it made him wise.”
Calsin’s helm tilted slightly. “And yet, they still died.”
Locari nodded. “Of course. That was never in question. By Sol and Throne, Brother, I will never shy from duty.”
The two of them walked in silence for a time, the river now behind them, the sky above dimming as dusk began to settle over the land. The conversation lingered between them, not fully closed, but not needing to be.
Calsin adjusted the weight of his chains, the iron tapping against his vambrace. “Lord Hadran, with all his splendor and greatness, was an odd one. Every conversation with the man seemed illuminating. It's as if a great tome of the greatest minds were forged into a man.”
Locari looked up with reverence to old memories. “Yes. I think the Chapter would be worse without men like him.”
Calsin did not disagree.
The canopy began to wane, the thick trees giving way to thinning woodland before finally breaking apart entirely. The towering pillars of the forest, which had enclosed them in their cold embrace for so long, now stood behind them like a wall of blackened limbs, their branches stretching toward the sky in vain. Ahead of them, the landscape unfurled, untouched and vast.
They crested a shallow hill, and there, spread out before them, the world opened like an old scroll.
The plains stretched outward, a vast sea of green and gold, with rolling hills that rose and fell in gentle undulations. The wind swept across the grasslands, carrying the scent of wildflowers and distant rivers. It was a sight Locari hadn’t expected—a world fit for the label Paradise. Untouched in all manners he knew.
It was rare to see such beauty. Too rare.
His life had been forged in the fires of battle, the ugliness of war and decay. To see something this pure felt like staring at a lie. A beautiful one, but a lie all the same.
But it wasn’t the plains that caught his attention.
To their right, a single mountain rose high above the horizon, its peak piercing the clouds like a blade. It wasn’t the height that drew Locari’s gaze—it was the city clinging to its side.
He paused, narrowing his eyes behind his helm. Even from this distance, the strange architecture was unmistakable. But the details were too far to see clearly.
With a blink-click, Locari activated a rune in his helmet, his lenses sharpening as they zoomed in. The city resolved in his view, and what he saw gave him pause.
The city wasn’t just nestled against the mountain—it was built into it.
Elegant spires rose skyward, their ivory walls gleaming faintly in the fading light. The rooftops were tipped with gold, catching the last rays of the setting sun and casting them in a warm, ethereal glow. Bridges and walkways crisscrossed the city, connecting towers that seemed to defy gravity, some of them appearing to hang precariously over the sheer cliffs.
Streams of crystal-clear water cascaded down the mountain’s edge, flowing through the city, as if the very stone had been carved to accommodate them. The falls shimmered, refracting the light into prismatic hues that danced across the rooftops.
Locari felt something stir in his chest—a strange, fleeting sense of admiration. A shame this world isn’t under Imperial rule, he thought. The Imperium could’ve made a Paradise World from this, such beauty earned preservation. Preserved under the Emperor’s light, where it belonged.
It was rare to see something like this beyond the limits of a painting or through the reinforced glass of a voidship. Worlds like this didn’t last. Not if his chapter's presence was needed there.
His helm clicked as he zoomed out slightly, shifting his gaze to the sky beside the mountain.
And there, floating impossibly in the air, was something even stranger.
Another city. But this one wasn’t built of stone or metal.
It was made of clouds.
Massive, billowing structures of pure white hung suspended in the air, their edges curling and swirling like mist caught in a breeze. But it wasn’t just the fact that the city floated—it was the order of it. The clouds weren’t random or chaotic; they were shaped, structured, crafted with purpose.
Towers of condensed vapor stretched skyward, while wide, curving platforms spun lazily around their bases. Bridges of cloudstuff connected the structures, and archways formed from thicker masses of mist gave the illusion of solid ground.
But the most striking feature of this floating city was the rainbows.
Brilliant, multicolored streams poured from the city’s edges, cascading down like waterfalls of light. The colors were vivid—far more vibrant than any natural rainbow Locari had ever seen. They shimmered and danced in the air, defying the laws of nature, bending in impossible ways.
Locari’s helm clicked again as his helm zoomed out fully, the full scope of the two odd cities settling into view.
