Eye of the Rapine Storm

“Attack the objective.”

Private Ivan Zhukov was running as fast as he could away from that objective. He vaulted a barrier in his way and immediately dropped six feet onto the concrete below, he would have likely sprained his ankle in this fall had he not become used to doing this in the last six weeks of open warfare with the United States of America. As his feet touched the floor, his legs bent to absorb the force of impact, and he silently cursed his decision to bring the amount of equipment he had.

Being kitted out in his paratrooper fatigues, camouflage adapted for urban warfare, and a gas mask for defence against whatever horrific manner of chemical weaponry the Americans were hiding inside this complex, he was hot and sweating a great deal despite the icy cold of the environment they had been plunged into. His assault rifle was a standard AN-94 with an underslung grenade launcher, and to that effect, he was carrying a large number of spare magazines and grenades which added to the weight even further. The sidearm their regiment carried was a tiny little thing with an ergonomic grip, a suppressor, and laser sight, but he forgot the name a few minutes after his superiors introduced it to them, and had barely ever used it.

Taking all the added weight of this equipment into consideration, he was amazed his body could take the strain at all. No time to think about that though, as his reason for running in the opposite direction was rapidly closing in. Just as he recovered from the fall and took off running yet again, the looming shadow of an AMTRAC armoured personnel carrier swept across his vision, and he heard a loud crunch as it attempted to follow him down the sheer six foot drop.

Luckily, the driver was apparently a complete moron and had entirely neglected to account for the weight of the vehicle colliding with the concrete below – it was now stuck between the floor and the ledge, its treads spinning with a futile desperation, the gun turret burned and twisted from an earlier confrontation. It was no longer a threat.

With a sigh of relief, Ivan stopped running for his life in the opposite direction, and instead began running for his life in the proper direction. The assault was not going well.

“Shit, the enemy are winning! You are Russians for fuck's sake, turn it around.”

His CO was yelling orders to the various military elements under his command, but every once in a while, he would break down and simply will the battle to go his way through gratuitous swearing. To an officer seeing the battle from afar, things must have looked bad, but from Ivan's perspective as a soldier on the front lines, the battle appeared completely hopeless. All because “Military Intelligence” is apparently a contradiction in terms.

To start with, they had been told their objective was a research project located inside a small scientific institution in the hills of Alaska, protected by a small contingent of American forces at Company strength, which the Russian airborne troops could easily overwhelm with sheer numbers. While their reconnaissance was right on the money for the research complex, they had failed to spot the large military base a couple of miles south which housed a US Army unit at division strength. Thus, the VDV airborne assault force numbering 1,300 soldiers and light vehicles had now found itself fighting a potential force of thirty thousand American soldiers and heavy armour.

Instead of doing the logical and understandable thing that was surrendering, their commanding officer had instead been gripped by a patriotic fervour and refused to give in, even in the face of completely overwhelming odds. For his part, they were at the very least making some headway into the complex.

Ivan looked out with fear at the landscape of fire and tracers lighting up the infinite blanket of snow, however would they survive this?

A group of malformed and misshapen vaguely-equine creatures stood around a green fire in the depths of a dark cave, their garish fluorescent pink and green hides weeped malodorous pus from a thousand different sores, long muzzles filled with sharp teeth and forked tongues, ragged tails hanging lifelessly on the ground, and manes aflame with blazing shadow. They appeared to be exactly alike in appearance, yet their personalities would betray stark differences between them.

In total there were sixteen individuals, but only two were speaking. Only two of them could.

“...so that's the plan then?”

Corisotrax eyed his companion briefly, not sure how to respond.

“Yes, Derogog, as I just explained to you, that is indeed the plan. Why do you feel the need to ask such redundant questions?”

Derogog cocked his head to the side in apparent confusion, his horns almost impaling another demon in their group, but this one barely noticed, and certainly did not react.

