CHAPTER 35: THE COMING STORM

"Everything's smothered in ash... L-Like the whole word was set on fire... Where is everyone? Where are all the colorful ponies? Are they dead?"

The frigid air clung to Dahlia's fur like water soaked deeply into her. It bit and stung the flesh among her hemlocks. Numbing them with the sensation of tiny claws sinking their teeth in, removing natural feeling wherever it was.

A fine wire of jet-black coiled around her hooves and chest, constricted the movement of her breath. Squeezing and hugging, the binds felt tighter the more she tried to pull them apart. She wiggled in place, hoping to loosen the knot tied at her back. Yet, after a minute of wrestling the wire, nothing.

Dahlia let out a short-breathed sigh, expelling what nipping air had managed to collect inside her lungs. Drooping her head, she stared at the floor, huffing as strands of hazel mane dangled over her face.

Each inhale was sore, and grating. Like a saw plowing through her chest.

Vladimir sat in one of two chairs at the cockpit. The seats ran along the belly of the pilot, where above vents rested over the wings of the pegasi who would control it. Buttons of every size were flashing and blinking on boards surrounding the him. An emerald orb, huddled amongst several dials at the center console sheeted itself in a sickly yellow aura.

The Legion emperor's horn glowed crimson. "You haven't spoken in awhile."

Dahlia rose her head, adding a tired grunt to the action. "Talking, as I’ve found, tends to be difficult considering the position you've managed to put me in."

Vladimir shrugged, flipping a switch on the control panel. "Touché, m'lady. Though, I'm afraid apprehending you in a more comfortable manner wouldn't have been quite so effective, wouldn't you say?"

In the absence of attention drawn to her, Dahlia's eyes moved to the dark space separating the cockpit from the closed loading ramp at the back. She sat against the gunship's leftmost wall, surveying a line of stout square storage lockers lined up against the opposing wall. A group of identical lockers were position directly overhead. To keep all attention, in any form, away from her while attempting to escape was the initial goal.

A chipper laugh, stirred with a contemptuous undertone rode on his words, "Don't worry, though. I'll be certain to find you a more comfortable environment once we've arrived at the Darkmines."

Dahlia froze -- whilst a horrendous stiffness locked up all further joint moment. "Yes," he laughed, "I have to say I'm quite excited to go home. Traveling one foot is such a hassle?"

A lump large enough to stick to the walls of her throat lay idle. Breaths were short, and wheezed. A fierce gulp later removed the lodged mass, likewise releasing the firmness in her limbs.

Leaning upright, Dahlia scooted her rear forward. Gradually she performed this shuffled, advancing a few inches at a time toward the lockers. The stark raving chuckle of Vladimir halted the next movement, "Are you trying to escape? Really?"

Vladimir hadn't even turned his head, "I have an impeccable sense of where you are."

Throwing her a sideways smirk, bending and twisting crookedly up to his temples -- he pulled a mirror hidden behind the side of a few buttons into view. Half of his callous expression was caught in the reflection, alongside the image of Dahlia sitting on the floor, halfway to the lockers.

"That, and this little friend of mine helps a whole lot with keeping an eye on you."

"What was it you hoped to accomplish?" He asked jerking the end of his snout to the lockers. "Did you hope to find something in there that would ultimately lead you to a swift and decisive escape?"

Dahlia sneered, scorning him wordlessly.

"Cute." Vladimir scoffed. "And you expected to take on me, God of the Ironhoof province, when you are nothing more than a meek earth pony trying to outplay a lord."

Shaking his head, he wagged a hoof spinning the seat around to face her. "Tsk, tsk, Dahlia. That's so unfathomably unmare-like of you."

"Why are you doing this?" Dahlia held up her bindings for Vladimir to see, "why do this to us?"

"Well," he playfully brought both shoulders to his ears as though he were caught red-handed, "I wouldn't of got very far if I didn't have a hostage on-board."

Dahlia shook her head, heat rushing into her cheeks, "Why you? Of all the ponies there are, why you?"

His shoulders slumped, "What do you mean?"

"It could have been anyone in the Legion who came with my boys. Anyone else, but you of all ponies decided to travel with them... Why?"

Vladimir smiled something wicked, churning the contents of her stomach as his teeth flashed. "Well, that wasn't the brain-teaser I was expecting. But nonetheless, a simple question to answer.

"Then why?" Dahlia persisted.

"Why," he sniggered, "it's because I could. If you want to know the truth."

He took in a deep lung of the steel-scented air, sighing. Vladimir's eyelids drooped, as he stared at her ogling the mare’s features. "We were so close at one time... Best of friends... Some would even argue that you and I were inseparable."

The heat rose to a burning degree, shading the middle of her cheeks a profound rosy hue. Dahlia swiftly adverted both eyes to the floor, turning a cheek to him, whipping back the lengthy curl of mane running beside her neck.

"In fact, one would say you even had feelings for the sorry lad." He added.

Retreating behind the small curtain of mane draped over her face, she remain silent in response.

A second passed. Complete silence.

Then, Vladimir's eyes popped. Bulging out like grapes ready to burst. Quickly he slapped the floor, crackling, "You did! You did! I had my suspicions he did, but I guess there's still some secrets he's kept from me yet!"

Dahlia's ears perked, upturning her gaze at him as a word lightly escaped her chilled lips, "He?"

Vladimir stopped, and narrowed his eyes at her. "It's nothing that concerns you, m'lady."

Spinning back to the controls, he included, "It doesn't matter anyway. It's not an issue. Now, please, sit still and keep quiet. I'm going to radio the mine that we're on our way. And trust me, they'll be more than pleased to hear about you."

"It's all my fault..." Groaned Golden Cog burying her face into both hooves. "How stupid could I have been to not see it was him?"

The War Room was a place of quiet mourning, tinged in the current atmosphere with melding rage pulsing through the air. Ironside was one of the few ponies who moved, pacing back and forth in front of the exit.

"You don't have to beat yourself down," he said, looking headlong at was before him in his stride, "I'm sure he would have escaped regardless of your interaction."

"Still," Ironside paused in the middle of the doorway, "Dahlia was taken, and that complicates things."

A few of the group were seated at the roundtable -- Ronan anxiously tapped a hoof in a pecking rhythm. Lucy sat on the opposite side, directly gazing at him, "And what do you suppose we do? We don't necessarily have an army, so staging some kind of rescue mission is out of the question."

"Worse yet," Lucy's face simmered with fire red, "they have the last gem they need!"

Neo lay a hoof to Golden Cog's shoulder, including a gentle nurturing rub. "We traveled with him for days, and to figure out it was him of all ponies -- well, I don’t see much more we could do other than try getting her and the gem back."

Ironside faced the ponies gathered in the room, "Luckily for Lucy's question, we already have troops on their way. I signaled the all-clear for our transports to head to Steelhoof earlier."

Adam was sitting beside Big Lot, both of which watched the conversation unfold between Ironside and the others. Meanwhile, Lucy continued to pick apart the situation, "But who knows how long it'll take for them to get that gem in the missile! For all we know, ol' Vlad could be gettin' real comfy with the big red launch button right as we speak."

Ronan's tapping stopped, as his words were hardened with devout sincerity, "I wouldn't imagine he has it ready any time soon."

Lucy rose out of her seat, putting both hooves on the table -- leaning forward, "And why do say that? What's stopping him?"

"Three things," he remarked factually, "one being: He left a few hours ago, and Two being: he knows we'll come for him. And that we have air support."

"So?" Lucy blew hot air out her nostrils, "it's not like that's going to stop the launch."

"It could," Ronan interjected leaning on the table's edge, "and that humble little could might be more than enough reason for him to delay the launch. He'll want to deal with us first, then safely use Iron Hammer."

Pointing at him, Lucy stated, "What about the third thing?"

"Well," Ronan shrugged bringing his eyes to the floor, "I don't know how Iron Hammer operates. But if it harnesses the unhindered power of Sun gems, he'll need to distill its power first. Which may, or may not take a few days. That’s how we harness the raw energy here."

Neo brought his attention to Ironside, stepping away from Golden Cog and approaching the Coalition commander. "Then what do we plan to do? What's our plan of attack? Do we even stand a chance?"

Ironside wandered to an empty chair at the meeting table, "Based off of our numbers, we alone won't be able to overcome the mines, unless we act tactfully about it. Though, the current plan includes us using our air support to suppress any troops they might have on the ground near the entrance."

"As for our chances," Ironside drew a breath, and sighed, "that's up to fate to decide."

"Nevertheless, we'll be taking part in the battle. The more effective the strike is, the better chance we have to rescue Dahlia, and stop them before they pull something."

Ally spoke up, "Like what?"

Ironside hung his head low, allowing the slicked back mane to fall, "They could kill Dahlia, or worse..."

Adam got out of the seat, pupils retracted while a stammer rattled his words, "Like what? What could they do to her that's worse than killing her?"

"Vladimir will get creative, if it comes to it." Ironside answered, somberly. "Let's hope it doesn't get to that point."

"Than what do you expect us to do until the attack?" Lucy patted the backrest of her chair, "Sitting here on our asses until then won't keep him from getting creative."

Ironside nodded, looking to Lucy, "You're right," he began, "that's why I'm going to make you captain of your group. Then, you're going to get Dahlia back."

Quiet. It fell over the room like the aftershock of a gunshot. Unmoving, perfectly soundless. Lucy managed to break the barrier with the weak mutter of a word, "Sir?"

Raising a hoof to Lucy, he reassured her, "Just hear me out, Ms. Luck. Allow me to explain everything."

An armored wagon concealed in sheets of welded steels kicked up a storm of dust as it bumped onward. It supported a vacant machine-gun nest at the top, whilst the two fully geared power-armor soldiers hitched to it tromped on adding to the swirling cloud amassing behind.

Thatch sat on a crate in one of the many alcoves formed down the central highway leading to the Darkmines, each casting a pale orange light from lanterns hanging from their ceilings. Blood ran in the streets. Pools of the velvet liquid, catching lumps of dried dirt that seeped into the cracks rooted out all over the broken asphalt. A few slaves crouched down next to the puddles, wet rags in hoof with a rusted bucket close by tended to the mess.

The glow of Miner's blood accompanied the mix. Setting the red aglow with a nightmarish luminosity. Thatch watched this scrubbing go on for minutes now, without removing his eyes from the scene.

A couple of radios were nestled on scratched up wooden tables in the corner of the alcove. A soldier sat at the device, listening and nodding -- holding the earpiece of a phone to the shredded tip of his white ear.

He put the phone to his chest, glancing at Thatch over his shoulder, "Sir! I've radioed the border, and the major outposts along the main railroad!"

"They've given me their ETA." The soldier added. "They want to know if Vladimir is returning. I recently received a message that he’s on his way. Should I check the tracking device to be more sure?"

Thatch didn't move when he answered, "Yes, check it. Hopefully he won't have to see the bloody mess that's been done here."

The soldier returned to the phone-radio, leaving Thatch to think to himself. "To think, we've done so much here... for the mines, for the province -- it’s typical of those beasts, to lash out like this, I just didn’t imagine they’d do it so early."