For a long moment, neither he, nor his brother, spoke.
Locari broke the silence.
“Weird clouds,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between amusement and wariness. The sight was beautiful, yes—but it also felt unnatural. Sorcery or some abhorrent technology, no doubt.
Calsin snorted quietly through his vox. “Weird, indeed.”
Locari’s gaze lingered on the cities a moment longer. “It’s a shame,” he said, his voice low, almost reflective. “This world... it could’ve thrived under Imperial rule. It’s rare to see something like this. So untouched.”
Calsin’s helm turned slightly toward him, his tone sharper, more pragmatic. “I’d prefer a Death World.”
Locari glanced at him, not too surprised by the bluntness. “You would?”
Calsin nodded. “At least there, you know what to expect. The threats are clear. You don’t have to wonder when something will strike—it just does.” His gaze drifted back to the floating city. “This... peace. It’s irritating.”
Locari chuckled softly. “I can understand your feelings; I share them too. We’ve been in the field too long, Brother.”
“That we have.”
Worlds like this—worlds without the Imperium’s touch—made them wary. It grated on their instincts, the quietness of it all. The calm before a storm they couldn’t see yet.
Far off, movement caught their attention—specks of shadow passing through the sky. They were too distant to make out details, but their motion was deliberate, their forms sleek: more Pegasi.
They were far—too far to be a concern for the time being, but some were heading north in their direction.
They would need to move soon.
Locari exhaled through his nose, watching the distant figures drift through the sky. He let his gaze return to the land before them, taking in the vastness of it all.
It was rare, seeing a world like this. But rarity didn’t mean safety.
His helm tilted slightly upward. A flock of creatures—birds, perhaps, or something akin to them—moved in formation across the sky. Their flight was clean, purposeful, undisturbed by anything beyond the wind that carried them. There was peace in it.
And for just a moment, Locari let himself take it in.
Another silence stretched between them, but not an uncomfortable one.
Calsin was the first to turn away. He had seen enough.
“Let's not keep the journey waiting,” he said, already shifting his stance to move.
Locari took one last glance at the sky before following, eyeing another rune as he did so. A faint click snapped in his helm, only heard by him. He’d kept an image of the city. Its design pleased him, even if he would likely have to tear it down later.
They kept to the edge of the forest, where the tree line ran parallel to the plains. If anything approached, the trees would give them cover—a tactical advantage if needed.
They had no desire to shy away from a fight. But unless there were more rounds waiting for them at the journey’s end, they would take the excuse to save ammunition; Locari felt a twinge of annoyance at that.
He followed Calsin, finally taking his eyes away from the city.
An hour more in distance and the sun finally fell—far faster than it should have—replaced by the pale moon. Had they kept their sight on the city, they might’ve seen the cause.
The room was steeped in a heavy, almost oppressive quiet. The soft, magical glow of the lamps cast long shadows on the ancient stone walls, their flickering light giving the space an uneasy, shifting quality. It wasn’t just the figure on the table that caused the tension—it was the feeling in the room. The air was thick with something unspoken, something ancient.
Luna stood beside her sister, her gaze fixed on the massive figure lying still on the reinforced table. The giant’s armor was battered but still imposing, its strange, angular symbols catching the faint light. The longer Luna stared, the more those symbols seemed to pull at the edges of her thoughts. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t place them. They felt like a name she’d heard in a dream and forgotten the moment she woke.
Her eyes drifted over the figure’s broad chest plate to the double-headed eagle etched into the metal. That symbol was the worst of it. It stirred something in her, like a whisper at the back of her mind, but the meaning remained just out of reach. It was familiar—uncomfortably so—but alien all the same.
She glanced sideways at Celestia, who wore her usual calm expression, but Luna knew better. She could feel the subtle tension in her sister’s posture, the slight furrow of her brow. Celestia was unsettled, even if she wouldn’t show it openly.
The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken questions.
Then, the door creaked open.
Both sisters turned as Twilight stepped inside, and Luna’s heart clenched.
Twilight looked… fragile.
