Steel Reign
Prologue
Changes
The room was dark, the light having disappeared from the sky outside hours ago. Its furnishings held a dark air to them, almost insectile, though their great cost was readily apparent - one could easily say that they were fit for a king or a queen. Altogether the room seemed to lend itself the purpose as a chamber meant for the queen of a hive of insects rather than a nation's royal leaders.
One corner of the bedchamber was lit by a small candle, its soft gold glow revealing a desk covered in multiple piles of parchment, a spent inkwell, and a blackened but dry pen. A being sat in a chair in front of the mess of various papers; a decidedly alien being. He belonged to a race, and a world, that did not exist as far as Equestria knew. Through some unidentifiable cosmic mechanism, he had been torn from his homeworld and deposited here. Of the relative few who knew his origins, no one had ever found out how or why this happened. They knew only that it had occurred. In truth, he himself had given up searching for a way back home a long time ago. Even if he had found a way, he would never have used it, though his reasons for staying were much different than they had been those years ago...thirty years ago, to be exact.
As the human twirled the bronze, battery-like object in his hands distractedly, he realized yet again how strange that thought felt. He had been on this world for thirty years! He’d spent thirty years on a world where events he once thought impossible were commonplace happenings, and where creatures he once thought mythical were abundant. The only thought whose strangeness came close to that was the thought of how much he had changed since he had arrived. So many changes had come about him, many he knew were the results of the world he know lived in, while some had a source he had yet to identify. Sometimes he found it hard to think of himself as a true human anymore...
The human's hand stopped twirling the oblong object it held and let it rest. Moments later, a translucent red aura surrounded it, and it lifted into the air, floating over to the man's desk and setting itself down there.
A smirk came to the human's lips. Magic. On Earth he believed in magic about as much as the next guy, which is to say not at all. Yet here he was casually using it to perform tasks he could have done just as easily with his hands. It was especially odd since humans were decidedly incapable of manipulating magic under normal circumstances. Shortly after arriving in Equestria, he had learned he seemed to be an exception to this rule. Not only could he manipulate magic, he seemed to have an innate talent for certain aspects of it. Spells involving telekinesis appeared to be especially easy for him to grasp. He could master advanced kinetic spells in moments, when others would need days or weeks to achieve equivalent success.
It was also worth mentioning that he was immensely strong, far stronger than most other beings he'd come across. However, the source of both his unnatural strength and unusual affinity for magic was easily identifiable.
The man clenched his hand, causing tendrils of a black substance to emerge from his skin. In moments, the tendrils grew and split and grew again until they covered the entirety of the hand, encasing it in a glistening, midnight black second skin that appeared harder and more unyielding than iron, yet moved with fluid grace when flexed. After letting the effect linger for a beat, the human banished the substance with a thought.
The Steel. Now he thought it a blessing, but he had once considered it nothing but a Curse.
It had given him his magical abilities and otherworldly strength. It gave him his longevity and his effectual immortality. He could go for months without eating or drinking, and he had yet to even find the limits on how long he could hold his breath. The Steel gave him all of these...but it also gave him the Beast.
Unbidden, a shudder passed through the man as memories of that...that thing leaped to the forefront of his mind; memories of insanity, of fighting for control every waking moment of every single day, of despairing during the moments when it gained control, and of the horror he felt toward's its desires. The Beast was devastation personified. It cared for nothing but destruction, and wanted nothing but to kill...and kill...and kill...
The human suppressed another shudder, forcefully reminding himself that the Beast was gone...permanently. It couldn't come back. It had not merely been contained; it had been obliterated, completely and irreversibly destroyed. Its thoughts and emotions lingered in his mind, but it was the human who controlled them now, not the Beast. Its essence - its soul - was dead. There was no more fighting for control of his mind and body, and there hadn't been for the past three decades.
Yet even after so long, the mere thought of that monster kindled the cold flame of fear in him...