A disheveled yellow slave in the street, an earth pony mare in her early twenties, pressed the squelching blood-stained rag into a close-by pool. She let the blood suck up, wring a fair portion of the puddled life-juice in the bucket, and repeated.

"I thought that we could prevent all of this. Even if I felt they would rise up, I didn’t imagine this much blood would be spilt.”

"Sir," the radio operator's voice ripped him out of his watchful mood, "I checked his location on the tracker. He's speeding through on his way back."

The undisturbed vertebrae in Thatch's neck popped as he turned his head for the first time in minutes to the operator, "How far out is he? What is our reinforcements’ ETA?"

"Vladimir will be here within a few hours. Maybe less." The operator said. "As for the oncoming troops, they'll be here within the hour."

"Captain Covert himself mentioned he'll be looking forward to rejoining the Emperor for this special occasion."

"Ah," Thatch grunted, "radio them back... tell them we look forward to their arrival."

The soldier saluted, "Yes sir!"

Thatch once more placed his eyes on the slave's work. Since last he'd seen her drain the bloody pool in one part of the road, no progress had been made. Again and again the slave dipped the rag in, soaked the blood in it, and wrung it out in the bucket. The blood never drained, and no matter how much she kept pulling out of the cracks.

“I’ve told what we plan to do.” Ironside said, “There will be an assault, and we will stage a rescue mission for Dahlia.”

New questions flooded into being, springing dozens of other inquires up in Neo’s head. “But how? When?”

“The details aren’t exact yet, but a little later I’ll have a chat with the Keep, and then I’ll tell you.”

Lucy scooted out her chair at the War Room table with a grinding screech. Unshaken by the sound, she walked to Ironside as she spoke, “I still don’t get why you picked me.”

Ironside looked at her as she came within a few feet's distance from himself, “You’ve done a lot for the Coalition. Shouldn’t that be reason enough? I trust you and your judgement.”

Whatever bait he dangled in front of her didn’t distract Lucy from the truth he concealed behind words, and a content tone. “If that were the case you would have promoted me years ago. I just find it strange I get put in this position out of random. Why not Neo? Why not Adam? They’ve dealt with the Legion fair enough to lead a defense against them at Arkcannon.”

His counter was swift, and powerful, “I also know you personally, and they abandoned our order to venture for their own interests. So, please excuse me while I put my faith in the one mare who has been loyal to our order this entire time.”

The whole room went quiet. Like all life had mysteriously sucked out of existence. Ironside’s eyes, however, panned the area from one wall to the next. The commander, having counted thoroughly those who were present, cleared his throat and looked at Lucy.

“Having said all I know at the moment, I’d like to speak with Ms. Luck.”

He rose his volume so the entire room could hear, “Alone.”

“Listen,” Lucy retorted, “whatever you have to say to me can be said in front of them.”

“That wasn’t a request.” His response growled, paired with an alpha set eyes interlocking with her’s.

Ally was the first to make her way to the door. “We won’t get between you guys,” she jerked her head to the exit, “c’mon, let’s leave them to it.”

There wasn’t a fuss, or a single comment to be made. Everyone conveyed their thoughts by confused and suspicious stares all placed squarely on Ironside.

One at a time, everyone left the room. Until, after a minute later, the room was vacated entirely. Alone at last, Ironside wandered to the table -- sitting at the nearest chair to him.

“You know, doing this wasn’t easy. Fighting this war for as long as we have. It, after a while, starts to weigh on you a bit.”

Lucy prowled like a mad mother lion, yanking a chair out. “Cut the crap. What is it you wanted to talk about that required all the secrets?”

“Well,” he pressed his back up against the backrest of the chair, “it’s about those boys... and Iron Hammer.”

“And what about it?” Lucy sat down, “I know we don’t quite see eye-to-eye on the whole issue. So, what? Did you finally come to some grand conclusion with the higher ups?”

Ironside could feel the nervousness build up in his gut. A tickling pressure that traveled through his shoulder making his hoof twitch. To suppress it, he tightened his gut, and folded both forehooves. “No, which leads me to assume the choice is up to me.”

“You can’t be serious, right?”

“Unfortunately for you, I can be, Ms. Luck.”

The unbelievably inane nature of his statement brought a scoff, “I can’t believe this...”

“I never said anything was official. And trust me when I say this is a subject I wanted to discuss with you, and you alone.”

Lucy inferred, “And what is it you’ve decided on exactly?”

“I think we both know the answer to that question already.” He continued, “That is where I stand. As I know where you stand on the matter. I just wanted to tell you that I’m going to talk to the Keep soon. When I’m finished, we’ll find out a little more. Maybe even the fate of Iron Hammer itself.”

“So, I want you to prepare the boys and the rest of your friends for the news should it come into being.”

Jerking down the end of his sleeve for a second, he glanced at the face of a watch wrapped around his ankle. “Speaking of which, I have to make that call now.”

Stepping off of the chair calmly, he gave Lucy a bow. “Time is of the essence. Take care.”

Lucy was at a loss of words, “I-I... you...”

He made his way to the door, and just before he exited the doorway Lucy extended a hoof out to him shouting, “Wait! Y-You can’t just expect me to go off just like that... can you?”

Her call out to him hadn’t hindered his pace. “Give me an hour, and you’ll have more. Trust me.”

With a baseball-sized rock firmly sandwiched between his hooves, Scooter pounded away at the iron hinges of the cell door. Outside all was quiet. The chaos from the riot had subsided entirely. Now a far-off susurrus of steam billowing out from pipes further down the hall whispered to the prisoners.

Whopper had a stockpile of rocks stacked into a pyramid beside him. He watched his comrade hack at the lower hinge, twanging a sharp tone that made his eyes flinch, and jaws bar.

Scooter grit his teeth, hewing the metal. Twing! Twing! Twing!

The sound carried off into the hallway, while the jagged edges of the rock dug in his hoofs. Intensifying the force of his molars’ bite, Scooter beat the hinge again. Twing!

Panting, he fell back onto his haunches, dropping the rock in front of him. A massive winding crack ran through the rock's middle, crumbling in a dozen piece when it landed on the ground.

His purple tongue, swollen and torrid, hung from Scooter's gaping mouth while a sweat forming atop the heat pumping through his forehead. The fat droplets fell to the floor, as he stared at the bulky hinge fastening the door to the frame. Apart from a few thin scratches carved out of the metal, not a dent nor mark of significant damage could be seen.

Whopper took another rock of a similar size, and held it out to his friend. "Here's another one, boss."

The deep huffing didn't stop, neither did the eye-contact Scooter held on the hinge. Pulling the rock back to him Whopper set it down nudging his snout to the door, "I could take your place, boss. If ya' want. Maybe I can get it open."

Scooter breathed his last great inhale, letting it out in a sigh that accompanied a limp hanging head. His greasy mane, stained in the glossy sweat of the hard work, dangled before his face. "We're not gettin' out of 'ere..."

Whopper reached a hoof out at his captain, "Ya' can't give up, boss. We'll get outta' here. I'm sure of it."

"No," Scooter's eyes were just as broken as the rock before him, "no we're not..."

The hoof Whopper held out finally touched Scooter's shoulder. "We need to keep tryin', even if it takes us forever."

Scooter's voice quavered with emotion, choking up his works as he shook his head. "Ah... Ah, don't know if we'll make it out..."

Whopper smiled, gently patting Scooter's shoulder, which felt more tense and solid than a freshly prepared drum, "Ya' gotta' keep fightin'... For Big Lot. Don't ya' remember about her? Don't ya' care?"

Raising his head, Scooter peaked at Whopper. Hazy tears glazed his twinkling eyes, catching the soft orange light pouring in through the slender bars of the cell door's speakeasy. "This cell was never made t' be broken, Whopper..."

He leaned a hoof on the door, feeling the warmed metal ease the tender bruises that ached in his hoof. "This isn't gonna' work... this door, t' hinges... none of it matters a single bit, pal... Nothin's gonna' get us outta' 'ere."

Applying a faint amount of pressure to the door, a grating squeal of crude metal rubbing on metal rung out through the cell. Quickly, Scooter retracted his hoof from the door, as it moved forward slightly.

Cocking his head one way, then another, he got onto all fours and gingerly approached the door. "W-What the?"

Whopper blinked, pointing at the door. "Is it?"

"Ah don't know," Scooter finished for him wedging the tip of his hoof between the door and the frame, "maybe it's..."

Pulling the door toward him, the hinges shrieked. Scooter's ears flattened at the blaring wail, while he pulled harder. Then, like the entire thing was greased in oil, it smoothly opened for him.

Scooter's eyes popped. "What..."

A sliver of light from the outside sliced into their dark cell from the barely opened door. Scooter's breath was on hold, as he frowned at the exit.

Whopper chuckled heartily prodding at the door, "Well look at that!"

Using both hooves, Whopper pulled it completely open, exposing the dents and twisted contours of debris that had been shot across the door. The lock included, bore three pea-sized metal fragments of a pipe lodged into it.

"Huh," Whopper muttered inspecting the broken lock, "how long do ya' suppose it's been like that, boss?"

Slamming a hoof into his forehead, Scooter groaned, "Ah ain't gonna' answer that... Ah jus’ ain't gonna' do it..."

"It'll be about one day, Ironside." A stallion's voice said on the radio-phone. "It would have helped if we had all of the gunships present, but considering the current situation..."

Ironside sat at a desk with a phone pressed up to his ear. The other free hoof rested on top of the radio as he spoke to the General over the line. "I understand... Still, do you think that even just a day would be cutting this a little close? Vladimir has the gem, and every minute is a loss for us."

"It's the best we can do." The General sighed, "This entire event is going to set us back, and even with just a day I'm pushing what our resources can do."

"I suppose we'll just have to hurry then."

The General hesitated to respond, "I guess so."

"Regardless," The General continued, "I expect you to organize this assault. Whatever plan you have will decide the outcome of this conflict."

A heaviness weighed on Ironside's words, "Yes sir."

"I expect the best from you. It all ends here. Contact me when you have all of our troops assembled."

Ironside sucked in a breath through his nose, turning his spine stiff and upright. "The moment they arrive I'll let you know, sir."

"Very good, Ironside. Until then."

The call ended with a buzzing, and then a boop. Hanging up the phone on the radio, Ironside turned around to the room at his back. A panoply of Coalition operatives of various decorations murmured and chatted to one another -- all wearing headsets connected to computer towers flashing their processor information on thin needle dials. Some glanced at papers on long tables against the wall, whilst others tore to the opposite side carrying a lengthy rolls of paper flapping in the quickness of their step.

A faint detection of clicking, and electric chirping overtook the atmosphere. A collection of a dozen different tasks, all focused on preparation for the coming battle. From further down the room, a purple unicorn, smartly dressed in the proper beige Coalition attire, approached him with a clipboard hovering beside her.

"Sir, I'm going over our equipment stock, and need to know how much fuel the ships will need."

