The Tip of the Spear

by Antiquarian


In the Line of Duty

Private Comet was going to die. He was going to get grabbed, covered in ick, be turned into a pod pony, and then die in whatever horrible fashion pod ponies died. He knew this with absolute certainty.

But Comet was an EUP Guardspony, dangit, and that meant he wasn’t going to die without a fight!

“Covering fire!” he shouted, charging up his horn to send a flurry of magical blasts at the bug-like creatures that had already cut down half of his squad. It was difficult to see the unconscious forms of his comrades as they were dragged away, mostly because his vision was blocked by the wall of black insectoids advancing towards him. Half his primal instincts screamed at him to charge, to rescue his friends. Half his primal instincts shrieked that he run before the nightmare creatures got him too.

Fortunately, neither of those instincts were in control. The instinct that Drill Sergeant Ironside had forged in him was in control, and it told Comet to lock that fear deep down in the pit of his soul where nothing could touch it and to keep firing as he pulled back slowly, covering the pitiful remnants of his squad as they dragged three wounded guards to safety.

His blasts knocked four of the monsters down, killing or incapacitating them he didn’t know, but the rest kept coming, so Comet kept firing. He kept firing until his horn burned. Until his neck shook. Until his head ached like it were ready to split. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. Not until his squad was safe. Nothing else mattered. Because he was dead anyway.

The heatwaves from his horn were so intense that he didn’t see the insectoid dropping from overhead until it was too late. The armored carapace crashed into his spine and he crumpled with a cry. Tears of pain and fear sprang to his eyes, but his Drill Sergeant’s voice rejected them. He tried to twist to fire into the monster’s face at point blank, because if he was going to die he was going to die fighting. But the creature saw his attack coming and struck his horn. Lancing anguish shot through his body and he couldn’t quite hold back a scream. His comrades saw him go down and rushed to his aid, but they were blocked by yet more attackers that had swarmed from above.

He couldn’t blame them. Not really. He was dead anyway. He just hoped that they’d make it out okay. From his crumpled position he could see three bugs that he’d missed earlier creeping towards him, forked tongues snaking out as they hissed with malicious delight at their victim. Comet was terrified. But Drill Sergeant had taught him to turn that terror into defiance. So he roared his defiance at the predators as they sprang because, by Celestia, if he was going to die he was going to die proud.

Then the spear shot through the air like a bolt of lightning, striking down three of the monsters as though swatting flies. In a flash, an orange-coated pegasus was there, bucking the bug that pinned Comet through a nearby shop window. The stallion pivoted to face the rest of the swarm, which hissed at the interloper. With half-lidded eyes, the pegasus hefted his spear. “Kickin’ a stallion when he’s down?” he asked with a lazy surfer accent totally at odds with his apparent lethality. “Not cool, dudes.”

The swarm spat their hate and prepared to charge, but before they could a red earth pony burst through the shop wall behind them, flattening three of them with shattered stone, hooves, and an oversized maul. “Heeeere’s Bricky!

Bugs flew to meet their attackers. The earth pony set to immediately, wielding the maul with the ease of a bat and sending the insects in all directions with a manic laugh. Perhaps not wanting to face the mad titan, the rest of the swarm charged the pegasus.

They fared no better. Without apparent effort, the orange pony laid about with his spear, slashing and bashing his assailants aside with a speed that belied his size. The bugs not cut down in the brutal melee took the only reasonable course of action: they fled. The two stallions watched them go, the earth pony with a grimace, the pegasus with an oddly thoughtful look. "If an artist must suffer to make good art," he mused, "does it still count as suffering if I didn't get that banged up?"

The red pony, Brick, apparently, shot the pegasus a glare. “I swear, Spearhead, I’m gonna kill you one of these days.”

“Don’t swear, bro. It’s not polite.”

“I hate you.”

Spearhead didn’t respond, but looked down at Comet, who stared up with mouth agape. “You alright there, little bro? You look like your horn was about to explode.”

