I Blame You, Too

by Whitestrake

Rating: teen
Tags: Crossover, Random, Princess Celestia, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Human, Main 6, Original Character, Comedy, Queen Chrysalis, Adventure
Length: 81757

The 41st Millenium is about to open a serious can of whoop-ass on Equestria.

Like rewinding a tape, this slow-motion train wreck is back, and even less plausible than before! Humans have been popping up in Equestria for a long time; Discord was either young or non-existent in the earliest days. They have always brought with them change, advanced technology, sometime even new magics. Ten years ago, two humans appeared, wreaking havoc and having a few laughs along the way.
This is not their story.
Nope, it's time for a new group to strut about the kingdom.

Published 2013-03-30 23:20:02 UTC
Last updated 2017-03-01 07:52:55 UTC

Let's Start This Train Wreck!

Equestria? Running smoothly.

International politics? Easy going.

State of the kingdom? Boring.

As much as Princess Celestia enjoyed the peace and quiet, she was beginning to miss the noise she had acclimated to, ten years ago. An entire decade, time had seemingly slipped away from the immortal. Had it really been that long? Even as she gazed into her sister's night sky, the alicorn began to wonder if the universe was just pretending to be at ease to lull her into a false sense of security. In reality, she knew only Discord could pose a threat at this point, and he was completely reformed now. Well, more or less.

Adventure. The word just seemed to call to her, like a chilling breeze slicing through the heaviest of coats, but just as similar to a warm hearth. The regent huffed, fogging her window for the briefest of moments. Non, she couldn't just go and have an adventure, not now, not when Equestria was vulnerable to outside attack. Honestly, her ponies had grown complacent in the peace, lacking even the occasional rampaging monster that had once been an almost weekly occurrence. Really, all it would take was Spike becoming greedy for a day to whip everypony back into shape. Sadly, that was easier said than done, given his disciplined nature these days.

A shooting star arced across the night sky, and Celestia briefly entertained making a wish. She found the tradition ridiculous, knowing the true reason the specks of light fell from the canvas that was the sky. The common pony even knew this, that gravity pulled rocks from space, yet the superstition that wishing on a shooting star would ensure it came true persisted. But, even with her knowledge firm in hoof, a small part of her wanted to, just to feel like a filly again. A chuckle drew the diarch from her thoughts, its source surely the only being capable of going where he pleased in the palace.

“Princess,” Discord practically purred, obviously enjoying the fact he startled the immortal. The draconequus was perfectly aware of what the regent had been “You know as well as I that you should be careful what you wish for.”

“Oh, what's the harm in entertaining a few playful thoughts at this hour?” The alabaster alicorn was feeling tired, and truly saw no problem in making the tiny request to reality. Equestria, and the planet of Equus in general, was a bit of a cosmic dumping ground for the multiverse. Things, little odds and ends, ended up on the world, and often in the kingdom's borders. There was even a tank in Ponyville at the moment, and that was far from the strangest thing to randomly appear.

“I recall a number of insidious villains, conniving thieves, and grim assassins.” The mismatched male cocked his head to the side, blowing a small bubble as he spoke. He wasn't chewing gum; it was just something he did.

“You aren't seriously suggesting adventure is going to fall from the sky, are you?” Celestia asked, skeptical. That very thing had happened on numerous occasions, but the immortal wasn't about to jump the shark.

“I'm merely saying stranger things have happened, Tia.” With that, Discord left the alicorn to her own devices. Insomnia had been plaguing Celestia for the past couple of weeks barely allowing her even the precious little sleep she needed. Something was brewing just over the horizon, and it was hardly related to the weather. The tension was what kept her from sleep, though seemed lost on her younger sister. The alabaster alicorn had noticed her younger sibling even sleeping better during these past few weeks.

Celestia believed it had something to do with her reality's unstable fabric, the invisible... stuff that decided what was what. She just controlled the local star, which was, admittedly, much smaller than one might think. Her knowledge of the multiverse, or what separated universes from each other was lacking, to say the least. The diarch also knew she was the only one feeling it; one of her closest allies was also having trouble sleeping. Odds were he was still awake, or pretending to be asleep so his wife wouldn't worry.

She could always contact him the way she had a decade ago, a method that, when put in its simplest terms, equated to a magic, immaterial telephone. It was much faster than sending a letter through Spike, though required significant concentration or expenditure of energy. For some odd reason, he possessed no magic of his own, but managed to sever or create new connection with the princess of numerous occasions. A single spark shot from Celestia's horn, binding portions of two minds, for the moment.

I trust everything goes well? The regent always did her best to be polite, caring. There was the equivalent of an annoyed sigh on the other end.

Still can't sleep, either? What do you figure it is this time? The male voice was, as always, extremely blunt and forward. Though, there was a noticeable lack of obscenities coloring his inner voice; he was likely just as sleep deprived as Celestia.

Perhaps it's one of your kin, coming here by unconventional means. The so-called alien on the other end chucked at the notion the immortal put forth, which only registered as a slight skip in the signal, the equivalent of radio static. A chill ran through both of their spines as they recalled the last little incident. The palace still hadn't been fully cleaned, that was over three months ago. He smelled too much like cheese for my liking, thinking back.

Tia, I know you have a good reason for this, I really do, but this is the third time this week you have bothered me in the middle of the night. It was true, every word. Perhaps she was just looking for some advice, a listening ear. Or maybe she just wanted to know she wasn't the only one dealing with this. Either way, it was unclear. If it is something, and I'm not saying it is, we can do what we did the last time something big came to play.

You know I have no idea what you're talking about. Not entirely true, she had a passing knowledge of what he meant, but nothing truly certain. Quite a few records from the last decade had gone missing, and more than a few reports had mysteriously disappeared en route to her throne room. There was a faint burst of static as the voice chuckled, sure of himself and his own wisdom.

Wait until it blows over, or hope he or she lands in griffin territory. A bit morbid, to be sure, but certainly not out of character. A slight anxiety rushed through the connection, though not enough to end the conversation. It seemed Celestia's friend had a bit of a problem. The alicorn stifled a giggle as she realized what went wrong.

It seemed the voice said that last bit aloud.

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Today was a good day for me, or at least so far. Things aboard the Skyward Valkyrie were pretty calm; the boss had us relaxing for now. Still, the vessel's owner, a posh man by the name of Frederick Delray, was unintentionally making things difficult. His crew was comprised mainly of servitors, with only three or four actual humans. Still, the ship was large enough to warrant the hands of a man, the experience and gut instinct a machine just couldn't replace. Shipmaster Delray was kind enough to offer his vessel, as well as a small portion of his cargo hold, to my boss and colleagues.

I had my feet propped up, resting on a crate of consumables when the boss walked in. He was a scary, gruff looking man, with eyes that seemed to gaze through anyone who had the misfortune of falling under his scrutiny. Between you and me, I'm glad I was on his side.

“Amos,” he began. “Have our strider ready; we'll be entering realspace directly.” Such was my employer's demeanor. He was actually a very dedicated man, and only seemed callous to the casual observer. Presently, we were approaching Telroth, a planet covered by a large, calm sea, peppered with three-hundred large islands-states, and countless ones that barely registered on most orbital scans. Hopefully, our target would be there; we've been chasing him around the sector for nearly two years.

It was just another day at the office; what were we not prepared for at this point?

What the Fuck is a FiMFiction Gold Account, and Why the Fuck Does it Say I have One?

We returned to realspace around noon, on the ship's time. We had sat in our strider for the past hour, waiting for the Skyward Valkyrie to receive clearance to use an orbital dock. It took only twenty seconds after returning to the material universe for Shipmaster Delray to alert us to something most unusual. While, yes, we had followed our mark's wake, and exited in roughly the same location as he, this system bore no resemblance to Telroth's. The most obvious sign was the complete lack of unnatural satellites, which meant we were truly away from the sector's civilized locales.

Every reading said we were in the correct area, with our mark only perhaps a day or so ahead. Alexander Drem, the boss's personal savant, had already cross-checked every starmap and explorator report he had in his possession. There was little comfort to be found.

“I am sorry, my lord, but it seems this area is not registered as being part of Subsector Telroth.” The man's ragged, small voice spoke volumes for his character. I knew he had contracted a near-fatal lung infection as a teenager, which traveled up his throat and down his esophagus, ruining his vocal cords in the process. To make a long story short, his lower jaw was a prosthesis, as were his upper respiratory and digestive systems. He was also a shark at regicide, as anyone who knows the guy can tell you. “Worse, it doesn't appear to be anywhere within Imperial space.”

“But we're sure the bastard's here, right?” Oleg, a giant of man half again my height, asked in his rumbling voice. He often accompanied the boss planetside, both for his considerable strength, and his hidden cunning. The man could probably fire an autocannon one-handed, but he was equally capable of disarming most homemade bombs.

“Most certainly; there are no signs of his ship leaving the system.” Alexander must have been sure, otherwise he would be wasting the boss's time. My employer sat quietly, absorbing the information even as his pict-slate showed him an image of the mystery planet.

“If Ophidia is there, we have to bring him in, or end him.” Of course, this meant we would be landing on an unknown world, before atmospheric scans were complete, and search for a known heretic and his cabal. If my boss wasn't an inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, I'd outright refuse. At least I could curse this whole mission as I fired up the strider's engines.

Just another day at the office.

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Morning hit Ponyville in force. The sun's light embarked on an insidious quest to rob the town's inhabitants of restful sleep, using it's deadly accuracy to land on ponies' eyes, no matter how tightly their curtains were drawn. Many adults groaned and pleaded Celestia to withdraw her dawn until a more convenient time. The rural town was only barely waking, but one household, surrounded by the mysterious Everfree Forest, had a member who had not found restful sleep in days. Still, he reclined on his porch's roof as the sun rose.

Taylor had come to Equestria ten years ago, originally hailing from the United States. To be specific, he was born and raised in northern Alabama, and, in true American fashion, told the laws of physics to hold his beer while he did something cool. The metal disks that marked the skin over his spine attested that he'd seen some shit. He'd actually tried to burn his wife to death when they first met, but that was ancient history. The thought drew a smile.

In the sky, some miles away, Taylor could see a black dot descend from the clouds. That sight alone would warrant no further thought, but it was touching down in No-Return Bog, a small, relatively flat portion of the Everfree. While not full of monsters and poisonous plants like most of the forest, it had a lion's share of dangers unique to its area. Just as much, the object, and it was obviously and object of some sort, was far too large to be a pegasus or alicorn, even if Celestia packed on a few tons. Given its rate of descent and lack of parachute, the UFO was possibly an aircraft, because UFO doesn't means aliens. Probably.

The human dropped to the ground, heading for the door to his home. Scipia, his daughter, had her friends over, and the trio slept in the living room floor. He did his best not to disturb them; they were children, sleeping in was expected of them. Once safely out of earshot, the man climbed the stairs. He reached the master bedroom without a sound, not even waking his sleeping wife. Neatly placed on a bedside rack was his armor, a gift from a very old man he met years before. The power armor was sleek and blacker than midnight, save for its ivory faceplate.

Donning the stealth suit would take, at most, ten minutes; grabbing his gun and sword would take another three. If time was of the essence, and it almost always was, he needed to see a certain pyromaniac before Celestia started freaking out.

Who knows, maybe it was time to get the band back together.

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A strider is a small spacecraft, only seventy meters from nose to tail, with stubby wings. I actually owned the model we used, and really hated having to set her down in swampy terrain. But Inquisitor Dahl, my boss, decided this was the best possible location; far enough from the local settlement to avoid detection, and close enough that we wouldn't be walking for hours. Even as the strider gently touched ground, Oleg was at the door. He and I would be accompanying the boss while the rest of the inquisitor's retinue stayed aboard the Skyward Valkyrie.

Dahl and I hit the dirt at the same time, while Oleg was already scanning the brush for anything that may prove hostile.

“Orbital scans showed the settlement to be small; if any of the locals have seen Ophidia, they'll remember it.” Dahl sounded sure of this, and I knew he was. We had seen the area from above, and the building looked like cottages from a vacation world used by nobles who wanted to rough it. Low tech, but that meant they couldn't annihilate us if they were hostile. Probably. If, for whatever reason, the locals aren't human, I only hoped my las carbine would penetrate any thick armor they may have. “There is little time to be lost.”

Our advance was slow, tactical, deliberate. Oleg, in his hard armor, was at the front of our three-man wedge, with Dahl and I watching the flanks. Our weapons were out, of course; Oleg had his autocannon, and Dahl had his heavy stubber. Between the three of us, we cold probably take on most singular opponents, but the forest's thick vegetation was full of hiding places. The place smelled like an ambush waiting to happen.

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Taylor arrived at Sweet Apple Acres not twenty minutes later, dressed completely in his stealth armor. Big Mac, looking up from his current task, knew something must have been happening if the human showed up at the farm dressed like that. The red stallion was about to go and wake Jay and Applejack anyway, so telling his human brother-in-law to get ready for battle was a non-issue. However, the pyromaniac saw fit to stick his head out the window, hair disheveled by sleep.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Porn is Illegal in Ukraine Unless it is for Medicinal Use

This world was a bit strange, though not in any of the ways I knew. I've been in Dahl's service for, shit, must have been a decade or so. In that ten or so years, we've brought down, was it thirty or thirty-one cults? Either way, I've had a fairly colored career.

“Keep tight, I got a feeling.” Oleg was, surprisingly, a very attentive man for one his size. His autocannon kept swaying as he walked, somehow hushed against the marshy ground and dense vegetation. We kept moving as quietly and evenly as possible, stopping even ten meters to check our surroundings. It seemed, at least to me, that eyes were upon us.

“We're close,” the boss whispered. The man was a psyker, and had senses I couldn't even imagine. I used to think it was dumb luck, but the guys could, quite literally, feel the enemy even through the heaviest of cover. My upper back started aching, the telltale sign of Warp-taint in the area, an old injury I received from sorcerer devoted to Slaanesh. It took twelve days for the Inquisition to determine I was free of corruption, and I had been subjected to all manner of physical and psychic torture in that time. For me, it was just proof the Archenemy required such extreme measures. “Amos, take the left; Oleg, you have right.”

Dutifully, both of us moved into position. To be honest, I looked forward to blowing Ophidia's brains all over the forest. My las carbine had a small scope on it, painted the same woodland camouflage as the rest of the weapon. Not much magnification, but the high-contrast lens allowed for low-light operations, which this jungle most certainly was. My finger was halfway pressing the trigger before I even had the clearing in sight. I placed my crosshairs over the first human shape I saw.

The fact that it sat on a plinth in the middle of some Emperor-forsaken jungle on a planet in who know where was a bit confusing. It was a statue of some kind, made of what appeared to be metal. Inquisitor Dahl was the first into the clearing, scanning the area to find any possible ambushers. With the motion of his hand, Oleg and I likewise left our cover.

“This ring any bells?” The boss asked, feeling the same thing I was. The statue may have been made of psychoreactive materials, or something that exuded Warp energy. I tapped a gloved knuckle against the statue's ivory face, trying to determine its composition based on sound alone. It was metal, or perhaps polished ceramite, but it definitely didn't look like anything I had seen before. “No?”

“So much for your psyker, boss.” I gave the inquisitor a sly grin, knowing he knew I was only poking fun. I rested my back against the metal statue, feeling the slight ache that traveled up my spine from the minute Warp-taint. It wasn't concentrated enough to cause corruption unless I was directly exposed for hours on end. After leaning against the damp surface, which was free of the ice that would hint at an active psychic aura, I was able to determine that at least the outermost portion of the statue was made of high-quality ceramic.

Son, you're more fucked up than a left-handed football bat.

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“Mom, where's Dad?” Scipia asked through a yawn. Her dad was usually around, and it was rare he left without notice. The changeling larva looked to her mother, the Grand Matron, Chrysalis.

“I don't know sweetie, but I'm sure he'll be back soon.” The century-old queen smiled, confident her husband would return in a condition similar to how he was last seen. Taylor suddenly disappearing wasn't much to be concerned about, given the measure Chrysalis had to keep her informed of his status. The human was the central beacon for the changeling hivemind, a nexus she could feel at the small distance. Such a connection was once needed in the days of the Deceiver and his antiquated structuring, a regime Taylor ended nine years ago.

“Maybe Aunt Twilight knows where he is.” To Scipia, the logic was perfectly sound. The larva knew her father answered only to Princess Celestia, and Twilight was her student. The child, barely an infant when compared to her possible lifespan, figured the alicorn must know something if the legendary Burned Man was somewhere other than home on the weekend. It was worth mentioning that Twilight Sparkle was only called Scipia's aunt because her name was drawn from a hat to determine who would be Scipia's godmother.

“Perhaps.” Really, Chrysalis deeply doubted it. Taylor would have known a day or so before being pulled away, barring a major emergency. Though, were that the case, the Grand Matron would have been picked up as well. “If not, then we can always send Celestia a letter, can't we?”

Scipia smiled at the idea of heading to town, something that she usually only did for school or to see her friend Gingersnap. She never went specifically to see Twilight.

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I jumped away from the infernal thing with a small grunt of surprise. I immediately turned my las carbine on the statue, cracking off eight shots in half as many seconds. For the older model, that was damned impressive. Oleg and Dahl opened up with their respective weapons. The gaint's autocannon and inquisitor's heavy stubber tore into the cheap ceramic and junk metal core. One of the boss's plugs slammed a neat little hole in the statue's head, about the width of my thumb, and left an exit wound the equivalent size of a dinner plate.

After ten glorious seconds of pure anti-statuary hate crimes, our fire ceased. Only the plinth remained, nearly destroyed by our salvo. Bits of scrap littered the ground behind the statue's resting place, either bone-white or ebony, though they all displayed the dull, cheap tin that comprised the daemonic icon. Inquisitor Dahl was changing his ammo drum when a small, clapping sound echoed from the foliage to our left.

Gentlemen, so nice of you to expend your ammunition on my statue. A dead ringer for the daemonic icon stood at the treeline, his armored hands gently clapping like a nobleman. At his waist were a small pistol and powersabre, which resembled the sort given to Imperial Guard sergeants and commissars. Please, under order of the Equestrian Inquisition, put your weapons on the ground.

“Under order of the Imperial Inquisition, put yours on the ground and reveal yourself.” The boss slammed a new drum into his heavy stubber. The local hadn't actually done anything openly hostile, though he would undoubtedly be brought up on charges of heresy for having a connection to the Warp-tainted icon. “Surrender; you are outgunned.”

Inquisitor Dahl, you fail to account for my good friend behind you. This is your final warning. The heretic, who was very much a psyker possessing telepathic aptitude, casually spoke into my mind, and I can only assume the boss's and Oleg's as well. His armor, which had a body blacker than the void of space and a full-face mask the color bleached bone, was sleek and seemed to blend into the environment. Come on out, Pyromaniac.

A hulking figure slowly lurched from the cover of the trees. It was a bit larger than the average Astartes, and stouter still, though not to the extent of Terminator armor. It, too, was painted black, though faded to a dark grey, with stylized flames painted to look as though they came from its wrists and feet. Under its right arm was a flamethrower, linked by a heavy hose to an equally-massive fuel tank. Its helmet had two blazing, orange eyes, further keeping to its fiery theme. Hence the name Pyromaniac, I suppose.

Now, gentlemen, I suggest you lower your weapons. Though even and emotionless, the heretic's voice sounded smug. At that moment I realized why the masked man used his powers to speak to us and not his actual voice: he and his comrade might not have spoken our language, which would go hand in hand with their unusual armors. Nothing they had was of Imperial make, save the black-clad psyker's powersabre. So, was their equipment xenos-tech, some strange designs of a heretek, or something more sinister? That is your final warning.

There was a pressure, a sudden urge to do as he said. Chaos, and the Warp in general, could be very influential to even the most stalwart of minds. Oleg, who by virtue of his own stubbornness managed as he did, shakily held his weapon for twelve seconds. I lasted only a bit longer, my las carbine hitting the loam with a muted thud. The boss, the proud Imperial inquisitor, stood firm. The Ordo Hereticus had trained him well to withstand the mind-altering effects of psychic influence. Dahl was sweating, obviously trying to fight against the order, and using his own powers as a psyker to that end.

The temperature started to drop then, a sure sign of the boss's resistance. The air around him fogged as the moisture condensed in the chilled area, the scent of ozone wafting on the slight breeze that fluttered through the trees. Somewhere in the his head, a capillary burst. Blood dripped from his nose as though someone had slammed a gun-butt against his face, but Dahl held his ground. A shaky hand reached for his sword, a blessed power weapon that had been his master's, and his master's before him. The centuries-old blade slid from its scabbard agonizingly slowly, but still allowed itself to be known.

Steel cuffs were slapped over my wrists as Inquisitor Dahl dropped his ancient sword and heavy stubber. Oleg's legs were kicked from under him, making the giant of a man hit the ground hard enough for me to feel the vibration. He, too, was shackled as the flame-decorated hulk slung my comrades autocannon over his shoulder.

Your compliance has been noted. And, Dahl, I remember when I used to get nosebleeds like that; it's no big deal.

Pope Francis I Worked as a Bouncer to Pay for School

We were led through the hinters with complete ease, as though our captors had lived their entire lives within the jungle. The sneaky one, who introduced himself as a member of the Equestrian Inquisition, whatever the hell that was, had Dahl and I by the scruff of our necks. The Pyromaniac was forced t use both hands to hold Oleg's cuffs, due his considerable bulk. The flame-lover had our weapons, and responded to the skull-faced one's vocal commands. Oh, by the Throne, their spoken word.

The two used a language that sounded brutish even when compared to the speech used barbarians on many feudal worlds. Nothing even remotely resembled High or Low Gothic, but it also differed greatly from the daemonic dialects used by servants of the Archenemy. A chill ran down my spine at the prospect. Were these two in league with Chaos? Did they serve Ophidia? It was possible, and the boss kept muttering the Prayer of Salvation under his breath, so did he know something I didn't?

Alright, the town is just past this wall of trees. Can I trust the three of you to play nice so Pyro and I don't have to frogmarch you like criminals?

“I am a member of the God-Emperor's Holy Inquisition; you have no right to detain me.” Inquisitor Dahl could be a very forceful man when he wished, having trained his voice to used a small amount of his psychic will. It was, in some small way, effective. The skull-faced man immediately undid the boss's cuffs and gave him a gentle shove forward. “Now, return my equipment.”

No can do, Dahl. Also, before we continue, you probably want to clean your face. The armored heretic motioned with his hand, an attempt to get the boss to wipe the blood off his face. He immediately released me as well, slipping off my bindings like an old pro. I resisted the urge to punch him in the helmet.

The stout one said something, his voice distorted by his helmet's microphone. Again, I couldn't understand what was being said, though I think the boss may have been peeking into his mind. Actually, he probably wasn't, given the startling power the smaller man displayed. The fire-starter tossed Oleg to the ground without difficulty. The skull-faced man in void-black said something quickly, almost like a chirp, motioning to his comrade's thigh. Ont the larger man's faded armor rested a cylinder f some sort, painted matte grey, like a grenade launcher.

Given the method a small canister was loaded into it, the device almost certainly was. With a small thump, the container soared into the air, and exploded into an ice-blue nova. It was merely a flare, likely warning of our arrival. I've walked into some shit in my day, and seen things I wouldn’t recommend to you or your little buddies, no matter how tough you think you are. There was a hissing noise to my left, and I saw something I never quite expected. My mistake, really.

Both the skull-faced man's hands were on his mask, which had a bit of steam jetting from the underside. Pressure was equalizing somewhere within his armor's confines, but I had no way of knowing why exactly he was doing this. Then, nonchalantly, as though he hadn't taken us prisoner, he slipped his mask off.

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Twilight Sparkle stared out her window as the high-alert flare burned in the sky above Ponyville. The fiery warning system was devised by Jay and Taylor in the event dangerous humans were found within the Everfree Forest, and consisted of eight different colors that represented severity. Red was meant friendly, and the color shifted to orange, then green, then blue, and finally settled on white for very dangerous individuals or those who displayed magic or similar abilities. Shades were often mixed and matched for different meanings; ice-blue meant the humans posed severe threat, but were not unreasonable enough to warrant extermination. It was a very specific color, to be sure.

“Dad's okay!” Scipia, Twilight's goddaughter, cheered at the sight. Chrysalis had told the alicorn of Taylor sudden disappearance that morning, but had no idea the man hadn't taken the time to tell anypony where he was going. The flare meant Jay was with him, if only because he had the only grenade launcher in Ponyville; Applejack probably had no idea where he was, either.

“Told you,” Chrysalis said as she tousled her daughter's mane. The queen would have known if anything had happened to her husband; the hivemind's synapse ensured such communication. Even as ponies stumbled and sprinted into their homes, the changeling could feel the increasing psychic footprint that heralded Taylor's approached. The man wasn't actually that powerful, he merely served as the central beacon for local changeling communication, like a radio tower. It would be, at most, ten minutes before he and whoever he had with him arrived at the library's door.

“I'm sure Princess Celestia will want to hear about this.” Twilight immediately began writing the letter down, though she would need Spike to return before she could send it. Why, of all times, had the dragon chosen that day to run some errands?

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A child. An Emperor-damned child had taken an inquisitor and his top gunman, and his pilot captive. Well, Skull-face wasn't actually a child; he looked to be anywhere from his mid-twenties to early thirties. If that was true, he was younger than me by a couple of decades, not that I looked old. Skully was obviously a heretic, or a rogue psyker at the very least, who had access to advanced technologies that would have Claudius pissing himself glee, if the magos had a bladder anymore. If he had any malevolent plans for us, there was little we could do to stop him.

Our friends aboard the Skyward Valkyrie were under strict orders to call for reinforcements from the Imperial Navy, or whoever was close enough to answer, in the event we were unable to return or make contact after twenty-fours hours standard. Ophidia was here, of that there was no doubt, but the question of who these two clowns were was still prevalent.

Don't try anything funny; we've got eyes on us. The order from Skully was direct, simple, as though he expected our implicit cooperation. There was hint of... was it worry in his mental voice? The larger, helmeted man snorted something, and kept looking around as though searching for possible ambushers. Oh, yes, I think I've left something important out, sorry.

The settlement was rustic, to say the very least. Thatched roofs and stone walls, actual, wooden doors, the sort of things you only see on pleasure worlds. The doors, at least from our position in the streets, appeared a but small, especially for one as large as the so-called Pyromaniac. Skully and Pyro seemed to have done all this before, like marching three of the Emperor's servants through a small town was just another day at the office for them. We walked ahead of them for what must have been twelve minute or so, towards the village's center.

I will go on record saying this because, I shit you not, we were being led to a tree with windows.

Harvard is Trying to Make Robotic Honey Bees

Xenos. Three of them were inside the windowed tree. Their eyes were bulbous perversions of our own, bright with emotion and thought. Such things were best destroyed, yet Skully seemed fine with them. One of the aliens, a small, black quadruped with a crooked horn and insectoid wings, jumped at the armored heretic. I had expected the rogue psyker to swat it away, perhaps even shoot it, but not catch it. While he held the black thing, it squeaked in the same language Skully and Pyro spoke; it sounded very close to an overjoyed human female.

He kissed the little thing on the forehead and set it down. The cretin's green eyes looked into mine and I felt only disgust for it and its existence. It was an ugly thing, covered in chitin with holes riddling its legs; the larger one was the same, though had very predominant fangs and spoke to Skully like they were equals. The third xenos was purple, hooved, and had a straight horn and a pair of feathered wings. It was, perhaps, a different species than the first two, and spoke about as quickly as Alexander rambling off a new discovery or connection he'd made. If ever an alien windpipe begged for forced collapse, it was the purple thing's.

In succession, and with oddly correct pronunciation, Skully waved his hands between the boss, Oleg, and myself, introducing us. Inquisitor Dahl nodded curtly; he likely had a plan to work things in our advantage. Oleg grunted, which caused Skully and the large, black xenos to share a look. It seemed to me something akin to mirth played across the thing's strange features. Introductions came to me last, and I gave a small, meaningless wave. The armored heretic had likely gleaned information on our language from touching our minds, so nothing was quite unusual. Then, something quite unusual happened, and I only say this because it stuck out to me.

A large, bipedal lizard walked into the room, well, library, I should say. It was purple with green details, of course being its crest and the pair of fins on the sides of its skull. It stood perhaps two heads shorter than the black xenos, making it the second-tallest we encountered so far. It accepted a scroll, which had previously been encased in a purplish aura that seemed to emanate from the feathered one. With a puff of flames that originated within its body, the reptile burned the document. The least-ugly alien looked somewhat pleased by this, and went back to rapidly asking questions of Skully.

It seemed it was a psyker as well, and with its horn glowing, that meant the other horned xenos might be psykers as well. If that was the case, if indeed every sentient quadruped on this planet could touch the Warp, then their indifference was a blessing in disguise. All seemed to be going well, up until my earpiece crackled to life. It was Inquisitor Dahl, speaking on all our private channels, and using his best ventriloquist act to hide this from us.

++Sandtrap to Angel, shipwrecked at high tides, raft needs rope.++ That was our code for extraction, meaning our comrades would need to rent one of Shipmaster Delray's atmospheric craft. They would land next to the strider and follow the signals from our tracking devices. It was a very simple and elegant plan and why the hell was I thinking this around the language-crossing mind-reader that captured us?

Relax, Amos; I made that same mistake once. Skully was an asshole like that. Just as quickly as he said such in my head, he said something to the purple xenos. Fuck.

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“They've got a ship in orbit.” Taylor was to the point as always, a trait that had served the kingdom well over the years. He wasn't particularly scared by this development; he could always get Luna or Celestia to slam her respective celestial body into it. The plaent's sun and moon may not have been very large, but that were most certainly bigger than this Skyward Valkyrie. “And they've called in reinforcements. At most, four more should make planetfall before the night's out.”

“I'll let the princess know immediately.” Twilight's wings were a bit ruffled from all this. Already, she was writing her second letter of the day, detailing the various aspects of what could be the worst crisis in years. The alicorn looked u from her parchment after completing a single sentence, a blank look on her face. “There's more, isn’t there?”

“They're after, and this is from the inquisitor's own mind, a heretic whose name I can't say without implicating this world and ruining our chances of cooperation with these three. Suffice to say they may bring the sort of Chaos that laughs at the Elements of Harmony.”

“Dad, what's a heretic?” Scipia tilted her head to the side; she'd never heard that word before, but she certainly didn't like it. Her, Taylor, paled when he said it, something the larva had never seen him do. Chrysalis nudged her daughter's side.

“It’s nothing to worry about, sweetie.” The older queen gave her husband a nod as she spoke, silently telling him she was taking their daughter home immediately. It was understood between them that Leviathan was going to be brought back into service for this. “Come one, let's get home before dark.”

The two changelings walked out the other door, keeping their distance form the three Imperials. Twilight again turned to her very unlikely ally for more information.

“This heretic, how long do we have until he brings this chaos you mentioned?”

“Not chaos, Twilight, Chaos, proper noun. Ever seen a man explode into a cloud of gore, and watch the flesh and organs and blood melt together and float into the air, then explode again to reveal a demon from hell?”

“And these three can stop it?” She asked, fully understanding why this was something the man didn't want to say around his family. The three captives and their allies coming to ground later didn't speak Equish, or English as Taylor and Jay knew it.

“Maybe not, but every little bit helps, especially if he gets a cult going in the local populace.”

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This Ophidia, which of the Ruinous Powers does he serve? A question, that was something new for Skully. I did not bother replying, sure he would probe into my mind for the answer he sought. The icy finger of psychic energy did not touch my brain, however, which surprised me immensely. Nurgle? Khorne? Tzeentch? Slaanesh? Or does he serve them all?

“Ophidia travels around from cult to cult.” The boss actually cooperated with the heretic. That was, after all, a sign Skully and his allies weren't aligned with Chaos. He was still a friend to aliens, and captured an inquisitor and his retinue, but he was no traitor to mankind. “He was last seen with a motley sect.”

Odd term, but okay. Listen, I know we've had our differences, to put it mildly, but I only want what's best for this world. Ophidia, and Chaos as well, poses a threat we can agree on, correct? Skully offered his armored hand to the boss, expecting him to shake it. After a moment of it just hanging in the air, he sheepishly retracted it. The man's mental voice was almost apologetic, a quality I never really expected of him. Then again, I didn't quite know what to think of him. The enemy of my enemy is my enemy's enemy, nothing more. I'm not saying we need to be friends, or that I even enjoy the fact you're alive, but we have a mutual enemy right now.

“The Emperor demands human domination of the galaxy, nothing less. This world should burn alongisde the heretics and traitors that cower on it.” Dahl was a very serious man, very passionate about his work. He also knew enough about aliens and how to deal with them that he'd been mistakenly identified as a member of the Ordo Xenos on more than one occasion. If any of us knew how best to handle things, it was him.

Then I guess its a good thing you aren't in the Milky Way anymore. What the hell did that mean? Alexander and Shipmaster Delray said we weren't in Imperial space, but extragalactic travel was unheard of. Skully must have been blowing smoke out his ass or something. Now, I can easily have your ship destroyed and pry all the information from you little minds if I want, so I'm going to do the polite thing and give you the choice of cooperation or death.

Psychic interrogation was a painful thing; I'd undergone it once before, and it wasn't even the worst level they could do. I shuddered to think what Skully was capable of, what twisted things he could do with the mind if he wished. The only thing keeping us from the headsman's ax was our cooperation, something Dahl might not give. Sure, he was a loyal, very dedicated inquisitor, but we've had Kroot mercenaries with us before, so this shouldn't have been too different. It was a weird time; don't look into it. A race of psykers, a race sensitive to the Warp, would make hunting out Ophidia that much easier. What happened next was the boss's decision.

Your escort to the palace should arrive soon, I expect an answer by then. With that, Skully took the purple xenos to another room. We hadn't even noticed Pyro leaving earlier, taking our weapons with him. Have I mentioned Oleg is actually a very smart guy? Because he is, and he can say some of the most profound things.

“He's taking refuge in sheer audacity.”

The Entire Country of Zimbabwe is Only Worth $217

The Skyward Valkyrie hadn't seen so much activity in decades. The three remaining members of Inquisitor Dahl's retinue rushed around the hold, gathering whatever supplies they may have needed. Claudius Martellus, magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, leisurely calibrated a servo-skull as he waited for the other two to arrive. The cyborg, indeed he was more machine than man, used the plugs in his fingers to manipulate the machine's inner working in the most respectful way possible. Hearing the clicking footsteps of the group's lone female, Claudius's unblinking lenses looked up from his work.

“Magos,” Sister Delphine, of the Order of Serenity, said curtly as she took her boarded the small landing vessel Shipmaster Delray had allowed them to rent. Martellus knew the woman didn't particularly like him, if only because she saw the human body as sacred and perfect as it was, and despised augmentations that were unneeded to ensure survival. As such, the Sister Hospitaller refused the cyborg's offer to replace her missing eye. The medic and machine-man would never see eye to lens, but that was just fine for Inquisitor Dahl, so it was perfect for the two of them. Still, Martellus couldn't help but hear the woman's prosthetic arm whir and click as its surgical tools cycled within the chassis.

“Ready to go?” Alexander asked as he poked his head into the vessel's cramped interior. He, as Inquisitor Dahl's savant, was to use his encyclopedic knowledge to aid his lord in any way possible after they made landfall. Delphine shrugged and loaded her boltpistol, the only firearm she had. Magos Martellus rose from his seat without a word, glad to be leaving the ship for a spot of fresh air and exploration. The techno-sage plugged himself into the small ship's console and started its engines. Amos may have been the better pilot, but Martellus knew machines.

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Turns out we actually were left to ourselves. Skully and the purple xenos were in the next room, but the boss could determine no listening equipment or feel the psyker in our minds. We were left with a lot of information to digest, even as Alexander told us he and the others were inbound. Dahl, Oleg, and I sat around a small table, thinking over everything. There wasn't much we could go on; the Emperor's will was for the heretic Ophidia to burn and his name forgotten. Skully and those he knew could aid in our goal, and he had displayed interest in such. But what would it cost us?

“Ophidia has known ties to the Black Legion; it may even be how he rerouted to this rock.” Oleg had been with us on Igor's World, four years ago. The Black Legion was formerly an Adeptus Astartes under the command of the ancient Warmaster, Horus. But, you already knew that, didn't you? Well, Ophidia had a nasty habit of worshiping all four of the Dark Gods, which meant he was able to form alliances with any and all forces allied to Chaos Undivided. The Black Legion was one such army, corrupted Space Marines who specialized in eliminating their enemy's commanders. “Allies would be needed if he had even one of the bastards with him.”

“I'm not disagreeing, but the fact remains that- what did you call him, Amos?”

“Skully, sir,” I deadpanned, having mentioned it twice before.

“Yes, Skully. As I was saying, he may prove to be working against us.” The boss would be stubborn sometimes; personally, I think it had to do with being captured by a someone so young. “There was something about those black xenos that stuck out to me.”

“So he had a favorite alien, so what? I can't even count how many guys on home who had xenos friends.” I grew up in the Ultima Segmentum, right on the Tau border, and I used to work for a rogue trader. Needless to say, I had experience with aliens aplenty, and while I hate the xenos with as much fury as the next man, the Tau have earned my respect. Maybe, just maybe, the strange quadrupeds would not be found wanting. “Besides, Skully could probably kill any rogue psykers Ophidia had from a few kilometers away.”

“I have to agree, boss.” Oleg puffed on a lho stick, a filthy habit that I partook in on occasion. The giant off a man probably barely felt the narcotic, which was part of the reason Dahl let him smoke all the time unless Alexander or Delphine were nearby. The gunner looked like he was about to say something as the boss slumped in his chair. You know, I have no idea why quadrupeds had chairs like ours.

++Dahl, should we return to the Valykrie?++ Martellus's artificial voice crackled in over our vox-pieces. Immediately, Inquisitor Dahl was sitting erect.

“Absolutely not!” The boss almost shouted, but remembered the two in the next room. This was odd, the magos was usually the most logical of us. Why would he even consider pulling back unless AA batteries were firing upon him?

++The strider is registering as moving, inquisitor.++

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“Do you think they'll take the offer?” Twilight asked the armored human. In reality, she had no idea how they would take everything, and had only the barest bits of information Taylor mentioned years ago. The psychic shrugged.

“I really have no idea right now.” Suddenly, the man's head jerked slightly to the side, like a dog hearing a distant noise. The alicorn had seen this look before, and was glad for it. Taylor only did this when thoughts were particularly loud, forcing him to hear even if he didn't wish to. This meant there was emotion behind it, not the cold logic that dominated humans like him.

“Hear anything worth knowing?” She half-joked, knowing he often heard sexually-charged things and the impulses of teenaged colts. A small nod came from the telepath, though a wry smile also played across his face. This was either good, or very good, depending on how she decided to take this. Really, anything Taylor picked up that made him smile was probably something of tactical advantage, an odd fact gathered from photos of his team during the Second Battle for Canterlot.

“It seems Celestia sent Query and a couple of chariots after our little friends.”

“I really don't like that stallion.”

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Forbidden Query was a unicorn of particular tastes. He was naturally gunmetal grey in color, a shade accentuated by his Inquisitorial overcoat's black leather. His ivory hood was pulled over his head, his sharp horn lit with its pale glow as he helped carry the unusual object. Other unicorns, all of whom were Inquisitorial prospects, combined their power to lift the strange vessel. A spaceship, as Her Majesty had called it, and nothing like it existed on Equus. The stallion huffed once at the thought.

The Equestrian Inquisition was founded six years ago in an attempt to root out both illicit technology trades and plans of a coup d'etat. The organization was technically founded when Taylor first captured Queen Chrysalis after the First Battle for Canterlot and given the title of inquisitor by Princess Celestia. Query had been there, then, and had visited the then-stranger in the hospital while he was unconscious. The Inquisition just sort of grew around the man, and followed him faithfully into battle in the following war.

“Guardspony, take us down next to the Golden Oaks Library; our business lies there.”

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Gents, I trust you have made your decision? Skully came back faster than I expected, and just in time for us to see our strider touch down outside. Its engines were inactive, but it had flown here. Also, make sure your friends don't kill my subordinates.

“Skully, I hav-” Dahl tried speaking as we heard the armored man burst into laughter. The psyker grabbed at his abdomen as he barked louder. Did... did he think his title was funny? Understandable, but he picked only now to realized we had been calling him that since we met him? “Here-” Again, the boss was cut off by the man's raucous laughter. Oleg starting chucking along with the heretic, and I'm not too proud to admit that I did the same. “Fine! We're in, for now.”

As though sobered by some external force, the void-clad man was suddenly serious as the grave. He extended his armored hand, and Dahl took it. A single, quick shake sealed the deal, and put us on the track to killing Ophidia and figuring out what he knew that we didn't.

Yes, that's what happened. You want my side of this story or not? The boss and Oleg will say the same thing, I guarantee it.

A Man Escaped Prison in a Cardboard Box, Solid Snake Style

We touched down surprisingly quickly, right in one of the palace's courtyards. We were, obviously, surrounded by more of the quadrupeds, the vast majority of which were wrapped in black cloaks. One of them, however, stood out to me, a face I'll never forget. He, and I was sure of their genders at this point, was white, with, oddly enough, a blue mustache. He seemed, in sharp contrast with every other native we had at that point, optimistic and on the whole rather happy about the day. Skully and the purple female were already out of their carriage by the time ours pulled in.

The psyker and new male, which had a horn, therefore making it a psyker as well, seemed to exchange pleasantries like a pair of old friends. I only really payed them any attention because the strider was put down behind them, and that's the absolute truth of the matter. Still, I couldn't help but notice he wore the same void-black and ivory clothing as the other Equestrian inquisitors. However, this individual wore armor instead of the leather coat, and his full-face helmet was clipped to his... flank, I suppose? The mustached alien waved to me with a foreleg that was obviously a prosthetic, and not the cybernetic sort favored by the Mechanicus.

Our friends, and I use the term rather loosely, set Shipmaster Delray's atmospheric vessel down next to the strider. However, unlike our arrival, which was completely expected and likely scheduled beforehand, the remaining members of Dahl's retinue were the subject of cautious worry. Before meeting the members of the Equestrian Inquisition, I thought our Ordos didn't fuck around, but at least we wait for positive identification before pulling out the guns. As soon as the small ship's hatch hissed open, dozens of rifles were pointed at it, ready to spit hot death at whatever came out.

I think Alexander decided to be funny then, because he came out with his hands raised above his head. The savant walked sideways, never taking his eyes off the xenos, and paying extra attention to Skully. With a single word from the psyker, the aliens lowered their weapons, allowing Magos Explorator Martellus to exit next. That only left the Adepta Sororitas, Sister Delphine of the Order of Serenity. Considering she was armed, and very much a woman who despised xenos, witches, and heretics, things could very easily get ugly. As I suspected, the woman in power armor slowly crept from the small vessel, bolt pistol at the ready. She may have been a medic, but she was just as ready to resort to violence if need be, and, sadly, she saw need there.

A single crack filled the air as she fired. Skully's head jerked back as the explosive round detonated against his faceplate, which, I must admit, was a pretty good shot at that range. Immediately, the xenos were lining up shots, but did not fired. Slowly, and very creepily, Skully returned his head to its resting position. A large scorch mark marred his mask's facade, with bits of the silvery alloy showing through the paint and soot.

“I did not do that.” Was Sister Delphine seriously trying to deny responsibility for actions Inquisitor Dahl bore witness to? The Sororitas's hand shook as she dropped the pistol, a sure sign of resisting psychic suggestion. I curiously looked over to the boss, only to see him just as shocked and angry as Oleg and I. A small rumble came from Skully, crystal-clear even through his armor. The rogue psyker was laughing, but that was not the most disturbing part of this; far from it. As I said, there was a large scorch across his faceplate, well, it was receding. Nevermind the fact that he may have forced Delphine to shoot him in the face to prove a point, his armor was fucking healing itself.

You know, I expected a bolt pistol to have more punch than that. Skully's emotionless mental voice sounded bored and a little disappointed. The man must have sincerely wished to put his power armor through its paces, but was denied the chance. On that note, it was then I realized he was suicidally insane. Keep that in mind for later.

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“Taylor, you are reckless and a complete idiot.” Fancypants, Secretary of the Inquisition and leader of the Inquisitional Temple of Canterlot, had been a member of the Burned Man's organization since day one, a favor for not having the man arrested for banging his daughter, Fleur. As it were, the stallion was absolutely loyal to Equestria, a fact which was proven five years ago. “But you certainly get results.”

“Viscount, don't get any funny ideas about authority.” The man in black was still chuckling at the display of firepower. Fancypants wasn't much more than a noble in Cantlerot society, but he was also the face of the Inquisition in the capital, which made him a man to be feared and respected. He was also, by far, its most approachable member. Being so close to the princesses, he was officially dubbed Viscount for all correspondence with foreign Temples.

“Trust me, I am well-aware that you are in charge.” The stallion grinned at the man, an expression that had been born in war. It was not the friendly smile one often saw on the pony's face, but the same predatory look that had heralded the downfall of a number of the kingdom's enemies. “So, what do we do with these people?”

“Inquisitor Dahl will be escorted to Celestia and Luna to arrange a more accurate contract of peace.” Official matters were a bore in every institution, and the Equestrian Inquisition had a lion's share of its own red tape when not kicking in doors and seizing suspected criminals. To be an inquisitor was to be above the law, yet bound in more ways than the average citizen, and that meant answering for each and every expense and action taken. In this regard, Fancypants was perfectly suited. “By the way, the robot comes with me as well. This language barrier is a complete bitch.”

“What happened to telepathy?”

“My lords, what are your orders?” Forbidden Query was a new member of the Inquisition, and eager to prove himself in the wide, wide world. This made things completely horrible for his superiors, and shit assignments did nothing to solve things. The gunmetal stallion saw everything as a learning experience, even laundry duty. He was banned from laundry duty for trying to devise a method of cleaning leather that would save time and money. “I am willing and eager to serve.”

Taylor and Fancypants shared a look, before the human cleared his throat.

“Yes, Query, I have a task of the utmost importance for you.”

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I have no idea what Skully said to make that one male run off like that, but he seemed excited to be leaving. I think it was a shit assignment of some sort; I recall Dahl doing the same with his last interrogator, the one who got eaten.

“This is most unusual.” Martellus was a sneaky bastard for a guy with metal feet. I could never tell where he was looking because of all the lenses on his face, but he seemed interested in more than just the xenos.