Ironside started walking down the middle of the room, the mare following diligently at his flanks. "You'll have to consult the the head-engineer in the hangar. She'll know how much we'll need to effectively execute the operation."

The mare nodded, and veered off to a group chatting ponies gathered at the face of a computer tower. As Ironside came to the end of the room, a voice, clear and booming shouted his name over the abundance of hustled activity.

"Wilco!" It was a mare's voice, strong, bold, retaining hints of a gravelly undertone.

He looked to his right, to see Lucy racing up to him. "We need to talk!"

"Ms. Luck," Ironside smiled as she stepped up to him, "I didn't expect to see you here yet."

Lucy had fire burning in her glaring eyes, seeping its rage into her tone, "Cut the crap. I need some answers, now."

His smiled faded, while he eyed her boiling complexion up and down. "Why so angry? I haven't done anything have I?"

"No, no you haven't." She replied gargling on the immense rage yearning to explode.

"Then what's with the temper? Are you upset I promoted you for the operation?"

Lucy huffed, "No, it's not that either."

"Then what?" He asked, "Please, it'd be remarkably useful if you'd enlighten me on the issue."

"Iron Hammer." Lucy stated.

Ironside slightly reeled back, "What about it?"

Stomping a hoof a few inches from his own, she stared him in the eyes, "I need to know you aren't going through with taking the weapon as the Coalition's."

"Ms. Luck," Ironside spoke sweetly including a dashing smile that would melt any more feeble-kneed mare’s heart, "what we plan on doing with the weapon afterward is up for debate. But I assure you, destroying it won't bring peace."

"Listen," she leaned into him, pinching her eyes and jabbing a hoof in his chest, "I don't care if you make me the Queen of fucking Canterlot, no matter what Iron Hammer is a deadly killing machine, and no one deserves to use it."

"Well," Ironside smirked, "its fate is always up for further discussion. So let's not be too hasty in prescribing the weapon's stance until afterward, sound reasonable?"

Lucy tightened her eyes, merely leering at him with slits and sturdy lifted hoof, ready to swing. "I swear, if we find out you're up to something, I'll knock your lights out!"

"Lucy, please." Ironside’s boasted, "Let's face that bend when we come to it. The last thing we want is to rush our decisions. Though, if you’d like -- I have some more information you might want to hear."

There was a brief flash of the purest blinding white illuminating in an otherwise dark metal staircase. Red paint, dulled by time and weather by the balmy atmosphere caused it to chip. Where segments of the thin railing already revealed the blackened iron underneath.

Thatch stepped through the door, his figure darkened by the shadow while the light poured in. The bottom of stairs vanished in a void of blackness as he lay a hoof of the rough dry railing..

Thatch looking unsurely over his shoulder at a guard standing post by the door.

"I'll only be a little while... and I wouldn't like to be bothered."

The guard nodded at him, silently.

"However, I am expecting the word on his Highness' touchdown time to be at any moment. If the message should come by all means let me know. Otherwise... well, I don't think I need to repeat myself."

The guard replied in a sturdy grunt, "Noted, sir."

His hoof glided on the rail, taking with it chips of different shapes and sizes. Like the feeble, light little things they were they'd fall to the ground. The spitting representation of what a leaf might do having fallen from a sizable tree. Each step down into the deep darkness echoed.

Solitarily, the heavy vibrations lingered about, exciting the cooler air in the dark. After the tenth step, Thatch felt the rugged hard floor touch his hoof. Following shortly by a few lights overhead spring to life at a disembodied click from up the stairs.

There were only four larger lightbulbs in the room dangling from hair-thin wires. Remarkably dim, they peeled away a fair portion of the shadow, exposing the entirety of the area. There was a long clearing beside the stairs, sitting in front of a large set of bars spanning from one side of the room to the next.

Behind the bars was a measurable space nearly equal in size to the clearing, though in the barred area a sheet-less bed and chamber pot were present. Squatting in one corner of the room, back faced out, was the Warden.

The creature’s head hung like a wet rag. Face, nose, and ears drapped motionlessly.

A dozen bandages covered his legs, and neck. Blotches of his green blood spotted across them. As Thatch walked to the bars, he saw the stains glow. Faintly, however, like a faded sheen to old metal.

He rapped a hoof against one bar, "It's all over now."

The sound of rustling chains stirred in the background, while the Warden lifted his head and turned around to see Thatch. Fastened to his forelegs were a long link of bulky irons securing him to the wall.

The Warden's voice was tinged with a longing sigh, "No more sound... No more sound..."

A great length of coiled chain slacked off all around the Warden, and with every slightly movement the chains jingled. "So promising. So promising. The mine is dead now. Killed. Killed. Forever."

Thatch held his ground, "We were going to let you keep this mine. But you just couldn't wait to kick us out, huh?"

The Warden's head bobbed up and down, "True, and yes. But we are not stupid. We see. We hear. We know. The mine -- it would never be ours. No... No... Thatch say, surface Legion say yes but we know."

Thatch pointed to the ceiling, "Right now we're just getting to pick up the carnage you left in that riot you pulled off."

"Heh," A distinct amount of mocking guile was in his words as Thatch continued, "You even managed to damage so many of the lower-level cells we've had to resort to putting you in the old quarantine room."

Standing on all four hooves, the Warden shuffled to the bars with the chains dragging in-tow, "Why come here? Tell."

Shrugging, Thatch answered in half-suppressed laugh paired with an appropriately insulting smirk, "I thought you'd like a little update on what's been happening topside."

"Eh? What? Tell." The Warden hissed slowly sticking the end of his breather between the bars, "Tell, pony. Tell the Warden!"

Thatch took a few steps back, feeling the Warden's words ooze down his spine, leaving a icy prick in their wake. "Vladimir is returning, and he plans to issue your trial."

The Warden's head titled, "Trial?"

The slimy words of the miner put Thatch's hackles on the back of his neck standing, "You did kill a good portion of our troops stationed in the mine. It took a sizeable amount of our surface troops to reclaim it from your beasts. Which, like you, are now in custody."

The Warden stared at him with the soul-sapped glowing spheres of his mask. “Captured?”

"Your plan wouldn't have gotten very far either," Thatch let out a chuckle that briskly ran out through his teeth, "trainloads of soldiers just arrived at the station. More than enough to have claimed the mine back."

The miner's head shifted the other way, as he spoke unmoved by Thatch's quip, "You confused... So confused..."

Thatch paused, and shook his head, "W-What?"

"You have noticed it, yes?"

"Noticed what?"

The Warden brought his voice to a whisper, "He is not what he seems... Feel it... You feel... Yes?"

Slinking back to his corner in the cell, he chortled to himself as he strode along. "Heheh... Doubt his power, yes. He is not there..."

"Sir!" A voice called from up the staircase, "There's been word on his Majesty's position!"

Thatch threw his attention to the stairs, "Right, I'll be up in a moment!"

The miner’s head rocked side to side, giggles distant and echoed fluttering about. The creature’s face, sagging to the ground in the same way Thatch had found him. And, while it was subtle, Thatch could detect a song murmured in the same energy of child being whispered.

Looking once more to the Warden, the creature of a pony was where he had been before. All around him mounds of chains.

Adam's legs swayed forward and back impatiently over the side of Ally's bed. Everyone of their group was in the room. Spread out in the small space clearly not made to house six ponies. Big Lot paced through the middle of the room with bloated cheeks suffused in the burning coloring of a surly temperament.

She had to weave past Wester, who took a considerable amount of the central space. This set her off like a firecracker, "Why are we all crowded in here! Can somepony tell me what we're supposed to be doing?"

Neo had been watching her for the past few minutes next to Adam, "Lucy wanted to talk to us."

The little one sharply turned to Neo, lower lip blisteringly red and puffy, "I know that!" She barked, "But is it for anything important enough to keep us cramped in here like cows!"

"You mean sardines?" Adam added.

She shook her head, grunting, "Whatever! They're basically the same thing!"

Ally bounced her head off one shoulder, intervening with a voice soaked in sincerity, "Whatever the reason, Lucy sounded serious when she asked us to meet her here."

"What do you think it is?" Adam asked, "You think it's about the assault on the mine?"

Wester tossed his thoughts in, "There's a high possibility, provided the verbal indications."

"Whatever it is," Ally began, "it won't be flower picking or sunny walks, that's for sure."

The door swooshed open, as Lucy stepped though. Big Lot threw her hooves in the air victoriously, like she'd just won the lottery. "At last! She's come to release the sardines!"

While the door closed behind her, Lucy's head reeled back at her interestingly bizarre remark, "What?"

Adam justified the statement, "She's happy you came, because we're crammed in here, and she hasn't been too happy about it."

"Oh," Lucy gave a nod to the response, "well, I've got good news then, you'll be outta' here in no time."

"Okay, what is it?" Ally asked.

All eyes fell onto her. All sound evaporating into attentive silence.

Lucy rubbed the back of her neck, brushing the prickly hairs nervously standing, "I just got done talking to Ironside. A few things came up while I spoke to him."

Neo leaned forward, swiveling his ears in her direction in hopes to gain a better listen, "Like what? Did he bring up Iron Hammer at all?"

"He did," Lucy dropped her hoof, "but I'm sure he won't try something, not if we have anything to say on the matter."

"But that's not what I wanted to talk about." Her speech hardened, "No, what I'm going to talk about is our place in this battle."

"As Ironside told us back in the War room, there is a plan. Basically, they’ll airdrop a good portion of our men in at the entrance. Pick off most of the heavier troops with our smaller more agile gunships, which should give us a window to get into the mine."

"That front gate is the only entrance in," She paused, a dire length of quiet forcing those in the room to move in curiously, "and we're gonna' fly right into it."

"Why?" Adam inquired, "What are we suppose to do?"

Lucy looked at Adam solitarily, gazing at him distantly like a wayfarer joyously returning home, "We're going to rescue your mom, Adam."

Neo's eyes were like expanding disks, ready to pop out at any given moment, "Ironside would give us that task? He's letting us get in while the others stay outside and fight? Isn't he the one who wanted to make sure we didn't tamper with Iron Hammer?"

"All fair questions," Lucy agreed, "and to be honest I was pretty shocked myself we were given the task."

"Still," she stated pungently, "even if we didn't agree to the latter option, plan B would have been worse. He said he'd lock us up for disobedience. At that point there might not even be a crew to rescue Dahlia. And I couldn't have that, and I know you two didn't want that."

Neo folded his forehooves, "How do they plan to get a gunship through the gate? From what I remember about the gate size, not even a small one like what Vladimir took could wiggle through there -- let alone with bullets and rockets flying at us."

"Yeah, that would be a problem, huh?" Lucy smirked, "That's why we're taking a wagon. One that'll fit in one of the larger gunships."

"They'll cut us loose somewhere outside battle zone, and start the assault first. Then, we'll come in and swoop through the gate."

Ally tapped a hoof to her chin, "I don't know, it sounds risky. Won't they have some kind of major defense there?"

"Yeah," Lucy replied, "they will. From what he gathered, Ironside said that they might have some sort of anti-air units by the gate. Most likely with the bulk of their forces."