“I wanted to confirm the obvious, of course. It is not every day that we escape from this barren prison, and I wish to make sure that I fully understand my part in the proceedings.”

Sighing with frustration and exasperation, Corisotrax cursed Celestia's name. They had been locked in Tartarus without being able to sap the life from the ponies of Equestria for so long that his brothers and sisters had been reduced to this, mere shadows of their former selves, in both intelligence and physical ability. Only he had been able to stave off the effects by devouring other demons and creatures who sought shelter in their cave – the others had long since lost their appetites, and even their will to live was slowly fading.

But not for long.

Soon, so soon, two of their number would rise from the pit of Tartarus, overpower Cerberus the Gatekeeper with a malevolent ally summoned from beyond the veil, and escape into Equestria once more to wreak havoc and drink their fill. So many ponies would know despair, so many would feel the touch of his forked tongue as he wrested their souls from them, and absorbed them into his hungering stomach.

“...yes, food.”

“Brother?”

Corisotrax realised he was drooling at the thought of escape and feeding well for the first time in thousands of years. His mouth open in ecstasy, eyes unfocused and lost, he was glad that only Derogog was in any position to understand the situation, embarrassment was not something he took well.

“Yes,” he snapped; “to your position, the hour grows close, and we have but one attempt to get this right.”

Save for Derogog, Corisotrax herded the group of oblivious demons into the large sigil he had drawn on the cave floor with a block of chalk, stolen from the succubi to the west. Summoning entities such as these usually required the sacrifice of an innocent, but in the absence of one befitting such a description, a mass sacrifice of those close to the summoner's heart was instead held to be acceptable payment. It gave Corisotrax no joy to be killing his own brothers and sisters, let alone sacrificing them to the horrors beyond the veil, but he was out of options, and out of time.

Though they both wept inside, the two brothers spoke the unholy rites, and focused all their will upon the summoning circle. Their siblings began to melt into the floor, screaming in horror and pain as they did, joining together in a bloody puddle of flesh and bone. From this puddle grew a tree shaped from flesh that reached the very ceiling of the cave, and from one of its horrific branches decorated with the silently screaming faces of betrayed brothers and sacrificed sisters, a single fruit grew.

The fruit of the flesh tree grew in size until the disgusting umbilical cord attaching it to the main body could no longer take the strain, snapping, the fruit hitting the cave floor with a wet slap. The abomination that emerged from inside that fruit set about devouring its parent tree, paying special attention to cause as much pain and suffering as possible to the still-screaming faces of Corisotrax and Derogog's already tortured siblings.

When it had finally finished its hellish meal, the slug-like abomination turned to Corisotrax and bowed its head, speaking the forbidden language:

“The sacrifice has been paid, I am bound for the duration.”

Derogog could take no more and broke down in a fit of emotional agony, while Corisotrax simply turned away, and with creature in tow, began his long walk toward the colossal cold-iron gates of Tartarus.

In their shared chambers, Celestia awoke with a start, her heart beating hard in her chest. She heard Luna calling for her from the balcony.

“Sister, you felt that too!”

It was not a question, Luna was merely affirming her own fears. Something had been allowed into their world, something terrible. An occult ritual was performed, an abomination was now loose in her world, and she had no way of knowing where it was.

“Sister, we must find it immediately.”

Luna was correct of course, such creatures could not be allowed to exist, and the monsters who brought it forth must be severely punished for their transgression. She only hoped that it was not her favoured student, Twilight Sparkle, as she was constantly researching old books and experimenting with new ideas. Such an inquisitive soul, she only hoped that her beloved student had not found a copy of the Black Book of Tartarus, for it would surely spell her doom.

Celestia rose to her hooves, standing erect and with as much confident authority as she could muster in the face of such an unprecedented threat, she spoke to her younger sister.

“Call an immediate meeting with the High Unicorn Council, and have them research a method of banishing...abominations. Be sure to deny them access to the Black Book should they ask, nothing is worth risking the madness that object can generate. I will send a letter to Twilight, informing her we have need of the Elements once again.”