“Strange readings?” I asked, half expecting some answer I would not understand, if only to humor the tech-sage. I don't get surprised very often, but it is always something extraordinary that sets me off. Like, say, Skully's power armor being able to communicate with the magos's implants.

“Text message from your psyker.” See? Kinda weird, isn't it? I ever learned how Skully got the frequency needed to send messages to the magos, or how he had access to a Low Gothic alphabet. It actually made sense in some way, given the cyborg's brain was well-protected against psychic invasion, so the next best solution was obviously texting. “He is rather well-spoken, and seems to have a solution to our language issues.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Dahl asked out of the blue, still keeping a wary eye on Delphine. Skully, at least at the time, was proving to be a magnificent bastard. I think it was because he was on the job; he still had his youth about him.

“We also say you and I are to follow him to meet the leader of these, as he calls them, ponies.” There a bit of static in the final word as he put emphasis on it, which was as close as his artificial voice got to disbelief. I'd ask why he was so surprised at the terminology, though it was out of my own ignorance of what the word meant. “I will get right on his solution while we walk, if you do not mind.”

At that moment, I realized Alexander, Delphine, Oleg, and I would be left at the mercy of the Equestrian Inquisition.

Roald Dahl Helped Create a Cerebral Shunt Initially Designed for his Son, and has Helped Over 3000 Children Across the Globe.

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“Oh, you want my input as well? Hasn't Amos told you enough? Really? Oh, I'm so flattered, truly. In fact, I'm so happy, I totally don't feel like strangling you right now.”

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I led Inquisitor Dahl and Magos Martellus through Castle Canterlot's winding halls, casually messaging the cyborg as we walked. Yeah, I was actually surprised to see my armor was able to communicate with his augments. Still, that was one way of eliminating the language barrier, and one I was glad for. I don't know if you've ever used telepathy, but it can be very draining with prolonged use, and I wasn't about to fuck with cybernetics, because I know how much they can interfere with psychic abilities.

Not much further now. Speaking to Dahl alone was more difficult than Amos and Oleg in combination, mostly due to his training to ward against mental intrusion. I sent the same words to Martellus, and even received a faster response. There was an estimated three minutes before the servo-skull would fully loaded with the English language files, and be able to convert Low Gothic to English and back. It would take a few moments for the servo-skull to translate at first, but I had been assured its machine spirit was capable of adapting and improving.

“This better not be a trap.” Inquisitor Dahl was such a paranoid man; it would hardly be sporting for me to kill him now, what with knowing of Ophidia and the threat he posed. It is worth mention that I had picked up a passing familiarity for Low Gothic by repeated intrusions into the psyker's mind. Put simply, I could understand him and everyone else, but they could not understand my language. I could, as well, speak it, but that would just be weird.

Dahl, trust me on this. It was like speaking to a child, honestly. A very religious, pious child who hated everyone who didn't believe what he believed. It was times like those that I wished the Musician was attached to the Canterlot Temple, but I knew family matters kept her in Ponyville. And yes, that is the town's name.

“Yes, it would be counter-intuitive for Skully to kill either of us.” As much as I didn't like Dahl, I liked Martellus, if only because he served as a voice of reason. Also, he's like Robocop, only not a cop, and more robotic. If he was correct about the servo-skull's adaptability, then I wondered how he wold react to seeing Leviathan. It was nice to wonder things, curiosity and all that good stuff.

It gave me something to focus on as I knocked on Celestia's door.

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Ponies. They were colorful things, capable of speaking any languages humans could. That was petty creepy when the white male with the blue mustache perfectly repeated every sentence we said, without an accent. Mimicry was not a skill I would associate with them at first glance, but they seemed to have a knack for it. He was also very friendly, more so than I had come to expect from xenos. Though we could not understand each other, he motioned for us to follow him. I noticed he had the smallest of limps from his missing limb, though his prosthetic seemed adequate enough to alleviate most f his problems.

The unnamed inquisitor held Delphine's bolt pistol in a golden aura, which seemed to be the pony's method of channeling Warp-energy. He wasn't waving it around or attempting to disarm the weapon; he just sort of... held it, that really all I can say. Really, I think you're underestimating how nonthreatening this alien was. Anyway, he led us through the castle at a leisurely pace, motioning every now and then to point out something interesting we couldn't understand. Personally, I think he was just happy to be doing something.

“I really don't like this.” Delphine was the most pessimistic Sororitas I have ever met, and that really means some shit. Oleg and Alexander nodded in agreement as the pony threw a pair of double doors open. Inquisitors milled about within, carrying books and other necessities of their work. Many of them were horned, pony psykers like the one who led us, though there were also several with only wings, and even some who lacked both of those traits. We didn't even draw any strange looks as we were walked to a small lounge, complete with couches and a water cooler. There was a vending machine in the corner, and our guide kind enough to demonstrate its proper use.

“You worry too much,” I said, testing the cooler's water. Alexander said it was clean enough to drink, purified by boiling. Surprisingly, however, it was cold enough to be rather refreshing. I sighed and fell into one of the very comfortable sofas, loving my chance at relaxation after a day of trudging through jungle and watching my own back. “Way I see it, Dahl and Martellus will get this sorted out, and we'll have Ophidia before the year's out.”

“I wouldn't be so sure. We know how he operates, his methods, how he thinks, and yet we've only ever come close. These aliens have none of the experience needed to fight a cult to Chaos Undivided.” Oleg was a griper as well s a comedian, but he was also devilishly intelligent and wise beyond his years. He was correct in the ponies' lack of proper training in dealing with the Ruinous Powers, though they could learn like any acolyte.

“They have numbers and resources we do not.” Alexander's voice was as hoarse as always, a side-effect of his augmented throat. The savant must have been a mutant of some kind, a gene twisted to allow him his inhuman memory, because he never forgot even the tiniest of details. I guarantee he could tell you how many shots are fired by an entire Imperial Guard regiment in one hour of heated battle, and even include how many times every man had to reload. “Need I remind you of Eureka?”

Eureka was the planet where we last fought Ophidia; I'm sure you are aware of its fate.

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Okay, so, as it turns out, Dahl did not like the look of Celestia. Well, the feeling was kind of mutual, so I can't really blame him. Robocop just stood there, lenses focused on the regent like nobody's business.

“Who is that?” Martellus asked, staying on target. Celestia looked at me, head tilted to the side, obviously not understanding the cyborg. I caught her gaze for the briefest of moments, before I threw my consciousness into hers.

Okay, remember Leviathan?

Yes, why? I gave her a look, and watched as the realization slowly dawned on her. These men, and one woman, came from the same universe as Leviathan, my Mars pattern Baneblade. Which obviously meant they were extremely dangerous, or after someone or something that was also dangerous as in planet-killer style monster or weapon. She knew little about Chaos, the precious bits of information she gleaned from millenia of speaking to humans to happen to find their way to Equestria. What's it going to take to integrate them into society, or prevent them from getting help?

Tia, what are your not-so-secret police for if not handling these things? I used a little emotion in my mental voice, a slight coloration to let her know I was smiling beneath my bone-white mask. The alicorn looked at me sternly for equating the Inquisition to the likes of the Gestapo or KGB, but that was essentially what we were if you sifted through the bullshit. We existed purely to destroy threats to the kingdom by any means necessary. “Now, Martellus, how's the servo-skull coming along?”

“You can speak Low Gothic?” Dahl asked, oddly surprised at my linguistic skills. Really, I had spent the past couple hours in the guy's brain; I knew he wet the bed until he was fifteen and lost his virginity to a prostitute. However, I was not speaking his language wen I said that.

“It appears to be fully operational, Skully.”

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$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

“Dahl, Martellus, meet Princess Celestia, my boss.” Dahl seemed to regard the alicorn with mild disinterest, only because he would have much preferred working with me than an alien. The Magos Explorator, however, was rather difficult to read. You know, because most of his face was immobile. Seriously, Karapass's expressions were easier to determine than Martellus's. “Tia, meet Inquisitor Dahl of the Ordo Hereticus, and Magos Explorator Martellus of the Adeptus Mechanicus.”

“Charmed...,” She trailed off, unsure of the two. To be fair, she had been dealing with humans for... a while. The alicorn looked at me curiously, only now noticing how little of the Martian's humanity remained. There would be an aversion there, I'm sure; she had only met a handful of augmented people, myself included. Cyborgs weren't really on her list of favorites, trust me on that.

“Well, go on, Dahl; I'm not holding your hand through this.” The inquisitor gave me harsh look, clearly not expecting me to be so blunt. The psyker nevertheless stepped forward, and looked the princess in the eye. Much like in humans, ponies perceived eye contact as a display of dominance or equality, neither of which he had. He was a stranger in the court, an interloper in the kingdom, and he had possibly brought ruination upon our heads by chasing a dangerous heretic to our home.

“Xenos, I am Inquisitor Reglan Dahl, and I am after a man named-”

“Ophidia, yes, I know. Man of average height, shaved head, last seen traveling with a cabal that included a number of rouge psykers.” Celestia gave me a wink, using all the information I had provided about the Chaos cultist and his ilk. With Dahl out of useful information regarding his mark, he would be forced to work on our terms. “I hope you have a plan of action.”

“I require information regarding this... kingdom, as well as the local customs. Chaos is a foe that is all too slippery.” The inquisitor looked to me to see some confirmation or support, but my mask was as stoic as granite. Honestly, Celestia and I knew I could track Ophidia myself, and call in reinforcements to burn whatever hole he was hiding in to the ground. Technically speaking, Dahl was a liability. “Your Inquisition's cooperation would be helpful to that end.”

“My Inquisition works alone, as is written in its founding charter.” Celestia's voice held only truth. The Inquisition was a both a military organization and a political entity, but was neither at the same time. We could not requisition troops from the royal guard, standing army, or navy, nor could we conscript from the local populace. “Chaos, and indeed any entity that poses a threat to my kingdom or this world, falls under the Inquisition's jurisdiction.”

“I'm sure this charter only applies to organizations within your kingdom?” Dahl was hopeful, for naught. It was all in black and white; I worked with Celestia and Luna to write the damned thing, so I was the best person to know. I also knew what the alicorn was playing at; you see, she didn't like me, and she really didn't like Dahl and his retinue, so she found a way to fuck both of us over.

“The only way you can utilize assets set aside for the Inquisition is to be a member.” I've said it before, and I'll say it again: the colorful little diarch could be a complete bitch when she was bogged down with work. Well, it was tax season. Still, this would be a good chance to see how dedicated Dahl was to his job and the interest of the Imperium. Would he swear allegiance to a xenos culture to eliminate a threat to his people, or would he be too stalwart to actually fight?

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

You know, we don't usually get many chances to relax, so we take them as they come. Oleg had another lho stick, which one of the ponies walking by had to direct him to another room, which was adjoined, where smoking was allowed. No, seriously, this little orange female saw him just sitting on a couch, puffing away, and angrily pointed him to the next room. I laughed like someone had forced nitrous oxide in the room. Alexander, however, did not.

The savant had his dataslate opened to a some historical record, xenology of some sort, detailing contacts with Tau on border worlds. It seemed he was trying to use the information to benefit us, though I doubted the ponies had the same devotion to a Greater Good or similar doctrine, as evidenced by the rather explosion argument we saw down the hall. From my experience, which was extremely lacking, Martellus was the only member of our group who would be able to truly figure these xenos out. Still, his repeated searching and study benefited us a bit more than Delphine's chosen time killer.

The Sister Hospitaller knelt before a small aquila, an icon she kept on her person at all times. While no sanctified shrine, I was sure the Emperor heard her prayers. We were, for all intents and purposes, stranded on an alien world with no means of communicating with the Skyward Valkyrie other than our vox systems, which were surely monitored. For a moment, I considered kneeling beside her, though we suffered from a bit of theological difference, and my presence may have broken her concentration. Shrugging, I realized there wasn't much I could do.

I reached into my coat, the heavy leather number I almost always wore, and retrieved my whetstone. It was a cultural practice from home to sharpen your knife when you've got a moment to rest. Really, what did you expect? The Imperium only rediscovered my world three centuries ago, and we still maintain our warrior traditions, albeit in a more civilized manner. I unsheathed my knife and prepared the stone, which is to say I licked it. Hey, don't give me that look; it's good for the soul. Oh, and don't bother asking why I didn't use the blade to stop the xenos from taking us hostage.

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

“Princess, we hardly have the time to send them through training.” As much as I would have liked seeing the six Imperials crawling through mud, it would do no good to waste such time. Ophidia needed to be stopped at all costs, which meant making some sacrifices and ignoring the damned charter for a while. “Submit them to the physical and equip them Inquisitorial armor so we can be done with it.”

“I'll not serve some alien ruler.” Dahl did not know how deep of a hole he was digging, and it was obvious. The physical examinations were mostly painless and quick, performed by the Inquisition's own medical personnel, who were trained to deal with a myriad of biologies.

“If you choose death, then so be it.” Celestia looked to me gravely, and nodded once. I unsheathed my powersabre, not bothering to engage its internal field generators. Cutting through necks did not require the force I could apply with my unaided arms, much less when they were supplemented by my armor. However necessary this was, I regretted that I was now the executioner responsible for the deaths of six, really about five and some change, humans whose only crime was their devotion to their Imperium.

“I will not serve you, but my retinue and I can serve beside you.” Words played across my HUD, sent from Martellus, asking me not to kill the inquisitor just yet. The magos understood the need for protocol, certainly, and there was something rather odd about Dahl's tactics. Most inquisitors, my own included, were savagely loyal and would rarely change their opinions about working with who they perceived as an enemy or neutral third party. I paused only for a moment more, to allow the psyker a chance to make his case. “This physical, my men and I will take it, but only if we will be granted access to your weaponry and vehicles.”

“Taylor, you heard him; make sure the Medic is ready for them.” Celestia's disposition changed like someone flipped a switch, a testament to her acting abilities. She never intended for me to kill Dahl and Martellus, only to intimidate them into obedience. A risky tactic, given the last time she used it, we were locked in a year-long war that still had the border with the Pridelands scarred. But, considering it seemed to work, I found little chance for anything to go terribly wrong. A little wrong, sure, but not so wrong I couldn't fix it.

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$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

The Medic. If there was ever a name that could send shivers down my spine, it was hers. She was, as you probably expect, a mare uniquely gifted with medical talent. She could heal pretty much any injury short of amputation or total brain death; I even saw her stitch a heart back into working order. If we had a hundred of her, death by natural causes would all but disappear in Equestria. On that coin's reverse, she was also the greatest torturer I have ever met, and took a most sadistic pleasure from her work. Put simply: be at the business end of her magic, not her scalpel.

“Your princess is insufferable.” I really didn't like Dahl, and for a moment, I regretted Celestia's decision to allow him to live. But, that was probably because I was uniformed; I'm a generally relaxed kind of guy. Maybe, just maybe, we could get along off duty.

“She has good reason, I assure you.” You know, with the Imperials who landed and have a ship in orbit, fully capable of calling for reinforcements from the Imperial Navy, she barely had the time for pleasantries. We walked through the winding halls, away from the throne room, towards the Inquisitorial Temple. The sprawling complex had previously been Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns, refitted for its new purpose after the academy was relocated. To be clear, the princess just had some buildings that weren't being used; we did not force children out, at all. “You've been awfully quiet, Martellus.”

“I've been pondering this language barrier. I only have the one servo-skull, and it makes no logistical sense for us to stick so closely together.” Again, Robocop knew what was up. My mental reserves grew every day, but even then, I could only transmit my thoughts, not translate the words of multiple individuals back and forth. “I doubt you will allow me or any of our associates offworld until we have Ophidia, so I must find another solution.”

“I'm sure we have the parts, except, maybe, the grav engines.” Speakers, cables, human skulls, and most other materials were readily available, but anti-gravity technology didn't exist in Equestria, and I doubt we could get unicorns to carry them around all day. “But, why not just build headsets or the like? Seems a bit easier than building the entire machine.”

“Skully, or Taylor if you prefer, I take pride in my work.” Martellus's point was fair; I couldn't honestly say I'd never done something for the same reason. However, he also failed to give me a definite answer regarding the headsets. Hold up, couldn't their vox units be re-purposed for just that, or, you know, upgraded with little computers or something similar? Right, stagnated technology, forgot about that for a minute.

“I feel you.” The expression seemed to be lost on the cyborg; it probably fell out of use alongside English. Dahl looked at me, face leagues more expressive than the magos's, and every hint told me he thought I meant psychically. I shrugged and kept leading them around, knowing we'd find the Medic's office soon enough.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

The white male returned, still chipper as he motioned for us to follow him. Stache was a pretty cool xenos, given that we were unable to understand one another. Delphine didn't like him, nor did Alexander, but we were all able to tolerate the alien, for now. Quickly, two more ponies joined us, both wearing the same clothing as their fellow inquisitors, though these had a white band wrapped around the jacket's foreleg. A crux medicae was emblazoned on the simple cloth, a symbol that was obviously associated with medical personnel.

“These are either medics of some sort, or torturers,” Oleg grunted, not too pleased by the prospect of following something with such a strange dual meaning. Crucifixion was a bad death, from what I'd heard, and we had no knowledge of their intentions. Stache seemed to trust them, but he was also doing his job.

“Why would we need medics?” Dephine asked in an almost offended tone. Her power armor bore the same crux as theirs, so it stood to reason the ponies knew she was a healer.

“Perhaps to keep us alive long enough to extract whatever information they need.” Alexander was a savant, a genius, but he often couldn't see the forest for the trees. He knew about Skully, and his powers as a psyker; if he wanted to rip knowledge from our heads, he had every opportunity in the galaxy. “Or maybe Dahl and Martellus have brokered a more permanent alliance.”

“So they're checking us for diseases we may spread to the natives?” I asked, a little surprised at the notion, but understanding their precaution. They already had humans, but seemed to be just fine with anything they had, but space travel allows for massive diversity in microorganisms, including those naturally found on human skin. For all we knew, we could have been something out of a Nurglite's wet dreams for these aliens.

We were motioned into what appeared to be another lounge, chilly and reeking of industrial disinfectants. Yes, at that moment, I was certain this was a clinic of some kind, which meant we were either being examined or they were very thorough in their tortures. Dahl and Martellus were nowhere to be found, so they were either behind the pair of steel doors, or on their way.

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

We kept a light pace as we strolled through the halls, idly chatting about this and that. A few changelings flickered in and out of my synapse range, likely Chorion's brood in town for trade, but they were on little consequence at the moment. Really, you'd be amazed how little I've actually had to do with queens other than Chrysalis and Scipia.

“Heavy stubber?” Dahl asked out of the blue, motioning to an Inquisitorial heavy weapon's team. Granted, the psyker's gun did resemble the particular machine gun the three ponies collectively wielded.

“Maschinengewehr forty-two general purpose machine gun, or rather, a replica based on some we had collecting dust.” I smiled behind my mask, proud of my ability to teach hoofed mammals how to fire a weapon that required fingers. None of the ponies on that team were unicorns, a rarity for the magic-dominated Inquisition. “Not quite your stubber; can't go to semi-auto.”

“For covering fire only? Would it not serve an anti-infantry purpose?” Martellus was a techy, not a gun nut, so it was acceptable that he not realize the weapon's main function was to punch holes through anyone too stupid to get in its sights. And suppression, or course, but that mostly came from the enemy's dead piling up. The MG was Equestria's first full-on machine gun, and outclassed most native equivalents by miles.

“Boss, we've been waiting for you!” Oleg yelled from up the hall. The giant of a man was smoking, again, but thankfully outside the clinic. The others joined him outside at once, and I noticed Delphine felt nothing but contempt for me, probably because of the bolt pistol stunt. Her eye seemed glued to my visor, thoughts practically forcing themselves into my head.

“We need a physical before we'll be given access to their equipment and vehicles,” Dahl explained before anyone had the chance to ask. What he didn't know was that most vehicles were made of wood and pulled behind a pony or two. “I don't like it any more than you all, but I'll go first.”

“Not so fast, Reglan.” My voice was chipper, though I actually dreaded what I had to do. Don't get me wrong; I've killed, tortured, maimed, assassinated, and downright murdered, but I had more than my fair share of fears. “I still have to let the Medic know you're ready.”

“You say that like it's difficult. Is this Medic hard to reach?” Delphine was trying to act superior, that much was evident on her face. The Sister Hospitaller must have deemed herself above ponies, probably a byproduct of the xenophobic Imperium. I scowled beneath my mask, angry that she technically had a point. The Medic was as close to a personal physician the princesses and I needed, and was always on call, giving us access to her services whenever they may be needed. “I'm more than willing to do this in your stead, Skully.”

“As tempting your offer is, I'd rather resolve this matter personally.” Oh, how I hated saying that. I very calmly walked to the double doors, which opened as I approached. They opened into a hallway, with rooms along both walls, and the Medic’s personal office at the very back. There was a surgical wing as well, but it was rarely used. I tapped my armored fist against the heavy oaken door that led to the Medic's office.

“Come in, Taylor; I've been expecting you.”

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$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

“So, Burned Man, how may I serve you?” The Medic purred, slowly sliding a brush into her pistol's barrel, and began cleaning the weapon with practiced ease. The unicorn always found a way to unnerve me; her natural mannerisms only worsened matters. She wasn't actually attracted to me, or at least I didn't think she was.

“We've got five recruits needing a physical, as well as psychic examinations for the oldest male,” I replied, ignoring the innuendo she held suspended in her magic's aura. In response to my obvious resistance, she increased the brush's pace, though kept as innocent a face as she could. Blast residue wasn't difficult to clean from an automatic, let alone on a gun of such quality materials. “I trust you to be on your best behavior; I know how you get when you work around humans.”

“As if I would allow personal curiosities to color my judgment.” She tried to act indignant, but she was as happy to go cutting on a man or woman as she was blue, and she was very azure. She was always a little more than eager to look after me, and in more ways than could be considered professional. “You should know me better than that, boss.”

“Sunny, do your job. The fate of the kingdom may well rest in these recruits' hands, and, by extension, your hooves.” I needn't say more. A familiar flash shot through her eyes, the very same seen within those of warriors and kings on the eve of battle. The Medic may have had her peculiarities, but she was fiercely loyal, and better than just about everyone I have ever met when it came to close combat. Dahl and his retinue were in good hands if she was in charge. “I'll send the first one in. Her name is Delphine, and she is incredibly xenophobic.”

“Taylor, you did say full physical, right?” Sunny Smiles, doctor who lost her medical license after a malpractice suit or two dozen, was still Sunny Smiles, the Medic, and she would always be too eager to work.

$%$%$%$%$%$%$%

Sister Delphine did not enjoy her current situation in the least. She sat, naked, on some exam room cot while a xenos examined her like she was some sort of experiment. The cyclops looked in distaste as the blue pony forced her to remove her eye patch, only to focus on the bit of skull blown from the side of her head and the dark, empty socket. Most of the tests were complete, and only medical history remained. In the corner, Martellus's servo-skull hovered dutifully, ready to translate anything that needed to be said.

“Yes, Miss Delphine, how long ago did you lose your arm?” As if she had the right to that information, but it was the Emperor's will that the Sister cooperate.

“Twenty years standard,” was the only reply given. The Hospitaller scowled as the Medic moved onto the next item on her list.

“How did you lose your eye?” The Sororitas scowled and gave her an honest answer: she lost it when a traitor guardsman got a lucky shot on her face with a laspistol. No, there were no secondary infections; no, she was not in pain; no, she did not want a new eye. “And how many children have you had?”

“Zero.” Completely true; Delphine had barely had time to relax since she joined the Order of Serenity, let alone reproduce. “Am I done?”

“Of course, now please send in the next patient.”

$%$%$%$%$%$%

Oleg barely fit on the cot, but the Medic didn't really seem to mind. He couldn't see why Skully had been so reluctant to speak to her. The giant of a man relaxed as he calmly rattled off his previous surgeries, injuries, and venereal diseases. It was all pretty standard stuff, right down to the old turn your head and cough. Really, the pony must have been passionate about her job.

“Alright, sir, how long have you been smoking?” Lho sticks were unheard of on this planet, so it made sense that the Medic was unable to determine how long he had been a user by looking at him.

“A little under fifteen years, give or take.” Actually, Oleg could have gone for a smoke right then, just to get his mind off having his balls felt up by an alien.

“Roughly how often would you say you are injured in the field?” That was a tough question, to be honest. He usually walked away with a bullet or las wound, made two, but there were plenty of times he came out unscathed or riddled with holes. Bone injuries were rampant, and a part of daily life for him.

“Once or twice a mission, nothing too serious.” Oleg watched the Medic scribble something on a pad of paper, then look at him and smile.

“Good enough for me; next!”

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

Turns out Alexander had Martellus run a scan of him and filled out the forms himself, meaning the two were not seeing the doc, and bumped me to the front. Dahl would be right behind me, because apparently psykers require special care during this process. The Medic, looked me over, confused about a detail or two in my answers.

“Are you sure you're fifty?” She asked, glancing back to her... thing that looked like a dataslate made of wood. She obviously wasn't convinced, but I've aged well, or at least well enough not to require juvenat treatments to maintain my appearance. For a savage, I've managed to keep my youth better than most Imperial nobles.

“Positive. If you'll give me a week or so, I can show you my documents.” I actually couldn't. One of the reasons the Imperium didn't like my planet was most of us were illiterate and we lacked machines capable of keeping records. Yeah, the Ecclesiarchy did a decent job, but most of them couldn't even pronounce our names properly. “So, Doc, we about done here?”

“You're probably the healthiest one I've seen today.” The Medic smiled at me, and not in a good way. Ever seen a guy in the Penal Legions smile? Yeah, it was a bit like that, only more sinister because she was a psyker who had Skully nervous. Her eyes became half-lidded as she looked at me. “Now, do come back if you ever need anything.”

“Yeah, I'll do that.” No I wouldn't, not in a hundred centuries.

“And please tell Reglan Dahl and the Burned Man to come here.” The Burned Man? Did she mean Skully, or Taylor, as Martellus said his name was. Probably so, given the fact he was almost certainly in charge of the whole show.

“Can do.”

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

Dahl sat in a chair in the back office, the one we used for examining humans who exhibited mutations that granted unique abilities. The psyker condition was one such ailment, and we had facilities to accommodate such individuals. The inquisitor strapped his helmet to his seat's headrest and relaxed, as instructed. This was a rare occurrence, so only one member of the Inquisition was ever needed per Temple to receive our... unique guests. I served as the Canterlot Temple's metric for determining psionic ability.

“Now, please raise all mental defenses you may have, so the Burned Man can attempt to destroy them.” The Medic was wearing her combat armor, which was coincidentally the only suit attuned to block out my specific psychic signature. This was a safety measure included after an incident three years ago, which is a long story I'd rater not go into. Suffice to say, I couldn't affect her, so she was clear to chop up anything that needed chopping.

When Dahl tensed, I knew he was nearly ready. The barest hints of ozone filtered through my armor's chem-sensors, and thermals registered a noticeable drop in temperature in the area immediately surrounding his head. Frost had barely begun to collect on his helmet when the Medic strapped him fully into his chair, a sign enough Warp-energy was in the air for me to work against him at his full strength. I focused my power into something that would resemble a sliver or knife, were able to physically manifest.

With no tact, warning, or hesitation, I stabbed into the mind of Reglan Dahl.

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$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

I find there is a certain difficulty in penetrating the mind of another psychic. Mental barriers natural erect themselves as your power grows or you age, and Dahl was easily eighty, so my work was both made more difficult, and much easier. Fundamentally, the mind is a bit like a chain connecting three stones to one another; each labeled past, present, and future. The older you are, the longer your chin between past and present becomes, and if I break the chain, your mind is like wet clay to be moulded by my hand. Long chains break easily, especially those that have gathered as much rust as Dahl's.

His experience was his downfall in a way. He knew enough to keep me out of his current thoughts, and those from the last decade, so direct control would take me days, perhaps months or years to attain. But, as much as the present determines how you fell at that time, the past is what makes you, well, you. What good was all the training he received as an orphaned child if I removed those memories? What good was his conditioning? His loyalty? All that and more I could have altered or removed. But, instead I chose to merely ride the train of his memories into the present, or at least to the mental wall he erected against me.

Eighty-eight years, six months, three week, five days, eight hours, fifteen minutes, thirty-eight seconds. That was precisely how old Reglan Dahl was, and he was far from middle aged. Odd how I once considered his current age to be a lifetime, but I suppose things change as time marches ever onwards. I saw everything through his eyes, felt everything, heard, smelled, tasted everything. A life's worth of information that could easily destroy a smaller mind was handled, sorted, filed, scanned for useful information, and then removed from my thoughts once their usefulness was at an end.

Up and up the chain I went, enduring the painful training and indoctrination he received at the scholam when he was a mere progena. Every punishment and privation, delivered by the skillful hand of Drill Abbess Tenpenny, was but a flicker of distant pain to me. Dahl's respect and hatred for her bubbled within me, but I shrugged it off as I pressed on, through his early years, and into his days as an acolyte of the Ordo Hereticus. He studied side by side with another, though his face remained obscured. The memory brought mixed feelings, and felt perilously important.

Further along the line, I saw Dahl accept his promotion, becoming a full inquisitor at the relatively young age of fifty. Fervently, I saw him work against the enemies of the Imperium. Corrupt governors, rogue psykers, Chaos cults, dozens were captured and burned for their crimes, all thanks to Reglan Dahl and his friend, the acolyte who trained beside him. The two inquisitors were inseparable, and gained a certain infamy within their sector. Then, twelve years into their partnership, something changed.

The anonymous inquisitor, a man who Dahl trusted without hesitation, was caught in a conspiracy against the Imperium. Charges were filed, hearings were held against he civilians, and the inquisitor in question was severely punished. For four weeks, day and night, he was flogged in front of the sector capital's planetary governor's mansion, for denizens of the city to see. Penance paid, he returned to work as dutifully as before. This lasted for a year, Dahl and his brother in arms growing farther and farther apart as time dragged on. Finally, twelve months and three weeks later, the inquisitor was gone, vanished from his home. There was no evidence of a struggle, or that he was escaping something; every bit of furniture and clothing, save enough for a week's vacation, was where it was meant to be.

A week passed, then another, then a month, then a year. Dahl, worried, visited his friend's home once more. There was dust over every surface, if only because he never hired maids, and Reglan thought it wold be rude to go against his personal preferences. He searched everything, hoping to find something the arbiters missed. The Emperor must have been smiling upon him that day, for he came across an envelope addressed to none other than himself.

My brother, Reglan,

It deeply pains me to write this, because I know you cannot understand my motives. As I pen this, I am awaiting a shuttle to take me to a waiting vessel in orbit. Do not bother checking official records to track me down; they are not registered and remain as of yet undetected by the PDF. I must thank you for your support during the Durmo Incident, pleading for me to live remain an inquisitor. Doing so has left me eternally in your debt, and that is the only reason I have bothered writing this, for only you shall every read it. It is, as much as you will doubtlessly hate me for, is my confession to heresy and treason, the very crimes in which you proved my innocence.

It was on Tajic, four years ago. I'm sure you remember well, Reglan. We got separated in the undercity, chasing a pair of rival cults devoted to Slaanesh and Khorne, the ones whose conflicts alerted us to their presence. You burn both of them out before you found me, but you were ignorant of the truth of the matter. Yes, cultist slaughtered each other in the streets, but they were not working separately. You and I stumbled upon a cult to Chaos Undivided, a seed of heresy planted a decade before. They captured me, took me into their inner sanctum, and forced me to listen for those hours you and I lost contact.

I felt nothing unusual during that black sermon, nothing strange, but there was doubt within me after I was released. Reglan, I know you are as loyal as they come, and I admire you for it, and yet, I feel pity for your blind faith as well. You can go on, live your life as you always have, and forget about me eventually. I hope you do; it's really for the best if your memory of me ceases to be. I wonder what our master would say if he could see us now? You, doubtlessly, would be his favorite, as it was in the old days. Do you recall the nights you and I would confide to one another, share or fears and excitement at leaving the scholam for the Inquisition?

Our Imperium, which orphaned you and I with its endless wars, is dying a slow death of stagnation, a gangrenous infection rotting it from within. In ancient days, war brought innovation. Innovation brought better lives for all, and freedom from restrictive governments. As a psyker, do you not know personally the prison the Imperium has made itself? Are you truly so ignorant as to believe you are seen as anything but a slave to used until you are no longer able to function, then tossed aside like garbage? I'll fight this Imperium, not for selfish reasons, but for you and all like you to be treated as an equal. Abhuman, psyker, mutant, or purestrain human, it does not matter. We fight, we die, and we give our lives to the God-Emperor; nothing more is asked, nothing less is tolerated.

I will see the Imperium change for the better, for the High Lords of Terra to understand that men are not resources to be thrown around like a complex game of regicide. The men who have died in the service of the Emperor outnumber the stars, now can you ell me they are anything but a nameless number to be seen in awe? Or can you see them as men and women and children? When you know the answer, you may see things as I do. Either forget I ever existed, or join me in this struggle to change the Imperium for the better.

The Emperor protects,

Leon Ophidia

Girls in Mozambique can be Purchased from Human Traffickers for as Little as Two Dollars

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

The double doors opened simultaneously, though with little urgency, so I at first thought nothing of it. Two gurneys rolled out, pushed by the Medic's Warp-energy. Dahl was on the first, pale and mumbling in what must have been a drug-induced coma. Skully was next, equally pale, though his eyes were open and focused on something lightyears away. For once, he was unarmored above the shoulders, though what bits of his suit were not equipped were laying next to him.

“Oh, don't worry one bit; this happens every time the Burned Man tests a new recruit.” Whether the pony psyker meant we should not worry for Taylor or Dahl, I had no real idea. The heretic would pull through, being conscious and all, but I had more than a slight choke in regards to the boss. I've seen the man fight cultists and traitors by the dozen, but I've never seen him asleep within trying to rest. The sight was... unnerving. “The orderlies should show you to Mr. Dahl's suite shortly.”

“What about the Burned Man?” Martellus asked, artificial voice flavored with curiosity. I imagine he was after a peek at his technology, or at least wanted to see how much of the Burned Man was machine.

“I shall see to him.” That voice was new, and its owner was completely unexpected. It was a black xenos much like the one Taylor spoke to in the tree, but its horn was cracked and a trail of pale green scar tissue was etched through one eye, now milked over and blind. The other eye was still a bit duller than the first two bug ponies we saw, but seemed to have full functionality. “If you'll be so kind as to release him to me, Medic.”

“Of course, Arachni.” With a push of energy, the gurney rolled to the new xenos, Arachni. She had a horn, yes, but seemed unable to use her powers as a psyker. Was there some sort of organ, perhaps an extension of the brain, that resided in pony horns that channeled their Warp-energy? That must have been the case, a fact that became evident after the xenos Arachni began pushing the gurney with her forelegs. She moved swiftly, leaving us alone as white-coated orderlies appeared form behind the double doors.

“If you'll be so kind to follow us, we'll have you in your rooms shortly,” The larger of the two said. He was a male with wings, light green with equally light eyes. He regarded us without the slightest curiosity or distrust. This one was familiar with humans, enough so that he couldn't care less about how strangely we looked.

“Lead on, xenos,” Alexander ordered.

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

I hadn't seen Arachni in months, perhaps even a year. She looked much the same, though visibly aged. She wasn't connected to the hivemind anymore, a product of a rifle round that ricocheted off a rock and through the tip of her horn. It cracked enough to destroy her magical capabilities, and the resulting emission blew most of her face open. The Medic patched her up almost as good as new.

“How are Chrysalis and Scipia?” She asked, keeping her eye ahead. I could only barely hear her and my vision kept fading in and out. Learning Ophidia and Dahl were once the best of friends was a shock to my core, but not the reason for my near coma. I made the mistake of pressing into Dahl's mental barrier that surrounded the previous decade and the modern day. Something powerful kept me out, but I don't know if it could be attributed to Dahl's training as an inquisitor or something more... sinister.

“Scipia's fine, really loving school.” I smiled at the thought, then winced as another shock ran through my frontal lobe. Yeah, probably shouldn't be happy when dealing with psychic pains. “Chrissy and I have been trying for another.”

“What happened to no more Deceiver or Grand Matron?” Arachni was referring to the previous regime's configuration, something I nearly died destroying. The Deceiver had been as close to a god as I have ever had the misfortune of seeing up close, and the Grand Matron was the queen chosen as the leader of the changeling species. I had been Chrysalis's champion, and had been given the gift, or perhaps you may consider it a curse, of wearing the Deceiver's armor. “You never did get my humor.”

“That's because you aren't funny.” I grunted a bit as I undid the first seal on my armor's torso, still rolling towards my old suite. In a way, this was a sort of homecoming for me. “Heard any news from Ponyville?”

“Chrysalis and Scipia are supposed to be on their way, with Leviathan in tow. Jay is likewise bringing the Element Bearers in case there is a danger we do not perceive at the moment.”

“Why the hell aren't you working for the Inquisition?”

“You can't afford my salary.”

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

“Swanky,” Oleg said, observing our rooms. We were each given our own suite, with Dahl having the nicest, if only by the addition of a single throw pillow that the rest our our rooms lacked.

“What's in the footlocker?” Delphine asked, pointing to a small trunk half hidden beneath Oleg's bed. It looked industrial, a heavy steel number bearing the seal of the Equestrian Inquisition. Oddly, there was no lock anywhere on it. Oleg managed to wedge his fingernails under the lid, but couldn't get enough leverage to budge it.

“Let me try,” I said, waving a hand as my large comrade kicked the box to me. In a flash, I pulled my knife from my boot, testing the edge against the locker's lip. It'd be a tight squeeze, but I could fit my blade in well enough. The steel would hopefully hold against the pressure as I raised my boot over the handle. It flew open like a small bomb went off inside.

“What are those?” Oleg asked, pointing to the collection of what appeared to be rifles that filled the mysterious footlocker. They were made of wood and steel, handcrafted with care and precision. They were all the same model, bolt actions with a six-round magazine. The projectiles were brass with a lead tip, similar to autoguns, though they seemed to have a longer effective range. “Is that a scope on that one?”

“I think we just broke into a cache of sniper rifles.” Well, it only had the ability for precision at range with a scope, so they weren't all sniper rifles per se. Actually, I wonder how they would compare to a standard longlas. We wouldn't have the chance to test them, not with Skully and his friends watching us, but at least we weren't unarmed any more.

$%$%$%$%$%$%
Extra – From the Files of the Equestrian Inquisition: Incident No. 420596
June 8, 1013 AC

Three humans (Amos Till, Oleg Verovsky, Delphine Louise) were arrested for using illicit firearms and stolen ammunition to damage property of the Crown. The three perpetrators used Enfield rifles to take potshots at labyrinth flower pots and one fired a shot in the direction of Prince Blueblood.

The three were fined a total of 800 (eight hundred) bits, pardoned by the Burned Man under grounds of diplomatic immunity

Guantanamo Bay has a McDonald's

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

So, as it turns out, the ponies don't really appreciate shooting flower pots, especially when we're doing so with their weapons. Skully wrote us off after the guards sent him a form detailing the charges against us; apparently, he was too weak to leave his bed for the moment. Dahl, similarly, was still unconscious.

“So, say we find whatever hole Ophidia is hiding in, then what? Do we accept the natives' help, or go in alone?” Oleg ponder aloud, sipping on some drink he'd found in the suite's refrigerator. It was fizzy, bitter, and also had a slight kick of caffeine. I think it mat have been a combat stimulant of some kind. It'll obviously be a trap meant to lure us to our death, which means we'd fail our mission.”

“It is better to die for the Emperor than live for yourself.” Delphine's eye looked up from her scriptures as she reclined on a couch. She was no longer wearing her power armor, and settled for the simple vestments of a Sororitas. She wasn't even wearing her eyepatch, and allowed the scarred mass of flesh to be seen. It was about as ugly as you're imagining. “If the Imperium demands our death in the line of duty, then we must oblige unflinchingly.”

“Right I keep forgetting you and the boss were progena.” Progena, as I'm sure you know, are students in one of the many branches of the Schola Progenium. Imperial Guardsmen, male and female, go into battle and die, a lot, this means there are no shortages of orphans in the Imperium. The scholams are meant to train these orphans to become inquisitors, Imperial Guard and Navy officers and commissars, hell, even the current Ecclesiarch was a progena when he was young.

“It was a quality education, and certainly better than anything you received on your world, whatever it was called.” Now, see, that struck a nerve. My world was largely independent, with our Governor holding almost no power over the Great Clans, and we are a fiercely loyal people. We take in any orphans that arise from the Imperium's constant war, provided they are of our own blood, and teach them the ways of their ancestors. On Vlindrul, no one is without family, and everyone is taught to at least the average of most Imperial worlds.

“I'm going to forget you said that, Doc.”

“Do as you wish, Amos; it matters not to me.”

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

I had shed my armor soon after signing off on the Imperials' crimes, enjoying the freedom I found as my skin touched the naked air. Sure, I would live for thousands of years because of it, but that didn't mean it was comfortable to wear. My senses were still a little numb from the shock of suddenly weakening, but that too would pass. I was tired, sore, and sweaty, but I still had a job to do and little enough time to do it. Leon Ophidia was a dangerous criminal and worshiper of very real gods capable of annihilating and corrupting everything that was Equus.

The Black Legion was the real wild card, if they felt Ophidia was a major player. At most, there would be a small band of Chaos Marines with him, but there would likely be either one or none at all. I had a power weapon, and I knew the Deceiver's armor was capable of blocking one if I put all my strength behind the swing, but that said nothing of the might of a Space Marine. That was, of course, assuming he would chose to fight me in melee, which was arguably the only way I had a serious chance of survival.

My helmet blocked a shot from a bolt pistol, but only barely. A full on bolter or, heaven forbid, a heavy bolter would shred my armor like tissue paper. Hopefully, this theoretical Marine wouldn't be a sorcerer, so I could avoid Warp-fire and other such attacks. If everything went well, there would be no such man in the den of heresy, as much as I shuddered to consider anything heresy. There were not enough hours in the day to prepare for every scenario, and my focus shifted as I felt two synapse changelings approach. I smiled, immediately recognizing both of them.

Chrysalis walked in, holding our daughter in her magical grasp. Scipia was sleeping, which wasn't much of surprise given that she was still in infancy even though she looked like a school-aged foal. Longer lifespans are funny that way. My wife, though we were never married in a formal sense, smiled at me.

“Learn anything useful?” She asked, recognizing my flustered state. There was a bit of good humor in her voice, as she understood this was typical and likely to happen as my powers developed. I shot her a tired look as she settled on the bed, setting our daughter on one of the larger pillows.

“The inquisitor is hunting his former partner.” The revelation drew a slight hiss from her, but she settled quickly enough. Despite being an emotion-eating shapeshifter who was not above espionage and kidnapping, she absolutely despised betrayal, even though she essentially used the tactic during the mission that forced us to meet. “But get this: Dahl had a block I couldn't get through, surrounding the previous decade, and it felt different from his usual mind.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with him being a, what did you call it, psyker?” She wondered, nuzzling her cheek into the crook of my neck. I looked her in her visible eye with worry, knowing she was largely ignorant of the Imperials and their culture, as well as the risks that were inherent under their conditions.

“I really, truly hope you're wrong.” I knew Ophidia wasn't a psyker, but his cabal likely held one or two, so the danger still existed. But, to think Dahl may have been under daemonic influence was rather sobering. Possession was another possibility, as I wasn't quite sure what happened to the human mind in a host after the daemon moved in, rather, whether it was suppressed or destroyed. Neither option seemed better, only terrible in different ways. “The last thing we need is the Warp mingling with Equestria's magic.”

“You said something about this Warp and Chaos, so couldn't the Elements put a stop to anything that comes through?” She just wasn't really getting it, an I'm not saying she was stupid, just incapable of imagining anything the Elements of Harmony could not defeat. They were, in purest form, the antithesis of Equestria's chaotic energies such as Discord and the dead Sombra.

“Chrissy, the only thing I think the Elements will be good for is making a daemon laugh while we make our escape.” My voice was gruff and disallowing of any argument, which was quite a feat for me when it involved Chyrsalis. What can I say? The Grand Matron knew how to press the Deceiver's buttnons.

“Perhaps a visit to an old friend will ease your cynicism?”

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

I stood in the hallway outside my suite, puffing on one of Oleg's lho sticks. They were calming on my nerves, more of a relaxant than the stimulant it was for most people, but maybe that was just early addiction. I only took the liberty of smoking in the hall because the cleaning staff seemed like they could scare off a charging carnifex, and I wanted no part of that. I heard the clacking of hooves against the marble floor ring from down the corridor, and it drew my attention like a moth to flame.

There was the black xenos from the windowed tree, I was sure of it. She was helping to balance Skully, who was completely out of his armor and revealing he was almost entirely man instead of the machine Martellus was almost sure he was beneath his power armor. He owed me a few drinks from the first pub we could find, and I demanded a classy establishment. With strippers.

“Afternoon, Amos,” Taylor said, speaking in Low Gothic. I knew he was because I saw his lips moving and the servo-skull was in Dahl's room in case a nurse or someone had to see to him. The bug pony next to him nodded, and then spoke as well.

“Hello, my name is Chrysalis.” Her voice was double-layered, but she was obviously kin to the alien Arachni, and even the insect themed naming scheme continued. Normally, the voice would hint at something daemonic, but she seemed well enough is the Burned Man thought she was okay. She, too, spoke Low Gothic, albeit with a thick accent. “We were about to take a walk.”

“What she's trying to ask is will you join us?” Skully gave the insectiod pony a gentle elbow, but she said noting further. I didn't really need to think on the issue at hand, given my current state of boredom, so I gave my answer rather quickly.

“Certainly, I don't have anything planned.”

$%$%$%$%$%$%
Extra – From the Files of the Equestrian Inquisition Incident No. 21 “The Nevermore Incident”
November 14, 1008 AC

The Inquisitorial command squad (The Burned Man, Viscount, Medic, Musician, and Ripper) broke through the outer wall surrounding the griffon city of Nevermore, and managed to infiltrate the city's capitol building and secure an audience with the local warlord (Sturm Silverwing). They were quickly asked to leave the premises when they asked about the bloodstains on every member of the squad, which were localized to the mouth and nose areas. The Burned Man, having command of the squadron, answered honestly.