"His job, though, will be to take them out or remove their focus from the sky."

Neo rose a hoof, sternly interjecting, "I'm sorry -- I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact he gave us this part of the assault."

Adam looked to his brother. "Well, we are the only ones who've been in the mine and lived, brother."

Returning his gaze to Lucy he continued, "And not to sound too boastful or anything, but I don't think there's too many other ponies qualified to do this other than us."

"That's right, Adam." Lucy tipped the brim of her hat up, "besides, we'll be armored up, and I've been told I get to fly a snazzy metal wagon. Souped up just for this."

Ally pointed to the bandages caressing Lucy's wings, "First you'll have to get those up and working. Otherwise we'll end up driving this whole thing down into the ground -- in more than one way."

Lucy's brows dropped paired with the most sour, unamused frown she could pull, "Ha. Ha. Ms. Sunshine. We're all great comedians now, aren't we?"

Hundreds of soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder in the middle of the road. A flurry of conversations taking place at the same time mumbled about in the air. The clouds were darker than before, as nighttime settled somewhere above the cloud layer. Setting a poor quality of grey tinted twilight over the crowd.

A number of crates had been assembled in front of the mass of Legion soldiers. It stood two boxes high, large enough for someone who stood atop them to gaze over the entirety of the masses. Thatch lay a hoof to one of the cates’ rough wooden planks.

This makeshift stage unerringly creaked in hushed groaning. The kind only someone keenly listening could detect. Like many of the other major officers or officials, Thatch stood among a dozen differently decorated ponies by the stage's side -- away from the central crowd.

As his hoof ran down the wood, a shiver lanced through him, bringing him to bur underneath his breath. Something touched his back, urging his head to turn. The hoof laying on him belonged to a tall standing, larger-than-life Covert. A pony, who embodied pride in a straight posture, marked with a smirk that pooled the stomach juices of any normal officer who had the unfortunate pleasure of being in his presence.

A magnificent cape of solid green embellished in gold embroidering was draped over his shoulders, dragging at his hind-legs. By Thatch’s expression it seemed he didn't mind the shock.

"Something the matter, Thatch?"

Covert had an eyebrow raised, and when coupled by the smug grin, Thatch’s vomit already began to fester. "It's the stage, Covert."

The smirk faded from Covert, "What of it?"

"It's not," the words got lost in his throat, "stable... enough. Couldn't we have done it on the ground? Especially when the trial will be on top of it?"

"We'll all be standing on it." Covert moved his attention to the makeshift stage. "We won't be on it long, it wasn't meant to support us for hours on end. Just enough for our lord to carry out what needs to be done."

Thatch turned his eyes to the ground, feeling the full efforts of the sickness sapping the life out of him. "Yes... right."

Covert strolled to Thatch's side, "I heard Ventures died in the riots."

Without removing his hold on the ground before him, Thatch answered, "He did. He was one of the riot's first victims."

"A real shame. He was a good pony, and a damn fine soldier too."

Removing his gaze on the floor, he looked at Covert surveying the multitude of medals and honorary decorations he hadn't noticed earlier. "Who decorated you all of a sudden? When you got off the train I didn't see-"

"Do you like them?" His eyes were wide and beaming with twinkling excitement, "I brought them from the border. They used to be Big Lot's... That stupid brat was holding out on us. She must have been collecting these from ponies she killed. Some were Steel Rangers. Suitably honored too."

He took a smaller golden medal at the end of the many that lined his uniform, and singled it out in his hoof, "This one looks like it belonged to a captain during the Great War. I figured wearing these might sway his majesty into sending me up higher into the ranks."

Thatch snorted and shook his head whispering barely between his lips, "Oh, please."

Covert was quick to catch him, "What did you say?"

Recovering as tactfully as he could, Thatch’s ears flattened while he waved a hoof adding a slight shake of the head. "Nothing! Nothing, I was just thinking about the coming minutes aloud."

"Hm," Covert grunted keeping his eyebrow noticeably aloft, "if you say so."

For a time, the conversation lagged. Thatch stayed to himself, eyes wandering the tiny zone in front of his forehooves. Covert took a step toward him, jabbing at the quiet, "Thatch, are you faring well? You seem a little... off."

The sickness went hollow in his lower gut. Thatch could feel the emptiness spread to his chest -- pressing the words he wanted to say out through his mouth, "D-Did you notice anything wrong with his majesty the last time you saw him?"

Covert pulled himself back, "Like what exactly?"

"His behavior," Thatch replied, "the way he spoke or sounded. Did he seem like the Vladimir the Legion knew before?"

"He did manage to steal Dahlia, and make it out with the location of her project."

"Still," he upturned his sight to the rolling storm clouds overhead keening with distant thunder charged within, "I didn't want to believe it but I think something might be-"

A booming voice overtook the conversation, and ripped the two of them out of it entirely. "Announcing, his lordship Emperor Vladimir! All hail Vladimir!"

In glorious unison every soldier cheered out in a deafening chant, echoing their leader's name: "Hail Vladimir! Hail Vladimir! Hail!"

Thatch trotted to the front of the stage, keeping close to the boxes. He poked his head around the corner, witnessing the soldiers standing on the far right part. Vladimir prowled through the dividing masses with a swagger in his advance, and a delighted smile on his face. Ponies whooped and cheered, some leaping up twirling their helmets around in the air fanatically.

Covert amble past Thatch, a joyous hop in his step, "Showtime, Thatch."

The other officers herded onward to meet their leader, who in no time at all had made it through the sea of green helmets. It was chaos as officials met Vladimir. They all in one way were too keen to kiss hooves. Nodding, and smiling -- shaking his hoof like starving scavengers fighting over the a meal.

Vladimir was swarmed by the officers, whilst Thatch stood a few steps distance from the mayhem, watching the scene unfold safely. Above the heads of the ponies huddled about, Thatch saw Dahlia being shoved this way and that by overly eager Legionnaires.

Wire was tied to her ankles, while Vladimir jostled her forward before raising a hoof to quell the squabbling masses, "Gentlecolts! Fillies! Please! This is indeed a time to celebrate! But let us not overdue the celebration just yet!"

Directing his gaze to the stage, he announced, "Why not hear the good news my children? Do you wish to hear it?"

A rumble of applauding hooves shook the ground. Vladimir turned to the stage and waved a hoof beckoning the officers to follow him as he moved. "Let's start this already! Come! Come! Let it begin!"

There was a set of wooden steps leading up to the stage. Vladimir tromped up the stairs dragging Dahlia by her wire. Thatch and the others ascended the steps one at a time, bending the weak boards not meant to support the number of ponies marching on it.

Every officer spread out on the stage, the boxes shifting slightly against their movements. Vladimir took the center stage, handing Dahlia to an officer farther off to the left.

A crimson aura consumed Vladimir's horn, later engulfing his neck in magical energies. His voice was enhanced, calling out loud for all to hear like the cracking arch of thunder. "We're no strangers to trial, my children. After all it was us who were left with the world our ancestors devastated."

"We did not chose this world to live in," Vladimir began to pace the length of the stage slowly, "yet, here we are. Survivors. Leaders. Soldiers. All collectively assembled in a living, thriving unit. A glimpse of order in an otherwise chaotic world."

"In the past, we fought for a great deal of things: Land, honor, resources. Petty things now. All of these dwarf in comparison to what we fight for now. A future for our species. To know a time of peace never known to this generation."

Stopping at the far left, he faced the crowd, and pounded his chest to the words he spoke, "We will die. Peace was never achievable."

"But now," he lifted a hoof, "now we can ensure a new time of peace. As of now, I currently have the location of the Coalition's little operation. A sad attempt to recreate what we started!"

"And I tell you this," Vladimir pointed to the east, "we will go there, and we will take back what's ours!"

The troops chanted in unified stomps and cheering hollars.

"Why," he laughed looking to Dahlia, "we even caught the traitor who started the damn thing!"

"However, with all of this goods news I have heard of some rather negative happenings to have occurred in my absence."

"A riot," he chirped with a smile reaching to both ends of his face, "a riot... here of all places!"

"And you know what? When I radioed the mine they told me who instigated the act! The grand Poobah of the operation! The great advocator of chaos!"

"Now," Vladimir walked to the middle of the stage, "I was told that justice would need to be dealt to the traitor. And if you know me, I simply enjoy implementing justice to the wicked!"

A sough of delighted laughter convulsed through crowd.

"With that said, let's not waste anymore time, shall we?" An officer nodded at Vladimir and waved to a group of soldiers standing by the main gate.

A soldier yanked on a lengthy rope wrapped snuggly around the Warden's and a few other miners’ necks, dragging them all out from the gate. The Warden shuffled on, then as his hoof went too far in a step, he stumbled over knotted bindings cuffed to his legs.

The minor tumble took the others with him, staggering forward. But they recovered quickly -- keeping the chain-gang march moving.

They brought the Darkminers to the stage, moving them next to the officers behind Vladimir. Thatch stood a few steps away from the Warden. Listening to his ghastly wheezing breaths as the rope constrained the inhalations he took.

Vladimir started to speak again, this time listing the crimes the Warden had committed. As he declared the crimes of the miner, Thatch's ear twitched at an itching sound that came from the miner.

It was a low whistling the other officer didn't seemed moved by. All blurred and dimmed, when the noise jabbed at his eardrum. The air grew still, as Thatch turned to see the quiet distraction come from the Warden.

The Warden was already looking at him, waiting for Thatch to notice. "He's changed," the Warden hissed softly, "not the same..."

The Soldier who had brought the Warden to the stage, rose a hoof and struck him in against the back of the head -- letting a faint yeep escape out of the miner. The Warden, rubbing his head now, saw Legion soldier hovered over him, scowling, "Shut it!"

Thatch returned his attention to Vladimir, the same emptiness pervading him the longer he stood idle. The god-king of the Legion threw a hoof to the Warden exclaiming at the height of what his magically altered voice would allow, "Warden of the Darkmines! For crimes against the Legion, for the murder of multiple officers, the assault on our troops, and betrayal of our trust -- I sentence you to death!"

The Legion soldiers roared with murderous glee. Crying out the same chilling words: "Kill him! Kill him! Kill him! KILL HIM!"

Vladimir flashed his teeth in a slanted grin, nodding once to the soldier at the Warden's back. Confirming the order with a returning nod -- he drew his sword, and swiped at Warden's shoulder. It sounded a dull thwack as the blade broke bone and tore flesh. It lodged itself deep -- a perfect strike.

Like an axe, imbued into the stump of a tree, the sword's hilt was buried in the miner's body, leaving the hilt to jut out at an angle from his back. Green glowing blood of a sickening color gushed out in short spurts across the stage from the gaping crevasse of a wound. Slumping down onto his stomach, the essence of the Warden's body drained through the cracks of the boxes.

He was still alive for a moment, gurgling and coughing under his breather. After failure upon failure of trying to pull the sword from Warden's shoulder, the Legion soldier let go and backed away from the dying creature.

Vladimir’s brow furrowed, as the miner continued to hack his lungs out uncontrollably. “He’s... still alive?”

