This is the story of an ash stained mare.
There she stands, staring into the heart of a burning city, her coat matted with ashes and blood. Some of it is hers, most of it is not. The singed feathers of a thousand dead pegasi float in the air.
Only her jade-green eyes stand out, almost like a reflection of the green flames that envelops the city. She stares with great fervor at nothing.
The mare isn’t the only ash stained pony, she is surrounded by ponies covered in dirty, dressed in ragged suits and broken armor, almost every one of them has burn marks. Some of them will start coughing blood very soon, these will not survive to the end of the week.
***
Somewhere off to the east a terrible storm is brewing amidst the cloud cover, blood-red lighting punishes the earth, attracted to the rusted, melted remains of a city that no one knows the name anymore.
The weather is getting colder by the day as the old engine moves relentlessly trough snow covered tracks, going North through rocky passes and under the shadow of ice cliffs, under a sky perpetually covered in clouds, chasing the fragmented remains of faint radio transmission that promises the Cristal Empire haven’t been hit, that in the high north there’s safety and shelter. Midnight Reverie is perched on the small watch tower built in the last wagon, her right hoof rests over the handles of her submachine guns that rest across her lap. The big MS-7 10 mm submachine gun had been part of her standard gear in the night guard, but like all of her gear it has gone through rough times in the last years, being repaired with any parts available and weathered the harsh conditions of surviving in this new world. Not so unlike herself.
Besides the weapons and armor common to every member of the Night Guard, Midnight Reverie carries a sturdy pack marked with three pink bats, their own version of the Ministry of Kindness’ symbol, the pack once contained a selection of sedatives, antibiotics, warding medallions, and even a portable surgical kit, but the long years had reduced it to a variety of scavenged medicine and a selection of medicinal herbs that she learned to use in her practice as medical officer of what remains of her battalion.
She keeps an inconstant vigil to the south, looking over the desolate landscape while she reads fragments of “Supernaturals: natural remedies and cure-alls”, the book has proved to be a priceless artifact as regular medicine dwindles or expires.
Not two days ago, a swarm of ghouls had chased them and almost managed to overwhelm a couple of wagons before they could be put down. A week before that, it had been bandits with sticks of TNT taped to the point of makeshift spears. Now, it seems there is only desolation surrounding them. The eternal winter that blanketed the northern Equestria.
When at last there comes a sound from the speakers above, it startles her, her leathery wings flaring open as she reaches for her gun. All of the crew of the Heart of the Night has been waiting for the alarm. A crackling boom. Then from the intercom comes the exclamation: “Station ahead!”
An instant frantic readiness spread through the wagons as their inhabitants abandon their tasks and hurry to their postings. Mops are abandoned, tools dropped, snacks are thrust into pockets. They clutch their weapons and blades close to their bodies and mutter prayers to Luna asking for protection and deliverance.
The crew squints into the frigid wind, stare into the swirling mists to catch any glimpse of what lay ahead. Amid mountains of strange shapes and stubs of ruined skyscrapers, stands a blocky construction of grey concrete in a small hill. The station’s stockpiles should still have stacks of coal and water they could use to refuel their train, with some luck they can even find food and ammo.
Something roars over the dark clouds, a beast of incredible size plunges under the clouds. A manticore that had grown beyond what any pony could believe is possible, its wings as big as any two of the wagons put back to back, the claws like gleaming scythes. The fur is covered in scars that tell a history of violence and death.
“Tartarus take me,” Midnight Reverie curses under her breath, they usually had to deal with raiders of ghouls holed in the station, once they had even fought some crazy cultists, but this was a first.
Ponies hung from the wagons with knifes and shivs in their belts, hurry between carriages carrying crates of ammo, and in the viewing platforms, the best shots take their places.
The Heart of the Night is a train forged in the Wasteland. The engine is old and patched in several places, mixing parts from other trains and carriages, the colors had been scrubbed by the unrelenting sandstorms of the South. Some of the wagons are old train cars that had somehow survived the Bombs. Others have been constructed by whatever they had at hand, pieces scavenged from wherever the train stops to resupply.
Captain Black Dahlia patches in trough the haphazard communication system, the old speaker crackling and sparkling as she speaks.
“Ponies, we have a hostile coming to us. Loaders and Mechanics get to your positions. Night Guard, check your weapons and stay at the ready. Increase speed.”
The Heart of the Night accelerates, sputtering black smoke from the double chimneys. Midnight Reverie can feel the entire train sputtering and trembling with the increased speed, the bat pony had grown accustomed to the constant motions of the train by now, but the high-speed stuttering still feels uncomfortable, the prelude to a fight.