During months of fighting from Canterlot to Nevermore, rations ran low, and with cannibalism being illegal and unthinkable in Equestria, a solution was found. Griffons, dragons and dogs who were slain in combat were skinned and dressed for consumption, and the Viscount, Medic, and Musician ate meat on every occasion. Silverwing, horrified, ordered them from his city. He died on November 14, 1008 AC, the day before reinforcements from Eagland arrived.

It should be noted that griffon morale took a sharp plunge after news of flesh-eating ponies spread through their ranks.

Author's Note

Anyone care to guess who the old friend is?

Dave Chappelle was Offered the role of Bubba in Forrest Gump. He Regrets Turning it Down

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

We walked out of the palace, with Skully only needing minimal help from Chrysalis. Perhaps it was because the locals would recognize him and he didn't want to appear weak in front of them, or maybe he was improving with every moment under the planet's sun. By my best guess, it was the early afternoon, which happened to be the preferred time for palace guards to be on patrol. I counted no less than twelve teams of inquisitor ponies in the tens minutes it took us to leave the castle grounds. I have no doubt there were plenty more that evaded detection.

We walked through the city below, which Taylor called Canterlot. Many of the buildings seemed new, built in the last five years, and there was no visible pattern in the layout of the streets. Windows were generally small for storefronts, while retaining their advertising purposes, and the entire business district seemed built for defense in the event of invasion. The city walls had the same maschinengewehr emplacements the Temple had, still facing inward. Canterlot was a deathtrap designed to kill anyone who dared attack, though I had no way of knowing the outer defenses, if they existed, or their capabilities.

After what felt like an hour of walking the winding, zigzagging streets, we came to a door made of white marble. There were no marking to hint at its purpose, nothing to identify that it even belonged the Equestrian Inquisition, but Taylor had access all the same. He pushed the door open, as there was no mechanism to open it on the outside, and we were immediately greeted by two psyker ponies in golden armor. They recognized him and saluted as we passed them; they didn't even bat an eye at me. Two more guards were through the next door, made of black granite. They had wings like a bat or flying Tyranid, and their eyes were slitted and reflective. Nocturnal guardsmen, possibly, but they seemed to be some mutant offshoot of the general pony species.

The final door was made of cut, opaque, golden crystal. It seemed expensive, almost the sort of thing kept for royalty, and it's design was as intricate as it a stained window bearing the Emperor's form. I've no doubt something of similar quality would be found on Holy Terra, as it was free of tool marks and seemed to have formed as though nature itself broke the mould after its creation. Taylor did not have to touch it for it to open; the inquisitors on the other side took care of that. Before then, I had not noticed we had been traveling underground, which only became evident as I saw what lay beyond the pair of skull-faced ponies.

Rows upon rows, hundreds upon hundreds of marble gravestones stood in purposeful order in the massive cavern. This was a war memorial, for no plague could warrant this level of veneration. We walked down one of the aisles between stones, taking care to keep at a measured pace so as not to appear disrespectful. I felt honored at being allowed to see this place, something that was considered sacred on home. Many of the graves had small trinkets, letters, and even weapons placed before the tombstones.

I noticed the markings on each pony's flank as I saw them, and they seemed to either be unique, or only a handful could possess the same one at any given time; either way, a mark was etched into the marble gravestones just below what I could only assume was the departed's name and years of life. We came to a stop in front of a simple stone that had a bird-like skull resting on the soil before it. The flank mark adorning the front was of a crescent moon and a cartoon star on a stick. I had no idea what the flank marks meant, but this one seemed like astronomy, maybe?

“Her name was Trixie Lulamoon.” Chrysalis's voice seemed deafening in the quiet chamber, but Taylor didn't even flinch at the sudden sound. I imagine the two had been comrades in arms at some point, or close friends. Dahl's ideas of him being a xenophile came to mind at once, but I put them down quickly; this was something to respect, and I would not throw around a wild accusation like that. “She was the first friend he made when he came to this world, and the closest.”

“Came to this world? I thought he was from here.” To be fair, humans are pretty tough and capable of surviving in a myriad of environments; the men and women of Catachan are living proof of that. I also realized it was possibly offensive to talk about Taylor with him being right there, but he was sitting with his eyes closed, almost as though he was meditating. He was a psyker, so it wasn't out of the question for him to be communing with the dead. Either way, Chrysalis and I were not on his list of things to think about.

“No; like you, Taylor came from somewhere else, and the same goes for the Pyromaniac.” I didn't bother wondering how that worked, because, for all I knew, this was some weird pocket universe in the Warp and we had the misfortune of ending up in it. “I'm not sure how it actually works, no one is, but I do know Equus is a sort of dumping ground for multiple universes.”

“He use Warp travel to get here?” So, my hypothesis was correct, kinda. Psykers were probably unique to my universe, if she was telling the truth, which would explain why he didn't try to harm us and knew about heresy. Or, just maybe, the natives only thought they were part of a separate dimension, and Taylor exploited that to gain power here. “On second thought, why don't we just get back to this Trixie?”

“Right; well, she and Taylor were close, really close, because he saved her life when they first met.” That was a plausible method of making an alliance. Dahl saved me from a genestealer infestation on my old boss's ship, so I just started working for him. Chrysalis's face took on an odd little quality as she spoke, and I wasn't entirely sure I liked it. “She was furious when he'd gotten himself burned defending Canterlot when I invaded with my army.”

“Pardon?” I very nearly lapsed into my planet's dialect, and only just retained my composure. Chrysalis was a friend, at the very least, of the leader of the Equestrian Inquisition, and she just freely admitted to attempting to destroy the very kingdom Taylor protects. At my surprise, the insect xenos laughed in a way that was somehow mocking and sincere.

“Sorry, I just didn't imagine you'd react that way. If it helps, he was burned setting an entire storehouse full of fuel and ammunition on fire in an attempt to kill me.” That just raised further questions, but I decided to let the sleeping dog lie, lest I be pulled into political intrigue I really didn't want to understand. “I thought they were going to end up together, to be honest.”

Well, apparently Dahl was right about Skully fucking aliens. Did I mention I actually freaked out a bit when she said that? Yeah, right in the middle of the memorial chamber. I saw more than a few pony families look at me in disgust.

Buzz Aldrin Punched a Dude Because he Said the Moon Landing was Fake

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

Trixie had been a very dear friend to me, better than just about every other I have ever made. I saved her life when we first met; this monster called a manticore attacked her and handed her over as a food offering so I didn't kill it. Well, after spending months around me, my habit of always paying debts rubbed off on her. She went from friend to loyal subordinate as soon as the Inquisition was formed, taking the Wizard as a pseudonym. We were just outside the border with the Pridelands, and like an idiot, I wasn't wearing my helmet. In my defense, this was before the Inquisition split from the Guard and became a separate fighting force, so I had to fight side by side with Equestrians, pony and otherwise, who wouldn't trust a faceless killing machine.

It had been raining for about two weeks, an attrition tactic I recommended to Celestia because most of our enemies were from arid, warm areas. It had been my mistake, because I was up to my knees in mud and thermal vision doesn't work so well in rain, especially the downpour we had that day. A griffon popped over the ridge with one of our Enfields and must have noticed my face wasn't protected. Trixie saw her before I did and jumped in front just as the bird pulled the trigger. I heard a loud pop, and my face was suddenly covered in something a lot warmer than rainwater.

Now, accounts vary on what happened next, and I myself am not sure which is true and which aren't, or even how many of them are correct. All I know is when I got over the initial shock, we had broken through the enemy's defenses and I had a skull strapped around my neck, which is kind of strange, considering I didn't have a knife with me at the time. Still, the day's butcher bill was way out of proportion for a single day of fighting; right at twenty-five to one, with us having the advantage.

“We can go now; I've made my peace for the moment.” I had also had enough of Chrysalis and Amos talking, if only because I seriously needed to let my wife know that telling anyone I was a xenophile was kind of a bad idea, not that I could change the past. I'm sure Amos was intelligent enough not to tell anyone, because I would have to kill him, his comrades, and the trader who brought them to Equus. I probably had to do that anyway, considering our alliance was one of convenience, and we were going to stab each other in the back at some point. If not Dahl and his retinue, then the Imperium at large when they found out about us. “We still have Ophidia to deal with.”

“Right; let me help you up,” Amos Till offered, trying to repair the bridge he was worried had been burned. He knew what I was capable of, that I was self-destructive enough to go against the entire Imperium if I must, and that his life was essentially meaningless to me. Do I sound grim? Macabre? I should; I just finished thinking about a dearly departed friend.

“I assume you'll keep this all a secret from your boss?” I asked, only meaning the memorial garden as the obvious intent, but leaving the subtext where it was. I had a slight smile on my face, a little trick I'd picked up somewhere. It looked friendly on the surface, but could be very unnerving when someone really looked at it. I've had to do some politicking in the Inquisition's investigations, especially the Temples we have in other nations. The griffins really didn't like it when I visited.

“Of course; the dead are sacred on home.” Right, I had forgotten he was from a feudal world the Imperium had a tenuous grasp on, at best. He was loyal, yes, but his morals prevented him from telling anyone about this place, thankfully. “You have my word, so long as we are working together.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

$%$%$%$%$%$%

Shipmaster Delray was panicking, for once. Truthfully, he'd had a bad feeling about this run for a while, but had kept his mouth shut because it provided a nice break from the monotony of working the same route over and over again, as he had been stuck doing for the past five years. It wouldn't have been so bad if the two planets hadn't been right next to each other, but he needed the money at the time. He had always worked very well with money, and he'd even picked up some cargo to sell after finishing up this Inquisition business Reglan Dahl had contracted him for.

Sadly, the shipment of fine furniture had proven to be... well, a complete nightmare. At first, it had been impossible to open to review the contents, which should have tipped him off something wasn't quite right about this deal. He was quite understanding of how things went in the galaxy, but his crew were not so... complacent.

“Close that damned vent!” One of the few non-servitors of his ship shouted at a machine. The servitor complied without complaint, programmed to obey without hesitation. A clamor came from beyond the murky darkness within the ventilation shaft, followed by a hissing chitter. A pair of clawed hands reached out, and sliced through the machine's chassis like a hot knife through butter. The muddy brown exoskeleton was immediately made the target of the crewmen's fire. Las shots and slugs slammed through the aperture, eliciting a terrible scream from the beast.

“Gentlemen, I think you may have forgotten about the escape pods.” As much as Delray didn't want to abandon the Valkyrie, it was a necessary sacrifice to ensure its continued survival. He could get aid from the natives, this Skully character Dahl described to his comrades. Yes, this seemed like a job for a pysker, rogue or not.

“You heard the boss; MOVE!” One of the men shouted. He had been with Delray for about two years, and knew his job well. He covered his shipmates as they scrambled to the small drop pods that peppered the walls of the hangar, taking a step back after every third shot. Only after he was sure the others were to safety did he turn to run, and took the first atmospheric vessel he could find. Delray watched as two of the beasts made it in with him before the pod's door could close. He turned off his radio to stop the screaming and chittering noises.

He punched in the rally signal for his small escaper, and programmed the others to follow his, save the one the man being eaten was in. The trader watched as his beautiful Valkyrie faded into the distance, making a wonderful backdrop for the other crewmen who escaped with him. A single pod, barely a drop of blue against the void, fired off, far from the set course. Delray immediately realized this meant two of the aliens were going planetside, where they would do what they were infamous for. He did all he knew to do in this situation as he saw the rogue pod arc towards a polar region on the world below.

“Hello, Inquisitor Dahl? It appears we have a problem.”

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Extra – From the Mind of the Burned Man “I shall have Retribution”

It was raining, as it had been for the past fourteen days. My breath fogged in the humid, frigid air. It was spring, but it was nearly cold enough to snow; either way, my face burned from the temperature. Each drop, if they could qualify as such, was about as thick as my forefinger, fucking with my armor's electronics more than my living body cared.

“Fill that gap, guardspony!” I shouted at one of the stallions who walked by a small hole in the sandbags, something I only did because Celestia wanted the Inquisition to get along with the Royal Guard. If it was up to me, we would have charged over that ridge a week ago, on a cloudy night with our knives covered in soot and dirt to keep them from catching light. “Damn, I actually regret not joining Jay's team in hitting the dogs.”

“I get that you're stir crazy, but keep a level head.” Trixie Lulamoon, my trusted friend and voice of reason when away from my family, rolled her eyes. She was just as dirty, cold, and hungry as I was, and complained ten times as much as I did. Zero times ten is still zero. “The last thing we need is you getting killed; I like Scipia and all, but I don't think I'm father material.”

“That's why you're her godmother, Trix.” I smiled at her, enjoying the slight respite we had from the fighting. This was much worse than Cuatla had been, by far, but we had made it to the border, so a cease-fire should be negotiated soon. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a beige dot slightly rise from the dark red soil of the ridge ahead. “What the hell?”

“Taylor, get down!” A blue blur passed in front of my vision, and a splash of red mist sprayed in my face. I heard the bang a moment later, but it was already too late to stop Trixie from taking the bullet. The ridgeline lit up with retaliatory fire from our side, but the sniper ducked before any could come that way. A fell to the ground quickly, trying to keep my blue friend awake long enough for help to arrive. I said everything I knew to say, every lie in the book to keep her spirits up in the hopes she might pull through. You'll be fine; I've seen worse; it didn't hit anything important; we got the bastard; the Medic is on her way; you'll be home by tomorrow.

I think she knew she wasn't going to make it, because she kept smiling up at me like she was just fine. Her intact lung started filling with blood rather quickly, something I could only tell by her increased coughing. She passed, rather peacefully for her injuries, just before the Medic arrived. Sunny Smiles may have been an amazing doctor, but she was not a god. Trixie had been set on repaying me for saving her when we first met, and I knew she did that as my friend, but I could also tell she felt like it absolved her.

I wonder how she could feel if she knew I felt like I owed her more than she ever owed me?

Whitestrake has no Way of Knowing if His Chapter Titles are Actually Factual

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

“Genestealers?! On your ship?!” Dahl did not like the news Delray had brought, especially after he let the fact two of them were planetside and possibly implanted a crewman. “Our only method of escaping this world is now crawling with those Emperor-damned beasts?”

“I had no way of knowing what was in the shipping containers when I purchased the goods.” Delray's face was flush from the exertion of escaping death and embarrassment of being called out on his mistake. I could tell the merchant only retreated because he wanted something, because most shipmasters would have died defending their ships. “A pod with at least two of the beasts fell planetside, towards the arctic region magnetic north of here.”

“Then I guess we're paying a visit to the Crystal Empire.” Taylor was wearing similar clothing to ours, right down to an aquila on his breast pocket. I had no idea where he had gotten it, because my clothes were too small for him, and Dahl didn't wear anything like that.

“And what of Ophidia?” The boss really didn't like being delayed in anything, especially when he was so close to catching the bastard he's chased for so long. Taylor shrugged in response.

“This planet's security is my primary concern. The very last thing we need is a genestealer cult popping up. The only good news we have is they wont be able to reproduce for a few months.” He looked lost in thought for a moment, then relaxed as Chrysalis came in with his armor. It seemed he planned on leaving immediately, and used his powers to signal his... I'm not quite sure what I should classify them as, but they weren't separate much. “Now, either you all come with me, Amos flies my squad to the Empire, or we take the train, which will delay hunting Ophidia by at least a week.”

“How does your Inquisition get any work done?” Dahl was fuming at that point, knowing he was trapped in a corner. He wanted Ophidia burned, and so did the rest of our team, and he was more than willing to do everything he was capable of to accomplish this. I've already mentioned him employing Kroot mercenaries before, so his reluctance to cooperate now was a bit startling.

“I imagine similarly to yours.” Taylor knew that insult was duel-layered. For an organization that utilized xenos and heretics to function in any sense comparable to the Holy Ordos of the Inquisition was blasphemy, as well as the added layer of Dahl's rather correct suspicions regarding him and Chrysalis serving to compare the two personally. It was then I realized the Burned Man was an enormous dick. “So, want to go alien hunting in the frozen north, Reglan?”

“We are not on a first name basis, heretic.”

“Ouch. If I had feelings, that might have hurt.”

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

So, apparently the strider has a lot of room available. Delphine would not be with us, nor would Oleg, Alexander, or Martellus. The Elements were here, as were Jay and Chrysalis; Luna was watching over Scipia back at the palace. We were flying at a steady mach one, not too fast or too slow; we didn't want to arrive too early. Delray, that sonofabitch, had brought genestealers of Equus. Genestealers! Are you getting what I'm saying?

I wasn't worried about a Tyranid invasion, because getting here required Warp travel, and the bugs didn't utilize it. The planet couldn't be devoured, but it could be overrun and destroyed from within by swarms of the sneaky bastards. Luckily, they picked a pretty terrible spot to land; Chorion's brood lived in the Crystal Empire as full citizens, and we always got along. It'd be a headache connecting to so many changelings at once if you considered my previous record of twenty, but so many eyes and ear and connections to scan the crystal ponies would prove necessary.

“I don't see why we can't just try to reason with them.” Fluttershy was a pacifist through and through, even if she didn't quite understand the severity of the situation. She was referring to the genestealers, not Chaos, because we hadn't informed any Elements other than Twilight of the danger beyond the material universe.

“Fluttershy, they want to hypnotize and dominate the population and try to signal an alien swarm to devour the entire world.” I wasn't going to mention they would fail to hail a Hive Fleet, but that was my little secret. It was getting really tough to convey just how shitty the universe Dahl and his retinue came from, because not only did English lack appropriate words to describe it, the peaceful little ponies were getting less and less capable of comprehending the dangers that were now prowling their world. “Their claws could rip my armor open like it was nothing, and they have no qualms about war crimes and other atrocities.”

“If they don't fight by rules, how are you even going to find them?” Rainbow Dash had settled down a bit in the decade I'd known her, though she never settled down, if you catch my meaning. She was actually growing into an intelligent mare, though she wasn't exactly stupid when we first met, though she was still rough around the edges. “I don't think they're gonna have signs all around the empire saying Here we are, come kill us!”

“They psychically dominate their victims, so I'm going to beat them at their own game.” I tapped my head for emphasis. I planned to use Chorion's changelings to search the hearts and minds of every crystal pony I could round up, provided any genestealer cult that formed hadn't already moved into isolation. Well, they only had about two hours on us at the moment, so maybe they only reached a handful of ponies. “We'll see what happens we the changeling hivemind interacts with the genestealers' brood telepathy.”

“This seems like a great way to get yourself killed,” Rarity said with a roll of her eyes. She wasn't a fan of violence apart from the poor acting in those trashy radio soaps I hated. She also hadn't forgiven me for that time I ran through her boutique naked when her sister and her friends were over, then cleared out before I could catch any flak directly. That being said, we got along famously when there was alcohol involved.

“Now Rar, they wouldn't be doin' this if there were 'ny other options.” Applejack was understanding of this predicament to an extent, an ability granted by the fact she happened to be the mother of a genetically engineered human-pony hybrid and the significant other of the Pyromaniac. Worrying about humans getting killed kind of died off after she and Jay had Candied Apple; now they only had to worry about me killing their son if he decided to snoop around Scipia.

The entire time, Dahl just sort of sat there, looking at the ponies in fascination. Amos had the servo-skull in the cockpit so Twilight could assist him in navigating to the Crystal Empire. He seemed rather dumbfounded that we were having entire conversations that he did not understand, and I took great measures to ensure he was left ignorant. The Crystal Empire would be our first stop, where we would make our actions officially known. Wiping out the genestealers would be a red flag for Ophidia, and possibly drive him deeper into hiding.

The chase always makes the kill more satisfying. The Ripper, who oversaw the Inquisition's movements in the Crystal Empire, would gladly agree. He was a griffin by the name of Jacques, and had been perhaps the only griffin I fought who survived a run-in with my powersabre. For that, I conscripted him into my squad. Surprisingly, we get along.

Porn Stars and Legal Prostitutes have a Union

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

My armor registered ambient temperatures around negative ten degrees Celsius. To be fair, it was the dead of winter in the Empire; Cadence had never synchronized her empire's season's with Equestria's. The others were prepared for the frigid winds, but Amos and Dahl were still wearing their regular clothing, which, might I add, was meant for more temperate environments. They shivered as we made our way into the palace, not needing guards to look out for us. None of the locals would be outside during the night.

The Inquisition did not maintain a Temple in the Crystal Empire because they were our allies during the war, though we did have a small force present at all times. That force was a single griffin by the name of Jacques, who I fought against and alongside. I called him the Ripper as a joke during our battle because of his rather unique choice of weaponry. He had lost his bird-like talons as a chick, and had fully mechanized prostheses; at some point, another griffin had decided they were going to use magic sword to enhance his talons' ability to cut. Yeah, apparently they gutted a scavenged power weapon they found lying around an rigged the field generators to rest somewhere inside his palms.

He almost killed me, but we eventually had to call it a draw. Then, the next day, he just showed up in our camp and declared he defected to our side.

“I never liked this place,” Jay said, lugging his gigantic suit through the hall. He was, oh, about nine feet tall in that thing, and capable of lifting a truck. He actually sat in the chest compartment and let hydraulics and servos take care of the rest. The entire rig was piloted via game controller.

“At least you have a heater.” Chrysalis was shaking worse than anyone else, even though she had the most cloth wrapped around her body; changelings weren't very endothermic, so they only barely survived anything below forty degrees Fahrenheit naked. Local changelings lived in underground catacombs kept warm by the hot springs the Empire had grown famous for. Given we were in the area looking for genestealers, that was probably our best bet, to be honest.

“I haven't been to the Crystal Empire in months; I hope Shining and Cadence are doing well.” Twilight hardly bothered to shake in the brief moments we were outside; being an alicorn, she had the natural cold resistance of a pegasus.

“Darling, I'm sure they're fine.” Rarity, well, I'm actually not sure how to define how she'd changed over the ten years I'd lived in Ponyville. She still reads the same trashy romance novels she always has, but she's become a little more, shall we say, predatory in her search for a partner. She's probably the only cougar I've ever met who was in her thirties. “Things are peaceful here.”

“Yeah, it's not like this is the Russian winter we're talking about.” I was only saying the crystal ponies weren't a hardened people because of their lack of warmth and wonderful climate; they had plenty of that in the summer. None of the ponies understood what Russia was.

“Let's just get underground and sort this out in the morning.” Chryslais looked like she was ready to crawl in a warm, damp hole in the ground to escape the cold that somehow permeated the outer halls of the Crystal Palace.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

I sat on a small bunk in a dugout, cleaning my lascarbine. I took the liberty if cranking the powerpacks to full charge, even though I preferred to charge them on solar energy, but, I was in a cave. The insect ponies, Arachni and Chrysalis, were queens, or at least fulfilled the same role in changeling society. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of smaller drones bustled through the labyrinthine catacombs below what much have been the Crystal Empire's capital city. Taylor hinted at something involving a hive mind that kept them organized, like the Tyranids.

Each and every one of these changelings was a shapeshifter, and was connected to the hive mind, most likely led by the queens. But, again, Taylor kept saying things that made me think he was, in some way, connected to the massive collective. Perhaps he was, being a psyker, but I've also heard the horror stories about the unfortunate souls who tried to tap into the Warp when fighting 'Nids, so how was he unaffected? I asked Dahl as much, hoping he may have an answer.

“Sorcery of some sort, I'm sure,” Was all he said as he went about cleaning his heavy stubber. We had about six hours until sunrise, so we spent it performing weapon-cleaning rituals and resting without actually sleeping. Both of us took a stim shot to keep us awake and alert. “I'm more concerned with how he plans on taking care of these genestealers.”

“You aren't even the least bit curious? I mean, the man was asleep ten minutes after we came down here; he didn't even talk to this Chorion character.”

“We do not do the Emperor's work to understand heretics and xenos but to destroy them.” Dahl was a very pious man, and often prayed to the Emperor for guidance. Delphine didn't mumble her litanies as much as he did, and she claimed to the most faithful.

“I still do not understand why you're so certain Skully is in league with the Ruinous Powers.” Really, the man had done plenty for us, so why not at least hold off on accusing him of crimes he may or may not have committed. This wasn't even about the xenophilia, because Dahl didn't know beyond doubt, but about Taylor actually worshiping Chaos.

“I never said he is with them, merely that he is a heretic.” Yeah, here comes the the boss's explaination about his stance on heresy and Chaos worship. You'd be surprised how often this sort of thing has to be thrown around. Seriously, I wish you could have heard his justification of using Kroot mercs. “He does not praise the Emperor, which makes him a heretic; he also, as far as we know, does nothing to benefit the Dark Gods.”

“Except, in your mind, the two are exactly the same.”

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

It looked as though I was sleeping, but, in reality, I was merging part of my consciousness with the changeling swarm that surrounded me. Thousands of eyes, ears, hooves, and wings sent their sensory information through my brain, and it was only by the grace of my armor I was able to survive the onslaught. I could count exactly how many individuals made up Chorion's brood. It was a... powerful sensation.

So far, there had been nothing out of the ordinary in the last six months. Human traffic was the norm for this time of year, with only twenty residing within the walls, and no spikes in number. None of them were giants, either, but it always helped to look at every aspect. I could not draw up an exact image of the humans, but I was sure to find them around the city eventually. There seemed to be nothing strange about them, at least at first thought, which was good.

However, on that coin's opposite face, there were a total of eight kidnappings in reported today. This was the sort of thing I needed to talk to Cadence about come morning, as well as devising a method to gather the locals into a stadium or something like one in order to search their minds. Then they would have to stand still as every last infected pony was killed, and that was only if they could all die at the same time, otherwise, innocent ponies could get hurt.

Cadence would be tough to convince.

Author's Note

You are now noticing this chapter and the previous one are the same length

Ponce De Leon Never Searched for the Fountain of Youth. The Story was Made up After his Death to Make him Look Like an Idiot. They Succeeded.

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

“You want to what!?” Cadence wasn't mad, really; she was just... a little put off at my idea. Shining Armor, who stood next to her, had a look of equal disbelief on his face. He seemed a bit more open to the idea, though, given our history. You know, I kind of saved the lives of his wife and little sister. “What enemy could possibly justify killing innocents?”

“Cadenza, we assure you genestealer cultists are far from innocent, and every moment we delay, they grow in number and power.” We did not refer to our group, but rather to the multitude of changelings that worked around the city, using clothes and sunlight for heat. My consciousness, my personality, was decentralized and part of the hive mind. I was part of Chrysalis, and Chorion, and her brood, and each of them was part of me. I, for all intents and purposes, did not exist, nor did any of the other changelings for that matter, we were simply we. “If we scan every crystal pony, we can prevent the destruction they will surely cause.”

“Say I allow it, how do you plan on doing this?” I, or, We, knew what we could do. The solution was simple and easily executed due to the lack of anything resembling an opinion within the Crystal Hive. Our minds were heavily at work attempting to find a way to remedy the situation, and we came up with a batter version of my original plan. Instead of corralling the entire population in the city square, we could set up small zones around the city and man them with changelings who would then scan their minds in search of genestealer sympathies or anything resembling our own structure.

“We will divide and conquer until the parasites are cleansed from this world and beyond.” We meant this, because purging the Skyward Valkyrie was the next step in ensuring Equus was safe. We would figure out what to do with the Imperials after I separated and could think clearly and as myself. “We will allow none of your untainted subjects to come to harm.”

“You aren't making use of the Crystal Guard?” Armor asked, possibly offended we had no such desires. They were unneeded, superfluous, probably just get in the way. But the truth was they were under just as much suspicion as anyone else.

“Shining Armor, we are already searching within their minds.” Tact did not exist in the hive mind as there was no need for it. Every consciousness was open to every other, and each of us had the choice to disconnect and reconnect whenever we wished. I personally enjoyed my privacy too much to like being part of something so huge, no matter how free my mind actually was.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

Shining Armor did not like what Taylor had to say, and I liked Taylor's behavior even less. He was acting as the center of the changeling hive mind, like a Tyranid synapse beast, though he seemed in control of himself, for now. He was doing exactly what no human psyker had ever done on a large scale: meld his mind with thousands of others. This was something out of a horror story about trained alpha-plus psykers. Did this bolster his strength or weaken it? So many minds would function as a massive brain, but tapping into the Warp may short every neuron in that massive collective.

“We allow you to come to the Crystal Empire in something from a sci-fi movie, and now you're scanning my guardsponies like they're some kind of book?” The white stallion looked angry, and rightfully so. Most Imperial Guard generals would have been just as furious if the Inquisition forced their men into service and drew them from an important battle. The pink one, Cadence, lifted a hoof to silence her husband.

“I understand what you have said, that these beasts are a true danger to the Empire and Equestria, but your actions seem too extreme, Taylor.” Her voice was serene, as though she wished to level with him, but there was also a stern quality hidden behind the silk that allowed no argument. However, I knew enough about Taylor to understand he wasn't the sort to back down once. “I simply cannot allow this.”

“We are afraid this is merely our way of telling you what we plan to do; Equestria is in danger and this is under the jurisdiction of the Inquisition.” His voice was monotone, as though he was sure of his superiority on this subject. It was also the creepiest I have ever heard anyone speak, and I've heard an Inquisitor Lord give a sermon on why the mutant must be shunned. “With or without your permission, we will do as we see fit.”

“After all we've been through, you can't ignore your gut for ten seconds and listen to reason?” Cadence seemed to be referencing something I did not know about, possibly after the war Taylor seems to bring up quite a bit.

“Princess, we've come a long way to roast some bugs. Like it or not, we've got to kill them before they spread.” The Pyromaniac was a much smaller man than I expected him to be. He wore a black jumpsuit with red splotched in a camouflage pattern, but was of average height and small musculature. Oddly, he didn't have burn scars like I expected. “It's a cancer that must cut out.”

“I agree with them, Cadence, even if I am grateful for your hospitality.” The bird-cat thing, Jacques the Ripper, was something called a griffin. His front claws were metal, and he seemed a bit obsessed with combat, even if he was calm for the moment. He was also the only nonpony I had seen wearing Inquisition colors, and he had the same full mask Taylor wore with his suit. “We are within our right, as much as I wish not to side with them for the sake of our friendship.”

“Perhaps it will not come that.” Taylor's eyes were unfocused, and he seemed almost pained by something, like a fleabite or prick from a needle, a small flinch that was almost imperceptible. I knew he was representing all changelings in the city, as Chrysalis bore the same expression, but this was more than a bit creepy. “Twelve of us were just killed in the tunnels beneath the Blue Sky Bathhouse. Thirteen. Fourteen.”

“Genestealers?” Dahl asked, readying his sword.

“We do not know.” Skully looked up at Cadence, complete enraptured by whatever he saw through the eyes of uncountable changelings. Everything about this world was just getting stranger the longer we spent on it, and the sooner we killed the genestealers, which seemed to be active at that very moment, the sooner we could kill Ophidia and be done with it. “We trust we may leave to avenge our fallen?”

“Just go; we will discuss more once you are yourself.” The pink alicorn seemed relieved that there would not be innocent blood spilled today. In the time it would take us to root out the vile Tyranids, she would likely run her own scans of her citizenry and attempt to devalue Taylor's right to defend Equestria.

“Jay, you are to remain with Cadence and Shining Armor; Dahl, Amos, and Jaqcues will follow me. Chrysalis, you are to protect the Elements until their worth is determined.”

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

We, meaning the group I chose to accompany me, marched through the dank tunnels that ran beneath the city. My helmet’s vision modes allowed me almost perfect sight in the near complete darkness, though our many eyes benefited me much more. Thirty changelings had met their end, and every time we were unable to ascertain what the killer or killers looked like. This was not a cave-in or natural gas leak; it was much to abrupt and continuous for that. The blank spot of death was also on the move.

We passed a corpse almost immediately, though it was several minutes old by that time. It had been ripped in two, shredded along its midsection. We were saddened at its passing, but understood it died for the whole. We, the group, marched more slowly then, with Jacques and I keeping point, we were close-quarters specialists, and it would take more than two genestealers to kill us. Hopefully. Dirt changed to brick as we entered the more cultured part of the undercity which meant we were near the higher-end districts. There was a distant roar, or another of us ceased to be.

The group ran then, hoping to catch whatever killed one of us. The bricks here were splattered with ichor, the pale, sickly green fluid that filled changeling body cavities. But, again, there was no sign of the killer. The roar came just as we thought it had moved on, behind the wall to our right. A black object broke through the masonry, tossing bits of rubble as it howled. We brought up our sword barely in time to deflect a large piece of stone as the murderer came through the wall.

It – he – was tall, almost as tall as Jay was in his suit. Black as night, with a golden trim that seemed almost laughably ironic in its supposed purity, was his armor. In one hand, he clutched a sword that shook slightly, and idled as though an engine was hidden somewhere within it. In the other was a device that greatly resembled the bolt pistol Delphine used to shoot me in the face, though larger to accommodate the thicker fingers. Runes that sickened me to my core adorned his armor, marks to the Dark Gods he worshiped.

We stood before, and against, the engine of destruction known as a Chaos Space Marine of the Black Legion.

Every Combination on a Rubik's Cube can be Solved in Twenty Moves or Less

$%$%$% Taylor's Pov $%$%$%

In that moment, staring up at the monster of a man who had once been a proud warrior, two things became very clear. One, I was shaking in a mixture of fear and terrible excitement; I would either die valiantly, or kill an enemy who may hold a record of thousands of men like me or better. It was a bit like fighting the Deceiver, only I wouldn't be taking anything away from this battle except whatever injuries I suffered. Dread permeated through the hive mind as every changeling realized I, as an individual and nowhere near part of the whole, was up against someone who would very much enjoy making my final moments as painful as possible if he managed to finish me.

The second thing I noticed, and this one was possibly more important, was that the ceiling was collapsing, and pipes were sending steam and boiling-hot water raining down on us. I knew enough about Space Marine power armor to know a power weapon like mine could slice through it, and so could Jacques's, but I had no idea about the Marine's chainsword. I never actually hit the Deceiver with my sabre, given that the entire battle had been an illusion, so I had no way of knowing how tough it actually was. For all I knew, the son of Horus could cut me clean in two.

A portion of the ceiling, a stone the size of a man, fell as a pipe burst. I dove to the left, and Jacques took the right; Dahl and Amos opened fire with their weapons. Astartes have augmented reflexes and higher brain activity than normal humans, so, in a way, I expected the swinging chainsword that appeared in my vision. A brought my sword to parry, not block, because his sword had a goddamn chainsaw whose teeth would take my weapon from my hands when they caught it. My blade's disruption field flickered for a second after the impact, but it safely deflected the corrupted Weapon.

The Ripper dug his claws into the back of one of the Marine's knees, then pulled and ripped through the thick muscle of his calf. That earned him a kick with enough force to knock him through the crumbling wall. I know some bones cracked, and he easily had the wind knocked out of him. The corrupted Marine turned to raise his bolt pistol the the two Imperials firing on him. I had a clear look at his damaged leg as I brought up Delphine's gun to shoot him up, but was horrified to see it was already healing shut. A shot there would only piss him off. I leveled the weapon's sights on the weakest point I had a clear view of: the joint of his pauldron.

The shoulder armor bucked up with the explosive blast, and a gout of bright red blood poured from the wound for a moment. The Marine, faster than I was, whipped and fired a round straight into my chest. It forced me against a wall, and my armor dented enough to snap my collarbone. I heard a slight click as I righted myself, and saw the Black Legionnaire had clipped his bolter to his belt, which meant he was focusing on melee now. Which meant the bigass motherfucker was running straight at me! Thinking on my feet, and knowing there was no way he would sacrifice a chance to cleave me into bits, I swung, hoping he wouldn't parry.

In my dazed state, I misjudged the distance between us, and as my sword sliced though the Star of Chaos emblazoned upon his breastplate, only the tiniest of cuts was made into his flesh. He was not so easily distracted. His sword roared to life as he brought it down onto my shoulder, right at my neck. The roar turned into a shriek as it bit and tore through to plates and into the soft skin and muscle beneath. He pulled back the instant I felt my arm start to lose feeling, and I saw why almost immediately. Jacques, ever loyal to the only man to defeat him, was ripping into the armor of the traitor Marine's back. He jumped off as soon as the chainsword swung after him.

“Why the fuck aren't the two of you helping us anymore?!” I yelled at Dahl and Amos, who both looked busy trying to find a decent shot. A massive hand wrapped around my head before I could give the order to just spray and pray, though it couldn't really muffle me. I suddenly felt the sensation of flight as I was hurled through the ceiling, and into what could only have been the Blue Sky Bathhouse's hot baths. Damned sprinklers were running full tilt, and made the marble floor too slick to get a decent footing. A massive black shape jumped through the hole I made on my way up.

“Death to the enemy!” I only had enough time to roll onto my back before he was upon me. His chainsword slashed across my faceplate, knocking out half my vision. I rolled out his reach and flicked my mask away, thinking it would be better to lose some protection in exchange for sight. Even the sprinklers' water was hot enough to scald my skin, and the steam hurt my eyes. I climbed to my feet with enough space between the Marine and I to steady myself. I was still shaking, though it was more from the adrenaline than anything else.

“Come on then, if you think you're man enough.” The Black Legionnaire paced back and forth about thirty feet from me. I was alone up here; Jacques was probably too hurt to actually fly up here, and there was no way Dahl or Amos could jump this high.

“You have some teeth, boy.” He stopped his pacing and stared at me, his helmet’s lenses biting holes through me. There was an almost perverse humor in his voice, as though he was legitimately surprised I was putting up even a mild fight. He revved his sword into a guttural roar, shaking some primal part of my mind and briefly weakening my resolve. “I have more.”

“Then bite.” I gripped my powersabre's hilt with both hands, making it clear that this was going to end now. If there was a Chaos Marine in the city, then Ophidia was here as well. Cadence and Shining Armor were in danger, more than they could possibly know. We ran at each other, swinging our weapons in the hopes of ending this so we could move on to kill more. As I feared, his chainsword's teeth caught on my sword's face, and pulled it to his hilt. His ceramite-covered fist slammed into my face; I let go of my weapon as my head flew back.

“What could these xenos have done to earn your loyalty?” Really? This from a traitor Marine? I suppose we shared a hatred of the Imperium, but that was where our symmetry ended. He had no right to even consider friendly conversation with me, or at least as friendly as he could be. “Would you not prefer your own kind, psyker?”

“They have earned my loyalty until death.”

“Then prove it.” He did not seem to like my answer, but he hardly had room to talk. I was in that wonderful area between lucidity and unconsciousness that I didn't give a fuck that he was raising his chainsword for the killing blow. I was too out of it to even track it as it hurdled to my broken armor.

“Look out, Boss!” The Ripper slammed into my side, knocking me from the path of death, and placing himself firmly in my place. I watched in horror as the roaring sword ripped through his body, splattering blood over the traitor's armor and everywhere else. I did not see where he was hurt, but he easily lost both legs, perhaps more. Some of his blood had splashed across my face on the chainsword's upswing, which reminded only too much off something else. A massive boot knocked what could have very well been the corpse of a friend down a hole in the floor.

He looked down at me, and for a moment, I thought I could see the smug satisfaction on his face. I was alive, but wished I wasn't. A second ally had given his life in exchange for mine, and he could see the shock on my face as plain as the blood running down it, thinned by the scalding water. He raised his sword to finally finish me off, and I wasn't able to fully move to stop him. My sword lay out of my reach, Delphine's gun was somewhere in the tunnel below, and there wasn't much I could do besides close my eyes and wait for the end.

A shot rang out, startling me enough to notice the Marine's pauldron was now thoroughly broken off. He looked at me, and decided I wasn't much of a threat in the state I was in. With my weapon only a little out of the way, and an obvious weak point now open, was was indeed the operative word in that statement. He looked ready to jump down and finish off whoever shot him.

“Don't you fucking walk away from me.”

Cleopatra was Greek, not Egyptian

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

Every inch of my body screamed for me to keep my mouth shut and hope he didn't come back for me, but I had a friend to avenge. Just as I put that sniper's skull on Trixie's grave, I would mount his on a pike before Jacques's. I slowly hobbled to my feet, feeling my injuries for the first time. Both collarbones were broken; a few facial bones, a kneecap, a handful of metacarpals, and couple ribs could be added to that count. My armor was linked to my nervous system, so I could fight as long as my spinal cord wasn't damaged too severely. I gripped my sword and felt a rush as it crackled to life again.

“Don't you fucking walk away from me.” The Marine halted as I commanded, though more out of his own desire to see what I was doing than any authority I had. His profane armor gleamed with the polish of runny blood and clean water; it seemed, to me, a grim work of art. I hate art. “I'm not done with you yet.”

Despite my body's protests, I charged him. There was no need for me to deflect his blow, not if he was going to kill me if I did nothing, but keeping him interested in my blood would mean Amos and Dahl would have more time to prepare until he finished me off. I knocked his sword out of the way, leaving both of us open to the other's off hand, but I was a little more suicidal than him. I snatched at the holster on his hip, only hoping for a moment the leather wasn't human. With a slight snap, the bolt pistol was free of its master. With a not so slight roar of mechanical rage, the traitor's chainsword slammed into my side, running full tilt.

The force knocked me away before the teeth had a chance to bite into me too much. I rolled in the air and landed on my feet, but I only remained there for a moment before I ran at him again. I ducked under his slash, and dropped into a slide as I skidded between his legs, reaching for the downed bolt pistol. My hand gripped the ripped leather with time to spare. I flipped onto my side and rolled to the far wall, working the holster as quickly as possible. At my first chance, I fired a single shot, still in motion. The explosion forced the Black Legionnaire's head back, causing him to stumble for the briefest of moments.

I kept shooting, enjoying the recoil that taxed my arm's servos. The shock resonated through my broken bones and cleared the mists from my mind. I missed over half the shots I fired, but those that hit dealt crippling blows to his armor. His breastplate was dented, scorched, and pockmarked with bits of shrapnel. What was left of his helmet clung only by the grace of his armor's atmospheric seals, and revealed his grey, scarred skin for the world to see. He raised his hand to his face, and ripped whatever of it remained away. I saw his eyes then, dark and smoldering with unbridled hatred, and the Star of Chaos etched into the skin of his forehead. I saw the fangs that sprouted where his teeth should have been, and his fledgeling horns were only too noticeable.

I dropped the spent gun and took a defensive stance. We were on even ground now, and it would be up to fate to decide who walked away from this battle. Wait, Tzeentch wasn't exactly on my side in this, or was it? Probably best not to think on it; that way lay madness and pain. He reached for something on his belt, and tossed it at me. I jumped out of the way just in time to avoid the grenade's explosion, but not quickly enough to avoid the rush of angry Marine. One of his hands wrapped around my leg, and he whipped my against the ground. On the recoil, he lifted me above his head, ready to slam me again.

I stabbed him through the chest before he had the chance. He dropped me, but I used my blade to stay aloft for a brief moment, and took advantage of gravity to twist it as I fell. I don't know which of his hearts I hit, but I must have nicked at least one of them for him to react in such a manner. A rush of bright blood spilled over my sword and most of me, and oddly calming sensation. Then he punched me, again, and again, and again. You think he would have gotten tired of that, but no. He almost had me on the ground again, but then he brought his chainsword back into the equation. A defected the blow in time to pirouette and slash at his midsection.

“I grow tired of this!” Odd, because he existed for eternal war; but I supposed everyone is entitled to an opinion. He raised his sword for a downward strike meant to shatter my armor and rend me to bits. Chainswords worked the same as chainsaws, so each blade contributed to the task of cutting, which was the exact opposite of what my sword did. The teeth were dulled from wear, and my armor probably contributed to that, so perhaps I had a chance. If not, then I would be permanently maimed. Like a moron, I reached out to stop his roaring sword.

The teeth latched onto my armor, and pulled my hand to its hilt, but it did not have the punch to bite through, effectively jamming it. The Marine looked at me in stoic disbelief, which only multiplied as I brought my own sword up. The chainsword, and the hand that held it, fell limply to the floor. He, however, cursed in some Low Gothic dialect I did not understand, and clutched at his new stump. I enjoyed the sight perhaps a little too much, but I certainly wasn't complaining. Seeing there was no way he could seriously fight back, I pressed the assault.

I cut into the weak point on his shoulder, jumping to increase reach. I only dug in a little before he swatted me away. Again, I landed on my feet, and kept at him. I chopped into the knee the Ripper injured earlier, but did not sever his leg. When he stumbled, I jumped on his chest, ready to actually kill this bastard. I raised my sword, tip facing the ground.

“I am a veteran of ten-thousand battles.”

“And I'm one pissed off dad.”

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

That son of a whore Reglan Dahl deserved to rot in whatever hell he would have after I killed him. Right as the Ripper fell down here, the fucker shot me in the leg and ran. For the moment, I could not pursue, so I did what I could to keep the griffin alive, which was rather simple, given he had only lost both hind legs. Two tourniquets and a chem-burner later, his stumps were cauterized and done bleeding. He was still conscious, too, not even in shock. Or, maybe he was and I couldn't tell. Either way, there wasn't much for either of us to do except listen to the fight and hope Taylor won.

When he dropped down with us, covered in blood and tattered armor, I almost doubted it was him, but the Burned Man had done something most men only dream of. He had the Marine's head mounted on a makeshift belt, but dropped it to the ground when he saw the Ripper was still alive. The two exchanged words, and it was one of the few moments of genuine happiness I had seen the man express. In a way, it was a bit like the walk back from Trixie's grave.

“Where the hell is Dahl?” Taylor's Low Gothic was accented by anger and pain, but he was still calm enough to speak, which was a good sign.

“Bastard shot me and ran back to the surface.” I pointed the large hole in my calf. I was unable to walk, probably for a while, but we were alive. I couldn't say the same for Dahl once Taylor got his hand on him, but there was a certain peace to all this.

“Well, let's get you two to the Elements, and then I think I'll go kill Reglan and Ophidia.”

The first breast implants were tested on dogs

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

We barely had time for anything but a dead sprint, running through the palace's crystalline halls to reach the throne room. The walls were made of some sort of crystal, stronger than stone and much harder for anything short of a tank to damage, but the natural patterns served to add a labyrinthine quality to the otherwise straightforward layout. But I didn't need sight to find my way; the hive mind needed to know where everything was in case of emergency. I'd say this qualified.

The changelings with me formed a small branch of the the hive mind that I was fully capable of joining while retaining my independence. We kept looking around as we ran to maximize our shared field of vision, passing tactical information between each other as the situation demanded. We came across a dead Crystal Guard, nailed to the wall by the flag of the Crystal Empire. There was a look of dull surprise on his face, like he hadn't had the time to fully understand he was being killed. Ophidia and his crew had definitely been through here.