Walking to the dying miner, Vladimir looked down at the creature. A lowly monster -- an animal wild and vicious. Thatch could see it in his leader’s eyes, the fury of a murderer.

With his horn wrapped in crimson magical power, the hilt exploded in the hellish light. Like a knife in soft butter he drew it out of the Warden’s body. The tip, raised over the miner’s spine, came down hard.

Stabbing the miner again, and again -- the next injection faster than the last. Until, after thirteen clean blows across the Warden’s back, he stopped. Telekinetically dropping the sword carelessly to the side, he satisfyingly grinned.

Tossing up a triumphant hoof in the air, Vladimir declared, "It is done!"

The crowd went hysterical. Gamboling around like ponies bounding to the moving beats of exciting music. An uproar of mirth -- a panoply of their laughs and cheers carried and reverberated off of the hollow city buildings.

Thatch felt his stomach contort, irking the contents within. Vladimir faced the crowd again, blasting his voice over the merriment, "Now that justice has been exacted -- peace will now rise on a new horizon!"

A wave of murmurs spread like an infectious rumor, gradually silencing the soldiers. "For as long as I care to remember we have needed one Sun gem. Only one! Just a measly little singular gem to achieve peace."

"And," he began stuffing a hoof into one of his coat pockets, "the time to obtain peace is now!"

Holding aloft the gem brightly shining like a beacon in both hooves for everyone to see, the soldiers shook the earth in a stomp of hooves. Thatch eyed the stone, feeling the warm delicate light kiss his face. Where he should of been rejoicing, and happy -- he felt a rock in his chest sink.

The Warden's last words to him stuck. Lingering in the form of a terrible frigidness, inviting the rock to plummet further and further into his stomach.

The cool nighttime breeze swept across the road outside the Darkmine's gates. The gust swirled the dry ash and dust alike in a tornado, later to dissipate altogether into the wind. Soldiers hurried back and forth, more busy than they usually were on the surface.

Troops were loading and unloading the brooding hulking machines that were heavy machine guns off the newly rolled in trains, taking nearly two novice unicorns at a time to move. Lines of hefty sandbags stacked up to a ponies chest provided cover for where the guns would be set outside the gate. Other positions down the road had metal crates assembled into low standing walls.

Scooter crouched behind the safety of a few crates by the Darkmine’s gate with Whopper at his side. The two skulked onward before stopping to peek over the top of their cover.

"Do you see anything?" Whopper's eyes peered at every angle. "Weapons, I mean... and a pair of uniforms too."

Scooter's had just finished scanning the immediate zone, "Nah, not a thing, pal. Ya' think they'll jus' be leaving 'em out in t' open?"

Whopper shrugged, "Who knows?"

The tip of Scooter's ear twitched, as the sound of crunching pebbles approached. Out of pure instinct, Scooter dove, taking his comrade with him. Two Legion stallions came walking to their crates, toting monstrous assault rifle battle-saddles bolstering mirthfully jingling ammunition belts.

"Who was suppose to move these down the road?" One asked to the other.

The second soldier rapped the top of a crate he passed by, "Hell if I know, that's the unicorn's job. We're just supposed to patrol."

"Do you think the battle's going to be huge? Do you think we'll make it out?"

"Heh," the second chuckled, "you see those?"

He motioned his head to the trains, where a team of unicorns in unison floated the largest machine gun he’d ever seen to the ground, "Those things can shoot down anything. Armored wagons, pegasi -- hell even ponies decked in power armor. Covert had them especially brought in from the border. Big Lot was holding out on us this whole time!"

Scooter's ears shot up faster than an alerted dog's. His eyes, more than opened, bursted forth almost unnaturally. "Did he just say..." he uttered under his breath.

The first soldier rose a hoof, and sharply turned to crates, "Hey, did you hear something?"

"Hear what?" The second replied, now looking to the crates, "You don't think something is-"

"You never know." The first interjected.

Slapping both hooves over his mouth, Scooter pressed himself hard to the crates. Whopper followed his lead to a point. The curious soldier gingerly trod to the crate, unhitching the safety on his saddle with a click.

Scooter's heart was aflutter, rising and rising at the gravely sound of pounding hooves on asphalt. Each step applied energy to his heart rate.

Three steps away... two... one... The soldier was so close to the crates Scooter could heard the subtle tense breaths muffled under the Legionnaire's mask.

"Damn it, you know it was nothing!" The second soldier objected, "Hell it's probably just a roach. You know how those disgusting little shits like to linger around here."

The first soldier, standing idly with eyes transfixed on the crates glanced over his shoulder at his patrol partner, "You think so?"

"Hell, I know so!" The second said, "Besides, I want to finish our rounds. The sooner we can get back to the barracks the better."

Pressing the safety back on, the soldier faced his comrade. "Alright, fine. Let's get back on track, damn roaches aren't even worth a bullet anyhow."

Together the two trotted away from the crates, back on the patrol as they were before. Whopper released his mouth, letting the stressful load of the moment slump off his relaxed shoulders.

Scooter breathed out a sigh saturated in sweet relief, "That was too close pal."

Whopper nodded, "Ya' said it."

Wiping the sweat that specked his brow, Scooter nudged his friend in the foreleg, "Did ya' 'ear what that fellah said?"

"Somethin' about Covert bein' around. I don't think he said much aside from that boss."

"Ah’m not completely sure, but if he's 'round 'ere somewhere, we'll ‘ave to take ‘im down."

Looking down at his bare chest, Whopper noted, "We ain't gettin' anywhere without some kind of guns or armor."

Scooter pointed his head to one of the alcoves carved out of the old stores, and shops along the main road, "We can try searchin' ‘em for some gear. There has t' be somethin' useful, ‘ah reckon. Seein' as the army's unloadin' all this gear."

Adam searched the black ceiling of his room. It was the closest thing he had to a nighttime sky. But it was vacant of any stars, or lights the books back at the stable so fondly spoke of. There was just the void. Pure and formless.

His eyes were wide, like they were looking for something impossible to see. While in his stomach a pit formed, swirling and aching. He had both hooves crossed atop the raging storm brewing inside. Unable to do much Adam watched the would-be heaven of the room’s ceiling.

“Brother?” Adam whispered, “Are you awake?”

Even after hours of sleepless thought his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the pitch dark. Neo, in the blackness, answered tenderly to not wake the others across the hall, “No, I haven’t be able to sleep all night. You having any luck?”

Adam tucked his tongue in one cheek and made a bored popping noise, “Nope.”

“Sucks.”

“It does.” Adam agreed.

Together, and completely by coincidence, they sighed. Neo picked the conversation off the ground, beginning in the same tone he had previously used. “Are you nervous? About tomorrow?”

Adam’s gut felt wrenched, like someone had gone and wrung out every ounce of courage. He pressed his hooves hard on it, the added pressure alleviating some of the anxiety. “Yeah, it could be worse. But it’s still keeping me up.”

“Same here.” Neo replied. “I just hope everything goes smoothly.”

“That’s the problem. It never really does, brother.”

Neo rolled onto his side, using the pillow as a support to see out into the black where he imagined Adam’s bed being. “Is that what’s bothering you the most?”

Releasing the strain on his belly, Adam hooves chased each other in circles as he hesitating to answer. The feeling, while clearly a symptom of the coming conflict, festered he couldn’t say why. His mind went blank.

“I... I don’t know.”

Neo had no trouble pinpointing his nervousness. “For me it’s whether or not we can pull it off. With all of us walking out okay.”

“I mean, sure we’ve done well in the past,” Neo withheld a breath, “but... this is different... Everything is at stake here. Our family, friends, the whole province. Everything. I can’t really help but feeling this way after all of that is stuck on our shoulders.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re nervous about, Adam.” Neo suggested. “It’d seem fitting.”

“Yeah,” Adam uttered in an unsure whisper, “I guess.”

“Whatever we feel tonight though, we’ll have to set aside during the battle. Everything we do needs to be done right. I just don’t care to think what might happen if it goes awry.”

“I think that we need to just see what happens. Do our best, right?”

Adam couldn’t see it, but he was sure Neo was smiling. “Right.”

Patting his stomach once, he felt the sickness tickle his chest. “I just wish being nervous didn’t make you feel like this.”

“Yeah,” Neo laughed, “being nervous sucks.”

“Being nervous sucks.” Adam echoed.

Vladimir's face was inches from the glass of a long observation window. Close enough that the heat of his breath fogged the reflection of his face. Beyond the protection of the barrier was two Legion soldiers, donned in white contamination suits fashionably accompanied by large shaded goggles each lens bigger than a saucer plate.

One technician had the Sun gem held by a pair of tongs, easing it to the mouth of a black machine laced in pipes of every size. A few of the tangled piping tubes towered up, and into little holes drilled through the rocky back wall.

At Vladimir's side levitating was a glass of wine -- slowly being stirred by a calm, circular rock. "It's finally happening."

His reflection glared, unblinking and silently seething.

"Come now," Vladimir smirked, "this is a time for joy! After they load the gem all it'll take is a little more time."

"We just need to stall the Coalition," he picked up his hoof and tapped the air as though he were slapping a button, "and BOOM! We smack that big red button and it's all done! Simple as that!"

The reflection didn't answer, and in the absence of a proper response Vladimir pouted bringing on his abnormally sparkly puppy-dog eyes, "You’re no fun, Little Red! Cheer up why don’tcha!"

The reflection's voice was low, and weighted in devout conviction, "I'm not going to let you do this. I'll stop you, if it's the last thing I'll do."

Vladimir's brows rose. "Oh really now?"

Rubbing the underside of his chin, Vladimir looked off to the side, gazing off in thought, "You see the last time I check you were there, and I'm out here... with your body... as you."

Leaning forward, the reflection put his hooves on the glass, "I swear, I don't care what it takes, I'll take the nearest sharp object and I'll gut you with it!"

Vladimir threw his head back in a single guffaw, "There's the fire I wanted! Now, if only you'd have shown that sort of attitude a tad bit sooner. Maybe we wouldn't be having this little heart to heart right now."

Bringing both shoulders to his ears, Vladimir mumbled, "Though, knowing you, Little Red I'm certain you won't."

"Because you see," he grinned, "you're too soft. You've always been too soft. While you were unhardened by the wasteland, I was learning. And boy, do I learn fast!"

"Where you would want to let a prisoner go," Vladimir continued, "I would have killed them. Where you would want to lessen the task of slaves, I would increase it."

A deep chortle revved in his throat, as he lay the last bits of salt in the wound, "It's just who you are, Little Red. A stable dweller. Simple, innocent, and naive and a bunch of other lovey-dovey things."

"That, and to kill me you would need to kill this meat-suit of yours. And that's just not good for either of us, wouldn't you say?"

Vladimir loudly supped some of the wine, licking his lips after he'd swallowed. "You know," he investigated the glass of wine floating in the translucent light of his unicorn magic, "I used to loathe this stuff... wine, and all that, but now that I have a body I've found it rather enjoyable to consume."

