Prelude to Deliverance
By: (Lord) Barcha
Part 1: Delta
You awaken in darkness, opening your eyes to find no light. You reach out, but nothing exists for you to touch. You struggle to breathe, but no air fills your lungs. The world is void, silence and darkness. A voice speaks, ignoring the impossibility of speech in a vacuum, “Welcome to the void, young one. I am called many things. The Archivist. The Recorder. And most commonly, Death. You can stop trying to scream, I can do nothing to you now. You are already dead. I am simply here to guide you onward. However, there is something you can do for me.
When you have existed for so long that you no longer remember your beginning, and know for an absolute fact that you have no end, some form of entertainment is necessary. So, many thousands of years ago, I began to collect the only interesting things in this place, stories. Everything has an origin, a motivation, and a purpose for their existence. Some stories are as simple as a brief romance, and others are so complex that they encompass multiples realities. Each story interweaves different points of view and motivations. From my outsider’s perspective, I long ago learned not to take sides. When you see two armies with exactly the same beliefs make war, you quickly stop trying to rationalize who is in the right.
You are of particular interest to me because you hold a view in a story thousands of years in the making. I have been watching it with interest and wondering which side will win in the end, or indeed, if anyone will win at all. And regardless of which side wins, I’ll be talking to a lot of ponies from your universe in the near future. And so, I make you an offer. I will share with you the parts of the story that others have given to me, then you will tell me yours.
Nod once for yes. Good. Let us begin. The sooner we finish, the sooner you can move on, and I can hear the next part of the story. This particular tale begins with a war, but I’ll let him tell you about it. His story is nothing remarkable, merely the account of a sheep in a battle he never fully understood, but it nicely establishes the setting.”
My name was Delta. Chaos had a strange sense of humor, always talking about the “fourth wall” and how my name was some kind of joke aimed at the “audience” whatever that might be. I commanded a group of roughly fifty, including groups of pegasi and unicorns. My task force had met the enemy on the hills, just south of Canterlot, or at least, where Canterlot used to stand before Chaos obliterated it. More than a hundred soldiers met us at the base of the hill, heavy infantry composing the main body. Their group had few unicorns, and only one or two pegasi, so they would be a fair fight. I hated fair fights. Their leader, a white pegasus, guided them from the sky.
Like all of Order’s soldiers, they fought with frightening efficiency, wasting no energy. However, their efficiency also made them predictable, and they fell into even the most simple of traps. Despite the fact that we had only light skirmishers with us, who were certainly no match in a fair fight, we managed to split them, giving the illusion of flight and then hitting their exposed flank with a barrage from our unicorns. At least twenty fell in the first strike, but they quickly reformed and charged our position. Underestimating their speed, we let loose another barrage of iron. Mentally, I cursed General Olive for not giving us any of the stronger unicorns. What was he thinking, sending me out with a bunch of rookies? This time, they were prepared, and only one went down.
Unable to escape, the unicorns quickly fell before the much stronger earth ponies, who broke their weak bodies like twigs. My pegasi were too weak to contend with so solid a formation, and we withdrew up the slope. Much of the hill remained exposed, and was little more than a sheer cliff, making it perfect for the pegasi’s flight to be maximized.
When we reached the top, the pursuing force began to scale the slope. While I waited, I examined the main battle in the distance. White flashes and bursts of light lit up the flat plains. Other, stronger unicorns would be there, changing the battlefield itself to suit their tactics. However, the chances of survival on such a playing field would be abysmal. Under the seething magic, the very earth would try to consume the incautious. At the heart of the battle, a roiling form tore through all before it. Its shape constantly shifted, but such was Chaos. He killed everything in sight, not a soldier but a force of nature. And like a force of nature, he didn’t care who he killed.
Glancing down at the slope, I shook my head and laughed at the simple incompetence of my opponent. She had run into an obvious trap and hadn’t even bothered scouting the slope before scaling it. As the first group neared the top, I gave the signal. Great boulders rolled down the slope, crushing many of the foes, and the pegasi swooped down to finish any who had survived. However, my pegasi never rose from their landing places, and I felt a whistle as a shard of iron tore the air next to my face. Unicorns. Although most of my pegasi had fallen, three or four rose above the tree line once again. Another whistle, and another pegasus fell to join the corpses below. Shifting into my native tongue, I cursed my enemies. Although more than half of their force lay dead on the ground, I had lost all but three of my pegasi, all of my unicorns, save me, and had no support for my light infantry. Drawing three short daggers from my bag, I sent one of them hurtling down to clatter on the rocks below.
“There! Another ambush!” a hoarse voice cried from below.
Chuckling, I sent the remaining daggers in the direction of the voice, to be rewarded with a gurgling scream. With another application of magic, the daggers returned, one drenched in blood.
War is hell. It changes you and twists you in ways beyond imagining. Eventually, you start to enjoy it. To me, that bloody dagger was nothing more than a treat, to be savored. I enjoyed my salty knife for a moment, before motioning to my soldiers once again.
“Fade. Spread out and cover each other, don’t strike unless you can get a clean kill.” I whispered to my soldiers, casting an illusion spell. It took more magic than desired, but I accepted the loss, and disappeared into the shadows. Motioning to one of my geomancers, we proceeded down the slope, to approach the one of the newly diminished groups of enemy soldiers. From behind me, that thrice cursed pegasus cried out. She wore a Seer’s Stone, set in the center of her forehead on a crown of silver, which allowed her to look through my illusions. Throwing my daggers, I dived out of sight behind a tree. The pegasus effortlessly dodged my attack and continued in my direction. The earth pony geomancer next to me closed his eyes in concentration, and a faint trace of magic began to work its way toward the nearby trees. Understanding his intent, I set aside my pride and self-preservation, and stepped into the open. Immediately, the commander shot in my direction, talons on her armor reaching outward. As she approached, spikes of wood shot out of a tree, too quickly to dodge. She fell at my feet, and a well-placed dagger ended it.