I regretted not looting the grenades from the Marine's corpse, because they were strong enough to tear through just about any armor the cultists would have. I'd have to make do with what I had; it wasn't like I could just turn back. Still, I wanted to, if only because Chrysalis was worried about me, but I needed to catch Dahl, for everyone's sakes. I didn't know if he was going to kill Ophidia, or join him, but the fact remained he was a dangerous individual who was on the loose in the Crystal Empire.

The throne room had two more dead guards in front of it, hacked up by an ax or something similar. It hadn't been Dahl's power sword, certainly, no had it been a power weapon of any sort. A barrier had been erected in the doorway, but I could tell it was focused on keeping things in instead of out. Thirteen people were inside, not counting Cadence and Shining Armor. Ophidia, who I recognized from Dahl' mind, stood in the center, speaking to his old friend. There wasn't peace between them, but the numerous cultists pointing a myriad of guns at the two kept things civil. I noticed Jay was nowhere to be seen.

“You son of a bitch!” I slammed a fist against the magic wall, and I realized Shining had actually erected two shields, one of which surrounded only him and Cadence. Dahl looked at me like he'd seen a ghost, though his old friend seemed a bit less impressed. The changelings next to me charged their magic for a concentrated spell meant to distort Armor's barrier for a moment, and allow us through. I instructed them to instead target half the cultists. On cue, it flickered, and we jumped in. Autoguns fired at us as soon as we were clear of the pink bubble, but Chorion's brood shot before they met their fates, reducing the eleven armed cultists to five. Those five, not including Dahl and Ophidia, gave me the creeps.

“Your pet Marine almost killed one of my friends!” I charged Ophidia, not caring that Dahl had his own sword out. He blocked my swing with his own, using both arms to hold against my augmented strength. It flapped my sabre to its side, letting the face rest against his bladed edge. The force of our attacks caused my sword to slide down the length of his, through the guard, and cutting clean through a number of his fingers before finally whipping through the air and hanging over my shoulder, primed for a good lunge. Instead, I tossed Dahl out of the way, and aimed for the rogue inquisitor.

What felt like a cold sledgehammer knocked me away, but I kept on my feet. One of the cultists looked at me intensely, and I could feel the air chill around him. Psykers, that what the remaining nutjobs were, that meant I had to deal with six of them, if I included Dahl in the mix. I had no backup; the changelings were dead and Shining Armor couldn't risk dropping his barrier for even a moment. How the hell was I going to handle this?

A massive first caved in the skull of one of the psykers, immediately followed by a gout of flame that caught three more. A heavily distorted voice voice rang above their screams. “I have come to destroy you.” It was Jay, back in his armor, and ready to kick ass. I used the distraction to take care of the last psyker, stabbing through her eye before she even knew what was happening. A weight on my back told me someone was trying to wrestle me to the ground, and judging by the fingerless hands, I assumed it was Dahl.

I jumped and slammed him against the floor, then got up before Jay could roast Ophidia, only to see the barrel of an ornate pistol staring me right in the face. It looked like a European dragon, which wasn't exactly what someone would put on the a powder-based weapon, and this certainly wasn't any sort of laspistol. Not liking the only alternatives, I ducked back, hoping the energy would pass over me. My armor registered temperatures above three-thousand degrees Celsius; the air hissed and my faceplate was barely out of range, but still started to melt. There was a high-pitched roar as the inferno pistol found a target.

Jay's armor fell into a pile of molten metal, which I could only guess had once been its legs. It was only a moment more before he was out of his suit and running around, trying to nurse a scorched ass. I whipped back into a standing position before Ophidia's gun had a chance to cool down for another shot, and gave him a well-placed and well-deserved punch right in the mouth. Maybe it was the force, or maybe it was luck, but he went down all the same. I ripped of his coat, and used one of the sleeves to tie his wrists behind his back.

“So, Cadence, still think my methods are extreme?” I asked, looking up. She had her mouth open in disbelief, either amazed that I swooped in and saved the day, or terrified that this was only the beginning, because she knew these men weren't genestealers. She also had no idea those bugs were dead, but that would be rectified soon enough.

“I wish I'd listened earlier.” She looked at Shining Armor, and he lowered the barrier. She stepped away from her throne, but made sure to keep clear of the corpses as best she could. Dahl and Ophidia were unconscious or otherwise harmless, and all that remained was to have them picked up by the Inquisition. I should have figured that mental barrier I felt in Dahl's mind was connected to Chaos, but I ad been too concerned with rooting out Ophidia's cult. “I don't suppose you need any help now, do you?”

“We have three serious injuries, and whatever you could classify Jay ass burns as. So, to be brief, can we have some painkillers?” I was started to feel everything that had happened to me. I think that Marine left as imprint of his fist in my skull; I could certainly feel where his thumb broke my cheekbone.

“Sweet Celestia! What happened up here?” Rarity must have been the first up the stairs if she had called out like that. She was wearing her Element, as the princess instructed, but it was no longer needed to end this. She covered her snout with a hoof to block the smell of burned human flesh and spilled blood. There may have been a few other bodily fluids mixed in with that, but they weren't worth mentioning in polite company.

“Ugh, I'll never get over this smell.” Dash looked like she was going to be sick for a while, but also looked like she would tough this out. She looked at the small pile of burnt corpses like it was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen, which it probably was.

“I'm glad I missed this party.” Those were the exact words I never thought I'd hear Pinkie say outside of a situation like this. I actually kind of regretted teaching her to call things like this a party, but we had been watching a marathon of action movies, and it kind of slipped out one day. I bent down to pick up the dropped inferno pistol, and, realizing there was an actual safety mechanism on it, popped it into the holster alongside Delphine's bolt pistol.

“I think we need to get the Medic out here, and soon.” I really didn’t want anyone's injuries getting infected, least of all Jacques's. But I also didn't know if Amos was able to fly the strider or not, because I most certainly couldn't. The train would take too long, and we needed speed to accomplish this with any chance of success. Sky-chariot would take too long, so he was really our only option in comprehensive medial care. “I'll go see if Amos is capable of flying right now.”

“Ca-, um, can we please leave?” Fluttershy asked, more than a little freaked out by the bodies. She was used to animal corpses, but only after proper mourning, so this was a completely new world for her. Knowing her sensitive nature, Cadence gave her a sad, sincere smile.

“I'll set you all up in a nice hotel. How does that sound?” They nodded hesitantly, but relished the chance to get the hell out of there. Shining looked at me with worry; he knew this was only the beginning of something worse. We'd shared a moment like this on the train when we left Canterlot six years ago. But, until Delray decided when to clear the genestealer infestation aboard the Skyward Valkyrie, we had won. The two of us didn't speak until Twilight helped Jay hobble out of the room and changelings collected the rogue inquisitors.

“Taylor, be honest with me. How big is this, really?” I took off my mask as he asked that; he would need a visual aid to fully understand, I was sure. My faced was bloody, broken, and bruised, and there was a clear outline of a large fist imprinted on my skin. It was also painfully clear in the bones beneath the bruising, too. When he saw, he looked at me like I'd taken on an army and barely walked away at all. “What the hell did you run into down there?”

“A Chaos Marine, and there are millions more where that one came from.” There were also things tougher than Space Marines, a lot of things, really, but I had no desire to scare him out of his wits. Truthfully, I didn't want to admit it, either.

“Can this planet even survive anything like that?” Our odds were zero, even without knowing what else stalked the Milky Way. If the Black Legion or any decently-sized warband attacked Equus, we would fall shortly after the princesses, who were very much killable, though it would be insanely difficult for any human to do, even with high-powered weaponry.

“We damn sure can't do it alone.”

A bacterial infection is the likely reason there are only two sexes in animals and plants.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

Princess Cadence set us up with a nice hotel suite until I felt like flying to pick up the Medic, which meant I was bunking with Taylor and the Ripper until I felt I could press foot pedals with one foot. Dahl was smart enough to shoot me in the leg I used to control the landing gear and hover jets, as much as I hated to admit it. But, I really couldn't complain; we hadn't lost anyone who wasn't a changeling, and Dahl and Ophidia would face justice at the hands of the Inquisition. The Ordo Malleus would love to get their hands on them.

Jacques's stubs were sealed properly, but there was still a risk of infection. On the opposite side of the room was the Pyromaniac, who had suffered what was perhaps the least serious injury ever inflicted by a melta weapon. Taylor was by the door, and only his breathing hinted that he was alive. He was also the only one of us who had a nurse regularly check on him, which was completely necessary. He lost consciousness shorty after his armor came off, but he was expected to survive long enough for me to fly to Canterlot and back. Well, to be honest, he would live regardless of what I did, or so Twilight said.

The servo-skull floated in the corner, keeping me in the loop about everything being said, but only if I wanted to listen to it. I really only used it when the Pyromaniac or Ripper wanted to talk to me, which was a lot, surprisingly. I learned quite a bit about the two, and a little more about Taylor and Chrysalis. Apparently, Jay and the orange pony, Applejack, were a couple and had a son, Candied Apple, who was genetically engineered by Taylor. Candy, which was apparently the colt's nickname, and young males are called colts, had a thing for Scipia, who was the daughter of Chrysalis and Taylor. She, however, was completely natural; no tampering was involved in creating her.

The only times I had seen more heresy in one room was when Dahl and I found a Slaaneshi pleasure cult, which had about everything those four had going on, plus Chaos. This, however, seemed pretty harmless against the Imperium as a whole; just two cases of xenophilia resulting in viable offspring on some barely-civilized world outside Imperial space. Hell, those four have aided the Imperium more than most citizens willingly do, whether it be killing the Chaos Marine or keeping an inquisitor and his retinue fed and sheltered. As much as I hated to say it, this crime was, in my opinion, excusable so long as it helped prevent larger crimes against the Imperium from occurring.

But that was not my place to decide. The Inquisition would find out about it as soon as Dahl and Ophidia were interrogated. Yeah, they would probably throw the rogue psyker, power armor wearing pyromaniac, and an entire world full of aliens who didn't even have mechanized flight figured out, to the fire, and enjoy it. All I really needed to figure out was how much I could lessen the damage. Once they found undeniable proof that Taylor killed a member of the Black Legion, they may hesitate in killing him and destroying the planet. No, that probably wouldn't work. Something like this would have the attention of all three Ordos.

Deathwatch Space Marines would no doubt be there, as well as Sister of Battle. I've no idea if the Ordo Malleus would have their chamber militant present or not, if they wanted to give Taylor at least a shot at earning his life. This wasn't the time to dwell on it; there was an entire ship we needed to clear of genestealers before we even had a chance at Warp travel. I wrapped a new layer of bandages around my leg, and pressed my call button so Twilight knew to pick me up.

$%$%$%$%$%$%

“I'm telling you, Taylor said this was big, really big.” Shining Armor was not a stallion prone to overreaction, but recent events had forced him to be a little more cautious of what happened in the Crystal Empire. If there really were millions of those giant humans, and he only knew they were giant because he was looking at the autopsy photos as he spoke, then Equus was in serious trouble, especially when one managed to cause the damage it did. “He said we couldn't survive this alone.”

“Nations rarely go to war alone, dear.” Cadence was wracking her head looking for a way to pay for all the damage without asking Equestria for money, and completely emptying the emergency coffers. Really, she wasn't paying much attention to her husband at the moment. The one part she caught was surviving alone, and she naturally assumed he meant in a war. If, for some reason, the Crystal Empire found itself in armed conflict, Equestria was there to answer the call.

“That's just it; I think he meant the entire planet.” At that, Cadence looked up, shooting Shining a look of disbelief. He looked at her in kind, like he expected that reaction. In the ten years Taylor had been their sort-of friend, they had never really understood much about him. Jay had always been a bit easier to get along with, but only because Cadence had an interesting time when both he and Applejack were in the same room. “Think about it; these guys show up with tech we haven't even thought of, like that spaceship thing Amos flies, and Taylor doesn’t even bat an eye.”

“And you think it means he knows more about this than he's letting on?” Really, that was expected of him. Ever since he was made the head of Celestia's secret police, he'd been gathering information from as many sources as possible. He had dirt on the leader of every nation that maintained an Inquisitorial Temple, including Celestia and Luna. Odds were he knew more about Canterlot politics than the nobles who were always complaining, and he never attended court. “This sounds like something out of a science fiction novel.”

“I know, and that's what's so strange about all this.” Shining put the photos down, making sure to keep the blank side up. He avoided looking at the shots of the Marine's armor; something about it just made him uncomfortable on a deep level. “I'd just feel better if you'd talk to him or Celestia about it; he'll listen to both of you more than me.”

“Dear, you realize you could always just get him drunk, right?”

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

Mach one was a fairly comfortable speed for only having one leg available, even if we had flown at this same speed earlier to avoid scaring the ponies inside. Twilight, however, couldn't shake her fear of flying in the strider, or even understand why something that didn't walk was called a strider in the first place. For me, everything was in slow motion, a side-effect of constant flight and the heightened reflexes I'd developed over the years. It was a shame they only worked in regards to piloting, otherwise I'd be pretty deadly in combat, not that I wasn't a decent shot.

“I'm really surprised you guys don't have atmospheric ships yet.” I knew Twilight and a number of the ponies I met had wings, but they were hardly as fast as my strider or any Imperial ship capable of operating under atmospheric pressures. “I haven't seen a single factory since I've been here.”

“Most factories either produce munitions or building supplies, and the princesses don't want to bother anypony with them, so they're mostly where most ponies don't live.” That made sense, I guess. The pieces were falling into place right about then, all the little bits of information I was absorbing over time. At first, Princess Celestia, from what I'd heard, sounded like an okay ruler, better than some governors I could name. But, you know, as time went on, my opinion started to change. She had her own Inquisition, which functioned as a secret police; she kept the factories out of sight in the name of keeping the landscape beautiful, but she could have easily meant to keep her subjects from seeing poor working conditions or some such. The diarch Twilight called a peaceful ruler could have very well been a viscous dictator. “Just about everything else is made by hoof. Except medical supplies, those are made by trained professionals in labs near Manehatten.”

“I just realized something.”

“What?”

“Delphine is going to be pissed when she finds out about Dahl. Really, really pissed.”

That Chimpanzees Make and Use Spears.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

How exactly was I going to do this? Surely the others heard the strider land, and that would bring a number of questions, most of which would revolve around Dahl. If I said he was injured, and that was why I was retrieving the Medic, then Delphine would take offense and force me to take her to the Crystal Empire. If I said Taylor was in critical condition, then the princesses might blame me, and that would accomplish nothing. If I told the entire truth...

“Twilight, get my crutch.” She looked at me strangely, though it was understandable. I was barely in any shape to fly, let alone walk, but this was something I needed to see to persoanlly.

“You're not staying here?” She asked. We had agreed I would keep the engines running while she fetched the Medic, but the more I thought about it, the less sense that plan made. I flicked the switch and power the strider down as I grabbed my makeshift crutch.

“Well, let's go.”

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

It wasn't often I could wake up and say every part of me hurt, but it happened too frequently for my liking. I couldn't move much without almost screaming in pain, considering just about everything was broken in some way. Hell, even one of my eye sockets felt like it shattered at some point, probably because a big-ass knuckle slammed into it. That eye was probably filled with blood, almost definitely. Shutting that one, I used my good eye to look around as much as I could. Jay and Jacques were where they had been earlier, telling jokes back and forth. Chrissy was sitting next to me, looking at them.

“In cider.” That must have involved Applejack in some way, which was something she really wouldn't appreciate. I never bothered asking how in the mother of fuck their relationship worked, but it did, and it wasn't my business how. I flexed my hand and winced at the pain it brought.

“You look like shit,” Chrysalis said, noticing I was awake. She looked sympathetic and angry, though I hoped it was more at Ophidia for his Marine doing this to me and less aimed at me for running to fight when I did instead of having the entire changeling swarm handle it. In response, I smiled as much as my, arguably destroyed, face allow.

“You should see the other guys.” She actually laughed at that, as did Jacques and Jay. I would have laughed at their reactions if I didn't know my ribs would hurt like a bitch and half. There was still a sad quality to her voice, even her laugh, at the prospect of me being injured so severely. We still had a little talk on the subject planned for later, after I was patched up.

“The Viscount is right; you are a reckless idiot.”

“But I'm your reckless idiot.”

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

“By the Emperor, why the hell did you come back alone?” Delphine was never a fan of my actions, and now she seemed even less enthused. She stood with her cybernetic hand on her hip as Oleg and Martellus walked up behind her. “And you went and got yourself shot!”

“That appears to be from a slug-throwing weapon, Amos.” Martellus's blank lenses stared at me, and for a moment, I forgot Delphine was angry. There was a certain anxiety about him staring me down, even if he wasn't aware he was doing so. “But it appears too small for any bolt weapon.”

“Looks a bit like an autogun wound,” Oleg said, observing my bandaged injury. He'd seen enough injuries to diagnose the cause, provided they were from a gun of some sort. He probably knew it was a heavy stubber that shot me, but hopefully he wouldn't figure out it was Dahl's. “Genestealer cultists?”

“We have already received word of the Chaos Space Marine, Amos; there is no need for secrecy.” Princess Celestia stood in the doorway, eying me up and down, as though checking me for any more injuries. Delphine and Oleg, however, looked as though they wished to inflict a few more on me; they only now had a slight bit of information, and may have thought I was aiding Ophidia and his cabal. I am many things, but a heretic isn't one of them. “Cadence was kind enough to send everything via radio, minus the autopsy pictures.”

“What exactly is she talking about?” Delphine asked, using her superior height to intimidate me. In power armor, she was only about seven centimeters taller than me, but she still seemed to think it had an effect. Mostly, her lone eye was the only thing that distracted me. Oleg pulled her back, but I could see he wanted an answer. I swallowed the lump in my throat, and wondered how I could do this.

“We have Ophidia in custody, and his cabal is dead,” I began, understanding they knew this was not the full truth. I took a breath and continued. “While scouring beneath the Crystal Empire's capital, we came across a member of the Black Legion. While Dahl, Taylor, The Ripper, and I were busy with him, Ophidia made his move on the surface.”

“Killing a Space Marine is tough; can't imagine you all got out unscathed.” Oleg was beaming at me, like he knew everything was right, like the guy I devoted ten years of my life to hadn't turned out to be a traitor of the worst sort. “Can't imagine you lot got off so easy, though.”

“Taylor's mostly pulp, and Jacques, the Ripper, I mean, lost his hind legs.” Yeah, I'm sure you understand how tough this was for me. Or, perhaps not, I suppose. “That's why I came to get the Medic.”

“Already here!” She called from behind me, standing next to Twilight. I'll admit, the little pony was faster than I gave her credit for. There was a slight crackle as Martellus's speakers readjusted.

“I realized you neglected to mention Dahl; is he alright?”

“I am afraid to say so, but Inquisitor Reglan Dahl, at least according to the reports we received from the Crystal Empire, was corrupted by Chaos roughly ten years ago, before he met you lot.” Princess Luna, who somehow managed to seem even stranger than her sister, sauntered in, carrying the reports in question. She failed to deliver such news in any acceptable manner, though I suppose there is no such thing.

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

I was finally lucid enough to assess just how fucked up I really was, and wished I wasn't. For one, I made the mistake of tossing my legs over the side of my bed, which sent me tumbling to the ground, without anyone to help. Jacques and Jay had gone off to do fuck all with Cadence and Shining Armor, so I was stuck in some suite, on the ground, in considerable pain. Oh, and one of my feet was pressed against my stomach; I'll let you guess how. My armor was piled just out of reach, and that meant my only way of standing up was pretty much worthless. Nothing ventured, as they say.

Using the one arm that wasn't broken, I pulled myself to the small nightstand, and fumbled for my occipital hood. You know, that little bit my mask attaches to. I slapped it on and rolled onto my back, happy to get pressure off my ribs. Connecting after so much pain felt like a sheet of cold mercury ran over my brain, which felt pretty damn nice. Now the cool part kicked in; you see, I never quite figured out how the suit regenerated, but I had an idea. Like Leviathan, it was, in some small way, alive, and as such, responded to stimuli like any living thing. It was smart, and must have responded to my psychic presence, like it had with the Deceiver.

The cool part wasn't in how I wore it; it was in how I put it on. Removal was manual, but equipping was partially automated. Little bits of black sort of skidded off the table and landed around me, attracted like a magnet. I reached for my mask, which jumped into my open palm, and brought it close to my face. Close up, it locked into place, and my vision was suddenly much clearer. The arms, chest, and upper back came next, so I could prop myself up for the abdomen and lower back areas. As I dressed, I cycled to my suit's power output screen, and noticed how much energy was going where. Here, I could shift energy from psychic boosters to active camouflage, magnetic boots to servo power, and even oxygen filtration to armor regeneration.

If Equestria was going to survive meeting Chaos and the other horrors of the forty-first millennium, we would need allies and strong, local protectors.

There's a man who has been in 692 movies. His name is Frank Welker.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

Mach one was a good speed when you only have one intact leg; too bad Delphine had me soaring at mach twelve. We arrived at the Crystal Empire in about four minutes, at the cost of almost overheating the strider's engines, not to mention almost crashing to a fiery death. We circled the city a few times as I activated the atmospheric brakes, trying to lose speed so we didn't crash through the palace when I took her down. None of us were taking Dahl's betrayal lightly, least of all Alexander, who had been with him since he became a full inquisitor.

Dahl saved my life right around the time Taylor said he developed a mental barrier that prevented him from reading his mind, which meant I would be under serious suspicion once we turned them in. How would we prevent the Inquisition from finding out about this world when Taylor would have to face interrogation as well? We couldn't lie, not when they could pry the information from our minds. I shook my head and decided to worry about it later; we'd find a way to cross that bridge eventually.

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

It didn't take me long to fall asleep after I went through my armor's energy settings. In many ways, I was most comfortable in its confines, like a protective shell, but it did nothing to comfort me. It was a bit like sleeping during the war, in the short time between Trixie's death and the first trenches dug in griffin territory; I was restless, and dreams brought no mercy from reality.

There was a field stretching out before me, covered in a thin layer of snow. In the distance, a black obelisk rose, and I could see the many holes adorning its surface. It was the dead of night, and in the sky, I saw a swirling mass of pink and purple that seemed to glare down at me. A feeling of dread washed through me as I looked at it, the Ocularis Terribus, more commonly called the Eye of Terror. At that moment, I felt Eye of Queasiness seemed a more appropriate name, but I digress. If I was looking into the Eye of Terror from lightyears away, and there was a black spire in the distance, then I could only be on Cadia. I have no idea how I got there because they shoot fucking everybody out of the sky if they don't have the proper authority.

It took only a moment for me to shiver in the cold, reminding me that I was in winter clothing and standing in a tundra. For Cadia, everything seemed awfully quiet; there wasn't even the slightest peep from any animals that may have lived nearby. It must have been winter, because I got colder the longer I stood still.

“You're either brave or stupid,” A heavy, distorted voice came form behind me. I turned and saw what appeared to be a giant box on two stubby legs, only it had a Gatling gun for a right arm, and some sort of claw on the end of its left. A wolf's head was painted on its front, its black on yellow standing out against the machine's blue chassis. “I'm not sure which makes more sense.”

“Bjorn, I'm not so sure, myself,” I replied, laughing into the cold wind. Bjorn the Fell-Handed, one of the oldest dreadnoughts in existence, was saying something that amounted to a compliment. He may not have been all there, but that hardly mattered. Now I still needed to figure out why the fuck I was on Cadia and talking to a Space Wolf. “Whether brave or foolish, we're setting out in a month's time. I trust Logan Grimnar and his Great Company will be alongside us?”

“He gave his word; it is insulting to think he would do anything but.” If Bjorn was offended, his modulated voice did not show it. A number of ships soared overhead, bearing marking I did not recognize, but they did not arouse any negative feelings beyond apprehension. “I am rather surprised you managed all of this, working with xenos.”

“Yeah; and who knows, maybe we'll find Leman Russ while we're in there?”

My head shot up, and it took me only a moment to realize I was unarmored, which could explain why I was shivering in the room's chilled air. It took only a moment longer to realize I was still injured, and the sudden motion agitated my ribs.

“Bad dreams?” Chrysalis asked, making herself known. She smiled at me, but still looked upset. There were a few issues we needed to address, but she was thankfully waiting until I was healed. I nodded as best I could, trying to avoid pain. “Feel like talking about it?”

I thought for a moment, mulling over everything I'd seen in my dreams. Cadia, the Eye of Terror, Bjorn the Fell-Handed; it was all too much. It made sense, sending me to fight some greater enemy, perhaps the greatest enemy any universe knew. Still, the possibility was terrifying, as were the consequences if I failed. The only way to guarantee our victory in this grand game was not to play at all, but Chaos already pulled us in by sending Ophidia and Dahl our way.

The Deceiver, and in many ways, Jay and I, had uplifted Equestria into the planet’s superpower. We grew stronger, stranger, for our time on the magical world, and it showed. The Deceiver and I were telepaths, and Jay was developing his pyromancy, but as much as we changed everything around us for the better, some problem always reared its ugly head. Now, we really payed for our interference; what could best be described as the legions of hell knew of this place, and no amount of preparation would ensure our survival.

“I feel like Prometheus of old.” My words made Chrysalis look at me strangely. She didn't know about the Titans of Greek myth. “Prometheus was a Titan, and he gave humanity the gift of fire.”

“We've had fire for a long time, Taylor.” She just wasn't seeing what I meant, but that didn't matter; I could always explain.

“Fire gave us everything else our society has now, or did when Jay and I left.” I sighed and looked at my armor, and I thought of Earth for the first time in a long time. World War Three had probably already broken out, and I was glad I missed it if it had. “But he wasn't punished for just giving us heat and light, Chrissy; he was punished for giving us knowledge.”

“I can't imagine why anyone would be punished for that.” Chrysalis, despite not being a pony, was still largely ignorant of true evil, or what many people classified as evil. Even Discord, who was once claimed to be evil incarnate, was only a trickster. “Were the other Titans responsible?”

“No; the Olympians were. They feared humanity, and did everything they could to keep themselves above us. For his perceived crime, Prometheus was bound to a rock, and each day, and eagle would eat his liver.”

“That's an odd punishment,” She said, now more confused than before. “And you equate yourself to him?”

“In this case, I have been both the Prometheus and the Eagle.” I looked at her, and tried to sit up, clutching my chest. I gave her the best smile I could, and continued. “The Deceiver manipulated the world; he had his fingers in just about every pie even baked on this planet, and I know this because he kept rather detailed logs.” I waved my hand in front of me, rolling it like I needed someone to speed up a story. It was may way of explaining something, a little tic my hands had. “The eagle is the symbol of my former nation, and I struck down the Deceiver, where he had been imprisoned by his own doing. I've taken his place and launched your own age of industry.”

“And now you're worried about being killed yourself?” She asked, knowing I did not fear death, only what it would do to my survivors. I shook my head and sighed; things were just never easy to explain when I was speaking to a native of Equus, like teaching a cat to bark.

“The symbol of the Imperium of Man is the Aquila, a two-headed eagle. Even if we, by some godawful miracle, manage to keep Chaos off our back permanently, the Imperium will kill us all, whether by war or Exterminatus.” I smiled, enjoying the oddness of what I was saying. Defeating Chaos, real chaos, was like trying to move an ocean using only a spoon; it was impossible without a helluva lot of spoons and even more hands helping. “We have Prometheus, the Eagle, and event the gods of Mount Olympus, now all we need is a Hercules to get us out of this bind.”

In 2005, a man traded his way from a paper clip all the way to a two story house - In 14 trades.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

Two weeks later, Taylor, Jay, Chrysalis, Oleg, and Delray were loaded into the strider with me piloting. Delphine was next to me, and Twilight was seated just behind us. Jacques, complete with a set of cybernetic hind legs, was next to the door, hoping to be the first one on the Valkyrie. Sitting in a rather inconspicuous duffel bag were the pieces of tech we needed to makes sure everything went off without a hitch. I don't know if Taylor ever explained his FTL device to you, but he based what we called the Doorframe on, though they used different methods to facilitate faster-than-light travel.

The unnamed FTL gun broke the body into its basic components, then reassembled it at assigned receiver. Nicely put, it kills you, then resurrects you somewhere else. However, it could also blind-fire, but had a more limited range. A hundred lightyears isn't something to laugh at, especially from a portable device. Now, the Doorframe was different. I'm not sure how it works, but it opens one portal in one location, obviously using one such frame, which was really the four corners of a door. That first frame was in Canterlot's Temple; the second was in the duffel bag, though some assembly was required.

“We're flying into motherfucking space,” Taylor said, staring out a window as we ascended into the upper atmosphere. For the first time, at least to my knowledge, he sounded giddy, positively ecstatic at the prospect of something so mundane. I must have breached atmospheres hundreds of times; he never mentioned leaving this planet, even though he claimed to be from another universe entirely. I wonder how he would face the Imperium at large? Would he react with the same enthusiasm, or would he hate our beliefs?

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

I was excited. Not only was I in space, but I was aboard a craft capable of repeatedly breaching the atmosphere of its own power, and no need to strap extra rockets after each launch. As we left Equus's atmosphere, I didn't notice much of a change, save for my spectacular view of the surface. The brown patch near the Pridelands reminded me of a rather dark chapter in my life. Hell, it was a dark chapter for everyone involved.

But, as much as my brain enjoyed reminding me of the war, I needed to focus on what was happening now. Chrysalis, pressed herself against my side as my mind attempted to focus on the Skyward Valkyrie. Even from this distance, I could sense life within the massive ship; it was massive by my standards, anyway. There were a few humans aboard, but their minds were... wrong, somehow. It must have been the genestealers' broodmind. Either way, Delray's crew had at least partially survived. No; that was wrong. Everyone aboard was dead, and those people were too far gone to be saved.

“It's another Cuatla,” I said in English. The servo-skull was powered down to conserve energy until we disembarked. Jay and Chrysalis gave me understanding looks, and Jacques's eyes went wide in excitement. He liked killing humans. The Imperials gave us strange looks, but understood that some things were best left private. I sighed and pulled off my mask, checking the large chronometer to my left. We had five minutes until we docked, and then we would kill genestealers while building the Doorframe.

“I've been meaning to ask something of you, Skully.” Oleg took a puff of his lho stick, but thankfully blew his smoke into a vacuum bag. He took one look at the servo-skull to make sure it was powered down before he said anything else. “Why are you fucking a xeno?”

Delray spit out his coffee, sorry, caffeine all over the bench in front of him. Chrysalis could speak Low Gothic, and I knew because she picked it up from me. Oleg didn't know, and she didn't act like she understood. I liked that.

“Well, Oleg, it all started when she replaced princess Cadence, just before she was supposed to marry Shining Armor.” I took a sip from a small flask I kept in the Doorframe's bag. It was more for image than my nerves. “Once Jay and I figured out she was a fraud, we set a plan in motion. The short version is this: Canterlot gets invaded, Jay and the ponies who would form the original inquisitors wrecked most of it fighting changelings, I set myself and a giant munition store on fire to kill Chrysalis, then use her as a shield against the fire.”

“Hence, Burned Man,” Oleg said, waving his fancy cigarette at me. “But, that is neither here nor there, is it?”

“I suppose it isn't,” I conceded. I took another sip as I felt us getting ever closer to the ship. There was a powerful mind aboard, inhuman and devious. It must have been the Broodlord. I doubted now was the time for discussion, so I did my best to avoid connecting with it. “Now, after a while, she was released into my custody. I didn't like letting talent go to waste, so I basically conscripted her into my mercenary band. Our first, and nearly last mission was to a town named Cuatla, home to a small settlement of humans and various other sapient species, and built right above a hive of intelligent, giant scorpions with a taste for rape.

“Naturally, we saved anyone we could, and burned the one we couldn't. I beat the scorpion's leader to death with my bare hands. So, fast forward a few weeks, and we're back in Ponyville, living with our mutual friend, Trixie Lulamoon, who is sadly deceased.” I took a drink in earnest then. “Then, we get a letter from Chrysalis's mom, Karapass. I start freaking out because Chrissy almost killed me when we first met, and her mother was probably out for my blood.”

“Can't imagine that turned out well.” Delray said the first words I'd heard him say in a long while. I liked his accent; he sounded a bit like David Tennant.

“Considering she walked in on us while things were getting a little hot and heavy, it went better than expected.” I let that sit in the air while I probed through their heads a bit. Good jokes require some preparation, so I needed to know what they were thinking.

Perfect.

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

I heard Taylor talk, even listened a bit towards the end. It was a neat little tale, nothing really worth mentioning. I've talked to xenophiles before, but never specifically asked them about their reasons for fraternizing outside the species. It is the place of the Emperor and His Holy Inquisition to judge, not mine.

“So, how was it?” Oleg asked, grabbing at least part of the attention of every speaker of Low Gothic on the strider. Even as I brought us in to dock, using Delray's code to open the hangar, I listened.

“Her clit is bioluminescent.” The fuck? Did he mean that? Bioluminescent? Like a creature from a night world? “And it has little claws around it; they're a changeling queen's method of ensuring insemination by gripping anything that, ahem, passes over it.”

“Bullshit.”

Taylor said something in his language, probably to Chrysalis. I knew she was able to speak Low Gothic, but this must have all been for some joke. Or, at least I hope it was. I nudged Delphine arm to get her attention; it was a little too quiet back there for my liking, and I was unable to look back.

“What are they doing?”

“Apparently Taylor was serious.”

Author's Note

For anyone who doesn't know what the last bit is based on, Here you go, and without violating the site's rules about NSFW images, because it links to a link of the image, but not the page nor the image itself.

When Hitler's nephew enlisted himself to the US navy, the recruiting officer supposedly said "Glad to see you, Hitler. My name's Hess."

How ironic is it that as we spread progress and hope throughout the galaxy, the Tyranids spread death and despair. Only united can we stand against them. – Aun'shi of the Tau

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

Was Chrysalis seriously showing off a vagina that sounded like a Tyranid biomorph? As I punched in the door code and engaged the auto-docking sequence, I turned my seat to face the passenger cabin. Indeed, there was Chrysalis with her hindquarters facing Oleg and Delray; Jacques and Jay craned their heads to get a look. Twilight looked away, her face red and her ears flat. Delphine could see it, but I was thankfully not privy to alien genitalia.

“It glows,” Delray said in a small voice, staring intently. He had a look of slight unease on his face, the sort Dahl had when first meeting the changeling queen.

“It has claws,” Oleg chimed in, equally astonished and disturbed. I was surprised he had Taylor pegged as one to exaggerate; him being an old friend of mine, I knew he heard his fair share of stories in pubs and taphouses on the planets we visited.

“It's green,” Delphine practically gasped. She was a Sister Hospitaller, so I knew she had seen some very disgusting things in her time. The color green, at least in humans, was associated with disease; I estimated seeing what she may have at first assumed to be a painful condition may have been equivalent to a man seeing another being hit in the testicles. If so, I felt nothing but sympathy for her.

“Changeling blood is green,” Chrysalis replied in Low Gothic, sending Delray and Oleg into a fit of mixed apologies and accusations of Taylor being a devious bastard. Delphine looked a little shocked at the revelation, but cracked a smile. That changed as soon as she twisted her body to ensure I got a look. I had a few questions for both of them, but I figured Taylor already knew what those were.

“I wonder how your first time as a couple went down, now.” Delray's pondering elicited a small, devious smile from the queen, while prompting Taylor to start laughing. I think I wouldn't be too fond of that story.

The mood, as lighthearted, disgusted, and jovial as it was, shifted the moment the strider's landing gear touched the deck.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I imagined interstellar vessels would be large, but the Valkyrie was about four kilometers long. She was a Galaxy Class freighter outfitted with light defensive batteries, which meant while she had two large holds near the stern, the third of the ship near the bow was almost entirely crew quarters and necessary living spaces. We would set up the Doorframe in the main hold, then make our way to the helm and vent the Valkyrie's airlocks. The Broodlord was somewhere in the winding labyrinth of corridors, but the infected crew were difficult to find. There was one, a female by the feel of thing, who was a latent psyker, but she was more a blip of static than the Broodlord's defined silhouette.

“Oleg, Jay, cover the anterior flank; Jacques and Chrysalis, watch the ceiling.” I pointed to the corresponding areas as I gave the orders, hoping everyone involved understood how serious the situation was. Twilight and Delphine were with me and Delray; Amos would serve as our primary bodyguard while I was setting up the Doorframe. I turned to the Shipmaster, “Mind if I drill into this support beam?”

“If you can,” He answered hesitantly as I pulled out a plasma cutter, one of the many pieces of technology Celestia did not tell the public about. I made them look away as I went to work. Plasma cutters are bright and produce a large amount of ultraviolet light, meaning once I start, anything even looking in this direction is going to come after us.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

The minute Taylor started cutting, I brought up my las carbine. Genestealers had their chitin for armor, as the lasgun wasn't exactly known for its anti-armor capabilities. I had eighty shots in my battery, plus two replacements when that one ran dry. It would take me a few shots to find a weak point, but the bugs would die pretty quickly. The darkened hangar was less than hospitable, but I tried my best to focus solely on sound. All was quiet, save for the noise generated by Taylor's plasma cutter.

In the moment he stopped to make the next hole, I heard a small piece of metal clang against the deck in front of me. Without a moment's hesitation, I jerked to the sound and fired three shots. The air lit up as it ionized under the laser's intense energy, making blue trails that would have seared my retinas were I not wearing my pilot's goggles. I only got a brief glimpse of my target as his flesh flash-boiled and exploded. At close range, a lasgun, even the weaker las carbine, can sever limbs, even if most armor could stop it. All three shots hit, all three were kill-shots.

The infected man's neck, chest, and left shoulder erupted in a cloud of pink mist. The entire room lit up in a purple glow; Twilight was giving us some reliable illumination. I kinda wish she hadn't.

“By the Emperor!” I shouted as I saw the two genestealers trying to flank me. A green lance of energy cut one down as the words left my mouth, trailing back to Chrysalis. I fired as fast as I could at the remaining stalker. Blue flashed around it, grazing or directly exploding off its exoskeleton. A well-placed round from Oleg's autocannon ended its life, spraying most of its thorax onto the wall and deck behind it.

The flickering light of fire danced along the hangar's walls as Jay found a few of the infected; I know it was them because of the way they screamed as the burned. One of the crazed men rushed from behind a tool rack, swinging a large wrench. I slammed my las carbine's stock against his face and shot him in the chest. Chrysalis fired a bolt of green energy at a fleeing man, blowing him to pieces.

Somewhere, a grenade went off. There was a hissing shriek as a genestealer died, way inside our perimeter. I turned just as the man I shot hit the deck, and saw Taylor jamming his plasma cutter into the 'stealer's head; its limbs were frozen centimeters from his black armor. Placing a boot on its chest, he kicked the overgrown insect away. He reached into the bag and pulled out a small, rectangular piece of plastic.

The Doorframe crackled to life, revealing the inside of the Canterlot Temple, and the columns of rank and file inquisitors who stood at the ready. Behind them, over one hundred changeling drones were primed to enter the fray, eager to defend the Burned Man, the center of their hive consciousness. The assistance would have been much appreciated had it come moments earlier, but as the assault ceased, I was painfully away of how poorly that encounter could have gone. We started sweeping the area the as black-clad ponies, and learned that, had they even been there, any other genestealers and infected humans were long gone.

“How long do you suppose clearing this vessel will take?” One of the inquisitors asked me in Low Gothic. She was not wearing her helmet, but had her eyes covered by a small visor. Her codename was the Linguist, and she was a code-breaker and interpreter. “Provided we don't vent her into space.”

“Hours, maybe days,” Oleg answered in my place. “But the Burned Man says there is a Broodlord somewhere on the ship; we need to take it down before it can coordinate another ambush.”

“It's in the bowels of the ship, near the bottom.” Taylor walked over to us, cleaning his plasma cutter. I trusted he knew where it was, both of them being psykers. Delray knew his ship's layout, and only he could lead us to it; he also had the only override key to the airlocks. The helm was a deathtrap if the Broodlord was alive, and the Shipmaster was at risk if he led us to it. Chrysalis walked up to us as the changeling horde started filtering in.

“Based on what running through Taylor's head, I'd say we're about fucked.” Personally, I think she summed up the situation rather nicely.

Reddit was down for maintenance, so there is no fact for this title

Statistically, you will almost certainly die when assaulting a well-maintained fortress with a competent commander. Strive to make your death useful. - Training Manual, Penal Legion, Suicide Bomb Squads.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

Taylor, even under his impassive mask, seemed nervous. Chrysalis had spoken of his fears, and I could only imagine what had him worried; he knew better than I the positions of our enemies. As the changelings took defensive positions around the hangar, I imagined he had sensory input flowing through him at a rate much faster than men should be able to handle. It must have had something to do with his armor, maybe a psychic hood or some augment keeping his brain from frying. I've seen it happen to psykers; it isn't pretty.

“My handprint is needed to override the airlocks,” Delray said, looking pale and nervous. I knew enough of the Valkyrie to understand just how terribly difficult this was going to be. “It only makes sense for me to take the helm as soon as possible. The Broodlord can wait.”

“The Broodlord is more cunning than you or I or any mortal man, Shipmaster.” Jay, for once, seemed a bit somber. The pilot light on his flamethrower steadily burned as he looked to us. He grinned behind his gas mask, something I could only tell by the way his eyes crinkled under his dark lenses. “Some of these corridors seem pretty tight; it'll be hard to run or defend if we get swarmed on our way to the helm.”

“Then use the bugs to clear a path for us,” Oleg replied, swinging his autocannon over his shoulder. Taylor and Chrysalis hissed at the idea. I doubt anyone other than Delphine and I knew of their relation to the insectoid ponies, but they seemed as offended as anyone.

“Why would I sacrifice them in some blind assault?” Chrysalis asked, though I knew drones were not exactly praised within changeling society. They were like Tyranids Gaunts, led by a hivemind and weak without its guidance. “Each death weighs upon me, human.”

“I will take anyone who wishes to slay the Broodlord, provided thay are not otherwise occupied” Taylor said, drawing the attention of the inquisitors. He held up a hand before they could volunteer, cutting off any opposition. “Inquisitors are to aid Shipmaster Delray in reaching the helm while I and the changelings handle the overgrown bug.”

“With all due respect, boss, fuck you; I'm coming.” Jacques hovered in the air next to him, looking as serious as Dahl had before we landed on Equus, only the griffin was infinitely more loyal.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

Ten minutes later, Jacques, Chrysalis, the one hundred changelings, and I were making our way through the cramped corridors. We could fit four drones side by side, which made us a large wall of green and black. With fifty in front of and behind us, nothing was getting at us unless it came through the steel grating on the floor, or through a ventilation shaft above us. There was no need for verbal communication; I could give my orders directly to the changelings, and Jacques needed no instruction. I was in one-hundred-two places at once, and it felt... I'm not quite sure how to describe it, truthfully.

An infected human jumped from behind a crate, wearing a suicide vest. I counted ten fragmentation grenades on his front; there was no doubt the blast would be devastating in such tight quarters. Before a counterattack could be made, the explosives detonated, sending a hail of metal, bone, and chitin towards Chrysalis, Jacques, and I. It took me just as long to put myself directly in front of my wife, using my armored body as a shield.

There was a sound that would have startled Thor, followed by a ringing that made me feel like my ears were bleeding.

For the first time, I knew what it was like to be connected to a drone as it died, or, more specifically, how it felt when thirty died. It was a cold, lancing pain that watered my eyes; it hit harder than any weapon and cut deeper than any blade. Chrysalis once related it to losing a child. I agreed.

“Everyone alright?” Jacques asked in a loud voice, wiping off as much changeling blood as he could. He was relatively unharmed; mostly light cuts from passing bits of metal or... other materials. He walked around Chrysalis, who was standing rigidly behind me, face stoic and eyes unfocused. I only knew this because we were almost the same individual at the time; the drones behind us were much worse.

“Yes, Ripper; we're both fine.” My voice wavered more than I'd like to admit, but I was under serious emotional trauma. Unlike y normal response, I wasn't angry. If anything, I was doing my best to feel nothing. I was also failing.

“Boss, we only have a little farther until we've reached the bugger; take a break.”

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

“Shit!”

“Get down!”

“Sweet Celestia! They're coming out of the walls!”

“What pit of Tartarus spawned these unholy things?” A stallion by the name of Forbidden Query asked over the roar of a machine gun. We were huddled in the crew showers, taking cover as best we could. There were some crates here and there; the wood didn't help much, but it was something.

“Ymgarl, I think,” I answered as I took aim at another genestealer. The beasts were Tyranids through and through, but they were first encountered on Ymgarl thousands of years before the Hive Fleets started showing up. One of the monsters lurched from behind one of the boxes and snatched an inquisitor before we could react. He didn't scream long.

“Fuck! I'm out of fuel!” Jay tossed his clunky flamer at on of them as he switched to his only reserve weapon: a knife with a blade about thirty centimeters long. He dodged a swinging claw and lodged the blade into the 'stealer's skull.

“They're coming in behind us!” One of the ponies shouted before her voice suddenly went quiet. The lights over head exploded, leaving us in darkness. I could taste something foul in my mouth as my stomach churned. Delray and Delphine were crouched next to me, using whatever weapons they had on hand; they were using cheap, automatic rifles, but they worked wonders on the handful of soft spots on a genestealer's carapace.

The moment a claw ripped through a drain near our feet, a grenade found its way in. Three seconds later, a gout of flame shot from within the hole; Jay must have still had an incendiary bomb or two. Delray kept his gun on the drain, shaking from the adrenaline pumping through his veins.

“Why'd they stop?” One of the inquisitors asked, and, peaking over my crate, I could see why. The only source of external light was the corridor, and it was free of silhouettes. The pipes and vents did not shake or rattle with anything climbing through them. There was no unnecessary breathing or any gargling clicks or hisses. For now at least, we were not under attack.

I jumped at the mechanical clicking and locking noises that filled the showers. It took me a moment to realize it was the handful of remaining inquisitors reloading their weapons. The servo-skull still hovered where it had been before everything had gone to shit, it blue lights glowing as though nothing had happened.

“Yes, sir,” Query spoke into his headset. Only now did I recognize him as the stallion who Taylor sent away after we had first landed in Canterlot. He looked much different, mostly from the various fluids painting him, but there was also a difference in the way he looked around the room, like a cornered hound. He turned to Delray. “Shipmaster, the Burned Man wishes to know if there is a crew elevator near the starboard servitor chamber.”