Crews scrambles on walkways carrying harnesses and guns to the bat-ponies of the Night Guard, the only ones aboard that have any kind of military training, the rest of the ponies aboard are survivors collected in each stop.
“I got your usual load, the tracers are hand-loaded, but the airburst is the real deal,” Ivory Spark says with her usual efficiency, floating a leather harness with clips for Midnight Reverie’s submachine gun.
A lifetime ago, Ivory Spark had been a wealthy pony, born in a noble family of Canterlot and educated in the best schools of Equestria. How she ended working in one of the farms of Appleloosa, with festering wounds covered in dirty pieces of cloth and her once pristine white coat marked with strange, sinuous and winding scars was a mystery she hasn’t shared with no one. She was not tall but she drew the eyes. Her long grey mane was braided back. She stood quite still while her age-mottled brown overcoat wind-shimmied around her. Lights wink in her bulky, mechanical left hoof. Its metal and ivory tick and flicker.
Midnight takes the harness and locks it over her armor, committing to memory the position of each clip so she can reload without looking at them.
“You need to go down, go to the front cars and hide until its all over,” Midnight advises.
The Heart of the Night rattles through snow-flecked steppes, by rock, crack and shallow chasm, past scuffed patches of arcane salvage. The manticore dives under the clouds for a moment, turning his eyes towards the speeding train.
The captain gives crackling instructions and as one, the six bat-ponies of the Night Guard spread their wings and takes to the skies, quickly taking point at the sides of the train, a loose formation that will keep them out of the dark smoke and allow them to respond quickly in case the manticore attacks.
Midnight assumes her position, feeling the enchantments on her night guard’s armor touching her body, making the armor itself as light as a feather and protecting her from the cold that surrounds her. She keeps an eye on the train even as she tries to follow the giant manticore flying high above, the creature seems curious about the train, trying to figure if it is food or danger. With some luck they can slip into the station without a fight, in the worst case the manticore will decide they are food.
The manticore dives, claws reaching towards the train, dark mouth full of fangs.
Nightmare takes my soul!
It is big, and it comes towards them with hungry intent.
With sudden violent percussion, the machine gun nest in the third wagon opens fire, twin streams of tracers arch in the sky and peppers the creature’s hide, slamming against the thick hide and doing little more than anger it.
Instantly the Manticore roars loudly, deafeningly. Night Tinker and Frozen Wind bank left in a rising turn, using the hot, black smoke of the train to help them rise quickly towards the creature, their saddle mounted submachineguns at the ready. The two bat-ponies fly in a precise, coordinated manner that has come with the years of training and even longer on the battlefield, they had honed their skills against the strange zebra’s flying machines and their mercenary dragons before.
Night Tinker comes straight for the manticore, his dual submachine guns firing at once, the tracer ammo like a torrent of light against the darkened sky. The manticore leashes against it with a powerful paw, but Frozen Wind comes from behind and hit the manticore with a long stream of bullets that dazes the creature enough to miss Night Tinker.
Then came the big Tropical Breeze, before enlisting with the Royal Guard he had lived in the tropical southern Equestria, had learned to hunt with javelins dangling upside down from trees. He usually told tall tales of his exploits back home, but truth be told he was one hell of a good shoot.
Tropical Breeze carries three big enchanted steel javelins on his back as he flew upwards in a steep rise, he takes the first javelin, heavy as it was, his muscles straining under his skin, as he comes closer to the behemoth. He closes his wings and allow himself to fall back, eyes right on the prey, he twists his body with the throw, putting all his strength behind it as he hurl the javelin straight at the manticore.
The manticore roars in pain, the javelin pierces his rough skin and dig deep into the flesh, the barbed point lodges itself and digs deep as the manticore moves. The beast thrashes, hot blood rains on the frozen soil.
Night Tinker and Frozen Wind quickly reload their guns with incendiary ammo and strafe the giant manticore. Fire spreads through the beast’s back, consuming the fur even as the creature twists in midair, flapping its powerful wings and lashing with the deadly tail against Tropical Breeze. His claws reaching for Night Tinker and Frozen Wind. Fury and pain fill the sky.
Carrion birds peek from their nests.
Tropical Breeze comes ready with another javelin, flapping his wings with more strength than skill to get in a good angle, he throws it with all his strength even as Night Tinker and Frozen Wind comes for another strafing run.
The manticore dives hard, closing its wings and letting gravity pull it down, dodging the deadly javelin even his tail leashes against Tropical Breeze, the bat-pony is thrown to the ground with a sickening crush.
Frozen Wind manages to follow the creature in the hard dive, but is bludgeoned by a mighty paw, the veteran thestral is sent spiraling to the ground without control, dripping blood.