“Well done soldier,” I said to him, “The prize is yours.”
Lifting the Seer’s stone, I offered it to him.
However, he declined, instead saying, “Keep it, Commander, My powers need no amplification. They sent me with you because my time is near.”
You must understand, geomancers were rare even then, mostly because of the cost to their power. Complete manipulation of nature comes at an equivalent price. The more power they have, the sooner they die because of it, consumed by the very nature they use. This particular pony had sprouted several dozen roses from his back with his most recent spell, and was oozing blood. He wouldn’t last much longer.
In the distance, an explosion broke the calm, and I smirked at the dull screams. Offering the bloodied dagger to my comrade, I issued command quickly and quietly, “That took out at least half of the remaining soldiers. I estimate a maximum of ten left. You need to hold on until they’re dead, then we can pull you back. Enjoy the snack, it’ll help.”
Chaos gives us all some very strange powers, each with their own downsides. I once heard of a pony that could manipulate space and time as she chose. She managed to erase herself from existence so thoroughly by misusing it that she technically never existed in the first place. My particular skill was sangromancy, which allowed me to draw power from the consumption of blood. And yes, I’ve heard all of the vampire jokes, but I don’t need the blood to live. I just used it to accelerate healing and magic recovery. To some extent, I could transfer my power and was trying to improvise a healing method for my wounded comrade.
Only a gurgle answered me, and I glanced at the dying geomancer. A long, jagged chunk of metal protruded from his throat. Manipulating my daggers, I killed the unicorn responsible, and advanced on the final column of infantry. They were a sorry group, a mere dozen, trying desperately to reform into coherence. It pained me to kill anyone so helpless, but we lacked the tools to imprison them. They had made their choice.
Their lack of leadership prevented any discipline, which had been the source of their strength and competence, and I killed three of them from my position behind them. As the bodies struck the ground, a pegasus swooped into the gap, killing another with a well-placed blow before launching himself back into the air. My other geomancer struck next, shattering their defenses with some kind of monstrous plant and killed a further five by herself. I made a note to check on her condition after a spell like that. The last three struggled to stand, before my skirmishers finally arrived to finish them. They collapsed under the assault, too stunned to truly fight back.
“Report!” I shouted to the soldiers, “What are the losses?”
My second in command, the remaining pegasus, quickly tallied the survivors, “We lost all of the unicorns, save you, for a total of thirteen. The explosion was the Pyromancer hitting his limit. Ten of the twenty skirmishers are dead, and thirteen of fifteen pegasi. This is assuming that all are dead, with no wounded. Our other geomancer has yet to report, but he’s strong. I’m sure he’s fine.”
“He’s dead.” I delivered the news with a heavy heart. Our few survivors would be insufficient to hold the ridge.
At that moment, a corpse on the ground forced itself to its feet. Clearing its throat of the clotted blood, it spoke in a harsh, mechanical voice, before collapsing again, “Order is coming. Pull out.”
Panic set in. We were not equipped to fight her. There was no way we would ever be. Our only hope was to buy time for escape. I gave a quick set of motions to my troops. They understood what it meant, “Go on. I’ll catch up later.” They knew it was a lie, but they knew better than to directly disobey an order and began to run silently up the slope. Perhaps my second in command would finally get the leadership position he so deserved with my death.
Silently, I turned and began to walk in the other direction, carefully examining my surroundings. As I paced down the long path, the question gnawed at me. Why am I fighting? I suppressed it. Chaos was the only hope for ponykind, the lesser of the two evils. But yet the same doubts, obviously brought on by my impending death, continued to bother me. What had he ever done to help us? Certainly, he had warned us all of the dangers Order posed to reality, but was it really so essential? Indeed, could a victor ever come of such a fight? By all accounts, the war had no solid beginning, stretching back for a thousand years or more.
I only understand it now, I certainly didn’t then. This must be what Commander Arcturus felt, this despair, this emptiness. But unlike me, he acted on it and launched his mad quest to unite ponykind in peace. What were those words again, from his famous last struggle?
The words came unbidden to my lips, as my father once told me, “This day we fight, not to win, but to plant the seeds of hope, that others may rise against. And so that, in the name of peace, shall the final war be fought.”
Then, I spotted it, and my doubts fled from me. A right angle, an unnatural perfection on an ancient and wizened tree. However, it did little to increase my already maximized fear. Minutes passed, and still nothing disturbed the forest but the breeze. Perhaps I had erred; perhaps there had been no threat at all, merely a decoy to force us to yield our position. It seemed out of character for Order, she never really tried the deception side of war, but I eventually concluded that she had truly faked us out. I turned to follow my compatriots, but decided to wait a minute to gather my nerves.
As I calmed myself and relaxed, exhaling deeply, the long, cold sword drove itself into my back, and I fell without a word. My punctured and deflated lungs were too weak to call out to my allies. She had been there the entire time. Detachment came as the pain quickly faded, and the world slowly spun away. With my dying motion, I turned over to see my killer, and was greeted with a vision of absolute terror. It simply existed, a featureless nothing, a formless shape of distilled emptiness. It didn't even have the decency to let me choke out my last words, the b-(Censored by your friendly reaper).
Now can you just let me move on, Death? I’ve done what you wanted. I want to rest.