Comet pushed himself to his hooves, wincing at the headache that assailed him and knowing that he’d have a serious magical hangover the next day if this kept up. But he was a soldier, and apparently he wasn’t going to die yet, so he grabbed a fallen spear from the ground. “Fit to fight,” he responded, “Sir,” he added when he saw the lieutenant’s barding.

Lieutenant Spearhead smiled. “Good colt.” He looked around as though assessing the situation, and Comet took the time to do the same. The rest of the squad was already setting the soldiers covered in green slime free, and leaving them with eight ambulatory ponies and four injured ones. “See, Brick?” said the lieutenant. “These whitejobs are doin’ alright.”

Brick, a sergeant by his barding, rolled his eyes and didn’t respond to the jab. “Half and half?”

“Yup.”

“Alright then.” Then he sucked in a gust of air and roared out in parade ground fashion. “Listen up you miserable, misbegotten excuses for fighting ponies! We got a changeling horde sweeping through Canterlot! The palace is under siege, and we do not know the status of the Colonel or the Royals! So today is your lucky day, because you whitejobs are being conscripted into Operation Flyswatter! Four of you will guard the wounded and help protect civilians, while the rest of you lucky maggots are going to join in Captain Argent’s glorious campaign to retake the citadel! We are going to smash, plaster, smear, and otherwise eradicate each and every bug we encounter until I cannot see the whiteness of Canterlot for all the buggers we are going to paint it with!” He paused for a moment to ensure his words had the desired effect before shouting, “Hoo-rah?!”

“Hoo-rah, Sergeant!” came the throaty reply.

Brick grimaced and glanced at Spearhead. “Eh. They’re okay, I guess,” he admitted.

Spearhead shouldered his spear as the two veterans led the way to the citadel. “Knew you’d come around, dude. Nice speech, by the way.”

Comet made a point of being one of the four that followed the two. After all, if he wasn’t going to die just yet, then he might as well go along for the ride. The Drill Sergeant Ironside instinct said so.


Captain Argent advanced towards the enemy at a brisk walk. She was peeved. No, she was incensed. A changeling noted her approach and flew at her, its black horn gleaming. With a flick of her magic, her saber was out, swinging at throat level. The changeling dropped without a sound and she flicked her blade to clean it before snapping it back into its scabbard.

Unacceptable. Simply un-acceptable, she thought to herself as she stormed down the halls of Canterlot Castle. A trio of changeling swarmed at her. Her sword rang out and went to work. How utterly detestable! she fumed as she stepped over the bodies. She heard shouts behind her as the guards she’d rescued realized that she’d split from the group and advanced without them. Argent ignored them. If they weren’t present, then she needn’t worry about friendly fire. Bad enough that an ancient legend decides to be real, but on the day of one of my oldest friend’s weddings?! She turned a corner and found herself confronted with dozens of changelings. They hissed as they hovered on their ugly little wings. Argent’s lip curled in disgust as she drew her saber. “Unacceptable!” she shouted. The changelings did not seem impressed, and flew to meet her.

Argent raised her steel saber vertically in front of her eyes as though in a warrior’s salute. But she would never salute creatures so vile as to deliberately attack innocent civilians. She shut her eyes and focused upon her blade as the changelings dove in for the attack. Her blade pulsed with her silver aura, and then four new sabers, forged of shimmering white light, flashed out from her metal blade, dipped in salute to their master, and rose to the attack, spitting the first four changelings upon their tips. Then her eyes opened and she followed her weapons into the melee.

The blademaster was not, strictly speaking, aware of how long the melee lasted. All she knew was that her sabers flashed, her reinforcements arrived, and eventually there were no more changelings.

She stood panting for a moment, glancing down to see that her armor had become rather scarred in the fight. With a tug of magic she adjusted the red trim on her barding.

“Rough day, Argie?” came the languid voice behind her.

Argent turned to see Spearhead standing there, with Brick and a few dozen EUP Guards behind him. She gave him a frosty smile. “I’ve had better.” She cast a glance at the guards and sized them up: mostly green whitejobs, with a few older soldiers tossed into the mix, but after today they were all veterans. “How many did you get?”