Her steps were slow, dragging slightly against the stone floor. Her wings drooped at her sides, her mane was unkempt, and dark circles shadowed her tired eyes. But it wasn’t just the physical exhaustion that struck Luna—it was the look in Twilight’s eyes. That distant stare of someone carrying a burden too heavy for their shoulders.
Luna’s throat tightened. She’d seen that look before, in herself, after her return from the moon. It was the weight of guilt and loss pressing down, suffocating in its silence.
“Anything?” Twilight’s voice was rough, strained, but it carried a flicker of desperate hope.
Celestia’s eyes softened, and she shook her head gently. “Nothing, I’m afraid. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Luna’s gaze flicked back to the figure. “It is… unlike anything we have encountered,” she echoed, though her mind was far from settled.
Twilight let out a breath, more a sigh of frustration than relief. She moved toward the table, her legs trembling slightly under her own weight. Luna caught the subtle stumble in her step. Twilight was pushing herself far beyond her limits.
But she didn’t stop.
Twilight’s eyes drifted to the figure on the table. The giant’s armor was scarred, but the skin beneath—bronze-tanned and marred with old wounds—looked untouched by decay. The face beneath the helmet was unsettling in its stillness, heavily scarred with a portion of the lower lip missing, revealing sharp white teeth. Molars, canines, incisors. An omnivore. She’d noted that earlier, and the realization hadn’t sat well.
Beside the table, a smaller workstation held the evidence Twilight had recovered from the Crystal Empire: metal casings, each stamped with that strange, twin-headed bird symbol. She didn’t recognize it, but the precision of the markings spoke volumes about whoever—or whatever—had made them.
Twilight moved closer, her horn glowing faintly as she levitated a small notebook from the table. Her notes were scattered, hurried, the usually neat writing now erratic and cramped. She hated disturbing the dead. But this thing—its kind had hurt her ponies. She would do what she had to.
“It’s strange,” she murmured, her voice cutting through the silence. “Their weapons, their armor… everything about them resists magic.”
Luna’s brow furrowed slightly, but she remained quiet, observing.
Twilight pressed on, her words gaining momentum even as her body betrayed her. Her legs wobbled again, and Luna saw the brief flicker of dizziness in her eyes. But Twilight wouldn’t stop.
“Even bringing him here was a struggle. My magic wouldn’t take hold. It was like trying to grab a greased stone.” She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “I had to pour far more energy into the spell than should have been necessary.”
To demonstrate, Twilight’s horn glowed brighter as she cast a simple levitation spell on the giant’s form. The glow enveloped the body, but the spell struggled, pulling only at the lightest adornments—the pouches on the figures belt, the strange trinkets embedded in the plating. The wax sealed parchment, a strange box on the belt, and wrappings on its still present arm didn't move at all, the magic seeming to be repulsed from them. It was as if the body itself fought her magic.
Twilight gritted her teeth, she frowned as she poured more magic into the spell. Slowly, the figure began to lift, the effort was clear in her expression—it was like trying to lift a boulder with body alone, and no Earth magic to do it. Forcing The spell she managed to lift it entirely off the ground.
She let the figure settle back onto the table with a dull thud and stumbled back, her breath ever harder.
“I think I figured out why,” she said, moving to a separate table where more artifacts had been laid out.
She gestured to a long, thin piece of ancient-looking parchment with a wax seal. Next to it was a gold and copper metal container, inside of which were carefully wrapped bones. The air around them felt… different. Thicker. As if the very presence of these objects bent the flow of magic around them.
“When these were removed,” Twilight continued, her voice growing weaker but her determination unshaken, “my magic worked just fine.”
To prove her point, she focused her magic on the helmet sitting nearby. It rose easily into the air, floating weightlessly in her grasp without the slightest resistance. She set it down again, her expression troubled but unwavering.
As she worked, Twilight absentmindedly pulled out another piece of parchment—a folded sheet she’d found tucked inside the giant’s armor. She had tried and failed to decipher it hours ago, and it had been relegated to the growing pile of mysteries she didn’t have time to solve. But she placed it on the table without thinking, her focus elsewhere as she organized the rest of the evidence.
Celestia’s gaze, however, caught on the parchment immediately.
