//------------------------------// // Chapter 2: To the Hunt // Story: Angel Eagle Wolf // by Son of Sanguinius //------------------------------// Sanguinius never tired, nor failed in his duty. At the height of the War, he had foreseen his death at the hands of one he once called brother, and had walked to his end without fear. He had faced monsters and daemons, and had stared into the face of annihilation unwavering. Thus, though a week had passed since arriving in this strange xenos world, it had been no trouble to the Blood Angel to stand vigil by his Father’s side, to await the doctor’s work. Though time for a Primarch was slowed, its advance ground down by superhuman perception, his patience was without end. Only the gene-coded rage hidden deep in his veins could threaten his repose. But it was no threat to him in an hour of health: only the shock of death and restoration had broken his control, and he would not let it happen again. Not even now, when the doctors had driven him from his Father’s bed, to wait in a distant room until these xenos finished their desecrations. No, it was not the waiting, nor the fury, which unnerved Sanguinius. It was the strange xenos form into which he, his Father, and Horus had been thrown which left him uneasy. He was a son of the Emperor of Mankind, and though his wings had left him forever apart, he had always taken pride in his basic humanity. Now that was stripped from him, along with his old life and his beloved sons. How did they fare now? He had foreseen their sorrow and their travail, but in those visions they had a body to mourn and bury. What would become of them now, abandoned by their father without so much as a blade to remember him by? Sanguinius brushed the hilt of his sword, as he often did in these trying days. It was the only artifact to survive the transportation, save perhaps for Horus’ Worldbreaker. With his Father in healing, it was his last connection to his Legion, his Sons. He blinked, and for a moment he almost thought he could see them, in the corner of his eye; Azkaellon, Raldoron, poor noble Meros… Thoughts of his Father now came to the forefront of his mind. He looked over at the post-surgery room. The Emperor’s injuries had been severe, crippling, even to one as mighty as he. It galled Sanguinius to think of his Father’s life entrusted to xenos trickery, but he had no other choice. Even the Emperor could not heal wounds like this, not before he… Memories of the cold, black void rippled through Sanguinius’ thoughts. He had been ready to give his life for his Father, to die a brutal if noble death at Horus’ hands. To return from after was beyond his expectation. It gave him hope, and it left a cold spike in his gut. Hope, for if he could survive Horus’ wrath, surely the Emperor would, even if he needed the aid of foul xenos. The cold, fear, the mortals called it, because for the first time since the Emperor found him, Sanguinius had no idea what to do. He had no Legion, no Imperium, no war, no purpose. The Blood Angel shook his head. It was not his to question. He was his Father’s true son. He would wait, until the Emperor rose again, and would receive his orders. For what else was he to do? Calm sunlight shone through the grand windows, warmly caressing every surface in the room. The sky had but a few clouds in the sky. The breeze filtering through an open window was cool. It was a beautiful day to go outside. Celestia acknowledged this with a brief thought, not even deigning to turn her head. There would be time for rest later. For now, she had a crisis on her hooves. She went over her notes and plans, and then went over them again. She scoured ever prophecy. Again and again, she found the same, frustrating answer: no-pony had every anticipated this. Everything indicated that Twilight should have gathered the Elements of Harmony (which she had, to Celestia’s joy), and that the Elements should have broken the power of the Nightmare and released her sister Luna. Nothing said anything about mysterious ponies teleporting in and Nightmare Moon escaping. It pained the ancient alicorn. This day had for a millennium filled her with hope and dread, had kept her fighting in Equestria’s darkest hours, and had kept her wary and ready in her hours of arrogance. She had dreamed for so long of seeing her sister again, only to have her snatched away at the last possible moment. Even worse, Twilight had become an absolute wreck. The poor unicorn had panic attacks if she got less than an A on assignments. As far as Twilight was concerned, she had failed Celestia, and it was breaking her mind, which in turn was breaking Celestia’s heart. Celestia resented the burdens of state, and the endless problems the newcomers had caused, for keeping her from comforting a pony who may as well have been her daughter. These thoughts whirled in Celestia’s head and heart, but with the honed practice of one thousand years, she kept working despite them. Through research and paperwork, her horn never tired, and her eyes never stopped reading. Sanguinius and August needed visas and records of their existence, and the Foreign Office bureaucrats had proven even more difficult than she had anticipated. She made a mental note to carry out some reforms, and continued on. The horn-writing was not her best, but she simply did not care. The faster these got done, the sooner she could visit with Twilight. For now, Cadence and Shining Armor were running damage control, but Celestia knew Twilight would only accept her personal intervention. Celestia quietly cursed herself. Twilight was a unicorn of incredible power and intelligence, with the potential to even rival