//------------------------------// // Chapter 3 // Story: Friendship is Sanctioned // by thirdstring_overlord //------------------------------// FRIENDSHIP IS SANCTIONED by Blue Legend/Thirdstring Overlord ----- CHAPTER THREE New Exathel 1349 hours If there ever was a room that exemplified Exathelite practicality, it was the command center.  It had been set up in only hours, and it looked like the part.  Its lighting was provided by the flat glow of lumen-strips, and its plasteel walls bore no decorations.  A vid-monitor bank had been hastily mounted in the corner, and it was here that Lilith was in the process of getting a severe case of eyestrain.   “Units 24 through 28 were able to identify their targets undetected. Unit 29 identified two at once, but the locals captured it,” Lilith said.  Michael sat next to her, examining a tactical map. “I'm sure they’ll be merciless,” Dante said, sifting through the picts taken by the skull drones. “Is this one trying to feed it a cupcake?” No one laughed. “I know it's difficult to take them seriously,” Ishmael admitted. “However, I have seen them in my visions. I have reason to believe they will play an important part in things to come.” “Oh? Please enlighten me, kulnane,” Dante said, enjoying the way Ishmael subtly winced at the word. It never hurt to remind the Navigator of his continued status as a kulnane, a man with no Exathelite blood. “There isn't much more to say, my Steward. But only a fool expects certainty when gazing into the Warp,” Ishmael said, pacing across the room. His staff clacked a hypnotic rhythm against the floor, and Dante could almost feel the terrible gaze of the third eye hidden under his golden headpiece. “One must sort through countless pathways into the future. Some pathways are true, and others are illusions. However, the path these creatures occupy is growing in prominence. The same goes for the possibility of an Imperial invasion.” “You sound like a spook-crazed warp-dabbler,” Dante scoffed. “Michael has already seen to it to revisit the invasion response plan. But now you want him to take these creatures into account?” This time, it was Michael who bristled. “Do not be so quick to dismiss his words. I am not nearly as gifted, but I have seen the visions, as well.” Dante was taken aback. “You must be joking.” “All I ask,” Ishmael said, “is that you keep an open mind. The path will become clearer as time marches on.” Dante looked to Lilith for support, but was met with the same expectant stare given to him by Michael and Ishmael. His pride faltering, Dante conceded. “I will take your advice into consideration.” Silas Mercator opened eyes that he had lost twenty years ago and gasped. The Astropath knew he was dreaming, but that did nothing to dampen his amazement. He was lying outside a circle of alabaster pillars. They seemed infinitely tall, stretching off into the majestic purple night. This is more than a dream, he reflected as he walked into the circle. This is a vision. He looked up and saw that the pillars framed a strange constellation in the shape of a winged unicorn. Chaotic stars swam around it, trying to break the pattern, but they were could never get through the pillars. However, the stars seemed to be growing more and more aggressive, and cracks were starting to form in the pillars. How much longer would they last? As alien as the constellation was, he realized that he dreaded the prospect of it being broken. The more he looked at it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like... Gazing outside the circle, he noticed another constellation. It resembled the classic Imperial double-headed eagle, so bright and perfectly formed it took the breath away from him.  Unconsciously, he made the sign of the Aquila over his breast. Dread washed over him as he realized it was in danger, too; its stars were slowly but inexorably drifting apart.   Do you wish to help me, Silas? Tears came to his eyes as he heard the fading strength in the voice, and he fell to his knees.   “My Emperor...” he choked. “I am not worthy...”  He had felt the Emperor’s divine presence before, when he had undergone the ritual of soul-binding.  But this time there was no pain; only an astonishing sense of having finally found a true purpose to his life. Now he shared a bond with a long line of saints and martyrs, and he felt their spirits place their hopes on the simple messenger before them. It was as though the galaxy had ceased turning, and each second seemed eternal. It was both terrifying and wondrous, and he feared his mind would be crushed by the sheer weight of the Emperor's power. Listen, my child. The final battle against Chaos is drawing near. I am gathering every ally I can find. Knowledge flooded into Silas's mind.  