A rustle and a light, somewhat irritated groan shook the man from his reverie. He straightened and turned around, causing the glow of the candle to frame his clean shaven face and short cropped hair in an eerie light. His hazel eyes met a larger pair of a green color, looking at him sleepily from the head of the large, rather ornate bed.
"Do you intend to stay up all night, Andrew?" Queen Chrysalis said with a yawn as she propped her head up on a hoof. "Unless you do, cut the light. You can wait until next week to get some shut-eye, I can't."
The human known as Andrew gave a small smile before wordlessly extinguishing the candle and making his way to the bed. In the sudden lack of light, the Steel made itself felt in the back of his eyes, instantaneously enhancing his night vision and eliminating any difficulty in navigating in the near-complete darkness. The mattress made no noise as Andrew lay down on it, but he saw the same pair of green eyes open again briefly, looking at him through a veil of light blue-ish hair, before they closed. A moment later, a pair of forelegs wrapped around his chest and a head nuzzled underneath his chin, carefully keeping the sharp point of her horn away from his face.
Andrew put his arm around the alicorn-like changeling as he lay on his back, but did not close his eyes.What Chrysalis said was not inaccurate. He could indeed go for days, or weeks if need be, without sleep and yet remain perfectly alert. He could (and usually did) sleep every night, of course, but tonight...
"Thinking?"
The man looked down to see a single, bright green eye looking at him. Chrysalis had the faintest hint of a grin on her face as she looked at him, causing Andrew's mouth to twitch upwards in a light smile as well.
"Mhm," was his simple answer. After a moment, when he didn't elaborate, the changeling queen detatched a hoof from him long enough to wave it in a 'go on' gesture. Rather than answer with words, he lifted his left arm, the arm not wrapped around Chrysalis, and pointed it into the air. Within moments, the Steel emerged and encased his arm, turning it a deep black with a molten red, vein-like channel running along its side. As a final touch, a similarly red cross appeared on the back of his hand.
With another flex of his mind, the Steel began to take on a much more sinister appearance. The ends of his fingers elongated into metallic talons, while the muscles of his arm seemed to expand and the Steel covering it took on a sinewy appearance, as though his skin was disappearing and showing the muscle beneath. The glowing channel and cross disappeared, replaced by fibrous threads of the Steel lacing and weaving over them. After a beat, the effect was gone, as was the Steel, and Andrew put his arm down again. He looked down to see the changeling gazing back at him with a noticeable frown. She lifted herself up somewhat, putting her face a little above his own.
"Why?" she asked the human, her voice little more than a whisper. "Why would...it still be on your mind? You've been free of it for decades now. Its dead, and it has been for years. It won't come back. It can't come back."
Andrew frowned a little, remembering that the Beast had left others, not just him, with scars. Chrysalis' statement seemed like more of an attempt to convince herself than to convince him, and he had easily seen the flicker of remembered fear and horror in her bright green eyes. He brought his arm up, putting his hand on the side of the changeling's neck and gently coaxing her back down. After a brief moment of hesitation, she acquiesced and returned to her earlier position snuggled up against his side.
"It isn't just the Beast," Andrew said somewhat apologetically, feeling the shudder Chrysalis gave against him when he said that name. He began to run his hand through her mane, causing her to make a slight purring noise and relax somewhat. "It's everything that's happened since..." he gazed down at Chrysalis again, giving her a light kiss on the forehead. "...the good as well as the bad."
The changeling queen's purring grew noticeably in strength. She rose again, just enough to give her human a peck on the cheek, before laying down again with a small smile, nuzzling the man with a surprisingly catlike murr-ing sound. She inquired no further, but rather contented herself with embracing and being embraced by Andrew.
The two lay silently for a few minutes, after which Andrew took notice of the changeling's deeper, slower breathing, as well as the fact that her purring had faded to a barely detectable rumble. It seemed she was asleep, though Andrew was not. He continued to idly stroke her mane as he thought, causing her to make small, contented noises in her slumber. His mind briefly wandered back towards the Steel before he caught himself, shaking his head to clear it.
