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Surrounding the once sleepy town of Ponyville some terrific evil has risen to smash hopes and dreams as if against the shores of the eternal. Diminishing hope as horrifying animate constructs imbued with a false life approach. From some unbidden dream, they seem to come. In unmeasured weights and unknown frames, they rise and kill endlessly until destroyed. The wearied defenders of the light barely fending them off. Denting their numbers too little. The only direct defense is now gone, all pony forces and allies prepare to do the formerly unthinkable. Engage in running combat throughout the streets, perhaps to let them run red with their own lifeblood in their defense. One of their grand protectors has perhaps fallen.
The news does not spread through the ranks quickly. They are otherwise occupied preparing for this latest test of their mettle. Those that do hear it are shocked. Princess Luna might be dead, perhaps dying. Having taken a truly mighty blow on behalf of those she represents. Those rare night guard units present appear undaunted by this revelation. Possibly more motivated than ever to carry out her orders to their own dying breath, and seething with anger over the possibility. Stars above do not shine or offer solace tonight. Death may have succeeded in taking at least one from their number. Rumors spread. Could she really have been defeated? Everyone felt that clash of energies swirling about out there on the battlefield, but there is no time to dwell on it. Surrounding forces approach.
This time their battle array is different in some noticeable way. An odd reordering of their troops. What has changed? Whoever or what commands this insanity is not easily deceived or outmaneuvered. It is noticed all those that took damage but remain mobile are in front. The ponies field commander realizes the fact rapidly. There is a purpose in every move and motion. Directly behind this sacrificial line of constructs stand what remains of animate bodies. Each has paired up in a specific way. They face no slouches here. Ordered as though a well-tested army they begin that shambling shuffling march. Disturbing in all possible ways. Something more is wrong with this. It is easy enough to feel approaching.
Something enormously bad will take the field. This feeling is much different. It suggests sorrow has just begun here. Was Death itself somehow not enough? An enormous danger stands behind this wall of stumbling horror. Patient. Determined. Set on blood and destruction as yet untold. If not stopped here it will sweep across the whole of the world and leave it void of life. What is this tumultuous impression of circling doom? The very air feels as if trembling in apprehension before this. Can a world feel fear? Perhaps only a fleeting impression. In the now, one must not become distracted by such wandering thoughts. It will get you torn apart in short order. There is no mercy offered by these infernal devices.
Some have faced family. Long lost loves and worse. No stop has been withheld here. No punches are being pulled. There is only one intention. Kill everything in their way. Even this grand equestrian army thrown together in hurried fashion is beginning to flag under such an assault on the senses and sensibilities. Looking to the site of their first great test can be seen a medic has managed to revive the beloved princess of the night. She is seriously injured, helped to limp back to her sister. The very fact she yet stands brings a loud cheer from the guards. There is still a slim chance of victory. With iron will and thoughts set only on winning the day, the battle begins to rage once more. Still, the sun does not warm and the moon is not seen.
What slinking demented vision comes stalking now? For the moment catapults and a single trebuchet still fires. It does not amount to much. Cannons have long since run dry and been abandoned where they lay. At best it all helps delay the inevitable that tiny bit longer. One other thing of note has been caught by the strategists surrounding the commander. Any sufficiently damaged puppet not fully destroyed, wooden or otherwise is never assisted by another or retrieved. The enemy is ruthless. Abandoning numbers seems a bit off. They certainly have the capacity to recover them. How strange. Something to keep an eye on. Applejack and Pinkie have both taken an active role now. Earth ponies' innate strength is of immeasurable use in a melee. Opportune strikes from practiced hooves that strong will damage almost anything.
Caution is the one and only option for them. They are not soldiers, but national heroes nonetheless. Just those caught up defending lives, their home, and the world. Their very presence here uplifts spirits wherever they are seen no matter how low. That pairing of puppet types is something else. Added to their ranks is something not seen until now. Their reserves. Befanged animal corpses puppeted in the same way as the others, adding another layer of danger to the fighting. Fluttershy cannot bear to so much as look out upon them and joins the field medics in tending to the wounded. Now infection and disease from ragged wounds are more worry added to the increasing pile. They will be battling for their lives within town inside half an hour.
That is when things will become most dire. Familiar places will offer no protection. The lovely little shops and cafes left silent in perpetuity if they should somehow remain standing afterward. The worst still lay ahead. All know this is the case. There are no expectations to be grasped. The waiting is near over. Whatever happens next might be wholly nothing more than a roll of dice. Taking a wrong gamble will spell only the most painful end for all. The most intense and horrible feeling that all which has transpired thus far has been a mere fraction of such ill intent falls over many. Could this really only have been a taste of what is to come?
Once the fighting reaches the very first house things will start getting extremely difficult. Harsh as reality is at this moment, that feeling draws closer. Why do they want this destruction? Wild anger and hatred are nearly palpably felt out there now. The air still, then broken by the sounds of ringing steel as it begins in earnest. Worst of all throughout has been the screams of those injured and dying. Somehow even this is not enough of a price to pay? What more do they want? Only one thing is apparent. They are cold killers with no remorse for these actions. This kind of pain is far deeper than a slicing-edge can inflict. Upon that edge, a new horror creeps closer.
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Those who bring you to anger along with them have already completed their conquest.