"I now see why you liked it," Vladimir drunkenly giggled, "it makes for a wonderful drink."

"Dahlia won't comply with anything you make her say or do." The reflection retorted. "And if you even think of hurting her-"

Vladimir did an eye-rolling dramatic gasp, laying a dainty hoof distressfully over his breast, "Little Red, that's hurtful! Dahlia is our most honored visitor here at the mines! Of course, she'll need to be alive and well if we plan to use her."

His reflection narrowed its brows, pinching the stare tighter, "Don't you lay a hoof on her, you bastard!”

He growled like an animal, "So help me."

"Hmph," Vladimir snorted, "you don't have to worry about that, Red old boy. I have an abundance of ideas on how to make her cooperate."

Gently knocking on the window, his grin stretched, "Especially with Iron Hammer nearly operational."

The air was colder than a wintery field at midnight. Wind let in from the opened doors of the hangar -- permitting the bone-numbing mountain breeze on in. It was, however, more temperate at the back of the space. Mild, despite the occasional snowflakes to drift inside.

Gunships were lined evenly with their tail flaps facing the back wall. Coalition soldiers crowded the backend of the hangar, scattering wooden crates freshly unloaded from Steelhoof Keep.

The ambience was ablaze in the busy natter of ponies speaking orders, or of what the contents within the crates were to one another. Lucy stood behind one of the larger transport gunships. Waxing the side of a hefty four-wheeled steel wagon, giving it a fine sheen to its sleek, armored frame.

Each wipe with her damp rag made a cleanly squeak, announcing to Lucy the fineness of the careful polishing. She ran wax over the rim of one of four enormous wheels. Afterward, Lucy collected herself, and stepped back admiring her work from afar.

She smiled satisfyingly, nodding with great contentment at the glittering glow in the pale outside light filtering in, "Damn Lucy, you're a beast at waxing metal."

Ally trotted alongside Neo, Adam, and Wester, coming to see the job she had done.

"Morning Lucy." Ally's tone was more merry, considering the uncomfortably cool atmosphere.

Lucy's gaze shined -- sparkling even -- as the outside illumination stuck in the watering pools gathering in the corners of her eyes, "It's so beautiful..."

Adam looked at the wagon, noting the size, "It sure is... big."

An overbearing amount of bubbling emotion trapped certain words, "It's freakin' glorious is what it is."

"I guess so," Adam pointed to the crates stacked next to the wagon, "and all that stuff is armor and weapons, right?"

"I think so." Ally answered for Lucy, too entranced by the magnificence of the wagon.

Wester took place beside Lucy, waving a disruptive hoof in front of her face, "Lucky, you're acting abnormal. Please, cease this before it becomes critical."

Nudging Adam in the shoulder, Neo whispered to his brother, "I think it was critical to begin with."

"I heard that." Wester attempted again to wave a hoof in front of her, "Lucky, please stop before they make more bizarre banter."

Calmly jostling his hoof away, she shook her head, "I'm still alive Wester."

Patting herself down, Lucy included, "See, all mentally there... For the most part."

Ally approached the wagon with light steps, "So this is our transport?"

Lucy wiped her nose -- a smug grin shifted to one side, "Yep," she pet one of the herculean wheels, "though she'll be loaded on the gunship over here. I'll be driving her off it a few miles out of the mines."

Noticing the front, where the pegasus piloting was hitched, Neo scanned it and returned to Lucy, "I don't mean to sound like a pessimist, but do you think you can fly this? Are your wings even well enough for the mission?"

"Hey," Lucy chirped, "don't worry about me. I've got plans to take of that later."

Cupping a hoof to the corner of her mouth, Lucy called into the gunship, "Hey Golden Cog! Get your butt out here!"

Golden Cog emerged from the shadow inside the ship, stomping against the refined metal of the gunship on her way out. "What is it you sour donut? Can't you see I'm checking the ship's specs from the last flight?!"

"You can stop for a sec," she countered, "it's not like your job can't be finish later!"

She grumbled pulling up to the group, "What is it?"

"Tell these worry-wusses that I can pull this monster of a wagon."

Rolling her eyes, Golden Cog groaned, "You're not going to let me leave until I do, huh?"

Tipping the brim of her hat, Lucy jeered, "Ya' bet your sweet dumplings sister. Now lay it like it is. All factual and the like."

Golden Cog's shoulders slumped as she sighed out the long and unconvincing answer, "Given the proper treatment to her wings she can fly the wagon..."

"Will that be everything?" Golden Cog asked pitifully.

Lucy rolled her hoof, letting the whimpering words go on before clasping her lips together to suppress the building laughter. Planting a hoof squarely into her face, Golden Cog recited the end, "Because the wagon is magically enhanced to help a pair, or should the occasion need it, a single pilot to fly it."

"There," she grunted -- eyelids disapprovingly wilted, "happy?"

All of Lucy's teeth were victoriously showing in the strained smile, "Delighted. You're free to go."

Golden Cog, broadcasted her distaste for the whole event through a bloated smolder inflated out from her lower lip. Nonetheless, she trotted back up the loading ramp of the gunship, disappearing into the interior's shade. Lucy came back to her comrades, holding in the highest fashion, her head -- triumphant expression and all.

Ally did her best to loosen the coy aura profoundly beaming from Lucy, "We'll be pretty hard targets to miss."

Lucy was swift to shoot down each, and any of Ally's concerns, "I'll weave. Weaving with this baby should be a synch."

"What about backup power for that flight enhancement on it?"

"Checked and charged."

"Room for us all?"

"Plenty."

"Room for us all and all of our gear."

"Covered, and assured complete comfort on the hell flight."

Ally brushed her chin, humming thoughtfully. In a sudden spark, she added, "Well," she paused, "what about our armor?"

Lucy's defense had been broken, "Armor?"

"Yeah," Ally patrolled the side of the wagon to the end rising onto her hind legs to point in the wagon's empty space, "we'll all be in here, but we'll surely have more than a few rifles sniping at us. Any larger stray bullets would kill us, did we get any armor to lessen the dying factor?"

She brought a halting hoof up, and intervened, "Actually, you're going to be surprised by that."

Neo's attention peaked, as both ears sprung erect, "What kind of armor?"

Adam's imagination took flight, imagining a whole scheme of designs with advanced mechanical attachments. The feeling came in the form of energy, pulsing in an anxious hop, "How advance did they say it was?"

Lucy shrugged making her way to one of the piled crates by the wagon, "I don't know, old-tussled britches up in the ship said that we were given armor in the crate. I'm guessing it's some pretty nice stuff by the way she talked about it."

Wedging a hoof beneath the lid, she glanced over her shoulder at the group gathering around the crate, "Or, it could just be some junk she made out to sound a lot better than it actually is."

"Only one way to find out." Neo said.

The lid had already been unbolted, and the top was loose. Lucy threw it open effortlessly, sending the lid flipping backward -- landing hard on the hanger floor with a hollow thunk. Packed in the curly shavings of dusty paper clippings, several breast pieces of steel armor protruded from the package cushioning surface.

A few slender rigid tubes ran from the shielded neck piece to a small plated compression pump in the back. Numbers, newly painted in a pristine coat of white ranging from 44-49 were written on rounded shoulder pads.

Adam's eyes grew three times their average size, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Power armor..." Neo awed.

"The real deal too." Ally commented.

Lucy pulled a smile larger than life, testing the limits any normal cheek could handle right up to her ears. Slowly, she looked to the others in the group, "Who wants to try it on?"

A cell -- a cramped hovel of a place is where Dahlia sat. Walls caked in the saturation of the heated air, as sturdy bars made the front of her cage. Regardless of the poor condition the Legion had done whatever it was in their power to make her feel comfortable.

A clean cot was placed at one corner, decorated in a fresh white pillow, and lavished with a silky green blanket. Like any homely living space, a bronze chamber pot sat beside it. Including one lamp, without the shade filtering out the light, leaving the blazing sun of a light bulb to shine pure blinding rays throughout the entire cell.

There had been a quilt, frayed at its edges, and smudged in black dirt, in the center of the room. It, as Dahlia had found, did well draped over the shadeless lamp. Now, a calm gentle luminosity shown, brilliantly captured in the reflection of water sprinkled on the cavernous walls.

In her own pensive expression of focused eyes staring at the ground, and brows lowered -- she paced back and forth. Every other turn back, Dahlia paused to inspect her prison. A single pipe ran along the back wall's corner, bellowing out the aching groans of its old age.

At the intervals where other segments of the pipes connected, droplets of hot water dripped at the rhythm of the creaking. Dahlia walked closer to the middle section batting her eyelids at it. Maybe I could tear one of the pipes down. It could give me a tool to maybe prop...

Shaking her head vigorously, she sharply turned her back to the pipe, and went about her route to and fro across the room. No! Then you'd get burned by the steam! And then what? Escape with third-degree burns all over myself, that's a sure-fire way of getting killed, and not by the soldiers either.

"You're fairly determined, aren't you?" Vladimir's voice projected a chipper chuckle, "But you'll find escaping here isn't the smartest thing to do."

He sauntered to her bars, simpering with a puffed chest, "Judging by the look on your face, I assume you've already come to that conclusion. Though, it is fascinating to see one who knows there is no way out, to ultimately continue to search for a means of escape."

Clapping his hooves slowly, he tittered, "Inspiring! Truly inspiring!"

She kept her distance from the bars, planting her haunches down on the warm damp cell floor. "I assume you plan to use me as leverage? Which means your intimidated by the Coalition's retaliation."

Recoiling himself back, he perched a dainty hoof above his breast, giving a dramatically forced gasp, "Why Dahlia! Wouldn't you think that I took you to also have conversation with another intelligent mind?"

Dahlia sat quietly, closing her glare until there was nothing but slits left.

A deep chortle raced through his throat, "You're too smart for that, and I'll admit I'm lucky I know you. Otherwise I would have left a dozen different items you could have used to easily break out of this cell."

Dahlia's tone purred like the fiery engine of a war machine, "What did you do with him?"

Vladimir propped an eyebrow up, "What? Who?"

"Vladimir." Dahlia stated firmly. "What did you do with him?"

This brought on a few chuckles sitting in his chest, "Are you mad woman? I am Vladimir! The one and only Emperor to the-"

"You're not him," she interrupted, "I know Vladimir, and even as the tyrant I knew when I left the stable, he was more controlled and simple than you."

He froze, and muttered, "What do you mean?"

"Whenever he declares who he is, it's done formally. You like to let the world know. You also referenced him on the ship and not yourself."

"So," she prowled over to the bars locking eyes with the Legion emperor, "either you're just insane, or you're not Vladimir. Because the Vladimir who traveled with my boys was collected and calm. Not the boastful fat-head you are."

Keeping his brow raised, he said keeling toward the bars nearly stuffing his nose between them, "That's a curious little theory you've assembled. And just how sure are you that I am some thing impersonating him? Besides a few little mistakes in my wording, and a different kind of attitude, what else is there, hmm?"

Dahlia crossed her hooves, silently.

"I thought so." He recoiled himself, "You should consider getting comfortable."