None of that, Andrew chided himself. Chrysalis was right. It had been thirty years. Why think about it now?
Chrysalis shifted against him in her sleep, bringing a hint of a smile to Andrew's face as he redoubled his soft stroking of her light blue mane. It had been decades since he married the queen of the changelings, and unwittingly brought about more change to her race than he ever thought possible.
When the changelings had found him, neither he nor they were in the best of shape. He was cowering in a cave, drenched - though unbothered - by the torrential rain outside, barely able to contain the pain of containing the Beast, his mind slowly tiring from its constant struggles. They were slowly dying out, emaciated, starved of the emotions they required to survive. Both had nearly resigned themselves to their fates. Andrew had been finding it harder and harder to find the strength to fight back against the Beast. While Chrysalis' final attempt to save her people from starvation had failed, and they were slowly dying out as a result.
By all rights, the queen would have normally left him there. She'd had much more pressing worries than a near-insane biped hiding in a cave. Every day, more of her people died, and she herself had been approaching the same inevitable end. He remembered how her mane, now illustrious and full, had been frayed and brittle, seemingly ready to fall right out of her head. She had been withered to the point that the slight ridges of her ribs and spine were visible through her skin. Her hooves, horn, and wings had been full of holes, as though some creature had bitten huge chunks out of them...or as though she had begun feeding on herself in desperation. The changelings accompanying her had all been in a similar state, if not worse.
And yet here they were now. Had Chrysalis simply seen a tool that could possibly save her people? Perhaps...or perhaps she was just never as heartless and cruel as ponykind made her out to be. Perhaps it had been empathy or even sympathy that drove her to help him. In the end, however, it no longer mattered why she helped him, it only mattered that she had, and that many wonderful things happened as a result of the kindness she showed that day.
It had been rough at first, with so many changes happening all at once. His love for the changeling queen was unquestionable, to be sure, and nothing could ever keep him from her side. Acceptance of the position as king of the Dark Empire was no exception, but it was…well…calling it was a "novel experience" would be putting it far too lightly. Andrew quite frankly had no leadership experience outside of leading a small corps of civil engineers back on Earth. That was not even close to the extreme difficulty of running a nation. Even now that he had time to become accustomed to the innumerable niceties of royalty there was still much of it that he did not truly understand.
Under normal circumstances, the human would have been the exact opposite of what a recovering nation needed. Thankfully however, Andrew possessed skills and abilities aside from kingly leadership; skills that the Dark Empire sorely needed, and skills he had been more than ready to put to good use. Thanks to that…
Andrew's thoughts cycled towards the same end as every time he considered his past; where he was now. Again and again through the night, he contemplated all that had transpired since the Beast's demise. He remembered the hardships and joys, the moments of happiness and of sorrow, and everything in-between. But not once did he ask himself if he would have done anything different. As he looked down and saw Chrysalis sleeping against his side with a contented smile on her face, he knew with absolute certainty that even if he was given the chance, he would have changed nothing.
And so the night wore on.
Far and away from the palace of the Pale Star, two changelings kept vigil over the foreboding valley known as the Underpass. They stood at the peak of one of the many clawlike stone spires that jutted from the sands of the Hjalnaeir, hollowed out to serve as a watchtower and to protect the guards from the ravages of the weather and the beasts that slinked about in the land's long nights. The pair wore much lighter armor than their city-bound brethren. The gray-black bronzite plating they wore was thinner and had more joints to allow greater freedom of movement, though it was at the cost of protection. This was no obstacle to sentries, however. They were intended to keep watch and give an early warning should anything encroach on the Dark Empire's territory, they were not intended to actually fight off such threats themselves.
Sentinels knew better than to allow themselves to grow lax, especially those posted here at the Underpass. More than once, they had been forced to perform their intended purpose, and each time had proven critical in allowing their home city of Acheron to prepare. So the changelings sentinels gazed along the horizon with fierce attentiveness, determined that nothing would pass without them seeing it.