Luna drew herself up to her full height and nodded.

“Of course, sister.”

As Luna opened the doors and took off at a gallop down the hallway, Celestia relaxed back into her elegant purple cushion, she would need all the rest she could get for the hard days ahead.

“Heads down, frags out!”

The VDV had taken the time to make sure all its members had been taught an acceptable level of English, for the potential scenarios in which they were either captured or lost behind enemy lines. The vast majority of his unit simply knew the standard phrases that would get them by in those situations, but Ivan had gone slightly further and developed a good grasp of conversational English, which was why he immediately dove for cover when he heard that phrase emanate from somewhere off to the left of him.

Sure enough, a short pause was followed by a clink of metal on concrete, and a loud thud accompanied by screams and shouts in his comrade's accents. The Americans must have heard them too, because a volley of fire lit up with sporadic tracers cut through the darkened area in which Ivan was sneaking through and collided with the Russian position. He could make out the rapid bursts of assault rifles, witheringly repetitive thunder from machine guns, and what sounded a great deal like an IFV's autocannon.

Making a mental note to not let them see him, Ivan Zhukov crawled on his belly over a snow covered concrete floor, through a fire-fight between numerically superior American forces, and his incensed maniacal Russian brothers-in-arms. For the moment it was an even fight, as the American's full strength had yet to be mobilised, and they were only fighting a fraction of the full 30,000 men of this division. They had to get inside and neutralise the bio-weapon before this occurred, or else their friends and families in their homeland would pay the price.

Once sufficiently clear of the short range fire-fight, Private Zhukov picked himself off the floor and made a mad dash toward the first set of doors he could see. Smashing through the two doors and barring them from the inside, Ivan breathed a sigh of relief before being roughly seized from behind, slammed to the wall, before a knife was pressed to his throat. With mixed relief and bewilderment, he heard English words with a Russian accent.

“You messed with the wrong paratroopers today, motherfucker.”

“Wait,” Ivan yelled, “I am VDV!”

Unsure, his attacker tightened his grip and pressed the knife closer.

“VDV, eh? If you really are VDV, answer me this: where is our commanding officer directing this operation from?”

“Are you Russian?”

“Answer the fucking question!”

“If I let the enemy know where our leaders are, this assault is as good as finished! So again, are you Russian?”

“Answer the fucking question, or this blade takes your life today!”

“Then do it, you bastard! I will not betray my comrades!”

The knife was pulled away from his throat in an instant, and his body was turned around and embraced from the front by a large and imposing figure dressed in VDV fatigues and ringed with belts of ammunition.

“You pass the test, brother. We have to be careful now, as we are in the belly of the beast, so-to-speak, and many of our compatriots are dead or otherwise engaged.”

Ivan's vision swam, he noticed that his mask's visor had misted up in after having dashed inside so quickly, and was only able to make out blurred figures. After being released from the friendly bear hug by his new friend, he removed the gas mask temporarily to see a long corridor being used as staging ground for about seventy VDV soldiers. Crates lined the walls, mounted machine guns were set up behind sandbags in tactically advantageous positions, and soldiers were engaged in a frenzied flurry of activity.

“I asked you where our CO is directing the battle from, yes? Well, it's here,” he spread his arms, “right under their fucking noses!”

Ivan quickly realised that this was not just a staging ground for a small complement of troops, this was where the bulk of their forces were being herded toward – it was no accident that he had ended up here.

“I am Sergeant Boris Leonov, and you are...”

“Private Ivan Zhukov, sir!”

“Very good, now, I need to fill you in on a few aspects of the mission we have learned since dropping in here.”

“We have new intelligence?” Ivan's voice had an uneasy tone to it.

“Ah, you noticed the slight hiccup in our highly skilled reconnaissance team's assessment of the situation?”