He was made to realize what the true nature of the pillars were, and what they protected.  He saw the past, present, and future of an alien world, and thousands of years flashed before his eyes.  The cascade seemed endless, and Silas feared that he would drown in its sheer volume.   As quickly as it began, the transfer of information ceased.   It had been mind-bending beyond all belief, but now he felt better than he had in decades.  He was still a mortal man, but he had been reshaped into a tool of the Emperor’s will.   Go now, Silas. Part of him wanted to stay, and learn more from the man who shaped the Imperium, but he knew that doing so would have been a disgrace to his master.  There was little time left, and his soul burned with newfound purpose. He knew what he had to do...and whom he had to seek. “I'll stop at nothing to find her, my lord.  And I will defend her to the end.” Despite being inside a castle she had lived in for thousands of years, Princess Celestia was lost. She didn't know why every room seemed unfamiliar, even if she left them for only a few seconds. This is more than a dream, she reflected. This is a vision. She wanted to find help, but she couldn't find any other ponies: only voices. Hollow laughter echoed from rooms she could never seem to get closer to. She heard muffled conversations, but the speakers were always a bit too distant to understand. Every time she called out to them, they would fall silent and start up again farther away. Eventually, it was all she could do to keep herself from screaming. What was happening to her? She had never felt so frustrated and alone. She was cut off from her true nature.  The thought was so sudden and vivid, it was hard to distinguish it from a voice.  It was accompanied by a crackling hum, as though the air was electrified. Where had that came from? Instantly, another foreign thought crossed her mind. A message, sent by an emissary of Chaos. Her pulse quickened. Had Discord broken loose? Her frown twisted into a strange smirk as a new thought was forced on her. No, not Discord. A far worthier conduit was speaking, and she would meet him soon. The forces of Chaos had great plans for her, very great plans indeed-- She would never allow it. But all creatures served Chaos one way or another. Perhaps if she simply admitted this, the rebirth of Equestria would be all the easier. What rebirth? She would find out if she looked outside. She found herself walking towards a large oak door, and the second she looked at it she knew something utterly horrible was lying beyond it. But a strange, trance-like state of curiosity had taken over her, and she couldn't stop her progress. She reached out with her magic and threw the door open. Outside was an ornate balcony that offered a spectacular view of Equestria. She wanted to draw some reassurance from the sight, but the feeling of dread didn't leave. And neither did the mental invasions of the emissary. Soon, she would be gifted with a vision from the future. The beautiful, inevitable future. Two armies of strange, bipedal creatures marched across the land. Though she still stood on the balcony, she saw their bizarre features as clearly as though she walked among them. They were converging on Ponyville, their faces contorted with unfathomable rage. Ponies fled in terror as the creatures waged a war in the streets.  With each blow they landed on one another, their forms warped into something more bestial and hideous.  A muscled brute tore off the wings of a bird-like monstrosity, and hurled its shrieking form out of a window. Celestia averted her eyes just before the creature hit the ground, feeling her stomach churn. Cruel laughter echoed over the din, the laughter of evil gods who demanded more. The sun began to drift across the sky on its own accord, and then the moon, too. Their cycles became wild and unpredictable, with days and nights that lasted anywhere from seconds to centuries. Clouds moved on their own volition, unleashing lightning that burned down villages like kindling wood. The sky turned a bruised yellow, and she could see the lush vegetation of the landscape giving way to sickening multicolored plants and black deserts.  Spires of jagged rock erupted from the ground, smashing buildings to splinters. The mountains themselves rippled across the land like rogue waves. A great chasm opened in the earth, and Celestia gasped as Ponyville toppled into its depths. Cloudsdale was torn apart by vast cyclones, and she could hear distant cries of horror and anguish from the inhabitants of both towns. She wanted desperately to help, but it was pointless. Even if this wasn't a vision, there was no hope when fighting the raw force of change. Why didn't she embrace it? What if she refused?  