“About sixty. The rest of them we sent to protect the city.”

“I found thirty-two,” she responded. “Not exactly a full fighting company, but we’ll make do, I suppose.” Her eyes flicked to the assembled soldiers. “Gentleponies, your orders are simple: find the Royals, find the Elements, find the civilians, and protect them at all costs. Stick with ponies you know so that it will be harder for the enemy to impersonate them.” She shouldered her saber. “Should you become separated from your fellows, your standing orders are to go find the nearest enemy and kill it. Understood?”

“Hoo-rah, ma’am!”

She gave a curt nod. “Very good. Let’s be about it.”


Spearhead tore into the aerial melee, his weapon a blur as he cut a path through the swarm. The changelings attempted to use their superior numbers to encircle him and bring him to the ground, but he was just too fast. On the ground, Brick charged through the enemy like a plow, with Argent directly behind him, her flashing blades cutting down anything the two stallions missed.

Behind them advanced the Royal Guard in tight wedge formation to protect anypony from getting picked off, smashing through the changelings like a ram. The earth ponies formed the front of the wedge on the ground while the pegasi guarded them from overhead assault. Behind them, the unicorns advanced at a steady pace, laying down a withering barrage of fire. What they lacked in experience they made up for in enthusiasm. More than once their magical blasts had saved Spearhead from getting overwhelmed.

Which is something of a concern at the moment, he thought as he swept his spear laterally to gain some space. The changelings hissed and tried to avoid the polearm, but precision strikes with its point knocked three out of the fight and made the rest pull back. Too easy, he thought with satisfaction.

too easy… he realized with trepidation. He spun around to find his vision filled with a snarling changeling maw and braced himself for the pain of fangs on his snout. But that never happened. There was a flash of light and the insectoid dropped with a cry. Looking to see where the shot had come from, he caught sight of Private Comet, easily identifiable by the look of pain and triumph on his face and the smoldering horn on his head. Spearhead flipped him a quick salute before diving back into the fight. Gonna have to put that kid up for a medal after this.

The changelings put up a good fight, but in the narrow confines of the castle their numbers couldn’t stand up to the organized wall of armor and death advancing on them. But they kept coming. Spearhead couldn’t help but marvel at their determination, and blanch in horror at their single-minded willingness to die. I don’t know who or what’s driving them on, but I don’t wanna meet it!

And so the changelings continued to charge, using their magic to power their dive-bomb maneuvers in an attempt to explode into the formation of guards. The sheer weight of magical firepower opposing them kept them at bay, but they never slowed. From his superior vantage point, Spearhead could see the madness of their charge clearly: In the changelings’ eagerness to attack, they were flying into the walls and ceilings, causing small explosions as though their pent up rage needed an outlet, even if it meant attacking the castle itself. Geez, look at the size of those cracks! At this rate they’re going to—

Then Spearhead realized what they were doing. “Pull back!” He shouted. “They’re gonna bring down the ceiling! Fall back! Fall back!”

The guards slowed, at first not seeing what he was seeing through the melee. When they did, they began back-pedaling to get away from the fissures as the ceiling cracked and groaned under the weight of unstable masonry. Eyeing their rate of retreat, Spearhead guessed that they’d be safe. Which only left—

There was a cataclysmic crack and a support beam shattered, sending a torrent of broken masonry hurtling downwards.

Straight towards Argent and Brick.

The two soldiers were too far forward to have pulled back with the rest, and weren’t fast enough to move out of the way. There was simply no time. No time for Spearhead to think.

So he just reacted.

With speed that would have earned him a spot with the Wonderbolts, Spearhead dove for the ground. At the last instant he leveled out and flew laterally, right for Argent and Brick. With all the force he could muster, he hit them like a cannon round, pushing them out of the path of the rubble. It was fast. Faster than he’d ever flown in his life.

But not fast enough to follow them to safety.

A thousand hammer blows smote him to the ground with the wrath of an angry titan.

He felt pain.

And then nothingness.