Clearing his throat, Vladimir craned his nose high coming to a booming finale, "After all! Believe it or not, but I have a special place for you soon! And I do believe your boys will find it remarkably fascinating!"

Neo sported a strong figure. Power armor came with a compelling sense of invisibility. The kind that stiffens the back, and nobly expands the chest out. He stood in front of a long viewing mirror, his posture matching the impeccable feeling of strength.

The armor covered him, from neck to hoof, all a dull grey. Plates overlapped plates clanging softly when he moved. The right half-domed shoulder blade, jutted just a few noticeable inches up. Shoving it back into place he rotated his shoulder before returning to an idle stance.

His eyes traveled from the floor up to his breast-plate, posing for the role upright and alert. A shiver lancing through him brought his shoulders to slouch which, afterward released a deep long-held breath.

He looked at himself in the eyes, gazing like he himself had committed some awful tragedy, "What are you doing Neo?"

Glancing over his shoulder, he searched the empty locker room he was in. Speaking to himself, Neo's voice was heavy, "It's not like going to battle is something to happy about."

"Is this what it was like before the battle at Arkcannon?" Ally asked moving around the corner of a locker, "That sickening tickle that bubbles in your stomach?"

Her arrival didn’t startle him. "It may get worse, depending on how sturdy your will is."

She herself was clad in matching bulky armor. "It's something, isn't it?"

Knocking the center of her chest, a hypnotic tone of vibrating metal rippled. "Makes you feel like you're worth a million bits."

A fleeting chuckle came shortly after, "I can see why Wester finds it so appealing. Though, I'm not sure I could wear it all the time."

"I bet after awhile the stuff starts to chafe like grater." Neo added with a hearty laugh. “In more than one places.”

Ally winced, the mere imagining of it provoking a pain-stricken groan. "I'd hate to find out."

Facing his mirror, Neo saw the whole of himself again. "Ally," he said, "how dangerous do you think this will be?"

Coming to his side, together they stood in the slender view of the mirror. "I wouldn't think that battle of any kind, a scuffle or an assault, would be safe at all."

"But," she went on, "I won't lie. I don't think we'll come out unscathed."

Neo's eyes fell over to the floor, "Sure, but what if... you know, we don't make it?"

Ally put on a smile, the likes of which melted his heart, "That's always a possibility."

Laying a hoof on his foreleg, she easily guided him to face her. Their eyes met -- fixed and unmoving. "But that is what it is: a possibility. And I believe that's the last thing you want to be thinking about before going out there."

One shoulder bounced unsurely, "Then what if we all make it out? What's going to happen once this is all over?"

A giggle rolled in her throat, "Well, you could take me on a actual date. Without the Legion, or raiders, or death and destruction."

Her honeyed words brought him to smile, "That'd definitely be a start."

Neo, despite the positive energy about them, dragged his tone to a low -- serious register, "Just... be careful."

Playfully nuzzling him in the neck, she remarked, "Don’t worry so much! Besides, let’s remember that I’ve been out in the wastes longer than you have."

Lucy’s voice boomed throughout the room, “Hey! You two done in there?”

Neo rose a hoof to the side of his mouth calling back, “Don’t get worked up, we’re coming!”

“Good!” She exclaimed, “Because I’ve got something all of you will be wanting to see!”

Ally sniggered, like she had something to hide. Neo, looking at her with an impish arching eyebrow, joined in, “What are you laughing about now?”

“It just stinks, you know?”

“What does?”

“Being alone just isn’t an option for us, isn't it?”

Neo’s eyes rolled, nodding as the truth of her words bit. “No... no it’s not.”

An old purple porcelain lamp on the nightstand beside Vladimir flickered occasionally. There was an uncomfortably crooked oval mirror on the wall, painted in a dainty, though chipping, shade of pink. Up at the right side a twisted crack in the glass caught a separate glimpse of his reflection.

Regardless of faulty lighting, or a damaged mirror, he put loud boisterous splendor into a lively whistle. Adjusting his green plated armor, and clipping his silky crimson cape to his collar he tweeted the tune aloud.

His reflection did not represent the same mood. With narrowed brows, and eyes slanted in a fiery glare the still picture of himself in the glass cursed him. Snapping the last of his cape to his chest-piece collar, Vladimir guffawed, "Why so glum Little Red! Aren't you excited?"

The reflection kept as motionless as a photograph, yet it's sent the hairs on Vladimir's neck up.

He recoiled in mid-chuckled, "With a look like that I'd say you're not quite as enthusiastic as I am about the up in coming battle."

"Let her go." It's voice rumbled like distant thunder, "Or else."

Vladimir retaliated with a coy sneer, "Oh? Well aren't we the sour-sport. Tell me, what -- in this wide world -- could you do to me?"

The reflection closed it's eyes, and pointed the tip of its crimson horn at him. The strange action propelled an eyebrow to raise, "What are you doing?"

The reflection didn't answer. In a few moments a splitting headache, like someone had just lodged an axe in his skull, knocked him back onto his haunches. Vladimir gasped, pressing both hooves hard over his temples.

He bared behind his teeth a pain-induced yelp wanting to escape, but Vladimir bit more. Even then pain grew, bringing him to gnaw on his lower lip until he drew blood. Every second felt like an hour with the chopping constantly wiggling, and jerking about in his head. At last, the words broke free, "Stop! Stop! STOP!"

The reflection sat down, and opened its eyes. "I'll do it again. Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?"

Vladimir's legs trembled excessively -- each limp feeling more akin to feebly cracking seeder buckling under his own weight. As he collected himself, standing once more, he replied over hissing and groaning, "This changes nothing..."

He grimaced, messaging the top region of his cranium, "You think I'm go to just submit to you because you can give me a headache? How weak-willed do you think I am?"

"You'll give in." It murmured, "And even if you don’t, my body will."

Three metallic knocks came from the door, staggering to collect himself -- Vladimir fixed his posture, "O-One moment!"

Thatch's muffled voice from behind the door asked, "Sir? Are you alright in there?"

"I'm fine!" Vladimir stumbled to the door like a drunk, "Just... fine..."

The door opened, and Thatch saluted him. "Sir."

Vladimir was rubbing the side of his head now, the lingering soreness ever present, "Yes, what is it? Make it quick."

Thatch peeked above Vladimir's shoulder, seeing into his room. "Is everything alright in there, sir? It sounded like you were in pain."

Placing the formerly messaging hoof to the ground he retorted, "It doesn't matter now. I'm fine. What is it you wanted to say?"

Thatch looked up at his leader with a pensive stare, "It's the guns, sir. The anti-air ones."

His eyes caught the veins bulging from underneath Vladimir’s ears. "They're in place... even the back-ups. Nothing should get through the center road."

"Well," Vladimir's tone lightened, "that is some good news I suppose. Is everything in place for Iron Hammer?"

Thatch's observations hadn't lessened. He noted the slow rising and lowering of Vladimir's chest. The mark of high stressed breathing, from what continued to elude him. "Are you sure, you're fine m'lord?"

Vladimir put the backend of his hoof to his head, releasing pent up emotion through a sigh. "Thatch, if you ask me one more time how I'm feeling, I'll toss you to the captured miners and allow them to snack on your limbs. So, having clearly stated where I stand on my health, you no longer need to poke at the subject. Please, and I do mean please, tell me how clear are we on this whole matter?"

The Legion captain gulped, and briskly saluted, "Transparently clear, sir."

"Now," Vladimir said, "Get out of here before I get angry."

Closing the door on Thatch, Vladimir wandered to the mirror. He peered in his reflection -- punching a hoof on the wall beside the mirror's frame. Then, slowly he moved his snout close to the glass. Near enough to smell the pungent wine sticking to his breath.

Curling his lips in a snarl, he finished, "You think you can do it in what little time you have, Little Red? Well, guess again, you weak sack of flesh -- because whether you like it or not it is over. And there’s nothing you can do about it. Period."

Adam leaned on their assault wagon by the gunship's loading ramp, one leg crossed over the other. Wester lugged a sack, two times larger than himself on his back. At the edge of the wagon he tossed it in with a long arching throw, in a muttered poof.

"You think Lucy's doing okay?" Adam asked Wester.

Briefly patting himself down from leg to chest, he grunted, "I'm certain Lucky is being taken care of."

"I suppose so," Adam's voice was saturated with the slurred tone of uncertainty, "I just think that her wings must have been pretty badly beat up."

Wester pointed his visor at him, "What is it you believe is the problem?"

Adam shrugged, "She's had a potion or two since we've seen her. Shouldn't her wings be healed?"

"From what I understand they were terribly injured. Potions may heal, but they are not a cure-all. Perhaps parts of her wings have healed, but have not received the proper care needed to make a full and lasting recovery."

"I'm just a little worried is all." Adam's eyes circled to the loading ramp.

"Brother and Ally are in there with Golden Cog, and I haven't seen Big Lot around lately. You think she's okay?"

Wester motioned his head to one of the main hallways leading out of the hanger with an unnatural smoothness for someone as armored and constricted as him. "Last I saw she was looking at the guns that came with armor."

Adam's eyes perked, as he removed himself from the wagon's side standing attentively on all fours, ready to move. "Do you think we should leave her alone with all those weapons? I know from personal experience that she's a little crazy when given a weapon."

"She'll find it difficult." Wester knocked the chilled metal of the wagon, "As I just about collected all of them up in that bag."

"Just about?" Adam echoed his words.

"The saddles, and pistols Neo and Ally have on are not included in the sack."

Exhuming a sigh, Adam remarked, "That's more than good to hear."

"You will have to let her arm herself during the battle. You know this."

Adam scuffed the ground, withholding his reply for a moment, "I-I know, it's just despite her experience out here I feel like she's still just a filly at heart."

Wester commented in his standard, contently deep voice, "She tried to kill us. And tormented numerous individuals for an extended length of time."

"Still, I feel like she'd have a hard time firing something, and at the army she used to work for too."

"We'll have to see what happens when the time comes."

Adam looked up at his hulking friend, seeing just his emerald eyes catch in Wester's visor. He said nothing, as replies jolted one after the other against the walls of his cranium.

Wester's reply was sparse of raw emotion, "It's the only way we can see if that's true."

“What are you two standing around for?” Lucy came to the gunship with a swagger. Like a possy of her own, Ronan tagged alongside.

Big Lot fell back, face glowing in sweltering heat. “I can’t believe they’re all gone! Every last one!”

Wester whispered to himself, “I said so.”

Of the ponies present, it was Adam who rose up to answer Lucy, “We were just waiting for you to show up. Neo and Ally are up in the ship. They’ll be down soon.”

“Great,” Lucy had the biggest grin, “cause look what I got fixed up!”

From behind the mare arose both pairs of feathered wings, stretching out like that of an angle. She presented their wellness in a few forceful flaps -- kicking up a faded gust of the powdered snow dusted on the hangar floor.

“They’re are back!” Lucy pranced in a circle, giving everyone a full view.

“Baby?” Adam finished.

Lucy stopped, the mirth stricken from her. “What?”