She would never wake.  Chaos would tear the soul from her body.  Images coursed through her mind.     Luna, weeping over the body of her sister, already beginning to blame herself for what happened.  She would be nothing but a shell.  Twilight Sparkle, a subtle light leaving her eyes when she heard about her mentor’s death.  Her mind would be as broken as her dreams. She saw ponies gathering around a golden statue forged in her image.  Whatever flaws she had, whatever made her anything like the others--they would be quickly forgotten.  She would be remembered as a deity, an impossible standard that her subjects would forever try to measure up to. Equestria would become a land of stagnation, ruled by a dead, false god.  The visions faded away, leaving her gazing out into the blasted wasteland once more.  Chaos will triumph regardless. And what if she accepted?  She would open her eyes to a new Equestria, one of unlimited potential and freedom.  It would be a realm of pure thought, free from the petty bonds of reality.  She would learn the beauty of change. The landscape beyond shifted.  The spires of rock became magnificent marble towers, and the desert morphed into a thundering ocean.  Ponies walked across the water and flitted through the air.  Their forms were almost unrecognizable, but they were strangely elegant. If she and her subjects accepted Chaos, this would be their reward.  Equestria would not be consumed...but reborn. Foreign thoughts crushed down on her, urging her to submit.  She had been gifted with a life that lasted thousands of years.  Refusing the offer would bring that journey to a swift and pitiful end.  So many things would be left undone... “You’ll never have Equestria.” The world around her flickered, as if the vision itself was stunned by her rejection.  Absurd. Nothing she could do would-- Now she found the strength to reject the emissary, and she could sense its rage at being denied control of her mind. “If you think that destroying me will make your invasion any easier, you're gravely mistaken.  Every citizen, from the humblest farmer to the nobles of Canterlot, knows of a power you fear.” The floor quaked beneath her hooves, and the scenery melted back into a nightmarish wasteland. “The power of honesty, loyalty and laughter. The power of kindness, generosity, and friendship. The Elements of Harmony are far greater than you can ever hope to be. You just don't want to admit it.” She turned her back on the desecrated landscape, and started to head back indoors.  “As soon as I’m awake, I’ll warn them.  Then we will see how ‘inevitable’ your future is.”   A low roar filled the air, and she realized that the roar was from thousands of voices. They growled and laughed and groaned and moaned, eventually coalescing into one. We will scorch your mind to ashes. The door leading back inside the palace slammed shut.  Celestia watched with horror as rusty chains materialized and wrapped themselves across her only means of escape. There was an otherworldly howl of rushing air, and she whirled around to see where it came from.  It was the sun, speeding towards her like a world-ending comet.   It too had undergone a horrific transformation: it was now a pale, lifeless orb from which eight crooked beams radiated. She cast a beam of telekinetic energy at the corrupted sun, desperately trying to bring it to a stop.  It hit with a deafening blast of concussive force, but it barely slowed the sun at all.  Soon it was close enough for her to see black spots on its surface. They formed strange and awful images of symbols and creatures that stretched her sanity. A surge of renewed panic shot down her spine.  Gritting her teeth, she pushed her powers beyond their limits, and when that wasn't enough, she pushed them even further. The sun continued its descent.  It was moving at only a fraction of its initial speed now, but it made no difference.  She had spent every last trace of her magical energy, and there was nothing more she could do. The colors bled from her vision, and she collapsed. The princess didn't fear death, but the prospect of never seeing Equestria and its citizens again brought tears to her eyes.  