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned the strange, angular script sprawling across the page. At first, it was just curiosity, but as her eyes followed the lines, something… clicked.
The letters twisted in her mind, falling into patterns that shouldn’t have made sense—but did. The more she read, the clearer it became. Her mind, sharp and ancient, moved like clockwork, piecing together the structure, the syntax, the rhythm of the language.
Luna noticed the shift in her sister’s expression and leaned in, her own eyes scanning the parchment. And she felt it too. The same strange understanding blossomed in her mind, like a puzzle she hadn’t realized she knew how to solve.
Neither of them spoke at first, too absorbed in the strange, unnerving realization.
Finally, Celestia broke the silence.
“It speaks of a ruler,” she murmured, her voice soft but firm. “A vast nation. And a… brotherhood. Warriors bound by some higher cause.”
Luna nodded slowly, her brow furrowed. “There are names here. Titles, perhaps. But the structure… it mirrors our own language in ways that are too deliberate to be coincidence.”
Twilight’s ears perked up at their words. She turned sharply, her eyes wide with disbelief—and something close to hope. “You can read it?” she asked, her voice breathless.
Celestia hesitated, then nodded. “Not fully. But enough to understand the basics.”
Twilight’s heart pounded in her chest. They had something. Finally, they had something.
But Luna’s eyes didn’t leave the parchment. There was a tension in her gaze, a quiet unease that settled like a shadow over her features. She wasn’t sure why they could read this language—but the fact that they could at all felt wrong.
Twilight didn’t notice. She was already gathering more artifacts, her hooves shaking slightly as she organized the papers. Her breath quickened, her focus blurring at the edges, but she wouldn’t stop.
“You need to rest, Twilight,” Celestia said gently, stepping closer. Her voice was soft, but the firmness beneath it was unmistakable.
Twilight shook her head, her jaw clenched in defiance. “I can’t rest. Not while those things are still out there. They could attack anywhere, at any time.” She swallowed hard. “And we finally have something. We can’t stop now.”
Luna stepped forward, her voice calm but carrying the weight of centuries of wisdom. “Equestria needs a leader with a clear mind, Twilight. You’re doing more harm than good by ignoring your own needs.”
Twilight opened her mouth to argue, but before she could speak, Luna suddenly froze.
Her eyes widened, her gaze snapping eastward as if she could see through the walls. Her ears twitched, and for a brief moment, her expression shifted—from calm to something sharp and unsettled.
Celestia noticed immediately.
Luna’s mouth opened as if to say something, but Celestia gently placed a hoof on Twilight’s shoulder, drawing her attention back.
“She’s right, Twilight,” Celestia said softly, her voice carrying that serene authority that had once ruled a nation, but layered with a deep, personal care. “Rest now. Let us handle this for the moment.”
Twilight’s resolve wavered under the weight of her mentor’s words. She looked between them, her lips pressed into a thin line, but the exhaustion in her eyes betrayed her. She sagged slightly, the fight draining from her posture.
“Alright,” she finally whispered. “Just… wake me if anything changes.”
“We will,” Celestia assured her, offering a small, comforting smile.
Twilight gave one last lingering glance at the figure on the table before turning and slowly trotting out of the room, her steps unsteady as the door clicked shut behind her.
The moment she was gone, Celestia turned to Luna. The softness in her expression faded, replaced by quiet scrutiny.
“What was it?” she asked, her voice low.
Luna didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the armored giant, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to see something beyond its physical form.
“A new soul,” she murmured at last, her voice distant. “It’s… sleeping. Its mind has joined the dreamscape.”
Celestia’s brow furrowed. “Is it one of them?”
“I would need to see it. But… perhaps.” Luna’s gaze lingered on the double-headed eagle, its stern visage catching the dim light, casting long, sharp shadows that danced along the walls. The symbol felt like a whisper at the back of her mind, elusive yet familiar, as if there was a name she would know for it.
“Did you feel it, as I did?” Luna’s voice was quieter now, laced with an unease that seldom touched her words.
Celestia followed her sister’s gaze, her eyes resting on the symbol carved into the giant’s chest plate. She didn’t speak immediately. The silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of lingering magic in the room.
