//------------------------------//
// IX. Precursor 
// Story: The War in Heaven 
// by voroshilov 
//------------------------------//


“His Imperial Majesty was clear in His orders: ‘It is by Our will that reality survives.’ There would be no threat to His Imperium, for to threaten His Imperium would be to threaten reality itself - for only by His good graces does reality not perish.”


- Orison of the Ninth Sphere, Fourteenth Second by First-Light-of-Broken-Sun -


The dark purple coat of Penumbra made her almost invisible in the failing light of the facility. Every so often, a distant explosion would rock her, with several smaller cracks of discharging weapons keeping her reminded of her surroundings. A pair of guards followed her, ceremonial silver armour far more primitive looking than it was. Around both of them, on a close inspection, could be seen a shimmering field of energy - their shields strong enough to stop all but the most powerful of blows. She was being led by a scribe, half her height, looking about skittishly, every noise making him jump back slightly.

Eventually, the group reached a large opening, empty aside from the bulkhead door at the other end. The bulkhead opened, metal screeching against metal, revealing another guard. He was missing half of his armour, as well as the entirety of one wing, with a hub of metal in its place instead.

"Ma'am." He bowed his head to Penumbra. "There's a storm incoming, biggest I've ever seen, we have to make this quick."

"We shall, Wanderings. How many are out there?"

Wanderings sighed, before chuckling. "I don't know, but it's a hell of a big number."

"Can we make it?"

Wanderings shrugged. "Yeah, sure."

Penumbra nodded, the scribe moving far behind her as they passed through the bulkhead doors. They closed behind them, forming an airlock, leading to the rumbling outside. As the second bulkhead opened, rays of orange light blinded them, before the door screeched to a halt, half open.

The two guards wrenched it open, grabbing it with their hooves. In doing so, they made themselves open to potential attackers outside. Sure enough, something roared and grabbed one of them, grasping and tearing at his armour. He cried out for his comrade, who lashed out with his magic, a yellowish aura grabbed a creature hidden by the flare of the star. Whatever it was roared again, before whimpering and falling silent. When the blindness finally subsided, they were met with the collapsed body of one of the Assembly's thralls, a Vortexian in species, its rudimentary armour cracked and shattered, with a glowing orange sword in its dead hand.

Barely an hour earlier, Penumbra had, whilst working with Radiant-Dawn-of-Remembrance, suddenly received an array of communiques. One was from her homeworld, calling for her to return immediately, another was from Chronove, informing all Assembly installations of a "Great Rebellion", with the final being from an unknown source, crying out for help. Within minutes, the entire planet was embroiled in rebellion, all of the Assembly's "thrall" species on the planet had risen up, armed and armoured themselves, and fought the Assembly's forces to a standstill, even managing to push them back in many areas. One minute she had been compiling data on her species' religious beliefs, the next she was advancing to the portal controls, intent on shutting them down.

Fortunately, the now dead thrall was the only one who seemed to be around. Wanderings levelled a long rifle, aiming specifically towards the battered and collapsed hull of a Stategos-Class construct. Scattered about the field were badly burned and smashed WarSynths, most were dead on the ground, but a few wandered aimlessly, headless, with one slowly burying itself into the ground by slowly turning on one leg, muttering something in binary static. High above, the sky was boiling, a storm from space, brought on by powers unknown, was slowly but steadily approaching the planet proper.

"Come," Penumbra said, "the elevator over there will take us down to the Core."





"Nicholas," Twilight said, "what was I?"

The titan looked away from the screen in front of him and towards the pony who had just entered the observation deck. He looked her up and down, before grunting to himself, "in what sense?" He asked as he rose, looking far different without his armour: emaciated, little more than pinkish-beige bone, with a number of almost hole like indentations on his otherwise marble smooth head.

"What did I look like, what was I like, I want to know everything."

Nicholas laughed hoarsely. "I do not know much," he said, "but what I do know would take a very long time. Perhaps it is best to show you." He turned back to his screen, opening up the file he had viewed previously. Twilight was met with the full holographic image of Penumbra, standing resplendent. She looked it over, taking in every detail she could.

"That was..."

"You," Nicholas said, "it still is, in a way."

Twilight held one of her forelegs up in front of her, comparing it to the taloned foot of Penumbra. The Precursor before her was clearly larger, stronger and more adapted to nearly every possible event. From the data that surrounded the picture, she was also an immense well of magic, far in excess of Celestia, Luna and herself combined.