Starswirl the Bearded. In Celestia’s wildest dreams, she believed Twilight could even become an alicorn, if only she could learn the value and bonds of friendship. Such power would be needed in the years to come, if Celestia’s dreams were any portent, and perhaps more now that those dreams seemed to fail. Celestia could not afford the loss of such an asset, and her heart ached to see her beloved student suffer so. In the midst of these thoughts, a knock came at the door. Celestia put down her pen, took a quick, calming breath, and turned to face the door. “Please, come in,” she said, unlatching the door with her magic. The door swung open, and Doctor Morning Call walked in. She briefly bowed her head to the Princess of the Sun, her curt respect a product of many long years spent working in the Canterlot Palace. “Thank you, Princess,” Morning Call said. She carried a file folder over to Celestia’s desk. “We’ve finished the surgeries. August will live, but I have no idea how much he’ll ever heal.” “Were his wounds truly so terrible?” Celestia asked, more out of politeness than anything else. She had carried the brutalized pony back to Canterlot herself (after no small arguing with Sanguinius), had seen his wounds up close. She had no doubt he would be scarred and crippled for the rest of his life. “Actually, that’s what I really wanted to talk to you about,” Morning Call replied, flipping the folder open with a flick of her hoof. She gestured to a selection of diagrams. Had Celestia been a younger pony, without centuries of honing in the political arts, she might have gasped at the images. As it was, she managed to constrain her visible reaction to a quick widening of her eyes. She lifted the images with her magic. The first two images were Before and After pictures of August, the first from his arrival, the second from just that morning. It was the latter of these which so shocked Celestia. It showed clear, if miniscule, evidence that August’s broken horn was healing. “This is impossible,” she said. “Only the most powerful healing magics can restore a horn, and I know of no ponies skilled enough to wield the few we still have. How can this be possible?” Morning Call simply lifted another image. It only exacerbated Celestia’s worry. It was a diagram of August’s back, and showed two disturbing bumps. The untrained eye might have failed to understand the importance, but Celestia had seen far too many battles to ever forget the sight before her: the roots of pegasus wings. “He’s an alicorn?” Morning Call swallowed and responded. “I was hoping you would have an idea where he came from. After all…” “I have heard nothing of any male alicorns since my father left, over a thousand years ago,” Celestia said. A chill rippled through her. She left unsaid her deep worry. What could do damage like this to an alicorn? Celestia sat down, scouring the diagrams again. Morning Call stood by, silent and tense. A thousand plans and ten thousand worries clamoured for attention in Celestia’s mind. She mentally listed every enemy she had ever fought, then collected a list of those which could not only defeat, but maim an alicorn. For any normal pony, this work would have taken hours. For Celestia, the millennia-old Princess of the Sun, it took a minute. She grimaced: the list was less than a dozen, and of them only half had any chance of returning. She took a half-second to consider just how many enemies she had made who would return. Soon, if her dreams were correct. But of them, only two or three were a true threat to her direct person. Most monsters which could challenge the alicorns in brute combat were long dead, or sealed far away. So she hoped, at least. Celestia put down the diagrams and rose. She turned to Morning Call. “This is dangerous. Let no pony know about this. Everypony who already knows is to sign the Official Secrets Act. If the populace finds out about this, we could have mass panic on our hooves.” Or civil war, again. Celestia remembered the horrible, trudging days after exiling her sister, of rooting out enclaves of fanatics and rebels. Until Luna was safely back at her side, Celestia could not risk a rival alicorn, even one as weakened as August. “Of course, Princess,” Morning Call replied. “Anything else?” “Get word to Sanguinius,” Celestia said. “I would like an audience with him, say, this evening, for dinner.” Morning Call left, and Celestia downed the rest of her tea. She trotted out onto her balcony, gazing out over her realm. It was peaceful out there, quiet and serene. But somewhere, deep in the eerie Everfree Forest, dangers unforeseen lurked, and beyond, Celestia knew more awaited. Sombra, if no pony else, would one day arrive. What form would he take? And with this new threat, this ‘Horus,’ loose, could Celestia even hope for Twilight to defeat him? And if not, what of the hazier threats, the lurking dooms in the distance? What of Discord, still hidden in the gardens below, imprisoned but not defeated, held at bay but now simply waiting. No, she could not afford such rogue elements. Not in her realm, not in her Equestria. Gathering her ancient strength, she left her room. She travelled through shortcuts and secret passages, bypassing everypony in the castle, until she came to the infirmary. Sanguinius was there, brooding in the corner, and stroking the ornate sword he always carried. Celestia quickly realized he was distracted by some dire thought, and, telepathically slipping some extra prodding into his vulnerable mind, slipped back out of his sight. She would not risk interference. Thankfully, she knew a more secret path. In a few moments, she was inside, with the strange pegasus