“Yes, there is.” The Shipmaster's voice was shaky, made more so by an obvious worry over that tiny detail. We were on the port side, and I think I saw the elevator door during our run for safety. “May I ask why?”

“Sir, it's on its way up, but they are not on it.”

On this day 55 years ago NASA was created by Dwight D. Eisenhower

When in deadly danger,

When beset by doubt,

Run in little circles,

Wave your arms and shout,
Parody of the Litany of Command, popular amongst commissar cadets.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

In Canterlot, a number of Imperials milled about under the watchful gaze of guardsponies. Many were laborers, electricians, technicians, the sort of necessitates needed on an interstellar vessel. Off in the corner were the ship's outcasts: Janus Hassil and Zachariah Fendor.

“Oh, this is not good.” Janus Hassil was the Skyward Valkyrie's senior astropath, and as his mechanical eyes looked at the Emperor's Tarot. While astro-telecommunication and other forms of telepathy were his forte, divination was a hobby he had developed over his years of service. Frail and sickly, his hands shook as he revealed the third card. The first was the Emperor, which meant Warp-travel, discovery, and hope. The second, the first's indicator, was the Inquisitor, which, when combined with the first, meant intrigue, espionage, and interaction with sapient xenos.

“Something wrong, Janus?” Zachariah asked, leaning his bulbous head over his friend's shoulder. He, unlike Janus, was a Navigator, a human subspecies possessing a third eye in the center of the forehead, allowing them to, obviously, navigate in the Warp. “You know I never paid much attention to this Tarot stuff.”

“Hush; I must see the remaining cards.” The third was the Space Marine, humanity's protector, drawn inverted. They would fight a losing battle, hopelessly outmatched. The fourth, which was the indicator of the third, was the Kraken. “The Astartes face a powerful enemy when the Valkyrie happens upon them as she emerges from the Warp. Necrons? Tau? Certainly not Chaos. What's messing with me, however, is the Inquisitor. Why would the crew of the Valkyrie interact with aliens, peacefully, no less?”

“Are we not doing just that right now?” Zachariah asked, his black eyes looking about. The ponies, as Magos Martellus had called them, seemed harmless, save for the two larger ones who frequently passed through the chamber. “Maybe the last card wraps everything up nicely?”

Nodding, Janus moved his hand to reveal the final tarot, frail, spidery hand trembling in the room's cool air. Placing two fingers on the liquid crystal matrix, he turned it ninety degrees. The image began forming rather quickly, but Janus closed his eyes to avoid seeing it. He always did this, just in case he ever drew the Despoiler. While predicting certain death and destruction of entire worlds was necessary, he preferred to delay such revelations for as long as humanly possible.

“Luna!” A crashing sound, followed by the voice belonging to the psyker pony Janus knew as Princess Celestia, echoed through the large chamber, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, even the ones who could not understand. At the larger pony's hooves lay a bucket with a small puddle of water spilled next to it. Celestia was drenched, and her sister could only smile.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

We waited in tense silence as the elevator came to a stop in the corridor. Our guns, what few remained, were aimed at the door, the only entrance large enough for a Broodlord to easily pass through. I popped a fresh battery into my las carbine as we heard the doors open down the hall.

“I can feel it scratching in my mind,” Twilight groaned, clutching her head. The unicorns seemed to be faring about as poorly, what few were left. Forbidden Query looked like he was about to faint, but there was a bit more steel than fire behind his eyes.

“My skin feel like its moving,” Jay said as he started slapping his arms. He looked like he was swatting invisible bugs off his uniform; the Broodlord's influence must have been causing him to hallucinate, probably playing on one of his fears. A loud stomp in the hall made us shut up and redouble our focus on the doorway.

“A spiritu dominatus,” I began, thinking back to my earliest memories of my homeworld. The missionaries would sing the Emperor's hymns during our worships; though it was a prayer, the way they sang the Fede Imperialis always stuck out to me. “Domine, libera nos.”

“From the lightning and the tempest, Our Emperor, deliver us,” Delphine finished, looking a bit shaken. As far as she knew, I didn't devote much of my time to the Emperor; she didn't think I was a heretic by any means, but she also knew I was very private when it came to faith.

“From plague, temptation, and war, Our Emperor, deliver us,” The Shipmaster smiled at us, pulling the action on his rifle back; he looked, in my opinion, hopeful. The ponies joined in, humming, as they didn't know the hymn. Twilight's breathing evened out as she gained some composure. The Broodlord knew we were in the showers, so why worry; it would get to us at its own pace.

As if on cue, a massive, clawed hand grabbed the side of the doorway. A second later, its head peered from around the corner, looking at us with its gigantic eyes. My comrades, including Jay and Twilight, knew enough to look focus on something other than its eyes; many of the inquisitors were not so lucky. The gaze of a Broodlord is hypnotic, a powerful psychic ability that can render even the strongest-willed man immobile, but it only needed a fraction of a second to tear into something with its scything talons.

Then, as most of the ponies dropped the guns, it screamed, high and terrible. I clutched my hands over my ears in a vain attempt to keep my eardrums from rupturing. The glass of my goggles shattered, and would have blinded me, had my eyes not been closed. As I tumbled to the floor, I heard the Broodlord's shriek take on a different tone, then cut off. I had no intentions of playing the hero, but I clutched my las carbine and took a peek around my crate as soon as I gained my composure. I was a little shocked by what I saw, to say the least.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I punched the hole I made in the elevator's floor our and pulled myself through. Chrysalis and the remaining drones flew out immediately after, ready to draw blood in need be. The control panel was broken, but it was obvious someone had used it somewhat properly, which only added to my knowledge of the Broodlord's intelligence. I made a joke about Chrissy and her changelings being like xenomorphs, but seeing genestealers, I take it back.

Giving commands through the hivemind, we crept through the steel corridors, not that we had to go very far. Even if we didn't follow the bodies, the sound of something fighting Query were rather loud. We burst into a sprint to give aid, but as I sent half the remaining drone to watch the far end of the hall, I could see he didn't exactly need it. Now, before I explain what he was doing, I need to confess to a rather... capital offense my Inquisition commits on a regular basis. Dark magics are practiced, honed, and improved within the Temples; they make for powerful unicorns, even from the weakest bunch.

Forbidden Query had the characteristics of dark magic influence: a purplish aura emanating form his eyes, a reddish tint to his horn's tip, and a cold look in his eyes. He may have stood a chance against the Broodlord; he applied everything he knew about fighting humans and minotaurs in melee. Sadly, those techniques only really worked if you were facing something with two arms or less. Genestealers had four, something Query's addled mind only realized as the Broodlord's hands wrapped around his neck.

I brought my pistol up as I noticed the monster's lower limbs twist to better slice into him. I barely had time to fire a single shot before the scything talons whipped through Query's stomach. I finished unloaded the clip as I ran forward, drawing my powersabre. A blue beam collided with the Broodlord's eye, flash-boiling the soft tissue and breaking its hold over my other inquisitors.

Amos ran out from behind cover, firing with every step he took. He stepped on a genestealer's corpse and jumped at the Broodlord, making him either the craziest bastard I'd met in the past few months, or the bravest, and I wasn't sure which was more impressive. He slammed into the overgrown bug and brought them both tumbling to the ground. Hissing and shrieking, it was too focused on its destroyed eye to pay much attention to Amos. He raised the butt of his las carbine above his head, and brought it down.

He slammed it down again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He didn't stop until all he was hitting was a mass of off-green muck with a few bits of chitin here and there for texture.

'Jersey Shore' is known in Japan as 'Macaroni Rascals'

'Jersey Shore' is known in Japan as 'Macaroni Rascals'

From the journal of the Burned Man.

4 March, 1013 AC

At the time of this writing, I am sitting on the Skyward Valkyrie's bridge, and I am using English to avoid detection from Delphine's prying eyes. We met minimal resistance on our way here; I assume whatever cruel intelligence the genestealers possess is still subject to the loss of morale honest being experience when their command is slain. On the whole, we lost eighteen inquisitors and forty changelings. Their passing saddens me, but crystallizes the necessity of the task ahead. To be brief, Equus is in grave danger, and not even the physical gods the princesses and Discord are can stop the monstrous powers waged against us.

I speak not of the Tyranids; their cunning can be defeated, their genes can be tainted. I speak not of the Eldar nor their dark cousins. I speak not of the Tau and their allies. I speak not of the war-hungry Orks. I speak not of the mechanized, soulless Necrontyr and their shattered gods. I speak not of the uncountable lesser civilizations across the blood-soaked Milky Way. I speak of the Imperium of Man, and of the Ruinous Powers of Chaos.

The Imperium is a religious culture of the worst kind, drawing inspirations from the worst points of humanity's various faiths throughout the eons of our existence. It is corrupt and on its last legs, a dying beast intent on taking the stars themselves with it. The God-Emperor would be appalled by what he would see, or would put a stop to it if he were in any state to do so. If we approach them on a small scale, we can turn entire sectors to our favor before they catch wind and stomp us. We'd need a vast network of Doorframes, and I grow anxious thinking about it. They are zealots, but they are human; they can be reasoned with.

Chaos, on the other hand, is something I cannot wrap my mind around, and I trust that anyone who finds this journal either lives in an age without fear of the Warp, or will at least learn from my failure at saving Equus from it. Either way, imaine every horror, every torment, every sliver of anger and hate and hope and love and lust and friendship and despair and sadness and death and insanity, now imagine all that madness, all that raw emotion, coalescing into four supreme beings. I apologize if my writing gets a little shaky here; even thinking of the symbols of Chaos will turn an honest man's stomach.

Khorne is the Blood God, though he is also the least likely to send his forces to Equus. He detests psykers, and unicorns seem to count so far, but he doesn't have much of a penchant for indiscriminate slaughter of the defenseless. Unless Kharn the Betrayer shows up alongside other World Eaters berserkers, you should be kind of safe. Just use ranged weaponry; even Khornate Chaos Marines only use bolt pistols so they have a free hand for a melee weapon. Overall threat level: Low, but High if berserkers are present.

Slaanesh is the Prince(ss) of Pleasure, and he/she/it is near the top of my four-god shitlist. Its aspects are perfection, pleasure, sensation, lust, and romantic love. It also has a thing for tentacles, fair warning. Slaanesh is tied with Tzeentch for Most Likely to Mutate Followers, and you can probably tell the cultists by an enlarged breast somewhere on the left half of their bodies, roughly in the area where one would expect to find a breast. This includes males, and I wouldn't tempt Slaanesh by not having nipples for it to identify where to put the breast. Overall threat level: Medium, but High if Emperor's Children Chaos Marines are present.

Nurgle is the Prince of Disease and the oldest of the Chaos Gods. He is also an affable sort of guy and I kinda respect him; I'll still kill any of his cultists, but knowing how he feels about them and being a father myself, I can see where he's coming from. His aspects are disease, decay, despair, death, and familial love. His cultists are some of the nicest and most caring individuals in the galaxy, and they really want to give you gifts. The only problem is these gifts are diseases that will rot you from the inside out, making you nigh-immortal but eternally suffering from so much pain everything else numbs out, except your ability to love others. With plague. Overall threat level: high. I would make sure Cadence doesn't fall prey to either of these two; she seems especially vulnerable to their whispers, given her role on Equus.

(Note to Scipia: because I know you read this journal even though I've told you not to, if Daddy ever bloats into a corpse that walks and talks, get in Leviathan and drive to Canterlot. There's a big, red button on my desk at the Temple. Press it to trigger every high-yield nuclear device on the planet; it's the only way to be sure. The code is your birthday.)

Tzeentch is at the top of my four-god shitlist. His aspects are plotting, warp-magic, betrayal, and hope. If you're reading this, it's because Tzeentch wants you to. He is one of the biggest reasons the Milky Way has gone to shit, but he is also one of the most fragile of the four Dark Gods. If any of his grand schemes comes to fruition, everything in the galaxy will die soon after, though I use soon on a cosmic scale. His sorcerers are powerful, some of them can top Celestia's magic on a good day. Luckily, most of those don't live long because they've made so many deals with various daemons, and one of them is bound to cash in before the others. Overall threat level: Extreme. I recommend pressing the red button just to make sure he doesn't trick us into being weapons; the code is my oldest daughter's birthday.

(As of this writing, I am only assuming I have more than one daughter when you find this.)

How the fuck are we going to win against an enemy like this, you might ask. Sitting here, on a spaceship, knowing the genestealer brood is the absolute least of the enemies I and the others will face, I have no idea. After we turn in Dahl and Ophidia, we might bum around the galaxy and make friends. Hell, maybe we can get a few Imperial contacts. Maybe my vision involving Cadia and Bjorn the Fell-Handed will come to pass; maybe it was a trick by Tzeentch. I'll find out in the coming days. Months. Years. Decades. Centuries. Millennia.

Note to self: figure out a way to extend the natural lifespans of Jay and the Elements, and any offspring of theirs; it will get lonely in about eighty years otherwise. Sometimes, I hate this black armor, but I realize the Deceiver did not give me a gift. If, through some Doctor Who, stable time-loop bullshit, the man who will become the Deceiver is reading this, fuck you. Fuck you and your white-haired race of humans. You know who you are.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

Taylor looked a sad sight, sitting next to his sleeping wife as the rest of the ship vented into the void. He scribbled in a small, black notebook, a relic one of the inquisitors told me was his journal, which he carried with him whenever he went on a mission. Apparently the entire Equestrian Inquisition was under orders to return it to his family if he was killed, just in case it contained information they could use against the enemy. Chrysalis had apparently given him some good news, and he brightened up until she fell asleep; he just seemed truly depressed afterwords.

The servo-skull was damaged during the final charge to the bridge and lay in a small pile of junk and bone. Personally, I was glad for it. The xenos were alright by me, but sometimes I didn't like the idea of them knowing what I was saying. The Linguist had the busy task of relaying Delray's words to Princess Celestia via vox-caster. So far, judging from the unicorn's reaction, the princess was relieved we were alright.

“Amos,” she called, “I need a word.” I supposed there was no issue in me walking over to her, so I went. She didn't seem all that happy to need me, and for the life of me I could not figure out why. However, as soon as she spoke again, I understood. “What do you know of the device your people call the Emperor's Tarot?”

“It's something psykers use to predict the future, why?” I asked, genuinely curious. I'd seen Dahl play around with a deck once or twice, but he didn't seem to trust it too much. I knew enough about what it was for, but nothing of what the cards meant. “Someone see something bad?”

“Possibly. Your, I believe the term is astropath, seemed rather worried about it.” She removed her visor, and I saw that her eyes were a stunning magenta, the same shade that hinted at Cadian origins. She smiled sincerely and folded the silvery lens so it hung from her jacket's collar. “Specifically the fifth card. What does it signify? I mean just the fifth card in general, not a certain drawing.”

“I think it ties the whole divination together, but I could be wrong.” I thought for a moment, trying to figure out what could have been drawn to warrant something so terrible. “It didn't show the Terra being sacked or something eating the galaxy, did it?”

“No,” she replied, her voice even. She spoke into the caster again, trying to get her facts straight, I suppose. She looked a tad troubled as she absorbed the alien chatter from the vox's other end. “What if the fifth card is blank?”

“Maybe it means the card has gone bad; maybe it means the divination is worthless. I can assure you that it is either nothing to worry about, or the end of the universe is upon us. Either way, there's either nothing we need to worry about, or nothing we can do.”

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I set my pen down and closed my journal, using my free hand to stroke once over Chrysalis's side. This close to her, her dreams were very visible; I did my best to make sure they were pleasant, replacing the genestealer nightmare with a memory of us taking Scipia to Canterlot to see the Hearth's Warming Eve play when she was a few months old. I smiled as I thought of the day and compared it to my old self. I looked to my other hand, still wreathed in the Deceiver's void-black armor, and realized precisely how much I had changed.

I had come to Equestria when I was sixteen, mad the world and slightly mad in a mental sense. I loved the chaos I caused, reveled in the bits of bedlam I sewed whenever I was commissioned by some foreign leader who needed a problem swept under a rug. I learned a lot in the year between taking the armor and Chrysalis announcing her pregnancy, but nothing I learned was pleasant or even slightly practical outside the cruel reality of a contract. I once said the only reason I wasn't a supervillain was my inability to think of a cool name, or something to that effect. I once fried every neuron in a minotaurs brain without so much as blinking.

Truth be told, before Scipia came along, I didn't value my life. I still don't; the only value is that others have placed upon it. I live, I fight, I raise my daughter, all because my life has a value to people other than myself. The old me wouldn't have done that. The old me, given my current abilities, would have become a monster, and heaven forbid he follow the same path I did without falling in love. Trixie's death brought the old me back for a short while, but even after I pushed him down, it took months for him to fully leave. In many ways, the anger, the rage of my former personality was my only demon.

There I was, damn near twenty-seven years old, a father of one, the leader of what was arguably the most feared and respective organization on the planet, and I was worried over the ghost of my former self. I had bigger things to worry about, like Chaos, or the Imperium, or reproduction. I'm not going to lie, I was mostly focused on reproduction. Some old habits didn't fade with my demon. But, thinking of how the Warp, the universe where emotion was made manifest, could twist and addle even the strongest of minds, turn the greatest of men into blathering, half-sane shells of their former selves, I could help but let a single, sour thought pass through my mind as I curled up next to Chrysalis for a brief rest.

Could my demon become a daemon?

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

It was strange, looking at the amassed xenos as they walked about the bridge, checking what Delray said to check. When we first arrived on this backwater rock they called home, I wouldn't have wonder more than where best to put a las-bolt, yet I now considered them allies, at least in part. The Ecclesiarchy had taught me much back on home, and I felt no love for the aliens, but I also failed to feel the rage I would have at the sight of them. Even Jay and Taylor, who were both heretics, xenophiles, and it was possible both were psykers, if Jay's too-hot flames were anything to go by. Every faithful bone in my body should have been screaming to kill them, or to at least lay a trap to be sprung when we turned Dahl and Ophidia in to the Inquisition. Some feeling deep in my gut kept me from making that call.

With this calm, this lack of threats from among and beyond the stars, I was able to finally think on what had transpired over my time within Dahl's retinue. As they say, hindsight is perfect, and I should have been alarmed long before he shot me in the leg and left me to die. All the little heresies, which he claimed the Emperor had already forgiven him for, added up to a closeted Chaos worshiper. Our time operating in the sector had been one big spree of crimes against our peoples. To make matters worse, we all helped him.

Martellus had committed tech-heresy by working the Tau-made weaponry our old Kroot mercs used, a crime for which the Mechanicus would have him executed. Oleg, Alexander, and I were directly involved in his crimes, which ranged from smuggling of xenos tech to... Son of a whore. Those cultists we had captured on Profliga, the ones who escaped shortly after we docked at a fueling station, we must have just been some perverse ferry for them; I have no doubt Dahl released them. I shook my head and realized I'd probably burn alongside the bastard, but I knew Delphine would have it worse.

If she was allowed to live, and that was a bit of a stretch, the Sororitas would have her stripped of her rank and armor, maybe even her augmetics. They would dressed her only in scrolls bearing prayers of redemption, nailed into her flesh, and giver her an Eviscerator chainsword. Then they'd stick her at the front and let her earn her place in the God-Emperor's watchful eyes.

We had been played, all of us. Former Inquisitor Reglan Dahl of the death world named Farmer's Hope was going to burn at the stake for his crimes, and though I would be right next to him, I'd make sure his name, reputation, titles, awards, commendations, his everything was ruined, tossed in the mud, blood, and filth he had created and spread wherever he went.

“The Emperor protects, Amos,” Delphine said as she walked up to me. She looked no worse for wear, though she seemed ready for the replacement eye Martellus had been urging her to get. “We had no way of knowing what he was doing, what he had become. We just followed orders as he gave them.”

“How many men have said the same?” I asked, looking in her eye. Those words seemed like something a machine would say, something a terrible, speaking machine would say when asked why it murdered an entire world. Maybe that was what we had become, fully-living servitors marching to Dahl's drum. “Ignorance is nothing, we are not innocent in this.”

“And we are also not guilty,” she replied, putting an armored hand on her hip. “The Inquisition will know this; they'll understand.”

“And what of the ponies? Of Jay and Taylor? What about when the Inquisition finds out about them?”

“I'm sure they'll put Taylor on a Black Ship and assess him as they would any other psyker.” She thought for a moment, and I recalled her stories about her time on Holy Terra, before she was sent to her current Order. Psykers were not treated very well, but they were dangerous. The Black Ships ferried them to Holy Terra, where they were tested and and searched for the taint of Chaos. If they passed and were strong enough, they were sanctioned and allowed to fulfill any number of roles in the Imperium. He could end up in some Imperial Guard regiment or some such, or maybe as an astropath. Or maybe he'd be found wanting, and fed to the Golden Throne along with nine-hundred-ninety-nine other poor souls. “They'd probably send him back to the Inquisition, truth be told.”

“You still haven't answered my question about the ponies, Delphine.”

“We came here by accident, a freak Warp-current; it is unlikely to happen again.” She looked out the massive window and gazed at the unfamiliar stars. “If the Doorframe were powered down, there'd be no way for anyone to find this world, save another freak accident.”

“Or Chaos wanting us to find it.”

I liked this idea, and had I not found Delphine sexually repulsive, I would have kissed her there and then. I instead gave her a friendly, grateful hug. I already knew how to pass off the colorful xenos while maintaining their hidden ways. I smiled for the first time in what felt like centuries.

“All those colorful, talking equines seem like those Warp-spawned hallucinations rogue psykers use to cover their tracks, don't they?”

When water of any kind falls in this fic, someone is dead or dying

For the first time in years, Princess Celestia feared for her kingdom. Unlike the coordinated attack against Canterlot that nearly ended the war five years ago, this threat was much harder to pinpoint. As Amos, the human who ferried Dahl onto Equus, carried the remaining crew back to their ship, she couldn't help but realize how outgunned the entire world was. Their most powerful weapon was a rail cannon built on the side of a mountain, and when she told Shipmaster Delray it was capable of slinging an eighty-kilogram slug at two percent of the speed of light, he told her of the Imperium's cyclonic torpedoes.

“I always wondered why you built it facing the sky,” she confessed to Taylor, who stood next to her on the balcony as he watched the strider fade into the clouds overhead. Like most of the time, he was unarmored, and the princess was thankful for that; the ivory mask he wore was too impersonal for such matters. “It's not like it ever comes back down.”

“Well, I was preparing for the event a spaceship filtered through the multiverse.” He leaned a against a wall, crossing his arms as he spoke. As an afterthought, he added, “all we lacked were the orbital sensors needed to detect it entering the system.”

“And how in Equestria did you intend to get those?” she asked, looking at the man she was certain was still very much insane. He always seemed to have every little detail planned out, and hated being questioned in that regard. “We have faster-than-light travel capabilities but no rockets capable of breaching the atmosphere.”

“Simple: we just needed to survive the first contact,” he answered, motioning to a black bag he had brought with him from aboard the Skyward Valkyrie. Celestia could only assume it was filled with some Imperial technology, but knowing Taylor, it could have very well been something he whipped up from scavenged parts while he had been there. Much to her surprise, it contained nothing but scrap; a few panels of something odd, but nothing unusual. “Not rockets, but we can make anti-grav tanks now.”

“Are you ever going to stop acting like this?”

“Only when I die.”

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

We pulled into the hangar smoothly, aided in no small part by the strider's machine spirit. Something about leaving Equus had it soaring, though that could have just been my imagination playing with my apprehension about returning to the Inquisition's offices in our sector of operations. We figured we would leave Taylor and the others behind to better pass the colorful world off as a hallucination of Dahl's creation.

As we waited for the hangar to seal and pressurize, I couldn't help but make sure my knife was still in my boot. It was the only weapon I had and I felt a little naked without my las carbine, but all its power cells were charging.

“Their containment cells are ready,” Martellus said over the vox, using his personal caster to speak directly to me. Dahl and Ophidia were under armed guard, blindfolded and gagged to prevent them from knowing what was going on. I could see the magos step into the pressurizing hangar and wave a mechadendrite for us to step out. One of the strider's sensors had been shot during the purge, so I needed to use him as an indicator of when the atmosphere was thick enough to breathe. Nodding, I tapped twice on the wall next to me, signaling the crewmen to move the heretics.

Two men pulled them to their feet, while the others kept their guns trained on them. It would be tough keeping a psyker contained while we traveled through the warp, but the Navigator would keep us on a straight course for the sector's capital world. If Warp-currents kept like they had when we first arrived to Equus, we would be there in a month. What mattered more was how long it appeared we had been gone; time was a plaything for the Immaterium, and it was not out of the question for us to arrive before we left, as it were.

I followed closely behind them, not wanting the bastards out of my sight before I knew they were locked away until they met the Lord Inquisitor. They were a danger to us all, and the galaxy would be better for their demise. Delray's voice rang from vox units in the walls.

All hands be aware: the Gellar field will activate in thirty seconds.

@#@#@#Taylor's POV@#@#@#

Canterlot's weather team had taken the liberty of creating a foreboding overcast as twenty caskets were carried through a large cemetery at the mountain's base. The handful of inquisitors who survived walked alongside the pallbearers, nodding to family members and occasionally stopping to give their condolences. As I walked behind the procession, I couldn't help but feel my heart ache at the site. As happy as I had seemed while talking to Celestia earlier, I was really quite depressed.

It started raining then; the drops were quick and unceasing, but small, and did little more than blanket the ground in a fine layer of mist. I looked out under the brim of my cap at the colorful mourners, and saw more than a few enraged friends and family members. I was not exactly liked, nor was the Inquisition as a whole; political cartoons often depicted us as carrion birds or shadows dancing behind the princesses. No one had the nerve to act on their thoughts beyond a few protests, a handful of books, and roughly a dozen or so radio serials detailing various conspiracy theories regard the Inquisition, its formative members, and how they related to me.

I straightened the brim of my hat as we came to a halt. The caskets turned to the side, their ebony wood glistening in the gloomy light. They would be lowered into the ground soon, and without any sort of last rites, farewells, eulogies, or organized grieving; such burdens were on the families. At least, that was the official order of things. The other inquisitors and I would remain and speak with whomever desired an audience; there would be no need to follow any sort of stiff-collared protocol under such circumstances.

Forbidden Query's family the closest to me, in regards to proximity. His death weighed rather heavily on me. He'd been about ten at the time of the changeling invasion, and had seen Jay and I as role models of a sort, despite us only being a few years older than him. We were tough on him, to be sure, but he attacked every challenge with an enthusiasm that was rare in those days. He learned and excelled at black magic, all at my request. The success of the mission aboard the Valkyrie was largely due to his use of the forbidden arts; had he not fought the Broodlord, Amos would have been able to crush its skull.

I sincerely doubted his mother cared much for that, though.

@#@#@#@#@#@#
Mission Report – Reclamation of the Skyward Valkyrie.
Time from exoatmospheric vessel launch to completion: three-point-five (3.5) hours.
Allied death total: fifty-eight (58) personnel

Twenty-three (23) Inquisitors

Thirty-five (35) changeling drones
Damages to Equestrian property: twelve-thousand (12,000) bits. Covered by the Crown.
Mission necessity: Crucial

Side Notes: What in Celestia's name happened up there?

Filed by Glimmering Refrain, Canterlot Temple Archivist Adept.

Jay wrote this chapter. Don't bother pointing out any errors, lore rapes, or anything you find unsavory. I assure you, neither of us gives a fuck.

8=====Jay's POV===D~~~

Lazguns are fucking bad-ass.

That was my only real, discernible thought as the shot from the rifle cut through the target and into the steel wall behind it. Now, this chamber of the Hangar was normally used for testing high explosive ordinance and the such, so, the fact that this little gun could cut through almost two feet of steel was, in my humble opinion, pretty bad-ass.

“Could you please stop wasting the weapons ammo?”

Oh fun, that would be Polished Cog, one of the more 'haughty taughty' scientists here at the Hangar. Probably should explain that a little bit as well. Well first of all I'm in what I like to call the Hangar, but what everyone else calls, 'Hangar Neighteen'. Kill me. Please.

“I'm just testing it, so calm your teats Coggy.”

“I've told you before, do not call me that, Mr. Braden.”

“And I've told you before Cogboy, just to call me Jay, it's what everyone else does.”

“I'm not like everyone else.”

“Clearly.”

So, back to the explanation, I suppose. Coggy is one of Equestria's top scientists and researchers on everything that can and will kill. He's also an asshole, but that's beside the point.

“And what have you figured out through your, 'testing', exactly Mr. Braden? Hmmmm?”

“Well, you can crank these ammunition packs for one thing, so your ammo concerns are rather unjustified, Coggy.”

“I already knew that. Genius.”

“Hmph, then why the whining about ammo for the gun?”

“Simple, I dislike you and would like it very much if you were to leave.

“Alright, fine then Cog, maybe I'll bother you later.” I said as I was walking towards the Hangars exit.

“For Celestia's sake, please do not.”

8=====Amos's POV===D~~~

“Fuel line needs replacing, one wing is damaged and becomes stuck occasionally if too hard of a turn is taken, and one of the landing gear may become stuck occasionally.” Martellus listed off some of the more obviously damaged aspects of the Strider as he walked around it.

“Unfortunately, we're out of fuel lines, everything else should be fixable though.”

“How did we run out of fuel lines?”

“Aquila Lander fuel lines never did last very long, so I imagine one modified mostly for greater speeds would have even less of a life expectancy for lines.”

I remained quiet as I inspected the damaged fuel line. More could always be acquired whenever we arrived at Crius, if the Inquisition even gave us the chance that is. The wing and landing gear should still be fixable though. “What is exactly wrong with the wing?”

“Seems some pieces of genestealers have become stuck in the left aileron and have caused it to jam at certain angles during flights.”

“Shouldn't be too hard to fix. What about the landing gear?”

“Seems to be a an issue with the hydraulics that raise and lower the system.”

“That should take...what? A week to fix?”

“As long as we can allocate all of the necessary parts and tools, then yes, a week sounds about right.”

8=====Jay's POV===D~~~

“Would you quit staring at my damn legs?” It seemed as if Jacques was beginning to get upset with Lyra, to say the least. I guess I can't really blame him though, she hadn't taken her eyes off his new hind legs since he and I had set foot on the train. “Seriously, it's fucking creepy.”

“Jacques!” Did I mention Chrysalis and Scipia were here as well? They were apparently heading home without Taylor in tow, something that the changeling mother seemed none to happy about, by the way.

“Shit, sorry. Forgot about Scipia, my bad.”

“Jacques!”

I just silently listened on with a small smile on my face. Jacques had asked if he could stay at the farm until he made arrangements to get back to the Crystal Empire. Lyra had decided to take a few days off after the clusterfuck that was the last few days. Which reminds me. “Why are you staring at Jacques's hind legs Lyra?”

“I wasn't staring at them, I was observing them.”

“That doesn't really change the fact that it's weird.”

“Fine. I was just thinking, I wonder if it would be possible for me to get prosthetics like that, you know?”

“Considering that you'd have to get your legs cut off or something, I don't think that would work really well, Lyra.” She actually looked kinda sad at that. Almost like a sad puppy. Unfortunately for everyone in that train car, myself included, she then perked up as if she had just thought of a brilliant plan. “No.”

“You don't even know what I was gonna ask though!”

“I'm not going to cut off your legs for you Lyra.”

“Whyyyyyy noooooootttt?”

“Because that's a stupid idea.”

“Come on, you wouldn't even have to cut off the whole leg, just the hooves really. I'd be okay with just prosthetic hands!”

In 2006 a man hired a hitman to kill his wife. His wife ended up killing the hitman with her bare hands.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I puffed on one of Oleg's lho sticks as I reclined in the strider, not quite caring about what was happening elsewhere on the ship. Dahl and Delray were kept near-comatose, feed only by intravenous nutrient packs; this was done to ensure neither of them could actively interfere with the Gellar field and allow the ship to truly mingle with the Warp. I felt my face contort around the narcotic stick in mouth as I remembered what I had seen when I made the mistake of looking into the swirling maelstrom mere meters from me. There was nothing discernible to my eyes, though I could feel eternity staring back at me. I could only imagine how terrifying it must have been to be a psyker, what it must have felt to feel something so powerful at all times. Would Taylor and Jay feel that if they were on the Valkyire? Could they feel it on Equus?

“I wouldn't know; I'm not exactly a psyker,” Taylor said, poking his head from behind a corner. A pony, I recalled his name being Shining Armor, did the same, his head coming to a stop just below Taylor's. They were both smiling, and it was then I noticed the pony was wearing a collar with an earpiece.

“We figured we could at least try to make the most of your month in a big, metal box,” the stallion said, doing what I thought of as a poor job hiding his enthusiasm at being spaceborne, much like Taylor had during his first breach. It was then that I realized the collar was a translator, and another example of tech-heresy performed by a man who was arguably the most agreeable heretic I had even had the pleasure of meeting. “We brought booze.”

With that, Taylor reach behind the corner and produced a bottle of what appeared to be amesac, followed by numerous other liquors, some of which I had seen him drink during his recovery. I recalled then something a priest told me back on home, about how tempting the enemies of the Emperor could be, how they took the forms of the Tau, the Ork, and even our fellow men. Was the supposed harmony the ponies lived in, the peace they shared with their neighbors, so different to the Tau's Greater Good? Were the princesses so different to the mysterious Ethereal Caste?

“Possibly, but maybe not, depending on how sound my information is,” Taylor answered, reading my mind again. He and Shining Armor fully stepped in, completely uninvited, and I had no real reason to ask them how they managed to get aboard.

“Listen, man, I need to ask you something,” the stallion said as he pulled a slim bottle form a bag he had tossed over his back. Both of them were clothed casually, or unclothed in the case of Shining Armor, and I suddenly realized it was perhaps the second time I had seen either of them in a relaxed state. “Hoe do you know so much about everything going on?”

Now, I'll say right now that I had no idea where the conversation was going, nor what brought there, but I will say the Burned Man had his stoic face turn into a half-defeated grin. There was no hope there, as though suddenly everything positive inside his soul had been turned to cold lead. He raised the bottle of amesac and took a long swig, smiling grimly as he placed back on the small card table between us. He took a breath and looked at both of us.

“Drink up, guys; this is going to be one hell of a revelation. Amos, the same goes for you, probably more.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Lord Inquisitor,

I am Amos Till, former member of Inquisitor Reglan Dahl's retinue. I send this on his behalf to inform you that we have apprehended the rogue inquisitor Leon Ophidia. As we tailed him through the Warp, we came across an uncharted world. The native provided aid as they could, and it is only through them that we were able to complete our mission. Sadly, as joyous as I am to have done the Emperor's will, it brings me sadness to inform you that Reglan Dahl had been seduced by the power of Chaos. We have them both, as well as the corpse of a slain member of the foul Black Legion, locked away on the Skyward Valkyrie, and wish to present them to His Holy Inquisition for proper judgment to be passed.

The limitations of astropathic communications do not allow me to present all the evidence I have against Inquisitor Dahl, but I can guarantee his guilt.

The Emperor Protects,

Amos Till

Lord Inquisitor Dorosa looked over the astropathic telegram in her hands, fresh from the Inquisition's choir. Beneath the actual text was the emotion attached to the message, recorded by her assistant. According to him, the astropath aboard Shipmaster Delray's vessel was easing down from a serious anxiety attack, the memories of pain and death fresh in his mind. Beneath those scribbling was a crude sketch, a fanciful hobby Dorosa allowed her assistant, of a human man, and she only knew it was a man because half his face was visible.

The man was clad in black armor, so dark the ink was still moist enough to come off on Lord Inquisitor's fingers, and his helmet, which was more of a full-faced mask, seemed to be bone-white. In one hand, he clutched a sabre, which her assistant had take the liberty of drawing wavy lines around in order to indicate it was a powersabre; the other hand held a horned helmet, covered in runes to the Dark Gods. This man was known as the Burned Man, a psychic overlay of a figure the Valkyrie's astropath, the one who killed the Black Legionnaire.

“Vincent, deliver a note to the chief astropath; I wish to see this Burned Man when we bring the traitors to justice.” Dorosa nodded to her assistant, Inquisitor Vincent Price, a psyker she had recruited from a small village on a half-controlled world in the Damocles Gulf. That was nearly a century and a half ago, back when she was a field inquisitor with the Ordo Malleus. She knew how to handle daemons and Chaos Space Marines, but she was more interested in the man who managed to kill one of the heretical monsters. As she stared at the crude drawing, she wondered aloud, “Who are you, little psyker? Do you fear the God-Emperor?” She smiled like a hungry shark circling her prey.

“If I find even the slightest taint within you, Burned Man, I'll make sure you fear Him in your final moments.”

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I could feel their apprehension at all I had told them. I had avoided specifics for as long as I could, speaking mostly of the multiverse as a whole. I made sure both of them understood I was not from Equus, I would never be a native to the world; my daughter was the only point my genes were introduced to that world, that universe.

“Yeah, I knew that already,” Armor said, swaying slightly in his seat. I could feel the drink's effects on him just as surely as I could feel my own. Amos was fairing about as well as I was, barely rocking on the currents Shining Armor perceived when I told him the Valkyrie was a ship. “What's this got to do with anything? Like the fake assassination and stuff?”

“Alright, you know those comics in the newspaper?” I asked, letting the words hang in the air. Amos probably had no idea what in the hell I was talking about. It took a minute for Shining to get it, but I could see the realization spread from his eyes out, putting the pieces together like only a drunk man could. “Sorry, man, you're a moving comic book where I'm from.”

“That's fucked up,” Amos said, taking a pull from the clear liquor in his hand. He looked like he was about to laugh, but saw how much of an effect the news had on the stallion. He patted his free hand on Shining Armor's back, and scooted next to him. “Come one, man; it's not all bad. We've got these pict-vids back in the Imperium that sound kinda like Equus, and people love them.”

“Yeah, Shining, listen to him,” I said, trying not to look guilty. I had kept the secret for the best part of a decade, and only the princesses knew, minus Cadence and Twilight. Everyone else figured we were just a couple guys from another universe who managed to stumble into moderate success. “We're all fiction in the larger scheme of things.”

“Seriously, the Imperium might be a boardgame for all I know,” Amos laughed, looking at me for confirmation that he wasn't just some child's plaything. When I returned the laugh halfheartedly, his expression grew more grim. “We're not, right? Please tell me kids don't toss little Space Marines and Guardsmen around like toy soldiers.”

“Well... not exactly...”

Author's Note

Ink costs more than human blood

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

“So... I'm a game to you people?” I asked, not really thinking. Despair filled me, and Taylor was very quick to inform me that such feelings only served the purposes of Chaos, so I very quickly changed into a rather indifferent mood. “Like regicide?”

“When you get down to it, yeah.” Taylor took a long drag from something resembling a lho stick; it was a plant the changelings grew that boosted their hive mind's signal, which he said induced a rather euphoric state when smoked by psychics. He very quickly told me he meant to differentiate between psychics like himself and psykers, though I had yet to see the real difference. “The game's a bit more complicated, but it's essentially chess.”

“So, wait, you knew their god?” Shining Armor asked, leaning over the table at Taylor, who looked rather perturbed at the prospect. Despite myself, I chuckled as I recalled him saying he was an atheist. “Dude, you came from a world where you walked beside a god, then you came here and killed one.”

“Wait, what?” I asked, looking at the heretic. He shrugged and pointed to the back of his head, and it took me a moment to realize he meant the disks along his spine.

“It's how I got my armor,” he said, taking another drag. “Besides, man, their gods are real.” He put his hands out, like he was grasping an invisible sphere. “Hell, the Emperor is the only reason we're flying through the Warp right now, with a clear destination, instead of just wagging our dicks in the currents and seeing where we end up!”

“Speaking of wagging dicks, is Chaos-worship a thing in your home universe?” I asked, knowing that even having a basic understanding of the Ruinous Powers was to invite their insidious whispering. “You already have the basics needed to worship them, I think.”

“That's fucking rich,” he laughed, extinguishing the hand-rolled drug. “I'm too psychic for Khorne, too straightforward for Tzeentch, too dynamic for Nurgle, and too practical for Slaanesh.” He waved a hand and reached for a syringe, which, as he assured Shining Armor and I, was filled with a chemical that negated alcohol's effects. We were each on our third injection, and they seemed to do the trick. “But, no; the most that would have come from it would be some cults lonely nerds started to try and look badass.”

“So, if you couldn't feel them, how did you know about them?” Armor asked, looking at the Burned Man like he was some sort of wizard. Again, he shrugged and looked about ready to fall out and sleep.

“Horror, mostly. If the Warp exists, and I mean in my home universe, we were thousands of years from the technology to utilize it.” He stopped talking for a few minutes, thinking over his own words. His face went from bored, to scared, to shocked, to a look of dull surprise, marred by a bit of morbid curiosity. “Fuck.”

“Something wrong?” I asked, hoping he wasn't touching the Warp at the moment. I silently prayed the Gellar field would hold, but I'm not above syaing my hand drifted to the small autopistol I kept under my bunk.

“I just realized it's entirely possible for us to be from the same universe, separated by tens of thousands of years.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The Warp, an incomprehensible thing, an enigma that hid in plain sight, was not something to be tempted. Not unlike a pond, casting a stone would have ripples that reached far and wide, and even the smallest ripples could affect the shore. Driven by emotion, the Warp was a fickle thing, giving blessing and curses, alterations and mutations, at the whims of its chief consciousnesses. In a small blank spot, a mobile bit of calm waters in the crashing maelstrom of creation so often used by humans to travel the cold expanse of their reality, was a bit of shoreline never graced by the ephemeral waters of the Warp.

This little Gellar field could prevent direct influence, but not the whispering, the seductive whispering that plagued and enlightened so many. There were minds beyond this blank spot, inhuman, vulnerable, unseen in the Milky Way before or since. Forr such beings, ponies, stood watch on the other side, at the beck and call of their master, the illustrious, trustworthy, silver-tongued Burned Man. Their minds were so easy to see, their wills so easy to know, their motives so predictable.

Steel Tart was an earth pony from a small farming village near the Pridelands; she lost her parents at a young age, and had only the Inquisition to live for, an organization she knew had the very best in mind for Equestria. Surely, surely, the Viscount would send her marching off the fully pacify the minotaurs of Labyrinthine. Gilded Unity was a unicorn from Canterlot, and like many of her status, had no patience for the slow process of politics. She joined the Inquisition to makes waves in Equestria and beyond. Yet she was still stuck in Canterlot, using her magic to watch over a doorway to nowhere. What would her mother say about this?

Solemn Dirge, ever the stoic stallion, could not help but regard his companions with quiet contempt. They always tried to mess with standard protocols, change the status quo, never let themselves just rest a while. But, they were his comrades, and he would stick by them as he had for the past couple of years. Radiant Velvet giggled and flicked Dirge's horn with her bat-like wing, taking no small amount of pleasure in teasing the statuesque unicorn. She adjusted her sound cannon, tapping the steel barrel against Dirge's carbine as she went.

“I still can't believe they let some prissy thing like you in the Inquisition,” Tart sighed, slinging her shotgun over her neck. She didn't like Velvet, though it was more of a personality clash than any slight one had taken against the other.

“Says the blockhead who ran into a gun nest with a bayonet,” the pegasus replied, sticking her tongue out at the muscular earth pony.

“And gave me the time to get a target,” Dirge defended, tapping a hoof to the rocket launcher secured to his back. “If she hadn't distracted them, we might have died back there.”

“Only because you had to follow the Burned Man's orders like they'd lead to enlightenment or something,” Unity sighed, remembering the day her companions recalled, and how big of a fuck-up the entire ordeal had been. She ran a quick diagnostic on her amp and adjusted it for the umpteenth time since standing near the Doorframe, compensating for some of the freaky energy readings she was getting. “You'd have held the line until moss started growing on you.”

Yes. Chaos could work with these four, and where they went, more would follow.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

From the files of the Equestrian Inquisition: Incident No. 132 “The Genome Rejects”

On ████ AC, I began work on what is now commonly referred to as the “Incident at Sunny Shores”. As was Inquisitional protocol, a total area of ██ kilometers was roped off, with no aerial traffic allowed above the exclusion zone. With Princess Celestia's blessings, garnered only because she was not entirely informed of my pet project's goals or methods, we gathered fifteen (15) test subjects from the local populace, with a total of five (5) of each major subspecies of pony (Equus caballus sapiens)

After a total of ██████, they responded well to the hormone and augmentation treatments, resembling their former selves only in general body shape. Cognitive testing proved they retained their minds, with a measurable increase in intelligence in ██ of them. I thought, going into this project, that I would be saving lives, not those of the test subjects, mind you. Instead, I ended up making cybernetic, musclebound monstrosities that possessed a killing instinct that would make rabid shark-bears look tame.

Subjects were cleansed after █ years of testing. All records of their existence have been purged and Celestia has been told they died during clinical trials. She knows I lied, and it's only a matter of time until she wants the research findings. She asked me to make her super soldiers, gave me the freedom to do so, and didn't ask too many questions about how I did it.

She asked; I delivered.

Filed by the Burned Man.

J.J. Abrams is producing a Half-Life movie AND a Portal movie.

J.J. Abrams is producing a Half-Life movie AND a Portal movie.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as I looked at the missive from the Inquisition. We would be leaving the Warp soon, possibly within the next thirty hours, but the news carried to our astropath was rather grave. Lord Inquisitor Dorosa, a crone of a woman if there ever was one, seemed to still be alive, and even when I was helping her take down two renegade inquisitors, she still managed to look too deeply into things. Where Dahl had me smuggling xeno-tech, honor forced me to hide the existence of Equus, a planet that, should what I had been told hold true, belonged more to the Warp than reality, yet seemed mostly immune to its ill effects.

“What does it say?” Delphine asked, peering over my shoulder. She was dressed in the simple robes of a sister hospitaller, and, thankfully, had her missing eye obscured by a piece of rough cloth. She didn't know the ins and outs of the Inquisition like I, having been as close to Dahl as I was. Alexander would be better able to decipher the message, but he was incapacitated at the time.

“They know; I'm not sure how much, but it's best we assume they know everything.” The letter was mostly a simple sketch of the Taylor dressed in his armor, and the words Lord Inquisitor Dorosa requests your presence were scrawled beneath his feet. Psychic overlay was likely to blame for the information leak, an afterimage of the genestealer slaughter that had messed with the mind of our astropath. “Now we need to figure out how to go about this. Dorosa doesn’t mess around; we can expect her to bring in as many inquisitors as she can, including chamber militants.”