She looked at him with a grimace, “What?” She repeated.

Adam shrugged, beckoning to his fellow peers for kosher with both eyes darting around. “Uh... I-Isn’t that how it ends?”

There was a pause, which to him felt like an hour, where everyone stared open-eyed at him. In a weak attempt to unshackle himself from the awkward tension Adam whimpered, “Guys?”

His father, sensing the developing silence persist, came to his rescue. “Well, it doesn’t really matter now, right? Just look at you all!”

He went to meet his son, keenly pinpointing the armor Adam wore with his irises. “Armored up...”

Lightly jabbing a few air-punches at Adam, his tone flattened, “Tough, and ready to go out there...”

Neo stepped off the ramp, Ally coming close by. “I heard Lucy out here, did she get her wings looked at?”

Lucy diverted her attention to the two of them. “Yeah, though, they’re not quite the strongest set. Having not flown in a while really takes it’s toll on the muscles.”

“But,” Ronan inferred, “we did what we could to compensate any lost muscle mass.”

“Will that affect the mission at all?” Ally pondered aloud.

Brushing the thought off, Lucy held a hoof, teetering it like a balancing scale. “I’d say there’s a chance.”

“Be it a minor one.” Ronan hastily added.

Lucy chuckled, “Yeah, what he said.”

Adam, drawing back to the previous encounter he had had with his father, asked, “Dad, you sounded a little sad earlier. What’s the matter? What happened?”

It was clear, not physically, but in his dim silver eyes a deep worried emotion froze him on the inside. “My boys... my sons... both of you are going off into this conflict. I’d be lying if I said it was nothing.”

“We’ll be good out there.” Adam assured him, “We’re both scared too. But then again, you always get scared when about to face something like this. No matter how much you’ve encountered it before.”

Lucy beat her breastplate like a war maiden, “Don’t worry, they’re couldn’t be in more capable hooves.”

Ronan sucked a full lung of air through his nose -- exhaling it all after a few seconds. “I won’t doubt what you say, Ms. Luck.”

Then, holding the same fatherly spirit in his words, faced his oldest son, before moving back to Adam. “Both of you, I want you stay safe out there. No matter how hairy it becomes.”

Neo nodded, “We will.”

“We will dad.” Adam smiled, “No matter how hard the battle gets.”

He gently slapped Adam’s right shoulder, “Just remember when you pick up your mother that your old man is here, waiting for you three to get back safe and sound.”

Adam returned the happy gestured, “We’ll be back. All three of us. I promise.”

There was an energy like fire in the entrance of the Darkmines. It stirred with the cooler breeze blasting in through the gates. Soldiers ran the best they could to their stations -- dozens, it seemed, flowed toward the outside trotting or marching apace.

Vladimir was among the vast movement of bodies. Stepping high, and wide with regal grandeur. They parted before him, like a rock splitting the approaching waters. His crimson silky cape rippled at the rocky floor, bouncing a rolling gentle waves on the fabric as he stepped.

Thatch strode not far from him at his left flank, having to jostle or weave through the wake of ponies stepping aside for their emperor. In the chaos he ejected himself out of the crowd and took safety in the clear space behind Vladimir.

He tripped having evaded the crowd, but recovering just as quickly. "Do you really want to head to the front? Especially in your condition?"

The question did little to break his momentum, "Condition? Thatch, I believed we discussed what my condition was earlier."

“I-I know, sir... but-”

Vladimir didn’t give the Captain a chance to finished, "Everything is in place now. The anti-air guns, the artillery guns, and even the back-ups. My condition has never been better!”

A suppressed, almost mocking giggle fell on Vladimir's response, "With those readily set -- tell me, how long is it until Iron Hammer launches?"

Thatch had lost a considerable amount of faith in his leader, feeling the loyalty being drained as they came closer to the surface. "Three hours."

"Ah, then tell me, how capable do you believe our defenses to be?"

Vladimir's question spurred a twinge of poking curiosity to slow him. “Why do you ask?”

The Emperor's words were like venom, soaking into Thatch's already divided mind, "It's just that if we have little time to wait, and we are more than capable in defending this mountain -- I see no reason why I shouldn't enter the fray a little. Does that make sense to you? Does it, Thatch?"

"I... I understand, sir."

"It'll be good fun," Vladimir piped, "so stop your pouting -- the party is about to begin!"

The quiet hum of the gunship's engines was all that passed through the thick steel walls dividing those inside from hundreds of feet below to the ground. Beige seating lined one wall, and the other -- twenty on either side. They sucked in those who sat in them, nearly engulfing Adam's flank whole. When he repositioned himself, or shifted in even the slightest manner, the terrible squeaking of old rusted springs within shrieked.

An invisible little spider ran up his spine each time they creaked. Forcing a wince every now and again, he gave up trying to to get comfortable -- ultimately succumbing to the cushion devouring him.

The coming fight did not help his stomach either. It felt like a warm ocean amidst a raging typhoon was bottled up inside him. Frequently the nauseous liquids shot up half-way into his throat before retreating back. Adam did what he could to gulp it back down. The last thing anyone wanted on the gunship was one pony losing it.

Coalitions soldiers filled every seat the members of the rescue team did not. Suited in the beige helmets and plates atop white jumpsuits, many had their noses craned to the ceiling, snoring with their mouths wide open. Those weaker of heart hung their heads, fore-hooves fidgeting like the cold was slowly claiming them.

Adam couldn't see their eyes under the rim of the helmets. Though, by the unsettling silence in the space, he could only imagine them being sapped of life in wide and hollow stares.

Their cart for the mission was in between the two rows of seats. In the confining quarters of the ship the wagon appeared three times larger with the lack of vacant flooring. How long would the trip be? Not long maybe. Adam would think, We are moving significantly faster, and without the hassle of overcoming obstacles on the ground.

Reaching under his seat, Adam pulled out his conjoined saddlebags out in front of him, arranging them so that they rested back to back against themselves. He opened the right bag, fishing through the various prizes and supplies he'd collected on his trip. At the bottom he removed Little Red’s wooden music box and sat it on his lap.

He ran a hoof on the lid. Its paint was smooth to the touch, without any major scratches or fading smudges on the varnish. Adam wouldn't unlatch the front, and peek inside. That was for Vladimir to do alone.

Poking at the box's side once, Neo spoke to Adam in whispers, "You brought it with you?"

"Yeah," Adam cradled the valuable piece, "I want to give it to Vladimir."

This sent Neo reeling, and to regain focus on the remark he shook his head, "What? You know we are fighting him, right? When do you think we'll be able to sit down and politely give him it?"

Adam hadn't the slightest clue, but in full honesty he shrugged both shoulders, "We can leave it in his room, maybe. I know where it is."

Neo's lips curled inward, as his eyebrows slanted in a befuddled pondering expression. "I... don’t know what to tell you Adam."

"Brother," Adam hugged the box tighter, his voice seeming to firm with it, "we promised his dad."

"I know we did, but..."

"We promised him."

Wrapping a leg around Adam's shoulder, Neo clamped a hoof to his foreleg, "Listen, I know we promised him, and if you want to leave it somewhere, that's okay. But if it puts off the entire mission we'll have to forget about it."

His grasp on the music box had an unbreakable hold as Neo added delicately, "We'll have to see. Just have it ready in case."

The sourceless blare of a horn came honking. Drilling three times, then paused. Accompanying the sounds were a flashing red light perched at the back of the ship, directly above the closed loading ramp. Soon, Ironside's voice took charge of the speakers, "We're about twenty miles out of city. We'll be letting the rescue team off here."

Lucy bounded from her chair hind legs first like a foal springing at long last. "Alright! That's us! Load up!"

By the time she had got to the front of the wagon, she'd already tucked her hat into one saddlebag. It was Wester first, who picked Big Lot up and carefully placed the filly inside. Adam put the box away, and threw on his saddlebags before hopping in next, followed afterward by his brother, and Ally.

Those soldiers whose eyes befell the ground were now turned to them. Not quite as grey, or grim as Adam had imagined. But cold and empty nonetheless.

Wester did a brief scan of the area, and nodded at Lucy with a raised hoof overhead. "We're confirmed for launch!"

Lucy was hitched between two steel poles, fastened securely to them by equal as sturdy leather bindings. A green orb situated on the face of the wagon swelled with a halo of emerald aura -- not long after Lucy's wings were encased in the very same misty light. She glanced over both shoulders, and flapped each wing in perfect powerful sync.

"Remember," Ironside's voice on the speakers boomed, "lag behind for about an hour. Let the assault force get ahead. We'll take care of any ground troops that'll try to remove you from the sky."

A thundering clank clapped at the end of the gunship. An angelic sliver of the outside highlighted the barely opened ramp howling as the warm pressure seep out into the world. The frigid high-altitude air rushing in was numbing, burying its stingers at their noses. The ramp opened slowly -- the old pistons squealing like a dying wraith.

Wind bolted in like built up floodwaters, smacking the faces of every soul within. Noise was lost in the mighty gust -- ruthlessly caught adrift on the winds. Lucy had to strain her vocal cords to even bellow a peep above the thrashing air.

"Wester get in! Everyone else, are you set to drop?" Wester leapt in the wagon, and nodded all clear.

Adam hastily positioned his goggles over his eyes, and tugged the side straps tight. "Good,” Lucy called, “‘cause there's no turning back! Buckle up kids! It's a straight shot right into hell!"

Foot Note: Level Up!

New Perk: It's Called Lying, Because That's How You Become President: Speech is increased by +2, as are there new and more inconspicuously shifty speech options which may turn the tides of an otherwise failing trading deal.

Foot Note: Level Up!

Would you like to level up Adam as well?

Yes-

No

New Perk: Hey! Assbutt!: When you toss grenades you now have a 45% chance of setting other enemies within the explosive area on fire.

Proofread by:

Noakwolf

ColonelLatMuffin

Author's Note

Whew! This was a little hard to get through! I must say, while I didn't expect this chapter to be as long as it was, I still believe it came out fairly well considering what's happened as of recent. (Leaving for a trip, preparing for finals this month, among a few things.) However, through sickness, blood, sweat, and other bodily thingamadoos I've finished it! In all it's glorious splendor.

I had to cut, add, and alter a gratuitous amount of the original draft. Breaking entire scenes and having to re-write portions. To top it off, I had to struggle to find someone to help edit. Luckily, my best friend came through to pitch in with ironing out all the grammatical wrinkles he could. So a big thank you to him! (My brother comes in every now and again, but he caught what I had not too long ago, which has been pretty awful for him.)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter! This is, after all, is the semi-last chapter of the story. There is just one more left! The final edition to the story. What will happen next? Who will live? Who will die? What will happen? Find out next time in the next exciting chapter of Brotherhood!

Liked this chapter? How about leaving a like? Have something to say? Perhaps you could leave a hint of criticism or your thoughts on what happened? Don't be afraid to drop a comment, I'd love to here what you have to say! If you're eager to read the last chapter as soon as possible favorite the story to get the first news on when it comes out.

Thanks for reading!

• Noakwolf