none the wiser. August was lying there, immobile, covered still in bandages. Celestia watched him slumber for a moment, pondering the mystery and the impossibility. Here was an alicorn, a male alicorn, one she had never met or even heard of before. Where did he come from? Why had he come? And just what was his connection to this ‘Horus’ who had stolen her sister away? Celestia had ruled alone for one thousand years. She had faced down monsters and witches, horrors and tyrants alike. Though she often left the defense of her beloved Equestria to her little ponies, there were times when she had to intervene. August was dangerous, a rogue element, a factor she had never foreseen. Any conversation with him would be difficult and fraught with risk. Before she attempted to awaken him and negotiate, she needed an edge, some knowledge of what was going on. She closed her eyes and reached out, calling on ancient magics she had not used in an age and a half. Telepathy of a kind all but unknown in this age, of a kind she had banned from research or use. She hated herself for even thinking of using it, but she had no choice; Cadence was too young, and too unready, and poor Sunset was lost, no longer an option. She would not be enough when the darkness came. All of Celestia’s careful plans had been thrown into chaos, her visions shattered. She needed to know what was going on, and how to get everything back on track for Twilight’s ascension. Then, she touched August’s mind, and the world went mad. A thousand images flashed before her eyes, of a world gone mad, or chaos and darkness and doom, and one being who stood, madly, against it all. It is an Age of Strife. A lone figure, standing amidst the ruins of a once-mighty empire, roars out in rage and sorrow. Ten thousand worlds burn and scream, ravaged by horrors beyond all understanding. Once-noble beings, strange alien creatures Celestia had never seen before, waged innumerable wars, first against strange metal beings, and then against more alien races than Celestia had ever thought could exist. Then, deep beneath a towering mountain, a figure stands, and roars again, as all his hopes are scattered to the winds. He makes an oath, this pact-breaker, and turns his wrath to the stars. It is a Time of Legend. Huge, alien warriors in strange, bipedal forms waged war on a scale Celestia could not comprehend, mercilessly annihilating the peaceful and the innocent, burning entire worlds in their wrath. Beings like unto the old gods tore apart monsters to make Tirek seem tame, and weapons of unimaginable power were unleashed. And yet, somehow, they seemed lesser, inferior to something else, further back than Celestia could reach, a mere, pathetic echo of an even greater, fallen power. It is an Age of Darkness. Demigods falls, and sons turn against their Father. Warriors once sworn to protect their kindred now wreak horrors like the monsters they once fought. Heroes rise and are slain, and others turn into abominations. A thousand gambits fail, and a thousand schemers die, and a fallen hero marches on to final war. A holy city, sprawling across an entire planet, though its rulers still deny its sacred status. It burns, and burns, and burns, oh will the fire never end? An Angel stands, he defies the darkness with light and blood, and then he falls, incorruptible to the end. Then a golden titan, wreathed in light, rises from his throne, and… Stop. The voice, with the force of a thousand trumpets, shattered the vision, ended the nightmare. Celestia jolted back, her spell broken. Pain wracked her mind like fire. She fell back a few steps, her eyes wide and wild. “Who… August? Is that you?” she asked. “What was that I saw?” August moved not a muscle, but the voice spoke again. Touch not my mind again. I shall not be so merciful. The pain faded, and a mixture of guilt and indignation came over Celestia. On the one hoof, how dare he speak to me like this? But, Celestia recognized her failing. She had put expedience over morality and decency, and was paying the price. She found herself, in a brief moment, almost thankful for the repulse, for the strong reminder to not fall into the trap that had ensnared her sister so long ago. “Very well. I am sorry for the intrusion,” Celestia said, mustering up a façade of calm. After what she had seen… But she could not afford to lose any more face. She could not show weakness, not now. “I need to know, where do you come from? What do you want? And why have you interfered in my affairs?” August glared at Celestia, bringing to bear some ethereal weight of power, as though trying to crush Celestia with sheer will. Celestia held her ground, summoning up her great reserves of power. It was a brutal struggle, tearing at the alicorn’s mind, and Celestia needed every ounce of might and will just to keep standing. But stand she did, resisting the waves of August’s wrath, until at last, it relented, and she was freed. “You are strong,” August said. He sat and brooded in thought for a moment. “But not so strong. I will tell you this: I am beyond you, xenos. Do not meddle in the affairs of your betters. But I have needs, and so for now, I will speak with you.” “Does this mean you will answer my questions, or simply continue speaking in vague nonsense?” Celestia asked, annoyance slipping past her still-recovering mental defenses. August glared again, but did not strike. “I speak as I will. You desire of me more than mere answers to petty questions. You desire a favour.” A sudden sense fell on Celestia. Our duel… he did not use his full strength. He was able to fight me, and draw out my intentions without losing an ounce of force, nor alerting