Then, in a whisper barely louder than the shadows themselves, Celestia answered, “Yes.”
The word hung heavy between them.
There was something about that symbol—something that stirred in them at the sight of it. It was like catching the edge of a long-forgotten dream, the feeling of knowing something without being able to grasp it. They felt there was a name to call it, but said name eluded them, slipping through their thoughts like sand through hooves.
Luna’s eyes narrowed slightly, the faintest tremor running through her voice. “It reminds me of him.”
Celestia’s gaze shifted sharply to her sister. She didn’t need to ask who.
Luna continued, her voice steady but low. “The atrocity in the Crystal Empire… It’s like the days when Discord tormented the world. The chaos, the senseless destruction, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.” Her eyes darkened, memories flickering behind them like distant storms. “But this… this feels colder. More deliberate.”
Celestia’s jaw tightened at the mention of Discord. Even now, centuries after his destruction, his shadow lingered in their memories. His very presence had twisted the land, corrupted the minds of the innocent, and left scars that had never truly healed.
It had taken all their strength—and the strength of another—to finally destroy him. But even with his being erased by the Elements, the world still kept the scars he made.
Luna’s voice softened, but the tension in her posture remained. “This feels like that, Celestia. Different… but familiar. The same kind of wrongness.”
Celestia didn’t answer immediately. She stared at the figure on the table, at the strange symbol carved into its chest, and felt that same flicker of unease stir within her. But this wasn’t Discord’s chaos. This wasn’t mindless destruction for the sake of it. Otherwise, there’d be no survivors.
This was purpose. Cold, calculated purpose. Whatever they were, they had a goal beyond mindless slaughter.
“I worry for her, Sister,” Luna said suddenly, shifting her thoughts away from the dark memories. Her gaze softened as it moved toward the door Twilight had left through. “Twilight… I fear for her health. She’s lost so much, and I see the weight of it in her eyes.”
Celestia’s heart ached at her sister’s words, and she closed her eyes for a brief moment, allowing herself to feel that sorrow. Twilight Sparkle, her faithful student, her brightest star, was now burdened with a weight that no pony should have to carry. The loss of her family, her people shattered—it was a grief that could ruin even the strongest soul.
“She’s strong,” Celestia whispered, as much to herself as to Luna. She opened her eyes, her gaze steady but tinged with quiet pain. “Stronger than she realizes. But strength doesn’t mean she should carry this alone. That is why we’re here.”
Luna nodded, but her expression remained clouded. “I wish…” She hesitated, the words heavy on her tongue. “I wish we still ruled. If only to spare her this burden.”
Celestia’s eyes softened, and she stepped closer to her sister. “Taking it from her would be cruel. You know that as well as I do. Stripping her of that responsibility would only worsen this for her. She needs to find her own way through this”
Luna sighed, her wings shifting restlessly at her sides. “But how can she find her way? She hasn’t even had the chance to grieve her brother, her sister-in-law! She moves like a pony made of glass, brittle and hollow. I see it in her eyes—she’s holding everything in, it may be too much for her.”
Celestia saw the truth in Luna’s words. Twilight had always carried the weight of Equestria with grace and determination, but this was something different. This wasn’t a problem to be solved or a villain to be defeated. This was loss.
“We need to be there for her,” Celestia said quietly. She turned to Luna, her gaze steady. “She needs time to grieve. We need to give her that chance.”
Luna’s eyes shimmered for a brief moment, reflecting the weight of her own grief. “We need time too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “The world feels… different now. I thought after everything Equestria would be past such dark times.”
Celestia placed a gentle hoof on Luna’s shoulder, grounding them both. “We grieve together, Sister. For Twilight, for ourselves, for everypony. But we stand tall. We’ve faced darkness, and we’ve always found the light. We’ll do it again. For her sake, for theirs.”
Luna’s gaze met Celestia’s, and for a moment, the weight between them felt lighter—not gone, but shared.
They turned back to the silent figure on the table, the shadows casting long lines across the room.
“We will be what we’ve always been,” Celestia said softly. “For her. For everypony.”