For one horrible moment, she wondered if there was any truth behind the visions of what would happen after her death. The heat from the sun was building to a searing level. Evil gods laughed, and demanded more. Herald of Terra 0610 hours, Equestria clock Captain Josiah Telarius of the Herald of Terra was fighting not only for his life, but his honor. Three decades of a spotless record, and now, when the Inquisition had seen fit to requisition his humble ship, disaster had struck. Traveling through the warp storms had proved a hellish undertaking.  Around the storms congregated vast and terrible monsters, undoubtedly hoping to prey upon any vessel caught in the tempests. His neural linkup with the ship's navigator and sensor arrays usually allowed him to avoid these beasts, but there had been far too many of them. Hot agony flooded into his mind as one of their tendrils of energy ensnared his ship like a siren's embrace. His rage and anguish echoed through the vessel's machine spirit. In the back of his mind, Telarius bitterly realized that this is how the seafarers of Fenris must have felt when their vessels were torn asunder by the fearsome kraken. The Immaterium wasn't just a fierce ocean, it was alive, a conniving and devious force that wanted nothing less than to consume everything it touched. A searing pain lashed against his right side, alerting him that something was desperately trying to tear down the starboard Geller field. He redirected all available power—gravity, weapon systems, air recycling, even lighting—and sent it to the Geller fields and the engines. The pain receded, and he felt his vessel tear free of the tendrils of chaotic energy. He thanked the Machine God for blessing his ship with such fortitude. His navigator gave him a burst of neural feedback. They had deviated from their course, but they needed to translate immediately: more warp beasts would be upon them soon.  He started the translation sequence, and ten nerve-wracking seconds later, the ship left the twisted realm behind. Just before he could let loose a sigh of relief, warning runes flashed angry red on his console, and his senses were assaulted by another information burst. They had indeed arrived in the Clearing, but something had gone dreadfully wrong. They had translated directly into the atmosphere of Graneus Prime, traveling far too fast and at far too steep an angle. The hull moaned, as if the ship's machine spirit knew of its coming demise. It was too late to send the kill-team to the Thunderhawk, and the salvation pods would be useless at this velocity.  His ship was doomed to impact the planet with meteoric force, and nothing would remain of it but a vast crater. No. Everything from his instruments to his navigator to his experience told him it was futile, but he tried anyway. Now that the Geller fields were inactive, he used the spare power on the thrusters, even spending the single-use emergency rockets. They flared with holy white fire, as if punishing gravity for its blasphemous attempt to destroy an Imperial ship. With grudging slowness, the stern of the ship began to rise, allowing him to make the descent at a safer angle. The machine spirit groaned with the effort, and he felt the blistering heat of the atmosphere wash against its metal skin. The Herald was a beast of fire now, awash with white thruster flames and the red glow of atmospheric entry. Several more warning runes blinked, indicating hull damage. He paid them little heed, for now he was beginning to regain control of his ship. He was losing altitude fast, however, and time was running out. He checked the long-range auspex and surveyor arrays, searching for a landing site that would give him at least a slight chance of survival. He cursed. He was above a seemingly endless range of mountains, and their strangely-colored peaks were coming dangerously close to gutting the ship's lower decks. The scanner array sent him another burst: it had detected life signatures in the distance. He would have ignored this advisory had it not also told him that they originated from a valley ahead. The valley was his only chance. Praying to the Omnissiah, he prepared the ship for emergency landing, barely avoiding a collision with a mountain that seemed to have a castle built into its side. A forest loomed ahead. He knew it would take a miracle to survive an impact at this speed, but he was no stranger to such things. Sweet Apple Acres, Equestria 0612 hours “Would you mind pickin' up the pace a bit?” “I'm trying, dear, I'm trying,” Rarity murmured, plucking out another silkweed. “Oh! This one is perfect!” “Well, you ain't tryin' hard enough,” Applejack grumbled. Two hefty canvas bags were slung around her sides, one marked “good” and the other “bad” in fancy black hoofwriting. Rarity sauntered over and