Ivan simply nodded, not wanting to directly say what he was thinking to a superior.

“Don't worry, this information comes straight from the source. We were able to capture some scientists and engineers in the confusion, they have been quite enlightening.”

Sergeant Leonov gestured to a small door with a broken handle.

“They are in there, our interrogators are trying to squeeze some more information out of them. We are not Soviets any more of course, they are being treated well.”

A fresh squad of soldiers burst through the door and were treated to a similar test of loyalty as Ivan was by waiting VDV troops. The Sergeant continued in his explanation while angry shouting and threats of horrific violence were made in the background.

“Why would the Americans use an entire division to protect one research complex when in the past it has been a maximum of a brigade for even the nuclear sites? That was the main question on our minds whenever there was a lull in the fighting, and here we found our answer: the object of their research is not a bioweapon, a chemical weapon, a nuclear weapon, or even a weapon at all – it is a teleportation device.”

Ivan was at a loss for words.

“What...sir?”

“I know, this is some real sci-fi shit, right? But the idea the Americans had was to bend time and space around on itself to instantaneously transport the division we're fighting directly into the heart of Moscow. Much like the Japanese Emperor when the Atom Bomb was used on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the Kremlin would inevitably capitulate when the American's ability to appear behind our lines inside our cities with no warning was demonstrated on our very capital.”

Sergeant Leonov drew himself up to his full height and mustered all the resolve he could. Becoming the very image of Russian strength.

“So now you know the stakes of this mission, and why we cannot allow the Americans use of this device.”

“Yes sir!”

“Good. Now, our own engineers have located their power generators and our in the process of creating a blackout. When the lights go out, we will use our IR goggles to sweep the facility and take control of the device. Once we have control, the engineers will delete all data on the project they can and destroy the device.”

“And then, what happens to us?”

“We surrender, and hope they are as polite and respectful in their treatment of prisoners as the British.”

“Then for Mother Russia, sir!”

The lights were cut, and the facility was bathed in darkness. All VDV soldiers put on their IR goggles, and almost all save the rear guard advanced into the facility.

Colonel Matthew White of the US Army was sitting at his mahogany desk in the facility's hardened bunker when the lights cut out.

“What in the actual fuck?”

An engineer dressed in combat fatigues and carrying an M4A1 carbine burst through the door to his office.

“Sir! We've lost power!”

Colonel White stared incredulously at the soldier before him.

“I know that, you idiot! I want to know why!”

Just as he finished speaking that last sentence, they both heard sporadic gunfire coming from down the hall, accompanied by screams and...growls?

“What the hell is...” the engineer managed to get these few words out before the Colonel vaulted his desk, grabbed him, and pulled the soldier inside his office before slamming the door violently.

A roar echoed through the facility. Not of gunfire, nor an explosion, this was deep, animalistic and disturbing. Light footfalls could be heard just outside the office door, something was sniffing and scratching at the walls. Both the Colonel and his new bodyguard had their weapons drawn and pointed directly toward the door – the sole entry and exit point to the room. He gestured to the door with his M1911, and the engineer pressed himself up against the wall immediately beside it. White took the other side, and was about to open it when a loud snarl erupted from the other side.

Motioning for his bodyguard to open up on whatever was behind it as soon as the door was open, he quickly turned the handle, opened it, and saw...nothing. There was nothing behind the door. There was no hint that anything had been there in the first place. The corridor was dark and completely silent. Then the alarms began blaring, red warning lights lit up the area, and the two survivors of the unknown attack saw the dismembered bodies of the facility's personnel littering the floor, as the fresh blood stains on the walls dripped slowly to the floor.

Slowly, steadily picking their way toward the Gate Room, the two remaining personnel inside the facility could hear low thumps of the battle taking place outside, and Colonel White silently prayed  for his deliverance from whatever the hell was going on. He decided to break the silence.

“Well, at least the Russians haven't broken through yet.”