Luna nodded, her expression steady. “For Equestria.”
The night had claimed the sky, casting its cold light over the world below. The moon hung high, painting the hills and trees in a pale, ethereal glow. They had marched for hours, until even the distant memory of the Thunderhawk's smoke had been swallowed by the horizon. Now, the landscape stretched around them in silent indifference, the air cool and still.
If Calsin’s estimates were correct—and they usually were—they were halfway to Marnel’s position. The beacon’s signal still pulsed steadily in his helm, an unwavering reminder. But even Astartes had limits—as difficult to reach as they were. Calsin wasn’t about to ignore them.
Calsin stood at the edge of their makeshift camp—and by makeshift, two logs for seats—his gaze fixed on the faint outline of a town far in the distance, opposite of the rails they had been following. The glow of lanterns flickered softly in the dark, little pinpricks of life nestled between the rolling hills and sparse trees. Even from this distance, his lenses picked out details—a crooked roof here, a faintly glowing window there. The town was small, unremarkable, but its presence gave him something to gaze at.
Behind him, Locari had finally succumbed to rest, his form leaned against the gnarled trunk of a tree, bolter within easy reach. It had taken some convincing—Calsin had nearly pulled rank to make him relent—but eventually, Locari had given in, exhaustion winning over stubbornness. Calsin could hear the slow, even rhythm of his breathing beneath the weight of his armor, the occasional shift of metal against bark as he unconsciously adjusted in his sleep.
Calsin’s gaze never left the town.
There was no movement in the streets. No flicker of activity beyond the soft glow of lights from shuttered windows. It was as if the town itself was holding its breath, waiting for something it couldn’t name. Even the usual nocturnal creatures—the rustle of wings, the distant howl of predators—were absent. The land felt still.
His helm’s lenses zoomed in slightly, focusing on one of the houses closest to the edge of town. A small, square building with a thatched roof and a crooked chimney. The window glowed faintly from within, and through the slight gap in the curtains, Calsin could just make out the shapes of movement.
Ponies.
He watched as a smaller shape—likely a child—pressed its face against the window, peering into the dark with wide, searching eyes. The child’s ears twitched, straining to hear something beyond the walls. Calsin could almost imagine the whispered conversations happening inside—the parents trying to soothe fears they couldn’t quell, promising safety they couldn’t guarantee.
The child lingered at the window, eyes scanning the shadows of the night.
But they wouldn’t see him. Their lesser eyes might only have noticed his red lenses—unfortunate for them if they ever did.
Calsin’s expression, hidden beneath his helm, remained neutral. There was no satisfaction in their fear, he didn’t care too much how they felt. They were wise to be afraid. Fear kept mortals alive.
He shifted his gaze to another house, further into the town. The same scene played out—a light flickering behind closed curtains, shadows moving cautiously within. No one was outside. Even the bravest, it seemed, had learned to fear the dark.
Calsin exhaled softly through his vox, the sound barely audible in the stillness.
Their fear was well-founded. The killing at the crystalline city had left its mark, even if the ponies here hadn’t witnessed it firsthand. News had traveled. Faster than he expected. The ponies had a network, a means of communication that spanned distances far beyond what simple messengers could achieve.
Annoying. But manageable.
It was a complication, certainly, but not an insurmountable one. The more he observed, the more he understood. The ponies were organized in ways that spoke of structure and hierarchy. Their fear wasn’t just for themselves—it was for their kind, for their communities. That made them predictable.
Calsin’s gaze drifted back to the child at the window. The small face was still there, eyes reflecting the faint glow of the lantern inside. Watching. Waiting.
Merciful, he thought absently, that they wouldn’t waste time on such a place. This town, with its small lives and fragile walls, wasn’t their concern. Their mission lay elsewhere. These ponies were spared for the night.
After a while, the child disappeared from the window, the glow from within dimming as the lantern was snuffed out. The town fell into deeper silence.
Satisfied, Calsin reached up and released the seals of his helmet, the soft hiss of depressurization breaking the stillness. He lifted the helm from his head, setting it down beside him with a muted thud as he finally seated himself on the dead but sturdy log behind him.