Midnight Reverie rushes to the rescue, diving after Frozen Winds even as the rest of the team goes to help Night Tinker. She skillfully matches their speed and slow him down before he crashes to the ground. She gives him a shot of painkillers and quickly dresses the wound with bandages coated in alchemical healing salves. Later she can give it a proper examination, but for now it would be enough.
She dashes ahead, looking for the fallen Tropical Breeze amidst the snow-covered ruins even as she hears the staccato of the guns followed by the deafening roar of the manticore above her, barely sparing a peek to make sure the creature wasn’t coming for her.
She finds Tropical Breeze impaled in a piece of rebar, his last remaining javelin fallen at his side. The piece of metal had pierced him in the lower abdomen, fortunately missing his spine. She knows that moving him is a bad idea, but dozens of tiny, hungry eyes of carrion birds looms nearby. She quickly pulls him out, administering a quick dose of hydra and painkillers to keep him stable while she closes the wounds. With a bone needle and some sewing string, she gets to work mending the flesh back together as the hydra keeps him from bleeding to death.
So focused, she barely notices the encroaching roar as the manticore comes for her. She feels the warm, noxious breath of the creature on her back more than anything, almost instinctively she grabs the fallen javelin and dashes ahead, beating her wings as hard as she can to propel herself ahead of the creature.
She feels the fangs closing just behind her, the monstrosity reaching for her with a desperate hunger, his back charred and marked by the guns of the bat-ponies, but nothing that seems to slow him down.
Midnight flies fast and low through the ruins, wishing for any solid piece of cover under which she can hide from the beast, but the inclement weather had reduced most buildings to derelict remains, crumbling under their own weight.
She dives under an ancient skyway, but the manticore plows trough it without even slowing down, plaster and concrete rain on the streets below. She banks hard left, turning around the ruined remains of a skyscraper, desperately trying to look for help or any way to signal the rest of the team. Their last flares had been spent almost a month ago.
The train should be safe at the station by now, but with the manticore flying around they wouldn’t be safe for long. She still has all her ammo, but there’s no way she can hurt the creature with her guns, the enchanted javelins seem capable of piercing the tough skin of the creature, but she has only one and doubts she can throw it with enough force.
It’s then that she notices the faded pink butterflies that marks the remains of a skyscraper, she knows precisely what that means and how she can use it.
She takes a small inhaler from her pack and takes a long, energizing breath, chemical energy filling her veins as she throws the inhaler away.
The creature comes for her and she flies trough the double doors of the ancient hospital, trotting trough the cluttered ground even as she uses quick bursts of her guns to break the locks of any door that stands in her way. Her eyes are quickly to adapt to the darkness, showing the tale of starvation and slow death that came to those that sought shelter in there, just after the bombs had burned the land.
That was a history that repeated itself all over Equestria, ponies had converged to hospitals in the hopes of finding any semblance of help and order. The hospitals tried to take in everyone they can, tried to help everyone, but as the resources dwindled and the wounded survivors kept coming in they devolved into chaos. In many of those places the ponies hadn’t been trained in how to deal with the balefire radiation poisoning.
They were aroused of their slumber by the thestral’s noises. Their corrupted minds reduced to a single mindless goal, their bodies dried and infused with the same eldritch poison that soaked the land.
Ghouls.
They rush to her from everywhere, their groans echoing through the room and halls of the old hospital as they try to reach for the bat-pony. Midnight runs and keep running through every floor, two times stopping barely a moment to take in more stimulants. Floor by floor she makes as much noise as possible and they come by the dozens to her.
The manticore keeps prowling around the hospital, clawing at it with furious intent, the claws digging deep into the crumbling concrete, bending the weakened steel. Midnight Reverie shoots the last door open and is blinded for a moment as the dim light from the outside reaches her, without stopping she keeps running, jumping to the skies with a strong beat of her wings, reaching as high as she can as the dozens of ghouls erupt out of the building.
They reach for the manticore with their broken hooves and rotten teeth, swarming over the creature even as he tries to fly away.
Still high on stimulants, Midnight Reverie fly as high as she can, her wings beating fast and hard, propelling her ever higher, above the cloud cover and until the air becomes thin, the sun shining brightly over her. She dives, holding the javelin in her hooves as she plummets under the clouds once again, straining against the speed, screaming madly as she approaches the fallen manticore.
The ghouls can’t hurt him, but can pin him down for long enough. She comes at high speed and launches the javelin at the same moment she spreads her wing to break her fall, the strain of it coursing through her very bones, pain coursing through her body like wild fire.
Propelled by her velocity, the javelin pierces the rough skin, cut through the flesh and break the bones to hit the soft grey matter under it.
The great Manticore is dead.