Battle Ready

by D101 Reviews

Prologue

Friendship is Magic: Battle Ready

Prologue

The heavy, tangy scent of copper was almost overpowering. It was sickening, dizzying. It made him feel sick to his stomach as he stumbled across the uneven ground. The rain pounded hard against his face, cold and wet, washing away the dark red stains the marred his face. With heavy feet he stepped between the dark, shadowed mounds on the ground.

His navy blue eyes scanned heavily through the air, searching for somepony, anypony else in the misty rain. There was nothing. No sign of anypony. No movement, no cries, no noise. Nothing but the rain, and the smell.

His eyes filled up with water and he rubbed the back of one gauntleted fist against his face, scrubbing away the tears. This was not how things were supposed to go. But this is the hand that destiny had dealt them. Still it didn't mean he had to like it.
He tilted his head to the sky and allowed a powerful scream of anguish. A powerful scream that fell on the ears of the dead and echoed around him, rolling over body after armoured body. An army of the dead and dying lay at his feet, wearing the same black and golden armour as he.

He clenched his feet hard and punched it into the soft ground. His pride, his honour, his duty. What did it matter anymore? This could hardly be considered a victory. How many pony's had lost their lives this day? All of them under his command. Their loss was his cross to bear, and bear it he would for every day until the day he died.

A voice cracked the silence.

“My prince.”

His head snapped up and he scrambled to his feet. A pony had propped himself up on his elbow, hand outstretched to where he stood. He leapt to the wounded warrior and knelt beside him, holding his torso and sporting his head. He recognised him by Cutie Mark and by face. He was a friend, and he was dying. He was named Dagger Swift, and had once born a Cutie Mark of a single knife wrapped in the hands of the wind, but now the mark was coated in blood and dirt.

“Did... we... win?” Swift coughed haltingly, blood oozing out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yes my friend,” he whispered, stroking his brown, red stained hair. Swift smiled, his eyes sparkling.

“Then, all is... safe,” he murmured, his eyes sliding to a close.

“Stay with me,” he hissed, gripping his close. “Please. I cannot bear such a loss. Not by myself. If just one pony else survives...”

“My prince,” Dagger Swift whispered, his dying brown eyes fixed onto his face, with a passion and fire that seemed impossible for one so close to death. Swift clasped his hand into a tight fist and pressed his arm against his own chest in salute. “This... our hard won victory... was won by your command... We knew it would not be easy. We knew... lives would be lost...”

“But... so many. It is my fault,” he whispered.

“No... You did what you had too... I am proud to call you... my prince.”

Swift's mangled and broken wing twitched slightly under his grasp, a small gout of blood rushing onto his forearm.

“Live long,” he murmured.

“Die proud,” Swift coughed.

He shuddered, and was still. His arm slumped on his chest and his fist unclasped. The grey eyes that had stared at him with such passion not moments before, lost their lustre. Just a pair of glassy orbs that stared blindly at him. With the respect reserved for a hero and the care of a lover, he lowered Swift's body to the ground. He stood up and saluted Dagger Swift in the same way the deceased pegasus had saluted him. Then he tilted his head back, so that his dark grey horn was pointed at the sky. A burst of silver magic into the sky.

The magic exploded into a burst of green fire and sparks. A cloud of green smoke began to coil over the sky. The rain began to stop falling as the magic began to push the clouds out of the sky. He did not pause to admire his handiwork. Now came the horrible part. Green smoke meant victory. Blue smoke meant defeat. Yellow smoke a stalemate. Red smoke.... red smoke...

Losses beyond measure.

A blast of magic shot the red smoke ablaze.
He sat beneath the cloud of smoke, watching Dagger Switf's body, like a parent would watch over a sleeping child.
He would not walk, or leave the sides of the men who had fought and died beside him. This would be an insult to each of their respective memories.

They had all seen horrors, all of them seen death in the face. He felt almost ashamed to be alive, when all the death around him was his fault, and his fault alone...

Author's Note:

My debut fic. Hope you guys enjoy.

Comments

[Kingmoonwar19]

This is good