“So perhaps my sisters will see the good over the... bad,” she replied after some hesitation. She didn't want to call Taylor a heretic, as she so often did, but she also didn't think of him as a hero of the Imperium and champion of its will.

“I'm more concerned with the Deathwatch,” I said, shuddering a bit. While they spent most of their times hunting xenos, members of the Deathwatch were elite Space Marines, drawn from every loyal Chapter in the galaxy, who specialized in fighting all manner of aliens. There would be at least a single kill-squad, which meant they would have a superb marksman and close-combat specialist amongst them. “Space Marines aren't exactly easy to fool.”

“Then we shouldn't lie,” she moaned, looking as though she saw faint doom through the ship's hull. “He's done nothing to hinder Imperial interests, and they can't extract any useful information about Equus.” She pulled out her bolt pistol, which was still shiny with sacramental oils from Martellus's most recent maintenance ritual, and check to see if it's magazine was full. “We don't have the coordinates, and the Warp is unlikely to spit them out in the right place again.”

“Could you fetch me a pen?”

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

“Carte blanche,” Celestia said, sipping her tea. We were in my home, sitting as comfortably as anyone could when there were four princesses crammed into one room. I could only stare at her in amazement; Chrysalis and the other princesses mirrored the gesture.

“Come again?” Shining Armor asked, looking between me and the princess in question. Celestia cleared her throat and spoke again.

“Carte blanche, access to royal funds, in addition to the usual tithe to the Inquisition.” Unlimited access to royal funds, all devoted to defending this planet from outside invasion. “How soon can you muster a passable defense for us, enough to repel the first few waves of an invasion?”

“Honestly?” I asked, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “Provided you can get me the conscripts, indoctrination materials, ammunition, fuel, armor, and food, I can have a planetary defense force whipped up in about a year.”

“Against this?” Luna asked, waving a hoof to the autopsy photos spread on the coffee table. Genestealers and the Black Legionnaire were cut open and on display in the picture, all taken using a standard Polaroid camera to eliminate any chance of a leak. “One of these aliens can rip a tank apart, if our entomologists are correct. And how many years of combat experience did you say this human had?”

“Ten thousand, according to him. And the correct term would be post-human, given their incredible gene-mods and implants.” Space Marines had more going for them than fancy armor and big guns, but it didn't take a genius to figure that out. As much as I wanted to rip out his Progenoid glands and attempt to recreate his Chapter's gene-seed, nothing Horus had going for him would be of use to anything inhuman, provided this guy was even a Son of Horus before the Heresy. Still, they were on ice until made my decision regarding the use of augmentation. It's a rather sore subject. “They're barely human, and I'm not sure if that makes them less or more than the rest of us.”

“Ten thousand years... ,” Celestia began, but her voice dropped off after a while. She looked worried, and I knew how serious things were if she was showing her emotions. “How many of them are there?”

“Chaos Marines? No idea, but it's a few million, easily.” Celestia's eyes darkened for a moment, and I could only wonder at the gears turning in her head. Ten thousand was the largest army ever raised before the war five years ago, and even the, we only had about one hundred thousand soldiers, not counting support units and vehicle crews. “That's not counting the loyalist Chapters, or the ones who are renegade but haven't turned to Chaos.”

“What chances do we have if we go on the offensive, carve out a piece of the galaxy for ourselves?” Twilight asked, much to Celestia's shock. I had requested she bring the subject up, but not so bluntly. “Hypothetically speaking, of course.”

“The same if we focus entirely on defense: zero.”

“Isn't there something we can do to increase our odds, and I mean only defensively?” Cadence did her absolute best to remain a valiant defender for peace, or defense in this case. She and Twilight had the best views of the carnage, if you didn't count Chrysalis. From what I could tell from Amos's information regarding the system the Valkyrie would enter, we were damn close to the Damocles Gulf, and therefore the Tau Empire, who, as much as I didn't like the idea, were arguably our best chance for allies. “Didn't you work on hormone and cybernetics therapies to increase combat efficiency?”

At that moment, you could have heard a pin drop from across the house. Twilight and Shining Armor had no idea what she was talking about, but the rest of us knew. The official story, so far as Luna and Cadence were concerned, was that the applicants died on the operating table. Truthfully, the applicants were kidnapped from the local populace to be used against their will, and were killed after things went wrong. Celestia had been told the lie, but she knew the truth, and she knew I knew she knew.

“Yes, and I may be able to use the Space Marine as a template for augments.” I looked Celestia in the eye and made my peace with my ancestors. “But only maybe, given how fickle human genes can be.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

From the Journal of the Burned Man

11 September, 1013 AC

I'm looking at the Progenoid glands right now, and the genome research notes are on my desk. Chrysalis is upstairs asleep, and Scipia is at Gingersnap's house for the night. Right now, it's just me and Leviathan awake, or as close as either of us get at one in the morning. In these little bits of meat lie the gene-seed necessary to create a Space Marine, though it likely has more than its fair share of mutations from its time in the Warp. I can create nineteen identical pairs organs from these two bits of meat, and play god in doing so.

The information I could get from using these on a human child could prove invaluable, plus I would have the spare set to study independently once they matured inside another subject. It would take time, but the gene-seed could be re-purposed, made to work with pony physiology. I damaged the corpse enough to remove any sign of deliberate removal of the Progenoid glands, but questions would still be raised.

I'll sleep on it, and make my final decision in the morning. For now, these things are going back on ice.

The blood smear on The Comedian's button in Watchmen represents the minute hand on the Soviet Doomsday Clock.

At noon, local time, Lord Inquisitor Dorosa received word of the Skyward Valkyrie's emergence from the Warp, and called her gathered inquisitors to the primary meeting chamber. Judgment would be passed upon Reglan Dahl, potential renegade, and upon Leon Ophidia, heretic and traitor; such occurrences were thankfully rare, as they called numerous inquisitors from their work. Inquisitors from every Ordo were present, along with members of their respective chambers militant, in addition to the numerous acolytes and retinue members permitted to see what went on within the Inquisition.

From the Ordo Hereticus were twelve inquisitors, proving their Ordo was the largest, and they therefore had the largest number of men and women to oversee the trials. Alongside them were twenty aolcytes, fifteen conscripted Imperial Guardsmen, thirty-seven civilian recruits, and a squad of Adepta Sororitas battle-sisters containing a meltagun and heavy flamer. Dorosa did not care much for the witchhunters, but she understood her won Ordo could only do so much against the Ruinous Powers, and that meant someone had to neutralize the rogue psykers who weren't powerful or dangerous enough to warrant a response form the Ordo Malleus.

Representing the Ordo Xenos were a handful of inquisitors, most of whom had rather stellar careers. Nathaniel Drake was a veteran of several encounters with the Eldar, and was more than capable of fighting alongside the Deathwatch Marines he so often worked with. He was accustomed to speaking and negotiating with aliens, always for the good of Mankind, and had brokered a minor alliance with Craftworld Eldar against an Ork invasion. With him were Inquisitors Amberley Vail, Blake Kruger, and Arnold Patel, as well as eight members of the Deathwatch who were returning after the successful defense and destruction of a splinter Hive Fleet. If anything, Dorosa was happy to have proven warriors and scholars amongst her guests; she would need such individuals if Amos's letter had been true.

Representing the Ordo Malleus were Jose Quixote, Timothy Macabee, and Lord Inquisitor Dorosa herself. They, as well as their neophytes, were all psykers, and sported the power armor and force weapons so common to their Ordo. Dorosa's own force sword was a relic passed from her master to her, as it had been dozens of times, all the way back to its first recorded use during the Horus Heresy, in the hands of a stalwart colonel in the Imperial Army. Augmenting their force was a single Grey Knight, fresh from Titan, assigned to her as a measure against the increasing number of cults popping up in the sector. Naturally, he was kept out of sight in order to maintain the secret of their Chapter's existence.

It would be roughly three hours until the Valkyrie docked and the accused would be brought before them.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

“Are you sure they'll be suspicious?” I asked Amos as I looked into the whirred mechanism before us. Chains, grinders, and numerous saws roared within its steel confines.

“You fought a Chaos Space Marine in single combat a month ago and look fine,” he replied, looking as worried as I did. Neither of us were too thrilled about this, but it had to be done to maintain the secret of Equestria and the Medic's healing magic. “You need to look like you've been through hell, and your armor will have to mirror that.”

“None of these saws will cut through it, though,” Celestia stated, looking from me to the whirring mechanism. She knew very well how durable my suit was, and how much force would be needed to pierce it.

“I'll take care of that,” Delphine answered as she held up a chainsword in both hands. It was an Eviscerator, meaning each tooth had a small repulsion field around it, which turned every blade into a miniature power weapon, though my sabre had more cutting power than any individual tooth. Still, even small drops can cause a flood. “So, just jump in here, and I'll beat the hell out of you with this.”

“Can't I just stick my face in a blender?”

“Don't be a pussy,” Chrysalis said as she put a hoof on my back. I nearly pissed myself at the prospect, but I'd faced worse. Slipping my mask over my face, I ran into the swirling mass of blades and metal.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

It had been three hours since we beat the living shit out of Taylor, and we were walking up the boulevard to the Inquistion's head office on Crius. Behind us were Oleg and Delphine, who pushed along the trolley holding the dead Marine's corpse. Behidn them was Martellus, who held a case containing Ophidia's inferno pistol, to be reconsecrated and purified as the Inquisitoin saw fit. We were dressed as we normally would, and Taylor had brought a single pony with him, though you couldn't tell by looking at her.

Lyra Heartstrings had green hair and yellow eyes, but she looked totally human for the most part; apparently she had done this sort of thing before, and our astropath had difficulty finding any Warp signature on her. Apparently, being a pony psyker doesn’t mean you'll still be one when you turn into a human, thankfully. She was dressed in black armor like Taylor, and had been force-fed knowledge of Low Gothic. Her hair was obscured by a bone-colored hood, but could be attributed to mutation or fashion on their homeworld, which I would do my absolute best to ensure wouldn't be mentioned by name, and certainly not studied further.

“Are you sure we're allowed to carry weapons with us?” she asked as she corrected her posture again. There was a pistol on her hip and some sort of autogun slung over her, both of which were loaded and ready to fire if it came down to it. Her fingers were more agile than you'd expect for something that never had them under normal circumstances.

“No, but it makes them understand we aren't pushovers,” Taylor said as he moved a hand to his sabre. His mask was clipped to his hip, and covered most of the high-caliber pistol held to his armor via magnetism; I imagined it was only slightly smaller than Delphine's bolt pistol, if not explosive. Keeping his face exposed had the added benefit of showing the half-healed bruises and lacerations he had ostensibly sustained during his battle against the Black Legionnaire. “I imagine they'll disarm us in short order once we step inside.”

“Or before we reach the door,” I pointed out, indicating the pair of Inquisitorial Storm Trooper who stood vigil by the front gate. Their hellguns were trained on us, but they weren't in defensive postures just yet. Ophidia and Dahl had been taken in earlier by a three squadrons of the shock troops, but they seemed to be waiting for us in as friendly a manner was allowed by the Inquisition. That of course meant they were about as willing to kill us as they were to look at us.

The gates opened, and revealed a full squad of eight fully-armed Deathwatch Marines.

Lyra looked like she was about to piss herself.

Evil clowns can be hired to stalk your child for a week before their birthday.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

Eight Space Marines of the elite Deathwatch stood before us, or rather, seven of them did; there was a scout in their colors perched on a nearby battlement, aiming for us. From what I could tell, he actually had hair, and a bit of a beard, but I could also see the augmented eye that watched me as his organic one peered through his sniper rifle's scope. As little of a chance I stood against a single Marine, a bullet through the skull would kill me, and the scout obviously had better reaction time than I did. They were looking at me, though only the scout and their squad leader, or at least the one I assumed to be their squad leader, lacked a helmet, allowing me to see where their gaze fell.

“We were not informed of this traitor's arrival,” the most-decorated one amongst them said, looking at me. He was referring to the Black Legionnaire, and I was briefly surprised to hear Dorosa hadn't informed them of his preservation. “It is a blight and must be destroyed.”

“After you have verified the kill,” I replied, meeting his gaze. Truthfully, he scared me; whatever the Chaos Marine had boasted, this Deathwatch Marine was a true elite, and had a fully-loaded bolter in his hands. His face remained impassive, and I didn't dare attempt to glean any information from his mind, lest he somehow detect my presence. “Do you wish to lift the sheet, or should I?”

“I've no need for your suggestions,” he replied tersely. For a moment, I thought I had somehow offended him, then I traced his eyes to my hand, which was reflexively inching towards my pistol. I brought it up to cover my mouth, and coughed, only to use it to beckon the... captain, I think, to the corpse. “Your assistant is capable.”

Lyra yelped and hid behind me, unused to seeing such a towering individual, and even less accustomed to being ordered around by one. Instead of cimplying, which was honestly the best option, I walked to the dry, white, industrial-strength body-sheet, and drew my sabre. In a single motion, I severed the chains holding the slain Chaos Marine, and used my off had to pull it away, revealing the blasphemous armor and pallid remains. The captain, and I was only saying he was a captain because he had an iron halo attached to his pack, looked at me, then back to the corpse.

“I take it you must be the Burned Man?”

“The one and, thankfully, only.”

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

Taylor was either a moron, or had the biggest pair of balls I have ever seen on a mortal man, and I've met some pretty impressive men in my day. He was casually chatting with a Space Marine captain, who bore a number of purity seals for valor and fury in close combat. I knew that because Martellus had apparently accumulated a number of books that only a magos could get away with having; they were actually a gift from a Techmaine he had worked with before joining Dahl's retinue.

“Not bad,” the captain said, looking, upon only the deepest of inspections by the skilled eye, a slight bit impressed, but only a little. I've actually never worked around Space Marines long enough to understand their state of mind, though I knew they were still, in the ways the Emperor made them to be, like normal men, to an extent. For all I knew, he could have been joking, but he and Taylor both looked rather rigid, primed in the even tone moved against the other, but I saw the corners of both their mouths turned by perhaps a millimeter for an instant. “I assume you kept attacking after you severed his head?”

“In my experience, death can be rather cheap, so I find it best to ensure termination beyond the ability of regeneration,” he replied, relaxing a bit. Lyra took a step from behind him, and seemed to have calmed enough not to shake. She pulled her hood back to increase her line of sight, which I knew must have been because she was used to having eyes much larger than her current one, and an equally-large field of vision.

“With respect, Brother-Captain, we must be on our way; Lord Inquisitor Dorosa is expecting us.” I was attempting to cut off any possible conversation, any chance Taylor might let something slip.

“The Lord Inquisitor expects you to attend the trials and present the evidence you have accumulated against Reglan Dahl; she expects the Burned Man to come with us.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Inquisitorial headquarters were always well-lit in the foyers, but reverted to candlelight once one was where business was done. As Taylor and Lyra were escorted by the Marines, it became abundantly clear they were not going to the trial, or at least not yet. None of the men said anything, leaving the unicorn-turned-human to wonder about her situation. None of their stances were hostile, and they kept a modest, relaxed pace, without being too leisurely, keeping their air of business. They had yet to be disarmed, and it seemed they would be allowed to keep their weapons for a while longer, at least.

Captain Harkness, of the Unceasing Crusaders, was uncertain as to what Dorosa wanted with the Burned Man; he knew she suspected he was a psyker, but the captain had worked alongside many of his Chapter's librarians, and recognized none of the signs within the young man. The enemies of the Imperium took many forms, and though it was intrinsic of a Marine to be perceptive and skeptical of those he met, Taylor and Lyra just didn't set off any warning bells in his mind.

“I am curious, Burned Man; most would be trembling at the sight of Marines of the Deathwatch Chapter, yet you do not. Why is that” Scout Sergeant Cyrus, of the Blood Ravens, asked, breaking the silence that had reigned over the ten humans as they walked. This was his second tour with the Deathwatch, his first had been many years before then, and he only returned after his Chapter Master convinced him it would be better for the Imperium that he provide his skills to those who needed them. He had already defended his Chapter's recruiting world from numerous Orks, Eldar, a Tyranid Hive Fleet, and a full-blown Chaos insurrection, so what were a few pesky Tyranids amongst Marines? “Men who behave as you do are either hiding something impossibly dangerous, or extremely ignorant of their situation.”

“I have nothing to hide from the Lord Inquisitor, so I suspect there will be very little trouble.” The Burned Man, to his credit, remained impassive even as his female companion seemed terrified by the brooding scout and his mechanical eye. “Though, this has something to with rumors of me being a psyker, don't they?” He motioned around himself, indicating the corridor and the Marines escorting him.

“As well as our own inquiry about the Black Legionnaire you slew,” Harkness replied, resisting the urge to scowl at the thought of the traitor. Battle Brother Julian had been his name, as inscriptions within his cursed armor indicated, but it also said he was a former member of Harkness's own Chapter, which had been rather worrisome on the aged captain. It had been two hundred and twenty years since he'd last seen Julian, and it had been under much better circumstances. He never guess the young recruit would turn to Chaos alongside his squad, but it unfortunately happened, as it did all too often. “I have been on every planet in this sector and its neighbors, yet your accent escapes me. You wouldn't be from Hyperion, would you?”

“I'm a native of Prometheus, actually,” he answered, lying as smoothly as he could.

“A volcanic death world near the eastern rim,” one of the Marines said, nodding his head in approval. His left pauldron bore the heraldry of the Salamanders Chapter, which meant Prometheus could have also meant his homeworld's moon and his Chapter's Fortress-Monestary. “Craftworld Iyanden was in the area, last I heard.”

“I certainly hope they aren't bold enough to test Prometheus's wrath,” Taylor said, sounding slightly amused. By sheer luck, the world actually existed where the Marine said, and it was as barren as Nocturne during the Time of Trial, and the Salamander knew it.

They came across a single door, bearing the crux medicae, marking it a hospital of sorts. Captain Harkness motioned for the Burned Man to step forward. “Here is where you shall be tested. Your friend will stay here, and once judgment has been passed upon you, we shall continue to the trial.”

“May you not be found wanting within the eyes of the Emperor,” Cyrus added.

In the late 1600s London was plagued by an attacker who would spank his victims with a rod and shout "Spanko!" before running away

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

“Kappa,” the medic said, looking over the test results. One the Imperium's twenty-four point scale for determining a psyker's ability, those under the classifications kappa, lambda, mu, nu, xi, and omicron are closer to dumb luck, their powers only manifesting under extreme levels of stress. This meant the Inquisition couldn't touch me, as I was too low on the scale to warrant any sort of threat, and not appetizing enough to be fed to the Golden Throne. “You're lucky, you know that? You're just barely under iota-class, and I mean barely.”

“I think you understand exactly how much of a relief that is to hear,” I replied, completely serious. Two psykers stood within the room, sanctioned by the Imperium, and could only look at me with slight envy. They knew I had serious control over what they considered useless potential, if my telepathy was fueled by the Warp, which I was doubting. One of them was a woman who was rather skilled at such information gathering, and while I had repelled her every attempt, the medic had said I was putting more concentration than she was, and that was the only reason I could resist. The entire time, she was under orders to learn my real name. “No hard feeling, eh?” I asked her as I connected my armor back to my spine.

“None at all,” she replied coolly, not caring that I had displayed power beyond what the scale was picking up, which made me think she was either in the process of corruption, or was under some misguided belief that I was harmless. She snapped her fingers and perked up a bit. “John Coffey?”

“Not even close.”

“You were thinking the name earlier,” she countered. “Thinking about it a lot.”

“Not my name; he was a far better man,” I admitted, feeling a little sad. The Green Mile was the only movie to ever bring me to tears, and while Coffey was just a magical black man, he had morals most men didn't have by half. “Maybe you'll figure it out before I leave Crius.”

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I have never, nor do I think I ever shall again, felt as terrified as I was under the unflinching gave of nineteen inquisitors. Dorosa, who was just as pleasant a woman as there ever was, scowled at me as I handed the large folder of evidence to her assistant, apparently not satisfied that I had only managed to gather enough to land a dozen convictions. It would take hours to read, and days more to piece it all together, but as Dahl and Ophidia knelt in the chamber's center, I could not help but feel this was all closing to an end.

“Leon Ophidia, you stand accused of treason, worshiping the Ruinous Powers, and seducing your former partner into following you on your path of damnation,” Dorosa began, spitting venom with every word. It had been decades since Ophidia had been declared Ecommunicate Traitoris, and the wait had only served to make justice bitterly satisfying. “Do you accept the charges against you?”

“I am guilty of the crimes you accuse me of, Lord Inquisitor,” the snake answered, unflinching even as a storm trooper whipped him for speaking the Lord Inquisitor's title in a tone that suggested they were equals. “Punishment should be meted out as the Emperor wills it.” Another lashing for speaking of the Emperor.

“Then you shall burn after proper interrogation,” she said, turning her attention to Dahl. Despite all that could be said of Ophidia, he was still an inquisitor, at least in his own mind. I know not if it is worse to know yourself a traitor, or to delude oneself into think one loyal, even as one slaughters billions to meet the ends one sees fit. Three cults had sprouted under his guidance that managed to spread until they pervaded the upper crust of planetary society, all on separate worlds in separate sectors. All three were burned to ash, leaving a total count of three-hundred-eighty billion men, women, and children.

Dahl, as I feel the need to note, was fairing much worse than his partner, and sweated under Dorosa's gaze. He was undernourished, unshaven, and his hand was still wrapped in filthy bandages from where Taylor cut off his fingers. He looked ready to crack and lose what little dignity he had left. I once had some measure of respect for the man, but now I considered the heretics of Equus better men, and even the xenos had their nicer points, if their forms were perverse and an affront to all the Imperial Cult preached.

“The Burned Man is a heretic, a xenophile!” he yelled suddenly, seeing Taylor enter the room, flanked by Lyra and the Deathwatch Marines. He stopped as soon as the words caught up with him, looking thoroughly confused.

“I don't recall you being this crazy, Dahl.” Taylor looked at him like he was insane, which I was beginning to believe was very much true.

“That bitch is an alien, too!” he shouted, glaring at Lyra, who was still very much human. Dorosa and the other inquisitors seemed like they didn't know whether to take his words at face value, or brush them off as the babbling of a Warp-addled heretic. “They're colorful little ponies that talk and use sorcery, and the Burned Man is married to one and they have a daughter!”

Dorosa sat in silence for a while, looking, for the first time in what I imagined to be centuries, completely stumped. Taylor, Lyra, and even the other inquisitors seemed rather perplexed by Dahl's ramblings, and, admittedly, I wouldn't have believed him had I not seen the ponies myself. After a moment, one of the retinue members coughed, swiftly bringing the room back to attention. The Lord Inquisitor, after regaining her composure, did the one thing I felt needed to be done at that moment.

“We shall reconvene tomorrow and decide Dahl's fate; he does not seem stable enough to stand trial.”

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I coughed as I got my first full breath of Crius's air. Years on Equus had softened my lungs, I think, made me vulnerable to airborne pollutants. My hometown was full of diesel trucks and coal dust, and the nearest city was full of steel factories and smokestacks. Every now and then, wind would catch the fumes from a chicken farm, which was always a pleasant smell in the mornings. Some of the other inquisitors milled about the small cafe we gathered in, not that I was paranoid, or about to say anything incriminating while I was within a lightyear of this planet.

Oleg, Alexander, and Delphine had their own booth, while Amos, Lyra, and I shared another. The booths were large, obliviously made to accommodate the wealthy of Crius, albeit a little tainted by the air, but I still think my lungs were just spoiled on clean, Everfree air.

“Pardon me,” a blonde woman said as she approached our table. A cursory scan of her mind revealed her to be Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos. She seemed nice enough, a little bubbly for the occupation, and maybe a bit too young. I had to keep it in mind that she was likely older than I, and probably a functional sociopath, as I was almost certain most of the Ordo Malleus inquisitors were. “Do you mind if my friend and I sit here?”

“Not at all,” I replied, not seeing the issue with allowing allowing them to sit with us. Lyra and I scooted over to let the man, dressed in a dark overcoat with a red sash, sit down, while Amos did the same for Inquisitor Vail. “But where are my manners? They call me the Burned Man, last I checked.”

“I'm Lyra, or the Musician as my name most closely translates to,” Lyra said, raising her hand in greeting. It wasn't necessarily a lie; our title were legally binding names, and we regularly signed things off to them.

“Amos Till, ma'am,” the pilot said, taking a large gulp of his drink.

“I'm Amberley Vail,” she said, extending her hand for Lyra to shake. This was probably an attempt to make us wonder about her intentions, but it was equally possible she was just fucking with us, and genuinely friendly.

“I'm Ciaphas Cain, at your service,” the commissar said, smiling. I let the name sink in for a minute, before running it through a list of names I knew, and realized not only what century I was in, but the severity of the danger Lyra and I were facing.

Any time I recognize the name of someone from the forty-first millennium, it generally means things have a bad habit of exploding in their presence.

Author's Note

There are 62 episodes of Breaking Bad. The 62nd element in the periodic table is Samarium, which is used to treat lung cancer

The five sat in their cafe booth, sipping on whatever caffeine-filled beverages the locals were drinking, and generally keeping as low a profile as anyone can while an Imperial commissar is sitting alongside a man in void-black armor that looked a bit too advanced to be of human make and a woman with naturally green hair. Taylor, thinking as quickly as he could, realized there was a seventy-percent chance of the planet coming under serious attack at some point in the next week, and made a mental note to be as close to or far from Cain as he possibly could, depending on the threat.

“I trust you're finding your time here somewhat pleasant... Taylor, was it?” Amberley asked the man, ostensibly to make friendly conversation. With everyone at the table knowing she was an inquisitor, and at least one recognizing her compatriot, it was unlikely she would get very far. Taylor, rather angry that someone was talking to him while his mouth was occupied by a cup of green liquid that tasted like someone boiled hemorrhoids down to their base elements and filtered it through an elephant carcass; the inability to immediately respond was the cause of his irritation, not the terrible tea, or whatever the hell it was called on Crius.

“I'm lightyears from home, fought a rogue Space Marine, a genestealer infestation, and am going to suffer an official interrogation by the Inquistion,” he replied dryly, looking about as amused as a man who had just been told his home was burned to the ground by a roving band of clowns. “But a sanctioned psyker is having a fit trying to guess my full name, so I have that going for me.”

“He's trying to enjoy the little things,” Lyra translated, knowing the Imperials may not understand his humor, or may take it as an insult. She wanted to avoid trouble, but wasn't above pulling out her rifle on the off chance something might go down; if anything, she expected it.

“Speak of the devil,” Taylor said, as the aforementioned psyker walked into the cafe, escorted by two stormtroopers. She must have been important, or on official business, if the Inquisition was willing to slacken her leash, or perhaps that was why the troopers were with her.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

What has Amberley gotten me into?

He has to be lying; there's no record of any mercenary company out of Prometheus with the black and white color scheme.

Oh, Throne, what is Taylor thinking about right now? He better have some plan to get us out of this mess.

Words swirled in and out of my mind faster than I cared for, but there was no method of stemming the tide without losing vital information. Mind reading is a bitch, a complete, utter bitch that I could not tame. For a group who hated psykers, and did everything they could to keep their mental fingers out of their brainpies. Amberley Vail, the spunky blonde who sat across from me, and Ciaphas Cain, a man who, despite being one of the millennium's... shall we say nicer individuals?, was still closer to evil, or at least what I was raised to consider evil, than I would hopefully ever be. Absentmindedly, I watched as the psyker from before designated Psy-134 by the Inquisition, though her real name was Mellanie, walk into the cafe, escorted by a pair of stormtroopers toting the same hellguns as before.

“Now, as it stands, the feral Orks tribes seem to be massing for another round of attacks,” Amberley said, sipping from her drink. She, of course, suspected me of being a bit more than what I presented myself as, and even wondered if Dahl's words carried a smidgeon of truth to them. As the psyker walked over to the booth, I redirected my focus back to Amberley, though I could tell she knew I wasn't focusing on her. “Do you think they'll attack soon, Burned Man?”

“Perhaps, though it really isn't much my concern unless they attack me directly,” I replied, glancing very briefly to a small amount of paper money sitting on the table next to us, indicating that payment was my primary motivator for killing, regardless of my enemy.

“Uriah Olothaire,” Psy-134 said as she spotted me, sure of herself. She very quickly corrected herself when she noticed and inquisitor and her commissar retinue member engaging me in conversation, though Cain was mostly silent. When I shook my head, she grunted bit her lip, clearly angry at her continued mistakes. “Burned Man, I have tried every method at my disposal, from divination to telepathy, and yet your real name eludes me.”

“Uriah Olothaire is a name I haven't heard in a long time, but it isn't mine.” The old priest, Uriah, may have stood for everything I was against, but he did something I could respect, and all without raising his hand in anger. Amberley and Ciaphas looked at me curiously, but Lyra and Amos seemed to almost expect it; Amos even looked seemed to accept the name was something I knew from either the far future or distant past, but I could tell he was going to ask me about it in the near future. “Now, Mellanie, you wouldn't happen to be familiar with the city, would you?”

“I've spent most of my adult life here, sir,” she replied, perhaps barely touching the outer limits of my mind and seeing what I was planning. “I take it you wish to visit a shooting range?”

“As well as a weapon shop, if such things are legal here.” I turned to Cain and Vail, smiling as diplomatically as I could. “I don't know about the two of you, but a little target practice is precisely what I need to unwind after a stressful day.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

From the journal of the Burned Man
Somewhere between 926.M41 and 999.M41 (Date to be changed as data is acquired)

I am using the suit's onboard word processor to pen this as the group and I walk to the a nearby, relatively speaking, shooting range, where I intend to spend as much money as I possibly can, all from Dahl's seized assets, or course, and purchase as fine a selection of arms and munition as I can. I have, through the mere presence of Commissar Ciaphas Cain, been made aware of impending danger, and though I recall no records of the planet Crius ever being detailed in his exploits, I have a sinking feeling there is either good reason for this, and therefore he and a number of other individuals obviously survived, or the planet was never in danger and this entire thing will go over smoothly. But, more likely, this is some alternate timeline and I should tread lightly.

Still perhaps I won't be forced to kill the Hero of the Imperium before his time, assuming I have the skill, time, and luck necessary. I suppose I'll have to settle for shooting plywood targets with a laser gun until the Orks decide to attack, because Inquisitor Vail mentioned they were massing again.

Might have to call in the others if things head south.

Y'all is not a conjunction of "You All" but rather an archaic form of English equivalent to the Spanish vosotros

It has come to my attention that there are numerous holes within the Cain Archive, many of which Cain seems to have either refused to record, or simply wished to pushed them from his mind. The events surrounding his only visit to Crius, a planet he would have otherwise never seen, and only came because I felt Jurgen's abilities as a blank would have been most useful to apprehend the rogue psyker Dorosa had called the Burned Man, had remained largely unmentioned. Thankfully, they have been recovered, and I have taken the liberty of compiling them for use by the Inquisition, as the meetings and battles therein contain useful information on many of the Imperium's greatest foes.

As always, I'll provide extra information as needed.

Inquisitor Amberley Vail, Ordo Xenos.

@#@#@# Cain's POV @#@#@#

On the whole, I cared very little for the talk Amberley and I shared with the psyker and his cohort, Lyra. The whole situation made my palms itch, not the least could be attributed to the menacing woman that was Lord Inquisitor Dorosa. It didn't help that I was painfully close to the man who had slain a Chaos Space Marine not a month prior, and had more than recovered, no doubt stronger for the experience.1 He carried his pistol and sword on the same hip, so he used them in unison much like myself, though I feel my laspistol was the more useful, as his seemed to hold at most, six rounds of solid ammunition before it needed to be reloaded. 2

When the sanctioned psyker walked in and shared a conversation with the Burned Man3, I found myself preparing for a fight, though the two stormtroopers with hellguns eased my nerves a bit. Then, the Burned Man has her convinced taking us to a local shooting range would be a good idea, not that I minded a bit of target practice here and again; it merely seemed a bit odd that he felt the need to vent aggression4 on cutouts.

“A wager, commissar?” he asked, looking to me for a brief time, before closing his eyes5 and slipping his mask on. His voice remained clear, unaugmented by vox systems as I would expect, and I admit it was like seeing a tau-made pict screen; it seemed almost too perfect to have been made by human hands, with none of the tinniness I associated with techpriests or Space Marines. I found myself slightly unnerved by it all, but obviously didn't show such infinitesimal discomfort in the face of the enemy. “A gentleman's bet to keep things interesting?”

“That depends,” I answered, Thinking I could outmatch him with the number of lasbolts my pistol could put downrange. “I don't wish to rob you of anything you find precious.” That was a lie; I really couldn't have cared if he lost anything valuable to me, but I also didn't wish to bet my chainsword and be duty-bound as a hero of the Imperium to relinquish it.

“Relax, commissar; we packed light,” Lyra said, leaning towards us as we entered the weapon shop. Given that she had, as of then, done nothing to indicate she was his aide, I was under the impression she and the Burned Man were involved. Her armor, much like his, was black, though hers seemed to be made of some sort of leather whereas the Burned Man's looked to be ceramite.6 Call me old-fashioned, but I felt it best for wealthy people to keep their courtesans well-dressed, even if the darkened leather accentuated certain assets. “Taylor means money.”

“Right I do,” the Burned Man said, lifting a small sack. He produced a gold coin from within, twirling it about his fingers to make it glint as the shop owner and Amos looked at him like he was mad. “What do you suppose the exchange rate is for solid gold?”

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

Throne on Earth! Is that entire pouch full of those coins?

There must be fifty or more in that bag. Is he showing off his wealth or legitimately asking about how much money he has?

Why the fuck am I not being paid for this? He's got the coinage for it.

Pfft. They're impressed by sixty bits. Maybe everything here is cheap or something?

“It's fairly high for pure gold,” Amberley said after a moment. She wasn't outwardly impressed by any means, but Cain seemed astonished. Gold for about eight hundred credits per gram on Crius, partly due to a serious lack of it anywhere but the lower mantle, and the planet's ecosystems were too valuable to mine that deep.

“I'll give you three lasguns for that coin, sir,” the shopkeeper said, looking either nervous or aroused at the sight of our motley little bunch. Amos didn't even need to tell me I was being ripped off, given that the coin was worth at least a dozen of the sturdy rifles. “How much is in the bag, my lord?”

“Two point one kilograms, if you must know,” Lyra answered for me, looking positively disgusted a worker would dare speak to me directly. She was, of course, acting; truthfully, she was incredibly excited to be speaking to so many humans in one day, especially ones born far from Equestria. The man recoiled and bowed his head, apologizing in what I imagined was a language from before Crius rejoined the Imperium. “Surely, a coin weighing thirty-five grams is worth more than three lasguns?”

“My sincerest apologies, milady,” he squeaked, knowing his treachery had been discovered. He knew Vail was an inquisitor, and Cain was a commissar, so he was made to believe Lyra and I were important enough to warrant such company.

“You could buy this entire block, Taylor; just tell him what you're looking for,” Amos grunted, looking none too pleased with our theatrics. Psy-134 seemed slightly amused, no doubt accustomed to the fear being a psyker generated, and happy to see me using money to reach the same.

“I can see your master is a discerning customer, milady,” the merchant said as he returned to the front, carrying a wooden crate that smelled like fine gun oils and incense. He opened it, and set a large bundle of cloth on the counter, waving us close, as though the very thought of exposing the weapon to direct light was an act of heresy against the Emperor Himself. It was a bolter, smaller than those used by the Space Marines, which meant it once belonged to a Sororitas who had died, and her weapons had been stolen. “This holy boltgun has seen combat on over a dozen words, slain hundreds of the Imperium's enemies.”

“It is also in dire need of proper cleaning, and maybe a few part replacements,” I replied, knowing a shitty gun when I saw it. With work, it could have been amazing, but as it sat, it looked like it had been sitting in moist air for too long, if the bits of rust along the barrel and grips were anything to go by. “I trust cleaning supplies and ammunition are included in the cost?”

“I have the local techpriests inspect it every month; it will fire without delay,” he assured me, producing a receipt for the repair rituals. Evidently, he'd skipped on the polish, but if an enginseer said it was cleared to fire, who was I to say otherwise? “So, I take it you are clear for payment?”

“The Inquisition will cover this, shopkeep.”

Author's Note

1) Likely exaggeration on Cain's part, given that he was used to seeing strange mutants and aliens by then. Perhaps the idea of a human who grew stronger after every battle seemed possible, but it seems more likely that he meant Taylor's combat skills.
2) A statement Cain tends to make during his memoirs. He preferred his laspistol to the bolt pistols commonly used by other commissars because they carried more shots per battery than bolt pistols could in a clip, and can be recharged in the field.
3) Cain never really grew fond of Taylor, and seemed to use every chance he could find to call him the Burned Man, rather than his name.
4) I don't recall much aggression from anyone that day, to be honest, aside from the two Ordo Malleus inquisitors who seemed rather more occupied with punishing Dahl and Ohpidia than finding the truth.
5) Cain and I noticed several times that Taylor always closed his eyes when putting his mask on, presumably a reflex to keep dust or other irritants out of his eyes. Upon examination some weeks later, I found that his mask lacked lenses on either side, and upon questioning, he told me his armor link directly into is brain via the connection port in the back of his skull. The off-white portions apparently reacted to light reflected onto it by the environment, including fair portions of the ultraviolet and infrared spectra.
6) Personally, I thought it looked more like wraithbone, given its luster and apparently light weight.

Abraham Lincoln was challenged to a duel and given the choice of weapon, went with broadswords

@#@#@# Cain's POV @#@#@#

We took our respective lanes, including Lyra and Amos, as we readied our weapons of choice.1 The Burned Man opted to use his new bolter, though I suspected it would explode as soon as he fired it, while he purchased a lasgun for his compatriot to occupy herself while Amos assembled his own carbine variant lasgun. I, of course, used my laspistol. The range itself was subterranean, and extended quite for at least two-hundred meters, not counting the booths, ammunition lockers, power cell charging stations, and observation areas at either end, with both of the latter locations behind sixteen centimeters of armorcryss.2

At the clock's tone, we opened fire. Amos and Lyra used their rifles' single-shot setting, while the Burned Man was firing in four-round bursts3, their shots leaving scores in their own slabs, each about fifty meters downrange. Amos and I were the most accurate, though my pistol was just beyond its most effective range, while Lyra and her master were quickly catching up. After we had each fired sixteen shots, giving the Burned Man enough time to swap magazines while he cursed about ammunition capacity, the next round began, and targets at seventy-five meters popped up, eager to soak up as much damage as they could.

Now, the two stragglers were more familiar with their weapons, and while not quite as accurate as Amos, were more than holding their own. It goes without saying that my laspistol was beyond useless at this range4, so I opted to return to Amberley's side while the three settled their differences.

“What do you make of him?” I asked, confident the Burned Man could not hear me over the roar of his bolter. Her eyes looked over him as he switched to full auto, somehow holding the violent weapon steady while its machine spirit's fury vented on the targets.

“He seems... useful,” she said after a moment, and I'd be lying if I said my palms didn't give a little itch then. While she played at being a bubbly blonde, she was still an inquisitor, a master manipulator, and above all else, smart enough to make do with what she had. “He's lying about how powerful he is, probably by changing the machine's read-out or not resisting as much as he could.”

“Isn't every psyker different, though?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. Even weak psykers suffered insanity to some extent, and the Burned Man seemed, at most, a little unorthodox. I realized I'd opened a can of worms the moment Amberley nodded.

“That's what has me wondering.”

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

This was awful, completely awful. There we were, sharing a shooting range with an inquisitor and the Commissar Ciaphas Cain, and Taylor didn't look interested in anything other than blowing up targets with his bolter.

Relax, Amos; they do not suspect you have had any involvement in heresy of any sort,Taylor's voice echoed in my head, unaffected by the din rising from our guns. However, I can..., there was a noise of frustration, something brewing on the horizon, like the broodlord, only worse.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked aloud, turning to him as though he'd whispered it to me. I kept my voice low enough that the inquisitor and commissar could not hear us, or I at least hoped they could not. The targets returned to the floor as servitors scrambled to replace those too damaged to flip back into their slots, and Taylor turned to me just as our scores appeared on a pictscreen near Inquisitor Vail.

“I would suggest voxing the Valkyrie to get the crewmen we had with us when we cleansed the genestealers,” he said. Just tell the shipmaster to let Celestia know to round up my top men, he added in my head as he turned to face the scoreboard. To my surprise, only the first round counted.

“It would appear Commissar Cain is the victor,” Inquisitor Vail said in a mock-surprised voice. Taylor and Lyra were using equipment they were unaccustomed to, and I wasn't a sniper by any means. “I suppose it is good you did not wager anything, Taylor,” she sad, chuckling in a friendly manner.

“Ah, but this is practice,” he replied, slinging the beaten bolter over his shoulder. Lyra pulled out a small vox unit and spoke into it, using her native tongue to hide what was being said. She turned to Taylor and something else, which I believe was a confirmation, because he nodded at her and returned his attentions to the now-curious inquisitor and commissar. “Should the greenies attack, which they always do, we may have to see who kills the most.”

“Perhaps,” Cain replied, as I felt he would. He was a hero of the Imperium, an exemplar of the of both his office and the Imperial Guard. I actually had no idea if his regiment was there or not, nor did I really care at the time.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

The bolter was a supremely powerful weapon, at least when compared to the slug-throwers we used. I was tempted to take it apart as soon as I had a free moment, but I sincerely doubted Amos would appreciate seeing me steal technology. Martellus, for all he had done, would probably freak right the fuck out. Still, Equus would need such an armament if we were to survive past our first engagement, not to mention the first wave of conquest, purely to bolster our numbers, of course.

Still, there was something nagging at my mind, on the very edges of my thoughts. The air was charged and... well, I doubt it will make sense to you, but it tasted fun. It wasn't like the clawing hunger that coated the Skyward Valkyrie during our purge, or the anger that suffused the caverns beneath the Crystal Empire while Chaos made its first incursion. There was something inhuman about the sensation, though it felt like a drunk trying to fight someone.

As we stepped into the street, a klaxon stared blaring its siren. Cain and I looked at it distastefully, but only I said anything about it.

“It's always something.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

The Canterlot Temple was buzzing with activity as inquisitors ran about their emergency procedures. The Musician had called in a killteam, something only done when great need arose; the run of the mill inquisitors were capable of handling just about anything the planet could throw at them. Jay stood in his flaming camouflage, fulfilling the necessary position of human leader/bullet-sponge. Steel Tart, Gilded Unity, Solemn Dirge, and Radiant Velvet flanked him, transformed into human form for the foreseeable future.

“What do you suppose we'll be facing on the other side?” Dirge asked, looking through the Doorframe at what he could only describe as a giant tomb. He read the reports, of course, but he still had trouble wrapping his head around the idea of giant, metal box floating through the void.

“Something tough,” Tart replied, a touch of hope and excitement creeping into her voice. It was known within the squad that the two fooled around during their off time. Surprisingly, the practice was encouraged to promote unity.

They hefted their packs, full of Doorframe pieces, and stepped aboard their first starship. The sound of two metallic hands clapping informed them of their unseen guest. Jacques stood about thirty feet from the Doorframe, standing with his augmetic foot on another bag of Doorframe parts. Like the others, he was disguised as a human, complete with the cybernetics to make him look the part.

“You didn't seriously think you could leave me behind, did you?”

Author's Note

1) Again, Cain makes no mention of Taylor, nor the fact that they stood next to each other.
2) What they were hoping to protect against is anyone's guess.
3) The burst setting of the standard bolter is four rounds, though it is ony used against close masses of enemies of heavily armored targets for obvious reasons.
4) Not quite, given Cain's considerable skill.

Wilhelm II , the German Kaiser and one of the most hated men who ever lived, while absconding to Holland received a letter from a small boy telling him how much the boy loved him in spite of what others thought.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I'm not quite sure how the orks managed to infiltrate Crius's capital city, but I certainly wasn't going to ask them how they did it at the time. Two things happened in that moment, and both surprised me. Taylor plucked a flask from Commissar Cain's jacket, and Cain himself looked, in my honest opinion, a little scared of the hulking mass of orks bearing down on us.

“I'm a better shot drunk,” Taylor said, breaking the top off the flask while he fired three rounds from his pistol into the greenskins. Apparently, the weapon wasn't a slug-thrower like I'd first believed; it fired explosive rounds that detonated on impact. It wasn't a bolt by any means, but it did enough to alert the xenos to our location. “But we don't have time or the liquor for that.” That didn't stop him from taking a swig to steady his aim, only for him to turn nearly as green as the orks and spit it out. “Ugh! I hate tea.”

“Tanna is an amazing drink,” Commissar Cain replied tersely as he fired a few lasbolts and ducked behind cover just as the orks opened fire. Their aim was amazingly poor, owing, I suppose, to their laughably-broken equipment and their bloodthirsty dispositions. However, Taylor, being in incredibly dark armor that stood out against the bright storefronts, was the most obvious target, and he took more than a few shots from their crude sluggas, which plinked off his armor as though they were tossing pebbles at him. He fired a fourth shot with his own pistol before speaking.

“Commissar, Inquisitor Vail is more needed elsewhere, so I would appreciate it if you got her to safety.”

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I'm not sure why I was surprised when Cain actually took Amberley away, but it opened up a chance to do some rather heretical things. I looked to Lyra, who had just gunned down one of the smaller slugga boyz charging us, and she nodded. “Reinforcements are inbound, Taylor,” she said in English, shouting over the din of the slugs ricocheting off my armor. I opened my suit's radio and shouted into it, broadcasting on the PDF's and Inquisition’s frequencies.

“The drop pod is with me! Hold your fire! I repeated: hold your fire!” Even then, the pod was a bright dot in the sky, burning in the atmosphere as it headed for its intended target: me. I switched to my bolter and walked towards the lead storm the orks were firing at us, still just barely out of range for them to charge right in, and opened up on full auto. Sixteen shots, each more of a grenade than a typical round, ripped into the green tide, felling no less than six, but a few more were contested between the others and myself.

I didn't have time to reload, so I did the next best thing. I tossed the remained magazine and the bolter to Amos, who caught it nervously, and drew my sabre and pistol once more. Only then did I notice they had a nob with them, a large ork who towered over the rest of the boyz, and he sported a rather hefty power klaw. With half his boyz dead, the other were sure to fall back once the big motherfucker was down, so I knew my target. I charged in as Amos and Lyra fired into the weaker mob, leaving me a clear path straight to their leader.