For the first time since their arrival, Calsin inhaled the unfiltered air.
It was different from the recycled atmosphere inside his warplate. The scent of damp earth, distant wildflowers, and faint wood smoke from the far-off town filled his senses. It was clean. It reminded him briefly of his mortal home. He could remember that the air smelled of flowers, too. He couldn’t recall which kind.
His gauntleted hand rose, fingers scratching thoughtfully at the scruff along his jawline, going over deep scars he earned in the years past. A faint scowl tugged at his lips. A shame he hadn’t brought a razor. Stubble under a helmet grew irritating quickly.
The moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the three service studs embedded in his forehead—marking three centuries of service. His features were sharp, weathered by war and time. His skin, a bronze-tan lighter than Locari, from the gene-seed mutation all of the chapter carried, was marked with lines and faint but present wrinkles.
Short, wavy black hair framed his face, streaked with gray at the sides—a subtle concession to the years behind him. His expression was calm, but his eyes betrayed more. They were an almost luminescent green—such that if one could see him, they would see the faint glow of his irises—vivid and sharp, like the life of plants thriving in harsh soil. Eyes that had seen too much, but still searched for more.
Sol’s Mark, was the term used for the Gene-Seed mutation the caused the iris of every Cuprum Lord to reach a bright shade of their original color, and casting a dim luminescence. It was another mystery, another trait he'd spent many years on, but like his predecessors, eventually only took it as a sign of stable genes in the Initiates brought to him.
He looked back to his cogitator. The beacons were still lit, the same as before. A part of him wondered where they’d go after they put their brothers to rest. The simple answer: kill until they were killed, cleansing until this world's heresy was wiped clean. But things never were so simple, were they?
Another question crossed his thoughts: Luvenus and Rakian. Neither of their beacons had shown. Either they were lost to the warp or made it here in a state the beacons wouldn’t light. The thought gnawed at him, though he kept it tempered. He had to focus on what could be done.
He toggled his vox to an open channel, a hollow gesture at this point. As always, the only signal found was the brother beside him—Locari’s signal pulsing steadily like a heartbeat in the void. The vox link was only to register a live connection, Locari's vox was otherwise dormant.
Perhaps he would know their fates in time. Perhaps not. It was a question for another day. The Emperor’s blessings on you both, was his final thought on the matter.
Calsin exhaled through his nose, his gaze shifting back to the quiet earth beneath his boots. As his mind drifted from the unanswered questions, something else caught his attention—a break in the monotony of grass and soil.
A plant.
He frowned slightly, his curiosity piqued against his better judgment. Botanist. The title echoed in his mind, unbidden and unwelcome. He loathed the term, though his brothers in the Apothecarion had thrown it at him more than once, half in jest, half in acknowledgment of his knowledge—they did enjoy the spices produced from it. A meditative study, he’d always argued. Not a passion.
But even as the thought crossed his mind, he found himself kneeling, his gauntleted fingers carefully brushing away the dirt around the odd plant. It grew in the soft earth, its leafy green top giving way to an orange, conical shape beneath the surface.
Calsin plucked it from the ground, turning it over in his hand. The texture was familiar enough—root vegetable, perhaps—but its exact nature eluded him. The Imperium cataloged countless flora across its worlds, yet this one didn’t register in his memory. A brand new plant species, all for him to discover. He felt a tinge of joy from that idea.
Without hesitation, he snapped a chunk of the orange vegetable off. The dirt that clung to it didn’t bother him, he slipped the piece between his teeth and bit down.
The taste surprised him. Crisp, slightly sweet, with a hint of earthiness. He chewed thoughtfully, his mind already categorizing the plant’s properties. The Neuroglottis found no poison. Edible. Safe.
He’d make a note of it.
Author's Note
Thanks to Mr_Casual (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/745323/Mr_Casual) for reading over the chapter. Give their content a look.
This one took me longer than I expected. College has started for me so updates will be slower from now on, but I will still try and get these out as soon as I can.
Would anyone know where I can commission some good cover art? While I'm okay with a pencil, my digital art skills are pretty bad.
Until next time.