me.Just what am I dealing with here? “Yes. I want to see you healed, but I have many duties. You and your son have interrupted a plan one thousand years in the making. I would ask your help in fixing things.” “I have seen your plan. A pathetic gambit, reliant on emotional responses, and wasting resources on a purely emotional desire,” August scoffed. “And now you desire my son to hunt for your sister. Oh yes, I know your secret, the terrible truth you hide from your people.” “Yes. He seems strong, and wise, and I am short on time,” Celestia admitted, suppressing the shock of August’s invasion of her deepest mind. “A terrible darkness is coming, and already it may be too late. And now appears a strange enemy, unmentioned by any vision, which can cripple alicorns. I need it stopped, and I need my apprentice ready for the trials ahead. I ask for Sanguinius to return to Ponyville with Twilight Sparkle, to help her pursue Nightmare Moon and this Horus who has stolen her away.” August sat, laying his scarred head against his pillow, breathing heavily, as though exhausted. “Leave me. I will make my decision.” Celestia paused. She knew she could not force August to do anything he did not want, nor did she feel right in attempting such a thing. Already she had stepped over the line, and paid the price. She needed help. “Very well. But first, answer my question: where did you come from? What was the madness I saw in your mind?” Celestia asked. August’s wrath flared again, spreading out like flames in the night. “I call no place home, xenos! I have said I am beyond you, and that is my answer! Do not press me, lest you feel my true power!” Celestia, angry at the refusal, nonetheless acceded. “Fine. One day, though, you will tell me the truth. One day I will know what those giants were, and why they fought.” With that, the Solar Alicorn left, slipping out and returning to her room. She had much to consider now, dark dreams to ponder, and new plans to spin. The darkness was rising on the horizon, and if she was to keep her little ponies safe, much needed to be done. Come. The word, deep and mighty, boomed in Sanguinius’ mind. It was a familiar presence, and though weak, it was dearly welcome. Sanguinius answered the call without a word or moment of hesitation. He slipped into the recovery room, unnoticed by the xenos guards. Disgust flashed briefly through his posthuman mind. How useless were these guards, that they did not even turn or listen at his movement? He knew that as a Primarch he could ambush even an Astartes, but these xenos had not the awareness to even wonder about a strange and sudden breeze! It mattered not. Sanguinius was inside, alone with his Father. Despite himself, Sanguinius flinched as his eyes fell on the Emperor of Mankind. Trapped in xenos form, like himself, and so horribly wounded. Deep within his hearts, a quiet but urgent voice whispered doubts. Sanguinius silenced them. His Father was mighty. His Father was wise. His Father would live, and would one day sit upon the Golden Throne again. The Emperor opened one eye and, slowly, shifted his aching head to face Sanguinius. “I have spoken with the xenos queen. She wants our help.” Sanguinius rankled at the very thought, but he held his tongue. “What do you want of me, Father?” “I am weakened. I can overpower her here, but it costs me. It will be some time before I can muster power like that again. In the meantime, we must keep the xenos from learning the limits of my wounds,” the Emperor said, and Sanguinius realized just how weary and laboured his Father’s breathing was. Brief fear flickered through his heart. “Therefore, you, my last servant, will go forth. Work with the xenos, and find Horus. Kill him, bring me his head. Nothing else matters, save that it will mask your purpose. Do you understand?” “Of course, Father,” Sanguinius said, bowing to the Emperor. “But please, if I may ask, why must I work with the xenos? Do you not trust me to hunt down the Archtraitor myself?” “I am weak, and unready,” the Emperor said, flinching from the pain of moving his bandaged foreleg. “I cannot afford to act without due preparation. When I am ready, I shall cast off the shackles of the xenos, and the Imperium will be reclaimed. But until then, make peace with the aliens, and use them for our ends. Find Horus, and kill him. That is your quest.” “As you will it, Father,” Sanguinius said, doubt still whispering in the dark depths of his heart. He silenced that voice: doubt was the root of heresy, and he would not fall. Not like Horus. Never. The Blood Angel rose and left the room. Outside, he met the guards. “Go to your queen, tell her that we have accepted her offer. I will depart as soon as I may.” It took some hours for the matter to be entirely resolved. The guards galloped off, and Celestia soon sent her warm thanks, to the disgust of Sanguinius. Then came gifts, as best Sanguinius could describe them: some food, a handful of tools and bags, and several ‘coupons’ as they were called for shops in a place called ‘Ponyville.’ Sanguinius snorted at the absurdity of the name, but bit down his contempt. He would soon be dwelling there, and he could not afford anger overmuch, not now. A time would come to avenge these indignities, and to teach these xenos the true working of the world, to show them the darkness and terror that awaited their monstrous kind. But for now, he would wait, as he did at the train station, to depart alongside the xenos called ‘Twilight Sparkle.’ She was to arrive any minute, now, and then off, to the xenos village, to begin his quest. “I shall not fail you, Father,” Sanguinius said. “You will have my brother’s head.”