The nob opened his mouth and bellowed the Waagh! characteristic of his race, and rushed at me. He didn't even bother to shoot, and with our favored weapons being in the same hand, it would be easy to block each other. We swung at the same time, our aura-wreathed blades slamming into one another and holding for a brief moment, before my arm buckled and I was forced to pull back. On momentum, the nob's klaw stuck into the paved street, and right as he wrenched it loose, the drop pod slammed into a nearby residential building. The sound was enough to distract him so I could get in a clean shot at the control mechanism, which was thankfully unprotected by glimmering energy.

I sliced through the housing and into a meaty, green arm just as a shadow burst from the dust cloud as the building collapsed. Jacques, and I recognized him only by his hairstyle and cybernetic augments, stuck his claws through two boyz as he ran into the fray, slicing up as many greenskins as he could. Just as my reinforcements arrived, so too did more orks, who seemed none too pleased to see a nob missing an arm.

The air turned chilly as Radiant Unity did what she did best, proving once more than unicorns who maintain the use of their magic in human form are made stronger for it.

@#@#@# Cain's POV @#@#@#

The run back to Inquisitional headquarters was a fast one, if only because I could plainly feel the orks breathing down my neck the entire way. Even resting in the lobby, people looked worried, and I saw more than a few officers of the local PDF running into a conference room to coordinate the defense. The Deathwatch Marines must have already left for the field by the time we arrived, because I couldn't find them anywhere.

“Inquisitor Vail,” Lord Inquisitor Dorosa called from one of the conferences rooms, waving the both of us in. she, as before, was clad in her power armor, and her deamonhammer was snugly secured to her back. Inside were the remaining inquisitors and their top men, including a full combat squad of Adepta Sororitas wielding meltaguns and flamers. “The situation is most dire.”

“That is putting it lightly, my lord,” the planetary governor, Dufton Feders, said through a hololith unit in the room's center. Unlike most of the inbred imbeciles who passed themselves off as governors, this man was once the colonel of his own regiment, and given governorship of Crius after wrenching three worlds from tau control. What I liked most about him was his continued use of his rank rather than new title, not to mention his PDF was top-notch for the sector. “There are numerous confirmed engagements in the underhive, and we've lost contact with at least three settlements in as many minutes.”

“I trust you have the situation under control, colonel?” Dorosa asked, and for once I assumed she was genuine. The governor's face was replaced by a three-dimensional map of the capital, with numerous red and green markers clashing at various levels across the hive's massive structure. There were a handful of civilian markers, which shifted to denote status across the levels, fighting the orks. Some of them even survived.

“As best as anyone can under the circumstances,” he replied, the hololith changing to display casualty reports in real time. “The greenies have the advantage, but we're holding them off here,” the screen changed to highlight a section of the underhive, “here,” this time highlighting a portion on the surface, “and here,” now a near-ring around the hive. “What we don't know about is this avenue,” he said, showing the very same street Amberley and I had barely escaped the orkish hordes on.

The screen shifted to a view from numerous street-level pict-recorders, and what they showed left many in the room breathless. In the center of the road were a number of back-clad men and women, firing in such precision that I first assumed they were of the Inquisition's own stormtroopers, but their white hoods told me otherwise. The odd one out was clad in orange and red camouflage, sporting a gas mask and flamer, and sprayed the greenskins in fire every few seconds. In the center of the mob, untouched by the flames, stood the Burned Man and two others I did not recognize.

One was a man sporting a pair of lightning claws, and seemed to be reveling in the chance to tear into the greenies. The other, a fiery redheaded woman, brandished dual powerswords, and cut an equally impressive swathe through the brutes. A large, bluish explosion rocked the street, and a woman wreathed in purplish lightning floated into view. Members of the Ordo Hereticus and Ordo Malleus clenched their collective teeth at the sight, and Dorosa herself seemed rather impressed.

The Burned Man had a rogue psyker amongst his allies, and she seemed to be doing more damage than most sanctioned by the Imperial Guard.

The difference between gods and daemons largely depends upon where one is standing at the moment - Lorgar, Primarch of the Word Bearers

@#@#@# Taylor’s POV @#@#@#

Lord Inquisitor Dorosa was pretty steamed when we walked back into Inquisitional headquarters that night, after several hours of fighting, though not angry enough to kill Unity or me. Still, she ordered us to lead the assault the next morning, but that meant we got to ride in the same vehicle as Cain and Jurgen, whom I had just been informed was with them, not that I was surprised. Jurgen was a blank, meaning he had a negative psychic presence and nullified warp magic and harm daemons with his mere presence. Unfortunately, we'd be riding in a Chimera until we reached the front, and even then, we'd be in the underhive, so his rather pungent odor would be right there with us.

“Feet holding up, Jacques?” I asked, still amazed his feet were adorned with lightning claws like his hands, giving them a raptorial appearance. Four claws in the front; one in the back to grip things. I was making rounds for the final time that night, making sure all nine of us were equipped well enough to fight the next morning. Our basic guns were replaced with lasguns, all free of charge, ad the Inquisition had been kind enough to furnish extra power packs for our weapons.

“As well as can be expected, boss,” he replied, working on a damaged servo. It was his own fault for kicking that nob in the jaw, but I suppose if I had power feet, I'd be doing the same thing. With that resolved, I moved on to the others in the killteam, though Steel Tart and Radiant Velvet were experts in their weapon maintenance, and given they did not require conventional ammunition, they had turned in early. Solemn Dirge, Gilded Unity, and Jay were the only ones awake at that hour. Unity was communing with the warp, as her position demanded, while Jay was exchanging his napalm for promethium. I had a feeling he was looking forward to burning some orks.

“Dirge, how are your rockets?” I asked, looking at the giant of a man. He was easily a head taller than me in human form, and a little bigger than Big Mac while a pony, and that height was matched by strength. The Deathwatch had given him one of their own missile launchers, due to a combination of his considerable size and his use of a combat exoskeleton, which was little more than something we cobbled together from parts of other machines.

“Ready for combat, sir,” he replied, loading a frag missile in the process. He had a small supply of krak missiles as well, given the high possibility of us running into looted vehicles the orks had upgraded to make them more orky, which meant anything from ramshackles trukks to Leman Russes.

“See to it that you get some rest, then; tomorrow is going to be trying.”

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I knelt in the conclave's attached chapel, clutching the rosette Lord Inquisitor Dorosa gave me. It was Dahl's, which had been reconsecrated and purified in the eyes of the Emperor. She expected me to fill in for him after this was over, provided I survived long enough to fulfill the role. I'd never received anything resembling formal training, and Oleg was better suited in every aspect, but the Lord Inquisitor felt I was the best Dahl's retinue had to offer. My eyes opened and I gazed at the large stained glass, which portrayed the Emperor leading mankind against the forces of Chaos, though any heretical iconography was absent.

I prayed then for the Emperor to forgive me, not only for working under a heretic like Reglan Dahl, but working alongside the Burned Man and his masters. I remained silent, hoping my words needed no breath for Him to hear them, and to avoid the listening devices the Inquisition had no doubt planted to hear any possible confessions. I like to think He heard me, across the impossible distance between Crius and Holy Terra, and, in some small way, found it within His power to absolve my sins.

“How are you, Amos?” Taylor asked, stepping into towards me. Amazingly, he was unarmored, and dressed in simple, utilitarian clothes. He made an effort to avoid looking at the stained glass, though a distant flash of light drew our mutual attentions. In the distance, something very large had exploded, and then we heard a very muted bang, which left no doubt to what it was.

“I am well enough, I suppose,” I replied, stowing my new rosette under my jacket. Much to my surprise, Taylor walked towards me and took a knee, the very first religious act I'd seen him engage in. he prayed aloud, in his own language, for but a few moments, and I couldn't help but feel a certain lack of piety, though it certainly didn't feel like a show he was putting on to fool the Inquisition. “I hadn't taken you to be very faithful,” I said, broaching the subject of his atheism enough to keep a low profile while also asking him what he was doing.

“The Imperial Cult says the Emperor has a place for every man and woman in the galaxy,” he answered, smiling genuinely. “I'm sure he understands why I employ a rogue psyker, even if his most devout servants say otherwise.” With that, he stood and turned to leave. “Have a good night, Amos; I've got a feeling the Black Legion will seem rather insignificant in comparison to what we'll be facing until help arrives.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Confessor Maboral was disgusted with what he saw in the captial, his city, his flock. It was his duty to guide the masses into the light of the Emperor, but in the modern day, few made it to every service, and a disgusting number of them stopped coming at all. So, like anyone who preached to the faithful, the confessor had find inventive ways to call the multitudes. Certainly, the larger churches had splendid cathedrals, and he had but four walls and a pulpit, but he had one thing none of the others had: divine inspiration.

Long had he been angry with the citizenry, who squabbled for food, killed for territory, and treated charity as an excuse to waste into a parasite. But then, some thirty years ago, one the Emperor's finest walked into his little church. For hours and hours Confessor Maboral preached and the Space Marine nodded along with the congregation, most of whom were too enrapture by the sight of such a man to even hear his words. After the service, which had been one of the most exhausting Maboral had performed, the Marine walked up to him, and they spoke for what felt like ages, but in truth had only been an hour or so.

They exchanged so many ideas, and the Marine, a Brother Jeremus as he'd called himself, told him of his faith, of four gods who sought something other than the stagnation of the modern Imperium. Though they parted on less than kind terms, with the confessor telling the Marine to leave and never return to a shrine devoted to His Divine Majesty, Brother Jeremus left with him a book for the confessor to read at his leisure, and then form his own opinions. Though he did not like to admit to himself, the ideas Jeremus placed into his head were amazing, revolutionary even, though the Emperor Himself fought against the four gods, the Ruinous Powers.

Tired of thinking of the past, of his change in religion, the corrupted priest walked into the depths of his church now a grand cathedral to the Dark Gods, and shed his robes. His body, aged and wizened over many years of service, was etched and scarred with icons of devotion, and he stood in his pulpit, surrounded by his flock of thousands, ready to call the servant of their masters and bring the world into the faith. Their psykers, rogues and scoundrels from across the sector, began chanting, lightning crackling between their heads as they surrounded the profane idol in the chamber's center.

In but mere moments, thousands of souls were consumed to open a small rift in reality, claiming the lives of nearly half Maboral's congregation. From the swirling, purple maelstrom of energy stepped a giant clad in purple power armor. Brother Jeremus smiled at his friend, seeing him again for the first time in thirty-odd years. They both knew something amazing was on the horizon, something that would shape the world and the sector beyond.

Brother Jeremus was but the first pair of boots the Word Bearers touched on Crius, but he had many more behind him.

If the path to salvation leads through purgatory, then so be it - Ahzek Ahriman, former Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I woke up not even an hour after I'd first went to sleep, and barely had time to put on my armor as I ran to the conference room. The other psykers, and their masters in the Inquisition, were similarly in a rush, and Gilded Unity was right beside me as I stepped inside. “Don't suppose anyone else felt that?” I asked, trying to muster a small smile, though I failed miserably.

“This is no time for jokes, Burned Man,” Lord Inquisitor Dorosa said, growling into her cup of recaff. I doubted she'd slept a wink, but wasn't about to ask. “We've got evidence of a warp rift opening somewhere in the underhive.” She slammed a fist on the table, activating the clunky hololith and displaying a three-dimensional map of the immediate area. Given that this was a hive city, there was lot of ground to cover; numerous residential areas, manufactorums, and a dozen or so catacombs devoted to the dead, which had been cleared for use as storage centuries ago. “We've got its general location, but it could be anywhere in the this sector.”

The Lord Inquisitor zoomed in on the area in question, and I realized how seriously I had underestimated the capital’s size. As far as hive cities go, this was still tiny, but the small area the search was condensed to could house tens of thousands of people, and compared to the hive's entirety, it was less than a block, relatively speaking. “That'll take dozens of hours to thoroughly search,” I said, plugging my armor into the system to take control. “We still haven't eliminated the orks in this area,” I said as I showed the red contact glyphs that surrounded the residential block. “Fighting there will be half the problem, especially if we don't know what we're facing.”

“Precisely the reason I'll be leading the assault,” Captain Harkness said, and I was stunned to see him clad in terminator armor; I'm not too proud to admit I was slightly frightened by its gravelly vox and bulldog face. “We will be using the conclave's teleportarium to deep strike here.” He showed me where to put his squad, a five-marine terminator assault team, equipped for close combat.

“Which means I need your men here,” the colonel explained, in the stern voice most officers had when they wouldn't take a kind no, sir for an answer. I opened my mouth to give him a very rude fuck off when Unity clamped her hand over my mouth. We were explicitly on Crius for our testimony, but he was a friend of the local inquisitors, and considering they could kill us for heresy, on top of countless other things, it was best we listen to him. For now. “Now, it's safe to say you handled yourselves fairly well yesterday, so, as much as it pains me, your mercs will be speartipping.”

I thought about the implications of his words, namely the fact we would quite literally be the very first wave of soldiers thrown against the warp portal and whatever the fuck it spawned, which could range from lesser daemons and chaos beasts, to a Bloodthirster or Great Unclean One, not to mention the myriad of non-Chaotic beings which inhabited the warp. There was, for a brief moment, a chill that ran through my heart as I pictured an army of black-armored Space Marines, each a corrupted warrior seeking blood for their dark gods. Ceramite was beyond our abilities to defeat at a range, and only I had armor strong enough to counter a Marine's impressive physique.

“We'll be there,” I said, hoping I hadn't damned us all to an early grave.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I was pleasantly surprised to see Taylor and his mercenaries lined up, ready to pile into the back of a Chimera, right as the sun was beginning to rise. As unfortunate as it was, I was lumped in with their lot, as their handler, though I suppose it was better for us all if it made the Inquisition believe them under the Emperor's guiding light, which was as far from the truth as it could be. I nodded to them as I came to a halt just before the APC's ramp, and was shocked to see all eight of them salute me with precision I had only seen amongst storm troopers. “Mount up,” Taylor barked out, whipping around and storming into the Chimera after the other psyker, Gilded Unity, entered.

“I hope you've got room for us,” Inquisitor Vail said as she walked to me, trailed by Commissar Cain and the sorriest excuse for an Imperial Guardsman I have ever seen. Gunner First Class Ferik Jurgen, as he'd been hasty to introduce himself as, seemed a bit dull in the head, and reeked of something so foul I can smell it even now. “We wouldn't want to miss any action, especially not after he surprise yesterday.”

“Inquisitor Vail, Commissar,” Taylor said, nodding to each of them as he handed me a small dataslate. “We're ready to move at your command, sir,” he added, completely in a show of mock obediance that was sure to make Vail and Cain believe he cared for the Imperium. “If need be, we can make room.”

“Yes; I'm sure Gunner Jurgen would be able to assist in that endeavor,” I replied, hoping to foster some sense of camaraderie amongst the men I'd be fighting alongside. Honestly, until the day before, I'd been a civilian pilot, but I was an agent of His Holiness's Divine Inquisition now, and it was high time I acted like it.

“Pleased to meet you,” the disgusting little man known as Jurgen said, extending a grubby hand in greeting, minding what I imagined was appropriate protocol when dealing with civilians. Taylor, who must have been feeling surprisingly sociable that morning, slipped his mask off and returned the gesture with a small, genuine smile on his face. That expression soured the moment they made contact, and I doubted it was his irritation at smudging his glossy gauntlet. They shook once, and broke apart, trudging back to the Chimera to direct the mercs into a better seating arrangement. I noticed Taylor shiver a bit as he walked away, looking a bit ill.

@#@#@# Cain's POV @#@#@#

Despite a near-hitch when Jurgen felt it imperative to shake the Burned Man's hand and reveal his nature as a blank, our journey into the underhive went without a hitch, save the occasional bump. The seating arrangement left the two psykers at the far end, with Jurgen near the ramp, which had the obvious benefit of keeping them away from him, and therefore avoiding pain or serious injury, but also allowed for him to be the first one out, and more likely to be shot and killed. That irked me to no extent, but there was no other way to divide the seats without mixing our groups or putting a psiker near Jurgen.

The Burned Man and his cronies were chatting in their own language, some barbaric dialect of Low Gothic that seemed to have originated from somewhere in the void rather than a civilized world. It seemed Inquisitor ill had a translator on him, because he kept on with them like he was one of their own, which, considering the charges weighed against them should they have refused this mission, may not have been a good thing. The driver told us we were nearing the battle zone, and in unison, the Burned Man, Amos, Amberley, and I all replied in the affirmative.

Almost as soon as the words left our mouths, an unholy racket of small arms fire pelted the front of our transport, though it was hardly of our concern as we pulled into position. We stood, ready to file out and get behind proper cover, when the front caved in under heavier fire. Unseen autocannons rained hell from across the way, tearing through our armor and making short work of our driver. Jurgen and I kicked at the ramp to force it down as the Burned Man fired his bolter through a gun port on the front, hoping, I suppose, to provide us with some means of cover.

One of the shells burst through the Chimera's hull, impacting on his chest. Then another came, and another. All told, he took five shots before he went down and Jacques, I recall that being the man's name, pulled him from the wreckage. Using a small mirror, the Pyromaniac, one of the mercs and an avid user of the flamer, peered around the corner, showing us a view we'd wish we'd never see.

Ten traitor Marines stood atop a pile of scrapped ork vehicles, laying heavy weapons fire down on our position.

One cannot consider the fate of a single man, nor ten, nor a thousand. Billions will live or die by our actions here, and we haven't the luxury of counting the cost - Inquisitor Kryptman

One cannot consider the fate of a single man, nor ten, nor a thousand. Billions will live or die by our actions here, and we haven't the luxury of counting the cost - Inquisitor Kryptman

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

Armor compromised.

The words hung in empty air as a diagram showed just how fucked my ribs were, complete with a stylistic drawing of my armor overlayed to highlight the bullet holes. None of my bones were broken, but there were some serious fractures around the more direct hits. A PDF medic rushed over to me, ushered by Amos, to examine the damage. The medic, a kid who probably hadn't hit twenty, fumbled around my breastplate to find some hidden latch, and failing miserably. With a thought, I willed the armor to separate, and Jacques pulled it aside.

“Throne on Terra!” the young man shouted, doing a very poor job of maintaining his composure. Were I one of his men, I would have started panicking, but I probably had a better idea of what was wrong than he did. Immediately, he wiped at the blood seeping from the five holes in my chest, and looked stunned when the rag came back black, rather than the bright crimson he must have been expecting. Honestly, we were both equally surprised.

“Either patch me up, or get out of my way,” I said, pulling myself into a sitting position. Black blood was a phenomenon I'd noticed back during the war way back when; if I spend too much time wearing the Deceiver's armor, so I wasn't really scared anymore. Jacques helped me to my feet as Amos sprayed a burst of lasun fire around the corner, though whether he was trying to discourage the traitors from assaulting us or hoping to kill one of them, I had no idea. With a flick of my mind, my armor enclosed me once more, minus the five dings in the front. I popped out one of the autocannon slugs with my fingers, and held it out so the medic could get a better look. “I'd say I fared better than our driver, wouldn't you?”

“You're insane,” he said, looking at the flattened slug, and the dark blood that coated it. I turned my head to the others and repeated his words in English, and for a brief moment, the sound of laughter rang over the din of gunfire. “Why are you lot laughing? Can't you see we're fighting heretical Space Marines?”

“I assure you this is merely how they deal with stressful situations,” Cain said, trying to save face with the PDF. The battle, as much as it could be called that, had been going on for about thirty minutes when we'd stumbled upon it, but something was jamming outward vox signals. The troopers could still communicate with each other over short-range frequencies, but anything that would carry from this general area would scramble, and it worked both ways; they hadn't received a bit of information the entire time.

“First rank, fire! Second rank, fire!” a lieutenant shouted at a mass of PDF troopers, which looked to be three or four squads combined into one massed unit. The men responded by an ordered wave of lasfire, each rank shooting as their platoon commander gave the order. I imagine one of the Marines saw him, and with most officers being bait for incoming fire, it didn't take long for bolter rounds to turn him into chunky paste. From my position, I couldn't tell if they'd killed any of the enemy, who were Word Bearers, if my memory served.

“I can't get anyone on my comm-bead,” Cain said, cursing his luck. Every vehicle we could reach was wrecked, and we would be cut down if we tried to run the way we came.

“Neither can I,” Amberley replied, looking more than a little angry at the prospect. “You, trooper! What are our chances if we try to go around them?”

“Not good, ma'am,” a young recruit answered, possibly the last of his squad, though I wouldn't put it past the Marines for him to be the last of his platoon or even company. For the most part, he seemed to be taking our rather dire situation in stride. “Whole complex was full of orks last anyone checked; probably worse off now, too.”

“We can't retreat, or reroute, so our only option is forward,” I mused, pondering our options. Charging Space Marines, even with numbers on our side, wasn't a very bright idea, and left little chance for any of us to survive if we charged directly into oncoming fire. Technically speaking, Cain had seniority, and therefore command fell to him with the death of every other officer, but that didn't mean my role as an adviser was a fancy term for meat-shield. “We've got superior numbers, one combat-ready psyker, a giant bastard with a missile launcher, and whole helluva lot of lasguns.”

“So now you're planning, Taylor?” Amberley asked me, and for a moment I considered asking her how much tech heresy I could get away with before she was obligated to kill me, but I bit my tongue and nodded in a way that looked friendly.

@#@#@#@#@#@#

It was a glorious day to serve Chaos, and as Brother Eridar fired at te entrenched PDF soldiers, his hearts filled with joy that could only come from service. His brothers, indeed his entire Host, were faring better than many would have expected with the Inquisition maintaining such a presence, but there were only eight loyalist Marines on the planet. Cultists, enlightened men and women who would give their souls for the cause, chanted ceaselessly over the Word Bearers' extensive vox network as they jammed the loyalists' own. Scripture from the Book of Lorgar filled Eridar's ears as his heavy bolter shredded a pesky lieutenant, and for a brief moment, he wondered why the weaklings were hiding in the rubble instead of fighting back.

Drop your weapons and your deaths will be painless, a voice whispered into his mind. Eridar was accustomed to the voices of daemons as he prayed, even the voice of his Primarch, but this was different, mortal. I can only do this once because there are two inquisitors with guns to my head, so please, for everone's sake, surrender!

“We will do no such thing!” he shouted back, broadcasting over their short-range channels to ensure the witch heard him.

So be it.

The Havocs ceased fire for a moment, unsure of what to make of the words left hanging in their minds. The troopers were hiding deeper than before, and it would only be a waste of ammunition to keep firing, so they waited for them to make a move. All was quiet for those moments, and Eridar counted off the minutes as they passed. There was movement to the right, a flicker of fire as a missile was fired directly beneath their feet, at the ork vehicles they perched on. As thw warhead detonated, a single lasbolt struck the man next to him, a sniper's shot that punched a hole through a lens in his helmet.

Then, shouted by dozens of desperate men, came a warcry that powerful enough to quake the rockcrete around them.

“For the Emperor!”

@#@#@# Cain's POV @#@#@#

“Did it work?” I asked, hoping for once it would be that simple, but Chaos being Chaos, simple is never an option. The Burned Man shook his head and sighed, checking his ammunition reserves as Dirge readied a krak missile to undermine the heretic's platform. I knew better than to hope, but it still unnerved me. I couldn't run without being killed in any number of horrible ways, and even if I made it away, it would only be a matter of time until we were overrun elsewhere. “I've given your plan some thought.”

“Really?” he asked me as he locked a large knife in place just under his weapon's muzzle. Even with his face hidden, I swore I saw him smiling. “Made your decision?”

“See for yourself,” I shot back, grinning in a show of bravado I imagine even he knew was false. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I took a deep breath. “Fix bayonets!” The effect was immediate, with the sound of our seventy-odd troopers sliding their issued blades into place; some of them sported looks of bleak determination, while others looked resigned to their fates. The Burned Man's mercenaries seemed eager enough to charge, with their power weapons crackling in anticipation.

Lyra and Dirge moved into position, their outlandish hair muted with rockcrete dust, mud, and things I'd rather not think about. Lyra, as I'd learned, was an experienced sniper, and commandeered a long-las from somewhere, and worked with Dirge to formulate an effective opening to our suicide run. He would fire at their feet, then immediately as the missile hit, she would take out the traitor with the autocannon.

On the Burned Man's signal, they fired. In the instant after, I gave the command to charge. The troops opened up with their lasguns on full-auto, filling the air with the brilliant crackling of lasfire as we sprinted towards the stunned Marines. Though I did not trust Amos and his mercenary friends, even they joined the men in their warcry.

“For the Emperor!”

I will not make another rash or premature decision - Horus Lupercal, Primarch of the Luna Wolves/Sons of Horus

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

I'm not sure what came over me during that assault, charging the smoking wreckage that, mere moments before, had been a platform for our enemies to rain fire upon us. Taylor, Jay, and the others from Equus had at least two men in front of them, meant to filter fire and prevent their premature deaths. They were, without a doubt, our the only men we had who were worth a damn against Space Marines in close combat, and the PDF troopers who would surely die before we reached them would be a necessary sacrifice.

We crossed half the distance before one of the traitors steadied himself, opening fire with his heavy bolter. Immediately, four troopers were hit, splattering bits of their armor and innards over the men next to them. Jacques shoved one of the dying men away, taking the front just as the other Chaos Marines leveled their guns and followed their brother's lead. Our massed lasfire did little at first, but now visible rents in their ceramite, glowing hot under the concentrated thermal onslaught as we drained our power cells and raised our bayonets.

Jacques and Steel Tart were the very first to make contact, hacking and slashing into the Marines as they held their weapons to defend themselves from their power-wreathed blades. Tart focused on a quick, graceful style of combat while her counterpart threw himself at the stunned Havoc, ripping into him with his four clawed limbs. Taylor chose to engage their leader, a tall Marine who had a number of horns growing from his bruised scalp, slicing through his heavy bolter and thrusting into his chest. Or initial rush slowed as the first three were slain, giving the heretics enough time to draws their combat knives, which were more like small swords when compared to their normal equivalent.

I shoved my bayonet between the join in one's armor as he busied himself with gutting a PDF trooper, only to realize I hadn't put enough force behind it. Just as he was about to kill me, a black knife was stabbed into his neck, held by a black rubber glove. Jay, the crazy bastard, had jumped on his back, and used Marine's impressive pauldrons against their own, relying on his reduced range of movement to sever key arteries with impunity. There was a sharp crack as Taylor's pistol fired into the skull of another helmetless Chaos Marine, whom he and Cain had kneeling before them. The explosive round had blown out the back of his skull, and drew the attentions of the remaining heretics.

Inspired, the troopers threw caution to the wind, and attacked their foes as though the fate of the Imperium itself rested upon their shoulders. We entered the fray with seventy-five troopers, not counting a dozen or so wounded, and left with fifty-eight. We lost a total of seventeen men to the assault, thirteen of whom died in the melee, but we slayed ten Chaos Space Marines. Even as some of the stronger men placed the the dead heretics in a small heap, I felt the rush of the charge pumping in my veins. “Inquisitor Till,” Cain began, extending a hand for me to shake.

“Commissar?” I asked, understanding that he would only speak to me if there was something for him to gain in doing so. There was a flash as Jurgen destroyed the tainted corpses with his melta, and Jacques swore as the foul smell hit his nose.

“I felt it important to inform you that we have yet to find whatever is jamming our vox,” he held up a small, hand-held vox-castor that blared static when he released the trigger. “Captain Harkness and his squad cannot teleport until they get a confirmation signal from the area surrounded the objective.” I noticed that he avoided saying precisely what we were expecting, all due to the strict censorship regarding anything relating to the Ruinous Powers. “Inquisitor Vail believes we need to press on, but she needs a majority agreement, and with you being the only other inquisitor, the decision rests on you.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Lord Inquisitor Dorosa sneered at the dataslate in her hand, bearing a blurry image of a Chaos Marine who could only belong to the blasphemous Word Bearers. She and her colleagues in the Ordo Malleus, as well as Justicar Auros of the Grey Knights, were piled into the back of a Repressor, courtesy of the local Arbites. They thundered along the same path Vail and Till followed to smash a hole into what was first thought to be ork lines, but now revealed itself to be a pocket of heretical dissent. To top it off, something was blocking vox communication, leaving dozens of inquisitors, their retinues, and thousands upon thousands of PDF troopers without support or the possibility of reinforcement.

The driver, a recently-inducted acolyte, said the road was blocked ahead, claiming there were numerous Chimera transports that were destroyed or otherwise rendered inoperable. From gunports, Dorosa noted a number of bodies, all covered in white sheets with bloodstains of various sizes soaking through. Every one of them appeared to belong to a slain trooper, which meant Till and Vail were still alive, and had moved on to set the teleportation beacon. That, of course, meant they would be dealing with whatever device the Word Bearers and their cohorts were using to block comms.

Pushing the Repressor into overdrive, the acolyte slammed through a gap between two Chimeras, halting shortly thereafter to inform the Ordo Malleus detachment that they way was still blocked, this time by smoldering wreckage that was far to heavy for the small vehicle to overcome. “It appears we have little time to lose,” Justicar Auros said, his voice taking on an electronic tone from his armor's vox-castor. He was the first man out, pointing his wrist-mounted storm bolter everywhere he looked. “The path is clear.”

Dorosa sneered as she stepped foot on the ruined street, and only partly from the smell of orks slain hours before the troopers arrived and met a similar fate. From the charred, half-melted corpses she found piled atop one another, she estimate there had been two squads of Chaos Marine Havocs, the accursed counterpart to loyalist Devastator squads. However, she noted only nine corpses, where there should have been ten.

“My lord, there appears to be a letter addressed to you,” Inquisitor Macabee called from atop the wreckage, guarded by two other inquisitors and their entourages of Imperial Guard veterans. Dorosa, curious, quickly climbed the destroyed ork vehicles, and saw the only intact Word Bearer corpse. A small note was speared on one a horn sprouting from his forehead, which bore a verys imple message.

We're moving up – Inquisitor Vail

PS – try to keep the necessary civilian death to a minimum, even though that isn't exactly your Ordo's style – The Burned Man

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

Or mass of troops split into smaller squads in order to better navigate the underhive, and as usual, my armor allowed me to be at the very front. The squad nearest to me included Amberley and Cain, ostensibly to allow Cain to lead from the front, befitting his reputation. Truthfully, they wanted to keep an eye on me, as usual. Still, a little friend by the name of active camouflage kept me hidden from sight as I crept around cultists and their Marine leaders. This Host, as I'd learned Word Bearers called their warbands, was about three-hundred strong, counting only the Marines, which meant we were facing roughly three full companies, something usually used to take over a star system.

The sound of lasfire hit my ears as another squad ran into a group of heretics, though with the absence of bolters, it was safe to say they would live. I pulled myself up to a small outcropping of pipes as two heavily armored men strolled past me. One of them was the Host's Dark Apostle, judging by the giant-ass mace with a three-dimensional star of Chaos Undivided as the head. The other, I figured by his lack of weaponry, was possessed, and would assume his twisted form as soon as combat came this far into their territory. I didn't understand a damn thing they said, as they kept to the language of Lorgar's homeworld, but I knew enough to see they were planning something.

I leaped down as soon as they were out of earshot, and continued along my pre-planned route. I still had four Doorframe parts on me, and I planned to use them as effectively as I could before the Word Bearers found me. It was risky, borderline suicidal, and the Inquisition would probably kill me for tech-heresy if it failed, but the benefit of success far outweighed the cost. If the Holy Ordos were to find me a heretic, then I would be a heretic they needed.

The area I was in was large enough, and had so little traffic that it seemed safe. I would need a large portion of the wall for my plan; I was linking directly with the Canterlot Temple's garage.

The day will not save them, and we own the night - Horus Lupercal, Primarch of the Luna Wolves/Sons of Horus

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I had some rather unpleasant leeway with the Doorframe's dimensions, but I still had to climb in order to get the upper corners in place, otherwise my armored support would have to fight gravity and climb a vertical slope on this side. I only had one more link to go before I could open the way for Leviathan and cement my position as a heretek and heretic. The bit was only just placed when the rockcrete next to me exploded as warp-fire blasted it into oblivion. My foothold was annihilated, and I fell to the ground like a sack of retarded potatoes.

“Good shot, Saren,” a gruff, booming voice said, as heavy footsteps thundered towards me. I looked up, shaking myself as awake as I could, and focusing on the behemoth of a man who loomed over me. I was dazed, but my vision adjusted quickly enough for me to roll out of the way of a crushing stomp meant for my head. I jumped to my feet and beheld a sight that would have forced many men to soil themselves in terror; I fared little better, if I am to be honest. The nearest, the one who spoke and tried to crush my skull, was decorated enough in scripture form the Book of Lorgar to be their equivalent of sergeant, but his companion was much more terrifying.

“The Dark Gods grant gifts to their faithful, Jeremus,” the other posthuman replied, chuckling from behind his skull-like mask. Unlike most Marines, he wore no helmet, though I couldn't tell because of all the wires and cables sprouting from his shaved head. In one hand, he held a bolt pistol; in the other, he clutched a staff with a head wreathed in ethereal flames. Purple lighting crackled around his head as his eyes burned into me, and I saw I was against a Chaos sorcerer a score my age, and several orders of magnitude more powerful than I could ever be. “Now, mortal, what is it you were trying to do here?”

To answer him was to invite ruin upon myself, the the loyal soldiers in the tunnels, this world, and possibly Equus. I remained silent, slowly edging my hand towards my bolter, as I activated the Doorframe to the armor depot.

No Signal

“Worm!” Saren bellowed, throwing me against a wall with a shove of his mind. My entire body was pinned as his telekinetic grasp sent pressure warning flashing across my HUD; I could do little more than grunt as the metal buckled and constricted me further. “Obey when I command you!” With a flick of his wrist, he sent me careening across the chamber, but released me enough to bounced when I hit the floor. I pushed myself to my knees and scowled at them, though they could not see my face. One by one, red warnings flashed before my vision, and even as I turned to flee, my abilities were severely limited.

Saren chuckled and calmly walked after me.

Armor Compromised

Camouflage Disabled

Psionic Regulator Damaged

Thoracic Link Damaged

Lumbar Link Unresponsive

Beginning Distress Protocol...

@#@#@# Cain's POV @#@#@#

The rogue psyker, Unity as I recalled Lyra saying, fell to her knees and screamed, muffled only by her Lyra's hand. Her eyes rolled back as her cries took on structure, and I could only think of the shrieked prophecies I'd seen spooks give before their brains fried, sometimes quite literally. I drew my laspistol, and prepared to put her down if things got out of hand, but among the shrieking moans and cries, I heard words take form.

“That's the Burned Man's distress signal,” Lyra said, after a few moments, looking more scared than she had in ignorance. “We've gone over this before, and it's always been clear.”

“His regulator's busted,” the Ripper said, looking angry. I'd seen warriors like him before, especially in my time with the Valhallan 597th, and knew things were about to go ploin-shaped if whatever was causing the interference didn't stop. He barked something at Dirge in their brutish language, and the large man produced a small box. He took out a few adhesive electrodes and stuck them around Unity's shaved head. He turned a few knobs and the signal, that shrill screaming, slowly came into focus.

She stumbled over the garbled words, indistinguishable in his brutal language, and only after a few moments was any meaning found. Lyra, of course, had produced a small notebook, writing down, in plain Gothic, the Burned Man's current status. He was severely wounded, and battling a sorcerer, one of the Traitor Legions. After that was a list of basic ailments, broken bones, lacerations, minor wounds one wouldn't bother mending unless infection was a problem. There was a sudden jump in the message's cadence, before it fell silent. The killsquad looked to each other, wearing the masks of calm fury I'd seen on many of my men. They wanted vengeance, and no mortal man would stop them.

Unity gasped again, and the Burned Man's voice, unchanged by Jurgen's diminished interference, echoed form her throat. “Saren, I will die here, but I will not die alone.”

@#@#@#@#@#@#

Lord Inquisitor Dorosa and her team had broken from the path Inquisitors Vail and Till had made, and were now driving through the makeshift barriers erected by simpering cultists. Cutting them down was simplicity itself, as weak as they were, but that did not go without risks. Their transport was damaged and on its last breath, though they felt they were near the center of the interference blocking their vox network. Justicar Auros, as well as the other psykers, had been visited with a rather disturbing message, and were still puzzling over it.

“Saren, I will die here, but I will not die alone,” the Burned Man had said, echoed within the mind of every psyker near enough to listen. Auros was tracking him now, and maybe they would find this mysterious Saren. Either way, it seemed retribution was coming his way.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I steadied myself on a small console, bleeding from several rents in my armor. It was not a good pain in the least, but even as I held one shaky arm up to block the force staff as Saren swung at me, I could feel the fight leaving me. I parried and took another limping step back, firing a blast with my mind to hold the sorcerer back. “This is the end, maggot,” he said, bringing his staff down in a tall arc, which I only managed to move slightly out of the way before a sudden burst of telekinetic energy sent me flying down the walkway.

“Saren, I will die here, but I will not die alone,” I coughed out, raising my pistol. I had popped in a new cylinder, the sort Jay and I worked on a few months ago. Saren looked at the weapon and laughed, giving me enough time to fire a single shot. The thermite-coated round glanced off his helmet and buried itself in the console behind him, knocking out a single link in the chain. As it sparked and and smoked, the maintenance lights overhead cut off, flooding this chamber and several hundred blocks beyond in darkness. The vox jammers shut down, and at once battlefield information flooded my sensors, and it didn’t take a genius to realize we both knew this.

As Saren roared and raised his staff to strike me down, I smiled, because no matter what he did to me, I had already won.

Doorframe opened...

Author's Note

Alright, so, I'm going to have to ask each and every one of you to check out a friend's story.
O Luna, Where Art Thou is a fair story, a pony on Earth, and neither of those are terribly common on this site,, sad to say.
So, Lucky424 is a friend of mine, so I'm plugging this for him. But, the story warrants the praise I'm giving, so, at the very least, check it out.

This is our galaxy. Ours to corrupt. Ours to enslave. The Gods will not be denied their prize - Xereth, Sorcerer of the Black Legion

The Gal Vorbak, those Word Bearers blessed enough to be possessed by the servants of their Dark Gods, stood in the great chamber, all thirty of them using the senses their daemonic passengers allowed them. That whelp, the one without a face, had been here, the sorcerer Saren had said so, and he had been creating something on the wall. Lesser daemons of the Dark Gods possessed the Marines, and with their second sight, the Gal Vorbak saw what needed seeing. There, imbedded in the wall, was a doorway, as though someone had taken teleportariums used in the Dark Age of Technology and crossed them with the eldar Webway. The world on the other wide was pristine, untouched by the servants of the False Emperor. Hunger felt by the daemons was reflected in their hosts, and many of them assumed more knitted their flesh to their combat forms for when the gate would open, and spill whatever morsels were awaiting the order to deploy.

The lights went out, and while the Marines were perfectly capable of seeing in the darkness, the pale yellow lights in the ceiling provided enough light to prevent their their from adjusting while keeping it dark enough for only those still wearing their helmets to still have their sight. The air filled with the stench of ozone, the dry crackle of electricity as the nodes powered up. Khornate and Slaaneshi daemon-possessed were at the front of the pack, eager for the gate to open so they may bring ruination upon the innocent weak. At once, lightning arced between the gate's corners, and the darkness of another massive room filled what was once the wall, extending fast and far enough to give any mortal vertigo. Even their night vision could not penetrate the pervasive dark, and the howling monstrosities at the front saw no reason not to attack, charging in with battle cries screeching at the top of their mutated lungs.

The Tzeentchians and Nurglites stayed back, waiting until the most opportune moment to strike; as much as their patrons hated one another, even the most opposite of patrons acted so much alike. Beyond the veil, the sounds of slaughter filled the air, rending ceramite and shattering bone. Second sight allowed them no hint to the other side, no possible chance to advance. Hesitantly, the remaining Gal Vorbak approached the void. A pair of green eyes lit up, insect-like and unblinking. Another pair, and another, and another, until the entire veil was filled with green light. The Marines barely had time to realize they were not facing the Corpse-Emperor's pawns this day.

Queen Chrysalis was the first changeling to ever set foot on a world held by the Imperium of Mankind. She, and her hundreds of followers, would most certainly not be the last. With a snarl, she sent out a single command to her battle group.

Kill.

@#@#@# Amos's POV @#@#@#

The kill-team put on strange goggles as soon as the darkness hit, though I've never seen night vision equipment so bulky. Like practiced scouts, even the largest of them moved silently over the stone, now that sound would be what gave them away. Using hand signals, they led us through the maze-like tunnels. We didn't say anything, not wanting to give up what stealth we had, though we hadn't seen a heretic in half an hour. Unity was slung over Dirge's shoulder, unconscious since Taylor's signal had gone out, a sign none of them knew how to interpret. I've seen guardsmen who've lost a beloved leader, and they looked just as dead and angry as any of them, so I figured I knew what they would do if they got their hands on whoever did the Burned Man in.

Lyra, at the head of the group, stuck a fist in the air, and motioned to the side of the tunnel; we quickly pressed as closely as we could, using the darkness and our clothing to blend into the masonry. Cultists of Chaos, human as any of us, stumbled by, using crude torches to light their way. Tart and Velvet fell upon them just as they passed Lyra, too fast for them to even scream. Their deaths were quick, efficient, mechanical, the sort of killing most inquisitors approved of, but I was still a virgin in the eyes of the Ordos.

Lyra gave the a sign of safety, and we again stalked the capital’s underhive like vermin evading their doom. Bolter fire erupted from somewhere in the darkness, followed closely by the sound of chattering... something hitting the stone. A Chaos Marine slammed into the wall at the intersection, shoved by some terrible beast of condensed blackness that was too busy ripping into its target to notice us. Lyra gave the signal to hold our fire, though Cain and Vail seemed rather hesitant until they saw me follow the direction. They didn't like it, but they weren't about to offend the good graces of a pack of bloodthirsty mercs this far from the Inquisition.

As it flicked its green eyes up to us, I has to hold Cain’s hand down before he had a chance to fire. “That's a pack-beast from the world we picked up the Burned Man on; they're mean, but only hurt you if you hurt them.” With a snort, the changeling darted back into the blackness, covered in dark blood form its kill. Lyra put a las-bolt through the Marine's skull for good measure.

“Don't seem too friendly,” Vail said, jokingly. She was of the Ordo Xenos, so she had the most experience with aliens, making her the one to give her professional opinion on whatever manner of beast she thought changelings were. She could see rather plainly the bug didn't eat the Marine, but my description held true enough in that it didn’t attack. “Safe to say the tunnel ahead are safe?”

“As they ever are,” Lyra quipped, affixing her bayonet. She was smiling in a grim way, sure there was something serious up ahead if Taylor was willing to use changelings as cannon fodder. We hadn't heard from him even though the vox was back online; headquarters said he wasn't broadcasting in the first place, and since that hadn’t changed, they couldn't tell us anything of use.

@#@#@# Taylor's POV @#@#@#

I coughed up a wad of black blood, enough to cover a fair-sized dinner plate were I not still wearing my mask, and I collapsed. Saren was in a similar predicament, speared on a few wayward pipes that burst form the floor. I had deflected his killing blow and destroyed the walkway, plunging us into the abyss. The abyss, thankfully, was only a few meters deep, but I was more beaten up than a cheap whore at a frat party. I pried my mask off and let the accumulated blood flow away, leaving an inky stain on the dark stone, and ran a diagnostic procedure to see what my chances of crawling away from this alive were.

Insufficient data for meaningful answer...

That was about what I figured, you know? Stuck in some godforsaken hole in the ground while there was honest fighting to do elsewhere. Just like me to leave a party early.

“Saren Ortega, worm,” a sputtering voice said echoed form behind the sorcerer's skull-mask. “I was born Saren Ortega on Terra, and worked from the start of the Great Crusade alongside the Emperor. My Legion, the Imperial Heralds, now called the Word Bearers, were always his most devout followers, even from the start, you know?”

“I know precious little about the Imperium before Horus's corruption,” I replied, rolling onto my back. “That was your Legion's doing, if I am correct.” He laughed in response, a wet sucking noise that let me know we would both probably die here. “I recall, was it Erebus?, who stole the Interex sword and started the war, then whisper sweet nothings about Chaos into Horus's ear while he was in a coma.”

“The Emperor betrayed us, first,” he maintained, so sure of himself. He was right, in a way; the old Imperial Truth said there was no such things as gods, and yet I knew of at least four who resided in the warp. “He was a god, and refused us our worship.”

“You know, at the time, he was under the impression the Dark Gods were fueled by worship, rather than emotion,” I laughed out, which turned to coughing. Saren laughed as well, deep and hearty as his destroyed torso would allow, and we grew into an uneasy silence. His powers had left him, as had mine for the moment, so we were incapable of harming one another. “Shame he was wrong,” I added quickly. “So much bloodshed could have been avoided if he'd been right.”

We fell into an uneasy silence after that, sure we would both spend our last hours dying here, and I at east kept true to my word about not dying alone. Funny how I planned on that being something ominous to keep him from killing me. “The Dark Gods will live so long as mankind exists to feed it.”

“Which is why Horus should have won,” I replied, much to Saren's astonishment. If he'd kiled the Emperor, mankind would have died within two generations, but with Chaos feeding so much on mankind's emotions, the Eye of Terror would close, and the warp would become calm once more.”

“You would sacrifice all mankind for a chance at the rest of the galaxy to live?” he asked, as though the very idea was impossible to understand. He puzzled over my words for a short while, incredulous at what I had said, implied. It brought a smile to my face. “I never pegged a slave of the Emperor to be so self-sacrificing.”

“I'm just as likely to fight alongside the Imperium as I am to work towards its destruction.” I took a deep breath, and was pleased to see my armor accommodated my movement; I may yet walk away from this, and be able to heal. “Chaos disgusts me, but so does the Imperium, now that the Emperor is half-dead and rotting.” Saren's mask had fallen away now, and I could see he was looking at me with some degree of amusement, or was that amazement? “I am married to an alien, and we've spawned a daughter, and I head an institution that has planted spies in every kingdom on the planet, and do you know what drew my attention to the stars?”

“No, what?” he asked, as enraptured as any audience I'd had. I could see the light in his eyes was dulling, and he was not long for this life. Even as I strengthened, he grew weaker still.