The one known as Uriel was no exception. He looked out over the massive expanse of desolation that was the Hjalnaeir, the Abominable Sands, his sight virtually unhindered by the darkness and his body unaffected by the chilling winds that swept about, winds that his people had lived with (and grown used to) over the course of centuries. He idly rested a hoof on the large binoculars that stood in front of him, mounted on a stand that was bolted into the floor of the stone watchtower's top level. His armor made a light tinkling sound as he quickly turned his head to ensure that the movement in the corner of his eye had merely been a cloud of sand disturbed by the wind rather than an group of blood trolls that had strayed too far from their home in the Thornbacks.
Satisfied that it was merely a weather anomaly, Uriel returned his gaze to just below the horizon, in particular at the valleys that cut through the foreboding Thornback peaks to empty into the vast desert plateau below. It was these valleys that formed the Underpass, and it was these valleys that formed the most direct route from the south to the Hjalnaeir. Nearly every attack on Acheron had come through the Underpass in the past; sometimes it was the orks, while other times it had been the blood trolls that lived within the Thornback range.
Suddenly, more movement caught Uriel's eye, this time from the mouth of one of the Underpass' valleys. The changeling instantly zeroed in on the source of the disturbance and narrowed his eyes. He swiveled the large binoculars before him into position and peered into them. At first, the only sight to meet his eyes was one of blurred, indecipherable movement, but with practiced ease he quickly adjusted the magnification with a hoof until the image was clear. Now he saw…
…Thrulls. Lots and lots of Thrulls.
Uriel knew that it was not a simple horde of the things. This was an army. Even from this distance he could see that the gray skinned, spindly bipeds wore the rune-covered, smoothly curved armor that only the forges of the Jade Empire could produce. He saw as well that they moved in clearly martial formations; symmetrical blocks of troops marching in mechanical fashion, with lumbering beasts of burden between them, who in turn lugged massive wheeled siege engines behind them.
"Khane," Uriel said, keeping his gaze on the army as it began to slowly emerge out of the rocky Underpass and reach the Hjalnaeir's swirling sands. Almost immediately the sentinel heard the clicking of armored hooves hitting the floor.
"What is it?" the other guard's voice rumbled from Uriel's immediate left. "Another troll raid?"
"No, worse," Uriel responded gravely, worry beginning to grow within him as he looked over the swelling ranks of soldiers that continued to file out of the Underpass and enter more spread out formations. After a moment, he lifted his head from the binoculars and locked his eyes with Khane's, giving the similarly blue-eyed changeling a deadly serious look. "Thrulls."
"Thrulls?" Khane's eyes widened a smidgen and he glanced out towards the Underpass before looking back to his partner. "Why would the Feldrakes send their servants against us? It's been over a thousand years since our last war against them!"
Uriel looked back out over the ocean of sand. "I don't know," he answered honestly. The Feldrakes of the Hinterlands were not chaotic, warmongering barbarians like Orsinians, the blood trolls or orks. Like the changelings, they waged war out of necessity, not enjoyment or bloodlust. The drakes were hardly on friendly terms with the Dark Empire of course, and they had never been as much in the empire's history, but nor did they ever attack without provocation. In fact, Uriel could think of more than a few historic examples of Feldrake and changeling armies making grudging, unspoken alliances in order to contain ork warbands or sudden blooms in the troll population. It had always been pragmatism that led to these wars, however, and all others fought by either side. One did not waste precious resources in pointless, costly endeavors. To do so would make a nation weak, and the Hinterlands were notoriously unforgiving when it came to weakness.
So the Jade Empire must have a very good reason to move against Acheron, at least in its own collective eyes, but what could that reason be? What offense had the Dark Empire ever offered them?
Uriel scowled. In the end, it mattered little why the Feldrakes marched to war, it only mattered that they were. For now, Acheron needed to be warned. The rest could be puzzled out later. Uriel turned to his comrade, having to look up somewhat to meet the larger changeling's eyes.
"Report this to Sergeant Moria while I prepare a steam carriage for travel. We must get word of this to Acheron as soon as possible."