dropped the weed inside the “good” bag. It was by far the heaviest of the two, and the imbalanced load threatened to tip her over. “Ah promised Granny Smith we'd get rid of these here weeds before eight.” “And we will be done before eight. We have a whole day!” “Ah meant eight AM,” Applejack said. “C'mon, Rarity. If we don't finish soon, the fritters will be all eaten up.” “You need to learn to appreciate silkweeds, darling. The exquisite patterns in their leaves...their delightful aroma... even the dainty little sound they make when you pluck them free. Here, listen,” she said, grasping the plant between her teeth and tugging it out. KAAABOOOOOOM! The sound of the explosion was distant, but still enough to make the ground shake. “What in tarnation...” gasped Applejack. With a horrible cacophony of snapping trees and thousands of tons of dirt hurled into the air, the Herald of Terra landed on Equestria. The Herald's armored prow easily cleaved through wood, soil, and rock alike, and the monstrous din echoed throughout the valley, even reaching Canterlot. After the noise finally ended, which everypony in the area agreed took far too long, an eerie silence blanketed the land for several minutes. It was broken only by the occasional crack of a weakened trunk, or the chirp of an inquisitive bird. New Exathel 0626 hours The first sign of Ishmael's prophecy had arrived in smoke and fire. “I know where this path leads, Dante,” Ishmael had breathed. His face was slick with sweat, his eyes bloodshot from gazing into the future. “Now is our time to strike.” As much as it screamed against his nature as the Steward to do so, he allowed Ishmael and Michael to proceed with their plan. Ishmael and Michael's plan. Hadn't there been a time when he was Michael's closest confidant? When was it that the kulnane had usurped that role? Still, Michael had been every bit as determined as Ishmael. Perhaps it was right to allow Michael more control of the operation. He had shown true Exathelite honor, trying to take the blame for the escape of the Imperial psyker when it had been Dante's fault. After the shuttles departed, he retired to his quarters. It was situated at the highest point of the settlement, overlooking a steep ridge. Looking down into the chasm below always brought chills to his spine, but that was good. There was little point in being a leader if he couldn't take a daily dose of fear. Perhaps, he thought, the words of Sirnath will offer me guidance. He unlocked his storage chest, sifting through what little personal belongings that had survived the Crisis of Faith. There, are the bottom of the chest, was the small black case he had been entrusted with since childhood. He opened it, revealing the Mandate of Sirnath.  It was a tattered old book, with frost-reed pages that were ragged and torn from hundreds of years of use. Its musty scent brought back memories of burnt offerings on the Day of the Artificers. He tenderly flipped through the pages until he found Chapter Twelve, which recounted Sirnath's teachings on war and statecraft. There was a lithograph of Sirnath speaking to the Exathelites, his iron wings spread high as he rallied them against the barbarians in the Akkan Valley.   Pacing to his window, he gazed at the valley beyond.  Disappointingly, there was little resemblance. The flatly-colored pastures somehow looked less realistic than the stylized lithograph.  He still had trouble accepting how foreign this place was. The air was fresh and sweet, and clean water was plentiful, but a man of less faith would have wondered if this world was truly meant for them. He looked back at the book, turning to the next page. Some of the Low Ones will wear cloaks of diplomacy, but they still seek only to conquer you. Trust them, and your nation will fall. The Crisis of Faith had proven that beyond doubt. They will smile and say they have much in common with you. Some of them may even claim to believe in the Machine God. As the memories of the Crisis flooded back to him, the hatred did as well. His hands began to shake, and the air seemed hellishly hot. He wished he could fight alongside his soldiers. He wished he could see the disbelief on imbecilic faces of the Imperials when they realized their Emperor couldn't save them. There was a weapon in his storage chest that would be perfect for avenging Exathel. It was a powerful gift from Sirnath, and the Imperium’s mightiest warriors would quake before it. But tradition held that it could only be used when the Steward's armies had failed. He prayed to Sirnath that it would never come to that.  His prayer was not entirely sincere.