“Chaos itself, agents of the Dark Gods, alerted me that this world, this alternate universe if you can believe it,” I explained, laughing. “When I get out of this mess, if I ever do, I'll be training a defense force to combat Chaos when I get back home.”

I looked up to the Marine, but found I was alone. Saren had died some moments before, listening to a bastard like me spin yarn. I pulled myself to my feet, and hobbled over to my sword. It has shattered after that final blow, but the hilt was still intact, and holding it gave me some comfort. Slipping my mask back on, I limped into the darkness, to connect with the hive mind and lead my changelings as I should.

So here I am, in a lose-lose position. Stay here and die at the hands of alien heretics - or throw in my lot with two superhuman psychopaths with a death wish! - Trooper Halvus

Taylor’s POV -

I stumbled through the underhive’s echoing, vaulted corridors, unable to get my bearings and losing myself further to the darkness so many levels beneath the hive’s top. Basic functions were slowly coming back online as the blackness receded from my vision; my psychic powers, however, were still blunted, either from harm to my armor’s regulator, or my body’s own damage. The din of battle faded out a while ago, leaving me deaf to the world around me, and with no ammunition or functional weaponry, being deaf may have been the death of me. I flicked through a menu and turned on my radio, and received nothing but static; the thick walls of the underhive kept me from getting a signal.

I rammed through a sheet metal door and fell flat on my face; I had not expected it to give way so easily. As I rolled onto my back, my night vision came back online, and I could see my surroundings clear as day. This was once a home of some sort, a mid-hive level dwelling for some working-class family. Judging by the lack of blood and mangled meat, it looked as though they cleared out in time to avoid being slaughtered by orks; whether they escaped Chaos, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. The small habitat only had a few rooms, and I was in what I assumed to be the largest; they had running water, at least, as I heard some tap running in the next room. I hobbled over to a sofa and plopped down, sure that if orks were nearby, they would have found me already.

In the next instant, I slammed into the opposite wall as my eardrums exploded; I felt the heat of improvised explosives burning off as my armor shattered under the force. My visor went dark as the suit’s power supply moved to re-engage regeneration; though I could not hear, I felt the vibrations of numerous footsteps as people charged for me. I popped my mask off in time to see a large man covered in tumors jump on me to pin me down as six others circled with makeshift weapons in their hands. I could not move or even cry out as the first rusty blade stabbed through a joint in my plate, digging into the explosion-softened meat of my back; others soon joined the first, poking holes in everything I needed to live. I coughed black blood as I tried to signal for some aid, lest I be killed by corrupted shit-stains in some backwater planet nobody cared about.

There was a mighty roar, gargled by a vox-caster, as a silver-armored behemoth ran into the chamber; he held a halberg in one hand while he stuck his gauntlet out and sprayed a flurry of rounds from a mounted storm bolter. The cancerous bastard pinning me down exploded in a fountain of bloody chunks as I grabbed the nearest cultist to squeeze the life out of him. I nearly hesitated as I saw the young boy, no older than eight, looking up at me with as much hatred as I have ever seen. His age didn’t stop my gauntlets from closing around his neck until I felt blood vessels pop and cartilage give way; he sputtered up at me as the last breath left his lungs, the heretical rage in his eyes never going out until his heart stopped.

I wrenched the kitchen knife from his slack hands and rolled onto my back in time to catch another cultist as she dodged the Grey Knight’s force weapon; a quick stab to the base of the skull, and she was just as dead as the boy. I looked around to see if there were any other targets, only to find my impromptu rescuer had slain them all in the time it took me to kill two. After such a brief burst of activity, I was left staring into the cold blue eye-lenses of a Grey Knight, the same Grey Knight Lord Inquisitor Dorosa had kept secret. “You are the Burned Man,” he said, a statement rather than a question. “The Lord Inquisitor sent me to find you.”

“Just in time, too,” I rasped out, leaning on one arm as I tried to regain feeling elsewhere. “I trust the battle goes well?” I asked, now sure I was severely injured. Honestly, at that point, I would have accepted being executed for the heresy of knowing of the Grey Knights just to end the pain.

“Whatever blasphemous sorcery allowed the Foe onto this world has been cleansed,” he replied, picking me up with his free hand. I was in no condition to stand, and as gently as a killing machine could, he carried me around the corner, where an armored vehicle was pulling up. Unseen words flitted between him and the APC, until I could feel the vehicle’s commander conceded some point, and a hatch opened up at it’s rear. “The Lord Inquisitor says you are to be treated at the conclave’s medicae.”

I gave up the ghost and let go of reality in time to see Dorosa step into view, looking as pissed off as ever.

_-_-_-_-_

I stared in amazement at the glittering, golden halls of that seemed to stretch on for miles and miles. The air felt almost familiar, though it was heavy with the scent of incense and oils of Mechanicus rituals and consecration. I knew this could not be a vision of Mars, for there were no cogs on the walls, or anything that hinted at a culture other than devout imperial living. Everything was wonderful, and there wasn’t a skull to be found anywhere, holy artifact or no; I was a bit thankful for that, as imperial religious motifs were getting on my nerves. I took a step down the hall, and was shocked to find that I moved normally, without the augmented speed or strength I had received from wearing my armor. Indeed I was wearing normal clothing and shoes, all of human manufacture, things I hadn’t seen in the best part of a decade.

I continued down the way, keeping true, as every branching corridor was filled with the darkness of the unknown. Out of the corners of my vision, I saw men and women who faded from sight as my gaze drew too near; whatever these phantoms were, be it ghost readings from my waking self or fleeting visions of things to come, they did not make me feel uneasy. The infinite hallway seemed to be coming to a stop, as the ceiling rose into a great chamber; at the far end stood two massive Titan, guarding a gate that rose several dozen meters from a field of war banners. I kept walking, seeing the Titans unwilling to fire upon, or even move to acknowledge my presence.

As I neared the giant gates, I saw statues, eighteen in total, each a giant of a man in powerful armor. I knew their names, and I knew their faces, and these eighteen superhumans, demigods by all counts, were as familiar to me as they were to their sons. I stood before the Eternity Gate on Holy Terra, as it had been before the Horus Heresy, when eighteen legions fought for the betterment of mankind. If this was the Eternity Gate, then the Emperor’s sanctum lay just beyond those doors. I would much enjoy meeting him.

The angel standing between me and the gates seemed to have other ideas, however.

Author's Note

Miss me? I missed you.

To sleep, perchance to dream! - Battlecry of the Sleepless

-Amos’s POV-

I fumbled with my rosette as I waited in the conclave’s medicae; most of us had minor injuries, and even the worst needed only a few bones reset. Most of the kill team sat on the opposite end of the corridor, bandaged and bruised, but each of them was still alive. Captain Harkness of the Deathwatch had turned up at some point, and stood vigil next to me; like the others, even if he would not speak of it, he was there to see the Burned Man. It was strange to see a Space Marine outside his armor, but he seemed nearly approachable, were it not for his augmetic arm; he was devoid of visible weaponry, but Emperor knew what he concealed beneath his robes.

“Patient stabilized,” the vox unit above the door chimed as a handful of medics and their specialized servitors trudged from within. Most of the adepts wore masks or had been augmented in such a way that rendered them entirely anonymous, but I could see that, for whatever reason, the chief medicae in charge of this ward was still inside Taylor’s room. THe doors at the end of the hall swung open as Inquisitor Vail and Commissar Cain scurried in, followed as always by their oddly disgusting guardsman.

“I hope I’m not too early to see the big hero,” Vail said cheerily, lifting a package she carried in one hand; Crius had odd traditions, especially regarding the injured or ill. Gifts such as that were expected, something small and heartfelt to convey good feelings to help healing. “The Lord Inquisitor sends her regards.”

_-_-_-_-_

-Taylor’s POV-

I stared down the way at the angel, a towering giant of a man who hefted a sword the likes of which I had never seen in all my life; every rippling muscle that was visible to me, combined with the wings on his back, told me violence would likely not end well for me. Still, if this was the Eternity Gate, and the Emperor lay just behind the angel, then I had to try my best; perhaps, in the best of all possible worlds, I could do some good, something lasting. I looked to myself, and saw that I was unarmed, completely lacking a weapon or anything I could use as one, save perhaps chucking my shoe and hoping for the best. I had no weapons, no powers, no armor, and no backup; if I had to force my way past this angel, then I needed to be resourceful, careful.

I took a single step forward, and faster than I could blink, I had the razor-edge of the angel’s sword millimeters from my nose; I immediately stumbled back, and landed on my ass. I had to think of some way to avoid him; Sanguinius fought for days to hold off the Sons of Horus singlehandedly, so what might this angel be capable of? I looked up to study the giant’s features, though they were hidden behind a beautifully-shaped mask of gold, keeping even his eyes form my sight; the angel’s hair, like spun sunlight, had precious gems and diamond chains threaded through it. I had a lightbulb moment as I realized that he was blind, as the mask had no slits for the eyes, and if he had decorations in his hair, then I could hear him coming and hide so long as I used his blindness to my advantage.

I slipped my shoes off, hoping socked feet on stone would be quiet enough for my distraction to work. I tossed a shoe to the side, over the invisible line that the angel refused to let me cross, but only barely, as I hoped he would confuse it for a step. I darted past him as he seemingly teleported to where the shoe landed swinging his golden sword around as though attacking the wind. If this was truly a dream, then I would be entirely fine. Such thoughts of victory were silenced as a hammer the size of my torso slammed into my center of mass, sending me flying back across the border and into the area I was rapidly assuming had been designated my safe zone in some twisted game.

As I rolled onto my stomach and corrected my vision, I was made aware of two things. For one, that fucking hurt! If that injury hurt, then this was no dream or vision; I was truly within the warp, and this body was how I saw myself, or how the warp wished me to see myself. The second thing I realised was that now a golden knight had jointed the angel. I pulled the front of my shirt out, and that somehow fixed everything that hammer had fucked up; that blow could have - should have - killed me, shattered my soul, but it had not. They toyed with me, as I assumed they would, and that would prove to be their downfall.

I closed my eyes and breathed deep, thinking of myself as I knew I was; I was the Burned Man, warrior and peacemaker, creator and destroyer, weapon and wielder. I opened my eyes, and found myself unchanged, unable to see myself, or recreate myself, in my image.

I was trapped in the warp, and unable to see a way out.

-_-_-_-_-_

-Cain’s POV-

It was rather odd, seeing the mess of bandages and sutures that I had once thought of as a rogue psyker; the Burned Man, closer to a boy in my eyes as he looked surprisingly young for one who commanded the powers he did, was severely wounded, as the report Vail handed to me minutes before entering the medicae had said. A number of broken bones, coupled with crippling organ damage and a few genetic abnormalities that prevented any of the ready-made replacements from being transplanted in, had left the good doctors to use antiquated techniques to save his life.

“He looks like shit,” Lyra said to me, smiling like guardsman facing a firing squad. She was worried, mourning her commander; I had seen as much during my time with the Valhallans, especially when it came to my frequent brushes with death. As if in reply, the Burned Man coughed as machines that did Emperor-knows-what beeped and hissed; he started convulsing and swinging his limbs about like a man possessed. It took only a moment for me to remember that he was a psyker who only recently fought the Great Enemy, and was alone for much of that time.

A metal hand kept me from drawing my laspistol, and I looked to see Captain Harkness was its owner. “Dreams do not warrant execution, commissar. My Chapter’s Librarians teach as much when they accept knew neophytes into the librarium.” He jerked his head towards the seizing man. “Psykers dream; get used to it.”

“This is no dream,” Gilded Unity whispered as the machines calmed and the Burned Man’s limbs were restrained. She looked worried, herself only partially recovered from the shock of receiving so much psychic feedback before her master fell off the radar. “He’s… stuck, like he needs something that he can’t find. He will not wake without it.”

“Has he lost anything important lately?” Amos asked, looking to me as though I knew more than he did about his minion’s personal effects.

“Sergeant Cyrus recovered his sabre and took it to be reforged,” the Marine replied, letting go of my hand and he spoke. “It was meant to be a token of gratitude, taking an item off his list after he wakes.” He looked at the odd expressions painted our faces, and scowled a bit. “Even Deathwatch Marines need something to do after the fighting is done and we haven’t the time to train.”

_-_-_-_-_-_

Gilded Unity felt alien in her skin, as her pony nature threatened to break free. She silently cursed and willed her current form to remain, as she sat down in one of the visitor chairs; she left Dirge and the others to look after their leader as she caught her breath. She blinked back tears as her headache flared back to life. Her head swam, filling with fleeting images of herself wreathed in azure flames as she rained death upon orks, the same orks who put Taylor in such a state; the greenskins made acceptable targets, as Chaos had been defeated, pushed back into the world beyond.

She wanted to make them pay, to purge every spore their warband had seeded, to cleanse the system of their taint. She wanted the power to do so, she needed that power. She only wondered how she might go about getting it.

Nevermore - Corvus Corax, Primarch of the Raven Guard

-Taylor’s POV-

The Eternity Gate lay just a few feet in front of me, slightly opened so that I may step through. I weakly stretched a hand out in a futile attempt to close that distance as a blue Spartan brought a fist down and turned my torso into paste. Grunting, too weak to even scream in pain, I pulled myself a few centimeters forward, halting only as a shaman stabbed his spear through my chest, pinning me to the granite floor as a gorgon raised a hammer of its own. I had time to put the pieces together, to learn who these beings were, as the head came down on my skull.

My entire existence ended, as far as I could tell.

_-_-_-_-_

Screens monitoring brain waves and vital functions fizzled out or exploded as warp-energy rendered them worthless, destroying a small fortune in equipment as a psychic scream echoed throughout the medicae. Gilded Unity was struck blind and deaf as her mind fled deep within her realm of thought to protect itself from the pain while exposing her deepest character to the maleficent energies that fried her senses. Around her, men silently shouted and screamed for aid as she was carried from the smoking ruins of her leader’s life-support systems. The terrible lack of sensation slowly faded as her mind returned.

A great puzzlebox, the very same her old mentor asked her to solve during the first years of her training, floated before her blind eyes. She saw without sight every feature on it, down to the mechanisms that held it shut. Like a practised professional, she solved the three-dimensional riddle as quickly as she could breathe. The latch opened and sucked her in, as it often did in these visions of the future. Like always, she stood in a great gallery, woven by the threads of fate that she knew existed. She was at the very end, and saw the Burned Man’s thread, once so bright and energetic, now dull and rapidly fraying.

The thread, the lifeline that held his soul to his physical body, snapped.

-Amos’s POV-

I could scarcely believe what I was seeing, looking down on the what was left of Taylor. Heart rate, respiration, and the like were entirely normal, so the doctors said. Brain activity, however, was gone. He was, essentially, dead, and only by the Emperor’s grace were those machines even running after sustaining all that damage. Whatever soul he had was probably long gone, leaving a body of flesh that would not rot until it was likewise destroyed.

“His report to the Emperor may yet be delayed,” Cain mumbled, looking at the hanging wires and tubing that fed him new, crimson blood while filtering his black, unnatural blood out. Only by his use of a blank were any of the non-psykers spared the worst of the scream, but even as Unity rested in a chair, oblivious to her surroundings, we could only watch as the medics redid everything in order to save Taylor’s life.

“I’m surprised you care so much, commissar,” I replied, biting back as much anger as I could. While Vail had the tact to hide her disgust for the psyker, Cain never even called him by anything other than the Burned Man; it was disrespectful, especially to one who may die after doing his damnedest to save an Imperial world. “The man goes and nearly dies, and you finally develop a little concern about his life?”

“Ciaphas merely meant the very best,” Vail tried to assure me, failing miserably as my own cynicism filtered her words and colored them into something condescending to my status as a newly-made inquisitor. “He really, truly hopes Taylor pulls through. Lord Inquisitor Dorosa even cares, hence the gift she wanted me to bring him.” To finish her point, she opened the package, and held out a certificate making the Burned Man a fully sanctioned psyker, licensed to ply his trade under any Imperial Guard regiment or inquisitor who would have him. It was quite the gift, and Dorosa likely had to pull some strings to get it done.

-Taylor’s POV-

Strangely, death was not what I thought it was; in fact, as I rose to my feet, I was shocked at my surroundings. As far as my eyes could see, now free of any irregularities and rendered what most people considered perfect, stretched a field of green grass the like of which I saw only on Earth. The sunlight wasn’t too intense to hurt my skin, and the breeze was a calming temperature that could only be the most pleasantly-calm wind I had ever felt. I stepped forward, amazed at how easily it came, as though I had never been injured in my life. This place was too nice to be real, too wonderful in such a grim universe, a bright star in the darkness that would be snuffed out soon enough.

For a while, I wandered the rolling hills, never tiring of the serenity as I jumped over small creeks and gazed at distant mountains that seemed so close, but their scale only forced such an impression and they truly stood miles upon miles away. Eventually, after what felt like hours, I came across a small hamlet; there were a few quaint buildings, thatch-roofed and wood-walled, but there seemed to be every need of a town of a few hundred. Oddly enough, they were all ponies, milling about as though they did not see me, or at least paid me no mind as I stumbled into their lives.

I made my way to the village’s center, a large square full of tables and chairs, as though prepared for a town gathering that was only few hours away. A few ponies grouped together there, eating and generally talking about nothing. I had no idea who any of them were, and that suited me just fine; I took a seat at an unoccupied table without a word, hoping somepony would happen along and tell me wherever the hell I was. I ran a hand through my hair and sighed as I saw the sun slowly edge to the horizon; I could wait for a very, very long time.

Day turned to evening and evening turned to night as I waited for somepony to notice how out of place I was, but they did not. I seemed, as odd as it was, to blend in perfectly with the odd township. Nightlife in the village was a bit dead, as ponies milled about in the streets or the local tavern; I remained seated throughout this all. A bottle seemed to appear on my table as a passing stallion in waiter’s clothes walked by; the label said it was from Sweet Apple Acres, and was a nice, hard cider. Naturally, I sipped on it just enough to keep my nerves mellow while I looked around for someone to catch my eyes.

“Buy a mare a drink?” asked a familiar voice. I whipped my head to the side and nearly jumped back at what I saw. Sitting next to me, untouched by rain or mud or cold or blood or manticore scars, was Trixie Lulamoon, the first friend I made in Equestria.

“Trix,” I mumbled, looking to my drink while I pondered the thought of it being spiked. I shook my head to dismiss the idea as everything else was so normal-ish; no drug had such a specific effect, at least nothing that could be synthesized and produced in any usable quantities. “How is any of this even possible.”

She looked a bit sad, like she was biting back some of her emotions, but swallowed a lump in her throat and coughed. She looked into my eyes and spoke calmly and clearly. “Taylor, I’m not sure how to tell you this, but you’re dead.”

I apologize for what I'm about to do - Ahzek Ahriman

Steel Tart shouted at the top of her lungs as the Leman Russ fired its cannon into the ork horde charging their line. Unlike the others who were so content to sit pretty and wait for the enemy to come to them, so she joined with Crius’s PDF to fight in the chemical wastes at her first chance. She lifted the lasgun she’d lifted from a fallen trooper and sprayed into the green tide, stepping forward with each lasbolt as the soldiers around her matched her battlecry. As soon as the first ork was within thirty meters, she threw her gun down and ran at it, slashing out with her powerswords as closed into melee range. This was how she wanted to spend this turbulent time without a leader, this was how she’d make her mark on this universe, this was her revenge against Chaos, punishment she sadly could not mete out to the disgusting freaks who deserved it.

She hacked an ork’s head off with one swing, pirouetting into her next step as she followed through, catching a second greenskin in its gut. For her, battle was a sport, the simplest expression of true competition; she joined the Inquisition to fight minotaurs, and now she fought monsters from beyond the stars themselves. For that, she owed the Burned Man greatly, and for that, each drop of ork blood she spilled alongside Crius’ PDF was spilled in the hopes he would find himself and join her in this glorious bout.

_-_-_-_

Solemn Dirge hefted his rocket launcher with practiced ease, staring down its optics at the ramshackle vehicles that chugged over the chemical wastes. From behind his mask, he was immune to the caustic dust that ate away at softer tissues like the eyes and nose; as he locked onto a wagon, he smiled as he pulled his trigger. The missile was his own design, a mass-reactive warhead with it’s payload inside a reinforced glass cylinder. Upon impact, the charge exploded, spraying shrapnel and and a rather nasty biological agent in a small radius, but when used against vehicles, it most certainly pulled its own weight. Dirge’s smile widened as he saw his creation zip into the enclosed cab; sadly, he did not see the blast.

A trio of orks stumbled out, shouting in their crude language as they batted burning water from their skin. The shouts turned almost fearful as the agent took effect, turning their hides and muscle into sludge; death for such a large, durable creature took minutes, but even the toughest of targets were unable to fight after thirty or so seconds of direct exposure. Solemn Dirge turned his gaze onto another ork vehicle and loaded his next shot. It was a good day.

-_-_-_-_-

Radiant Velvet grinded her teeth as the cat-o-nine-tails slammed across her back. She was the only one back in her true form, aboard the Skyward Valkyrie where inquisitive eyes would not find her, and each strike of the whip landed against her wings or already-sensitized back. Even as her skin split and blood ran dark trails down her fur to the floor, the punishment was not meant to injure her permanently, for she did not mourn like her comrades. Each strike was asked for, her way of taking some of the blame onto herself, not for her slain master, but for a failed mission. The entire operation had not resembled the flawless planning the Inquisition was known for, feared for, and yet their execution had been nothing but one flaw after another.

She subjected herself to the masterful work of an interrogator, uncaring for the lasting scars she would surely have if it meant teaching her mind and body a lesson. Her frogs had been slit, her wing membranes perforated, her ear pinned back, and her mind probed and prodded until she could barely form a rational thought, all as she was whipped and beaten for her failings.

-Taylor’s POV-

I was dead. I let that sink in for a minute while I sipped on the cider, not quite sure if I really was dead, or if this was all some spawn of the warp and an attempt to corrupt me. If Chaos wore Trixie’s face, that was a low blow, but not entirely out of the question. I blinked back a few tears as I pondered the full ramifications of death, that Chrysalis was now a widow and Scipia would be without a father. My mind, for all the augmentation the Deceiver’s armor had granted me, was returned to normal, and seemed sluggish in comparison; it took me a while to realize it was the weight of emotion in my thoughts instead of them being separated by a machine. I did not care for it, honestly.

“I’d say to take a deep breath, but…” Trixie said, smiling at her macabre joke. She was like in life, and now in death it seemed to remain that she would lighten the mood. “Listen to me, seeing my old friend for the first time in who knows how long, and I’m cracking gallows humor.”

“It’s really been too long, Trix, way too long,” I replied, managing a small, sad smile. “Hell, you should see Scipia these days, running around with her friends and getting into trouble.”

“I’ll bet,” she mumbled, her mouth occupied by a mug of some beverage; I didn't question where it came from. I myself had nothing to drink, for I was not thirsty; I did not like this place very much for it did not fit what I had thought of the afterlife. I expected more, I dunno, gold or something, not a rustic town full of nonhumans. “You seem occupied.”

“I’m trying to figure out if this is all real or some warp-spawned illusion,” I confessed. It all seemed too perfect, too nice, for it to be an afterlife I deserved.

“You’ve always been paranoid,” Trixie conceded, sitting her mug down as she gave me a quizzical look. There were a lot of things most people did not know about the unicorn and I, one of them being that we trusted each other a bit more than was probably wise. If there was deception, this as the way to go about it. “You’re planning something, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” I replied, letting my mind flow freely. I had been imprisoned in the warp before, and even if I was dead, this place was still somewhere beyond the veil; I lacked my powers because I believed I had no powers. Like flipping a switch, everything changed and I could see how the fabric of what I had previously believed to be the reality rippled under my gaze. The entities that inhabited it, Trixie included, remained unchanged even as I melted away the scenery until I saw the swirling, impossible geometry that was the immaterium. “If I’m right, there’s a lot of heresy going on on Crius, so I’m needed in reality.”

“You’re going to resurrect yourself? That sounds insane.”

“Of course it’s insane, who the hell do you think I am?” I asked, stepping onto a magenta swirl that slowly whisked me away. Trixie scrambled up to follow me, quick on my heels as we traveled further and further from the point I assumed to be our last location. It was hard to tell with the warp, as everything was an idea rather than concrete fact that we assumed our world to be.

“So, uh, where is this gonna take us?” she asked, looking over the edge at our perception of down. Like me, she was new to warp-travel, but unlike me, she didn’t know that souls that expressed emotion were ringing a dinner bell for everything around. Luckily, Now that I had my powers back, only certain monsters would make meal of us.

“Well, Trix, if we’re both here in the warp, unharmed by daemons, someone or something has arranged it.” I looked forward to the looming shadow in the distance and felt a chill run down my spine. It was not a chaos god, otherwise we wouldn’t be anywhere near it, so it was still something powerful. “So, we’re going to march right up there and make him put me back in my body.”

“And he’ll probably kill us?”

“Oh, fuck yeah, but it’ll be fun.”

The Dawn of Time Breaks/See the Sun Rise to The Sky/ The Wheel of Time Begins to Turn

Taylor---

We wandered for what felt like years, completely unaware of anything around us aside from what may have been our objective. Being dead was rather enlightening, I suppose. I stood there, in the bowels of the Great Unknowable, standing next to Trixie as we hovered towards our fate. Even now, I don’t know if she was a figment of my imagination conjured up to keep my grip on reality, to remind me of my duty, to keep me in the fight, or if she was conjured by the Warp, and was meant to distract me, force me to lose myself in the endless labyrinth of emotion that was the world beyond our own.

Please, forgive me for waxing philosophical; I get this way whenever I think or talk about Trixie. The two of us have… history, if you haven’t already read about it, and plenty of our history isn’t recorded on any official documents.

“I’ve no earthly idea what we may face ahead, Lulamoon,” I said as the ghostly swirls and ripples of thought coalesced around us into a nicely tiled floor and lavishly decorated walls. Each tile was triangular, and each triangle was made of three right angles and yet lay completely flat on the floor. The walls were decorated in Renaissance era artworks I hardly recognised, distorted and changed as my memories faded and concepts of beauty shifted.

“Nor do I, Taylor,” she agreed, stepping closer to my side as we walked; I missed this feeling of closeness, this companionship. Trixie was very dear to me in life, and with me in death, and some damnable part of me wished this never had to end. I had a wife and child and oaths sworn under the view of the highest courts of every nation of Equus and I would have forsaken them all if it meant having her back in the living world. It took every fiber of my being to remember that her memory was with me always, and always would she remain.

At some point in our journey, we shifted to walk along one of the walls, and then onto the ceiling, and the floor once more as we came before a great set of stone doors. Each door was carved in exquisite details, depicting battles and worlds won, enemies of mankind slain, and corruption cleansed. Trixie and I shared a look as only comrades can, and we pushed with all our might to break this seal; through either strength or anger, the stone crumbled beneath us, and we tumbled into a large, open space, circular as a colosseum, about one hundred meters wide and ten meters deep. At once, Trixie and I were stood in the center, under the watchful gaze of those gathered in the seats overlooking the arena.

A wolf, a knight, a centurion, a hydra, a paladin, a dragon, a raven, and a nomad stood to our left, meeting both our gaze even as eight more loomed over our right side. The grim visages of a slave, a wizard, a lion, a builder, a painter, a bat, a priest, and death itself made themselves known. Directly ahead of us was the angel of my visions, and directly behind us was the void of eternity.

“We, who are about to die, salute you, Caesar,” I chuckled, feeling the weight of the world crashing down on me.

“I have no idea what you’re referencing,” Trixie grumbled, turning her head from side to side as she pondered our situation.

“Then let’s not waste time explaining.” I stepped forward and threw my arms out. “What do you want?” I shouted at the top of my lungs, filled with the righteous fury I’d felt so often in my life. “To torment me? To keep me from those who need me?” I spun around, glaring at each statue that dare stand above me but feel so cocksure as to ignore me. “Show yourselves, you bastards!”

I waited, and waited, and not an answer was spoken, but my challenge was not unheard. The ground trembled, and another door rose from the red sand beneath us. A hulking man clad in only a pair of roughspun trousers and the large sword in his hands stepped through.

I fucking hate brawls like these.

I dove to the right as he swung at me, rolling as I hit the ground and strafing to get behind him. I swung a punch, as hard as I could, and clocked him in the side of the head. It didn’t do much.

Amos---

It took three days for us to receive any sign that Taylor could recover, for the barest blip to appear on his brainscan. The Imperial Guard had been hard at work fighting the greenskins, supplemented by the Equestrian Inquisition operating in human disguise, and the battles were going well. The saber was successfully reforged, with a new power cell and all, but it stood against the bed The Burned Man lay in, a mere decoration for all the good it did for its wielder.

But, I saw the monitor move, I heard the beep, and I knew I wasn’t fooling myself. Taylor was going to live, and he just needed a reason to pull through. It wasn't five minutes later the monitors flooded back to full life, with brainscans reading higher than they could have been expected of any normal human. I ran into the hall to call the medicae.

Taylor grunted behind me as I leaned halfway out the door, struggling against his restraints hard enough to shake every instrument connected to him. He flinched and cried out, and at once I was reminded he was so much younger than myself, barely more than a boy; it was not a cry of pain one expected of a man, the voice was breaking like a teenager’s and I could see tears rolling down from under the bandages covering his eyes. He was was mumbling something in his language, and I was thankful I could not understand.

The medics arrived shortly and administered a sedative to calm him in hopes he would become lucid, but to no avail.

Taylor---

This swordsman was skilled enough to hold both Trixie and I off, and fast enough attack with his blade before I could use my fists. It was by sheer luck Trixie managed to separate his weapon from his hand, and perverse luck that allowed him to pin me against the coarse, crimson sand.

“Blast him!” I choked out even as hands crushed my windpipe.

“I can’t!” came the reply as she lit her horn up, only for her magic to simply bounce off our enemy’s hide. She screamed and slammed into his side without effect, stumbling back as though she’d struck a brick wall.

I tried to punch and kick and struggle and everything else I could, but my vision was growing dark, and I idly wondered what happened if I died while dead. Desperate, I grabbed at the sand to find something, anything, to help. A rock, a piece of metal, a handful of the sand itself to throw in his eyes, anything at all! I grabbed a hard, cylindrical stone and swung it into his gut.

I was never more elated to see the burning blade of my powersaber rend through flesh like white-hot knife through melted butter.

Author's Note

I've been drinking! And that's why this exists!

North Korea Sits on an Estimated $6,000,000,000,000 in Rare Metals and Minerals

More xenos piled out of chariots, which were pulled by winged members of their species. Was this some sort of slavery, or were they volunteers? One of the aliens wore a coat and hood that was obviously styled after Skully's armor, and I only say it was obvious because I doubt the man would paint armor like that to match some alien. So, if the psyker and the new xenos wore matching attire, perhaps even a uniform, did that make the new aliens member of the so-called Equestrian Inquisition? Void-black body coverings and ivory headgear seemed to be the the standard for them, if that was the case.

The first one out of the chariots was iron-grey and had a snout that was squarer than any xenos we had seen before. I'm not sure why I noticed something so small and insignificant, but I was starting to put the pieces of how this new species worked. The new xeno-inquisitor knelt as it reached us, probably honoring Skully, before speaking. Unlike the other quadrupeds, this one's voice was deeper, closer to a human male. It was then I made my first, possibly incorrect, statement about their genders. The psyker must have ordered the new male to rise, and he was obeyed.

Immediately, the newcomer knelt before the winged and horned purple xenos, kissing her forefoot. The female, and please remember that I was guessing sex here, retracted it with a look of what I can only guess was politely-concealed disgust.

Alright, pick a chariot; Twilight and I will take a separate one. Twilight must have been the female alien. However, this would not do; the strider was my baby, and I'd be damned if some aliens were going to touch it. Amos, I believe you have me confused with someone who gives a shit.

“I hate that you can do that.” He knew that already, but I still felt the need to tell him aloud. Dahl and Oleg looked at me strangely, but they also understood my feelings. Skully wasn't exactly a nice guy, but he was polite enough to be rude. “That is my ship, and one of your xenos might damage it.”

Rest assured that my men will treat your vessel with as much respect as possible.

$%$%$%$%$%$%

“Discord's on vacation in the Mild West right now, right?” Taylor had a very good reason for choosing a separate chariot: discussing the only chaotic being allowed to live. He may have been able to sense any attempt made by Dahl to read his mind, but the purple alicorn next to him wasn't. The Inquisition's prospects also provided aid by blocking signals with their own magic, helped along by their placement between the two chariots.

“For the foreseeable future, yes.” Twilight understood the necessity of keeping Discord as far from the Imperials as possible. Their Chaos may be confused with the draconequus's personal brand, which would result in unneeded deaths. “Though, it isn't Discord I'm worried about.”

“Their xenophobia? Trust me, I'll brief everyone when we arrive at the palace.” The Burned Man replaced his mask, though whether it was to combat the wind or utilize his armor's advanced communications or surveillance equipment, Twilight did not know. Almost immediately, the man's head twitched upwards, as though locking onto some distant object. The alicorn guessed he had found the captives' friends, though they must have been hanging back for the time being. If Inquisitor Dahl died, their mission was over and Ophidia would escape their grasp.

“I just figured, you know, they might not take too kindly to you and Chrysalis.” For all her power, Twilight Sparkle did her best to look after her friends, and she counted the psychic and changeling amongst them. When she first met him, the then-unicorn had almost despised him, a hatred which was helped along by Jay's lies of an assassination attempt. The months following it, and when he saved Cadence and her from Chrysalis during the First Battle for Canterlot, she had grown to trust him completely, and could read the semi-stoic like a book. The mirthless laugh Taylor chuckled only pointed to promised pain and death.

“Twilight, if they even think of harming my family, the Despoiler will be the very least of their worries.”

$%$%$%$%$%$%

“That is... odd.” Alexander peered through one of the small vessel's ports, totally enraptured by the three carriages flying with the strider in tow. The small xenos, which were oddly colorful even at this distance, seemed too weak to pull the carriages through the sky, yet their tiny wings allowed this. “Martellus, is the ship behaving abnormally?”

“Not at all,” The Magos Explorator replied, unsure of what the savant meant. Systems were optimal, gravity was well within acceptable ranges, and the wind seemed to aid in the ship's flight. The only thing the cyborg could even think of was the strange aliens, but he was withholding judgment until his input was needed. “Everything is acceptable. Have we any word from Dahl?”

“I'm hailing him as we speak.” Sister Delphine was to the point, not liking the flight, and enjoying the prospect of allying with xenos even less. The ship's vox-speakers crackled to life as a link was established. “My lord, go ahead.”

++Hold your fire, we are brokering a deal to capture or kill Ophidia++ The trio had been informed of the psyker captured the shore party. With such a man present, there was no need to use a coded language, though that hadn't prevented the inquisitor from using it earlier. Things would not be easy, but cooperation would be temporary and hardly last a moment after the heretic was burned. ++Address the psyker as Skully until proper communication can be established.++

$%$%$%$%$%$%

“What do you think we'll find in their capital?” I asked, my eyes stuck on the mountain in the distance. There was a palace built into its side, as well as what must have been a small city sprawling beneath it, also erected in the rock wall. The city must have been mostly vertical, much like a hive. That would make combat difficult if Chaos took root within, but Skully may have had experience in urban warfare if he had the planet Inquisition wearing uniforms modeled after his armor.

“More xenos, most likely.” Oleg had a penchant for sarcastic humor, a fact which I usually found just as grating as Dahl. He was right, though, as much as I hate to admit it. The unknown world was most likely packed with the colorful xenos, and possibly other humans. “Wonder what their leader looks like, with all these psykers under his command.”

“I have a feeling we will find out soon enough, Oleg.” The boss said, nervous in a way only those who knew him would notice. Inquisitor Dahl didn't like parting ways with his master's power sword, and I couldn't blame him for it. “Though, I can't help but wonder why Skully is taking us to this planet's leader. Does the so-called Equestrian Inquisition maintain its headquarters there?”

“I wouldn't look into it too much, boss; Emperor knows this place doesn't exactly abide by the universe's normal rules.” I only spoke the truth. The system was geocentric, and the planet was perfect for human settlement, down to the smallest trace elements in its atmosphere. I was putting two and two together and getting five, which was not good in my experience with the forces of Chaos. But, I've met many servants of the Dark Gods, felt the taint upon the worlds it touched, and nothing on this planet hinted at it. “Worst case scenario, we retreat to the Skyward Valkyrie and hail the Navy for reinforcements, then bombard this rock until we see the core.”

“Yes, and possibly lose Ophidia's trail.” I really hated when Dahl pointed out the obvious. Ophidia, as you know, was the slipperiest sonofabitch to ever live. Unless we had a body, which Exterminatus would not leave, we could not confirm his death. You know this is not some arbitrary rule passed down by the Inquisition; it is merely a precaution when dealing with the Ruinous Powers. “I am more interested in those insect-xenos we saw.”

“What about them? They seemed normal enough, all things considered.” I was still standing by my earlier assumptions that the two were merely Skully's friends, or perhaps a friend and its offspring. I saw a look flash in my boss's eyes, a look I had only seen once or twice.

“Yes, but he was perhaps a little too friendly with the smaller one, and his eyes seemed to linger on the larger.” This was bad, very bad. Being a rouge psyker was redeemable, Skully could always submit to a ride to Holy Terra on an Inquisitorial Black Ship, but xenophilia was... I don't even fucking know how to classify that. Everything else he could be forgiven for, but that, by the Throne, went too far. “Skully may be free of the taint of Chaos, but he still has crimes he must answer for.”

$%$%$%$%$%$%

Princess, we're coming in hot.

Celestia perked up in her throne, ears twitching. That was Taylor's mental voice, yes, and the message seemed urgent. The alabaster alicorn motioned for one of her guards to approach. The stallion dutifully knelt when he reached his princess, faithful as the day he first joined. “Steel Rain, would you be so kind as to deliver a message for me?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” This was the sort of the the princess's guards existed for, because the immortals certainly needed no protection from thing the stallions could defeat. Being a glorified messenger was a very cushy job, all things considered, but it could easily get exciting.

“Please inform the Secretary of the Inquisition that my guests will be arriving soon.”

Author's Note

Well, here comes your first poll.
Who is the Inquisitorial Secretary?
It can be any pony, barring Lyra, Bon-Bon, Trixie, Chrysalis, and any of the Elements of Harmony.
Otherwise, have fun, and please back up your answers.

In 2012 Hasbro received a 1.6 million dollar tax credit from the state of Rhode Island with a promise to create 245 new jobs in the state. Instead they laid off more than 125 workers.

$%$%$% Taylor's POV $%$%$%

I carried Jacques over my shoulder, and helped Amos hobble down the tunnel. He had Delphine's bolt pistol in hand, ready to shoot anything that made the mistake of jumping out at us. Every second I wasn't fighting, my body was winding down, cutting off my adrenaline, and making sure I felt every injury I sustained.

“How you holding up, Ripper?” I kept my voice even so I wouldn't worry the guy. He didn't take a killing blow for me just to hear me bitch about a few cuts. Still, I think he knew I was pretty messed up by how shallow I had to breathe.

“My paws hurt,” He said simply, laughing a bit in an attempt to calm my frayed nerves. I laughed too, which immediately devolved into a coughing fit as the pain hit me again. Amos, honestly, probably got the better end of the deal; his leg would heal, especially once we were in Equestria again. My armor was healing as it always did, but it could do nothing for me, my mask's vision was fully restored, if a little fuzzy in places, but that would fix itself soon enough.

“How about you, Amos; how are you feeling?” He looked at me for a moment, like he was hurt on more than a physical level. I knew Dahl had saved his life and earned his loyalty, and I knew the pain of betrayal, but that was a look of agony worse than my shattered ribs. I knew that look, and I didn't like it one bit. Amos acted angry, and on some level I'm sure he was, but there was more pain than any tangible hatred.

“Like there's a big-ass hole in my leg.” He had a fair point; big-ass leg holes didn’t feel pleasant by any stretch. He shot me a pained grin, like he was laughing at his own injuries. “I still look better than you, boss.”

“Boss?” That was a little unexpected, but so was the Ripper's allegiance. I suppose I had a knack for making strange alliances, and I guess it translated to the xenophobic Imperium.

“Dahl's lost the privilege of me calling him that, and you just wasted a Chaos Marine, so I figured you deserved it.” We rounded a corner as he finished saying that, and say a pair of brown bodies laying in the dirt, next to the corpse of a man. There were dead changelings around them, about six to be precise, all hacked to bits. These were fresh, and it only took a minute for Amos to recognize them for what they were. “Guess your changelings took care of the genestealers for us.”

“Taylor!” Chrysalis yelled from up the hall, catching sight of the mangled pile of wannabe badasses we were. She ran up us, not bothering to hide her worry for me. She resisted the urge to hug me, seeing I was beaten to a pulp that was only held together by a suit of armor. Chorion ran up after her, beads of green blood trickling down her head. “What happened?!”

“We ran into a spot of trouble, ma'am.” Jacques had a way of understating things that I never quite understood; saying we ran into a spot of trouble was like calling a hurricane a bit of dreary weather. Which, by the way, I knew for a fact he'd done before, because he said that to me with a straight face once.

“Ophidia had a Chaos Space Marine with him,” I elaborated, knowing it would be enough for her to understand the gravity of the situation. My wife may not have known how dangerous things were, but she wasn't stupid. “I need you to take these two to the Elements. After that, make sure the girls are ready for Celestia's experiment.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Chorion asked, lifting a hoof as she spoke. That was her tell, my way to knowing how she felt about something. Raising a hoof meant she was nervous, but willing to go along with something. It was kind of specific. She was one of the few changelings who didn't give me dirty looks before Chrysalis became the Grand Matron, so I was a little more willing to listen to her. “Perhaps I could send some changelings with you?”

“Yeah, support would be appreciated.” I gently put the Ripper on Chorion's back, and Chrysalis steadied Amos. I bit back a groan as the dent in my chest popped out, forcing pressure off my ribs. They felt it thought, the ripple through the changeling hive mind; they knew I was falling apart at the seams.

“We can call reinforcements from Canterlot for you; you don't have to do this.” Chrysalis was pleading with me at that point, even if she wasn't actually begging. I wasn't actively tapping into the hive mind, but I could feel her worrying over me. It hurt worse than my injuries, especially when I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

“Amos can't fly like this, and Ophidia probably has the strider blocked off. I need to hit hard, and hit fast, and I already have Jay up there, ready to go.” Chrysalis and I shared a look, the same look she'd given me the morning I left for Canterlot to be shipped out to stop a war from erupting.

“I'm coming with you.” She had said exactly those words six years ago, and I brought up the only argument I had that wasn't born of a personal fear of losing her. Chrysalis could handle raising our daughter alone, because she would have more help than she could ever need. The princesses would over any expense, and the Elements all adored Scipia, so finding a helping hoof wouldn't be an issue.

“Absolutely not.” Chrysalis and I were equals, plain and simple, but there were some things she needed to understand were no good arguing over. This was more than me worrying about her safety, because I knew she could handle herself at a range better than I could. “Scipia needs her mother, Chrissy.”

“And what do I tell her if you don't come home?”

“What will Luna tell her if neither of us do?” In many ways, Scipia was the reason Chrysalis and I hadn't just become mercenaries, not that we were complaining. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Chorion backing up a little, and six colorful heads poking from behind a corner. She looked over as well.

“We'll talk later.”

$%$%$% Amos's POV $%$%$%

I didn't understand a damned word those two said to each other, but it seemed they were arguing over something. Chrysalis and Taylor were, as I understood, married, so I suppose fights aren't unusual, but this seemed serious. Either way, he ran up the stairs into the palace, much to my confusion.

“Are you alright, Chrysalis?” I asked, knowing she could understand me. Her Low Gothic wasn't perfect, but with so many planetary dialects, no one's was. I smiled at he as best I could, but she seemed about as hurt as I was.

“Yes, just a little tired.” She was lying, but I suppose she didn't need my help with this. The other queen, who I assumed to be Chorion, put a hoof on her shoulder as soon as she was able. The other ponies, including Twilight, crowded around her for something akin to a hug. She seemed a bit, I don't know, out of it.

“Is this because Taylor's an asshole?” She looked at me, and kind of laughed. Whether that meant she agreed, or just found my bluntness amusing, I had no idea. It may have been a little of both. As weird as it was, I actually didn't like seeing Chrysalis sad like that, but I suppose it could be because she was the first alien to never look at me strangely just because I was human. She was bit like one of the Kroot mercs Dahl hired, pretty chilled out and friendly, but not overly so.

“Yeah, and he needs to learn to quit while he's ahead.”

I'm not sure why I made this (Smile Smile Smile edit)

They call me the Burned Man (Mercy!)
And I am here to say (AAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH)
I'm gonna make you bleed and purge this fucking battlefield
It doesn't matter now (Retreat!)
If you are Ork or Tau (WAAAGH!!!)
'Cause clearing out the Milky Way's what Taylor's here to do

Cause I love to make you scream scream scream
Yes I do!
It fills my soul with hatred all the while
Yes it does
'Cause all I really need's some blood, blood, blood!
From these traitorous Guardsmen

I like to see you die (Open fire!)
I love to see you bleed (Close in!)
The corners of your mouth sliced up is always Taylor's dream (Come here!)
But if you're kind of worried
And see me skulking around town
I'll work real hard and do my best to hang your body upside down

'Cause I love to make you die, die, die!
Yes, I do!
Toss it out, from frag to krak, just pull the pin
And all the while, I'll grin, grin, grin
As I fill you with dark fear

It's true some nights are bright and noisy
And maybe you feel scared
But Taylor's here to show you that death isn't that bad
There's two things that make me smile and make my time here worthwhile
And one's when I talk to my boys and we make you die!

I really am so happy
Your cries fill me with glee
I give wound, I get a wound
And they're so special to me

'Cause I'm gonna make you see, see, see!
Yes I will!
Tell me what more I can say
To make you see
That I know
You are rotten from the inside out, out, out
The Bell of Souls will ring anew!

Come on everybody! Kill, kill, kill!
Cover the ground with fresh blood and casings
All I really need's some fight, fight, fight!
To clear away my sins!

Yes! Atonement for me! (Come on everybody! Shoot, shoot, shoot)
Is within the Eye of Terror! (Get behind that cover, cover)
I'll set all of our souls free! (All I really need's to fight, fight, fight! Spill the blood of these men)

Charge, charge, charge, charge charge!

Come on and kill!
Come on and kill!