Suddenly struck by thought, Twilight spoke, "what about Celestia?"

"What about her?"

"What would she think of this? Did she know? Where has she been?"

Had Twilight not known better, she would have sworn Nicholas gulped guiltily. He shook his head, before speaking, "she did not know, it was not something I would have told her. As for where she is, she is aboard the Sin of Damnation, she was not needed in the battle."

Twilight seemed to accept the answer. "So, why are you showing me this?"

Nicholas' demeanour changed, he chuckled and his mouth twisted into what could be constituted as a smile. "Because I have the power to make you this way once again. Though, of course, you will never be able to turn back."

Even at the thought of being entirely changed, something within her wanted to be the Precursor she had been presented with. She didn't know how her friends would react, but, ultimately, did it matter? The chance to be powerful and also be who she was meant to be was sorely tempting. Perhaps, given enough power, she could even rebuild Equestria? Or, better yet, simply create a brand new Equestria in her perfect image.

"How will you do this?"

Nicholas looked her up and down. "A spell, if you will. Difficult, but I am no stranger to difficulty."

She considered her options: on one hand, she would be immensely powerful, as well as who she had been before; however, she could not turn back, she couldn't be Twilight Sparkle again. If she went through with it, she would be Penumbra forever, whether she liked it or not. Then again, Twilight Sparkle was just a name, she'd still be herself within, but also herself without. After all, what was a little paint change?

"When can you do it?"

"Whenever you wish."

Twilight paused, dozens of thoughts fighting at once. Eventually, agreement won out, making the decision immediately before she changed her mind again. "Do it."

Nicholas nodded, his Obsidian Crown floating to his head. He raised both his open claws, tendrils of shadow channelling from his eyes to them, where they leapt towards Twilight. She flinched as she felt the impact, like ice cold water covering her, which quickly turned to boiling, with pins digging into her skin. Slowly, her vision began to darken, the shadows covering her entire body.

It was like she was submerged at the bottom of the ocean, pressure from the void around her threatened to crush her, her body froze and boiled at the same time and everything ached and stung. She could feel her body changing, feel more muscle where previously there was none, feel more power where previously there had been little. For a time, she felt good, the new power and muscle felt nice, maybe this was a good idea after all.

Suddenly, her bones felt like they were being snapped, her skin stretched and broke and her brain felt fit to burst. Her blood burned as it flowed within her, burning her skin as it flowed without. The darkness she was surrounded with entered her lungs as she screamed out, her inside flooding as if with ice. She thrashed out, but that caused even greater pain, like her nerves were being ripped out of her, causing her to thrash even more. Eventually, the pain was so much it began to dull, causing her to halt her thrashing and let herself hang. All she could hear was the sound of cracking bone, as her horn lengthened to five feet, eventually, even that was gone, and the darkness subsumed her.





"Does it hurt?" A voice floated through the ether.

"You would think," came the reply, almost discernible as everything slowly came into focus.

She was, apparently, in a living room of some kind. It was dimly lit, mostly black and dark red, with a thick, shag rug on the ground and a pair of armchairs flanking an ebony coffee table in front of an unlit fireplace. Two figures were visible, with one sitting on one of the chairs and the other stood just behind them, one arm on the chair's headrest, the other holding a small candle lamp, likely the source of the minor illumination.

"Why do you wear it?" The standing figure, female by her voice, asked.

The hidden figure chuckled hoarsely. "Have you not been paying attention to your own questions?"

"Of course I have," the woman said, sighing as she did, "but, why would you choose to wear it? If it hurts so much..."

She was met by a sound akin to a grunt, but the only sound being an out-rush of air. "It is power," the hidden figure replied, "power beyond the wildest imaginings of anyone. Without it, my Empire would not be half as wide."

"It's power." The woman relinquished her hold on the chair and took a step back. "But, at what cost?"

"No cost is too great," the hidden figure replied, "not in flesh or in spirit."

The woman turned to look away from the chair, towards the direction of its fellow. "I would advise you against this," she said, "but, I know you've already taken that mantra to heart. That crown burrowing into your skull buries into your mind too, doesn't it, buries into your soul with its knives. I wonder how much blood will be shed before your work is done. And how much of it will be yours."

"Blood will have blood..."

The woman laughed. "Indeed. Though, I fear there won't ever be enough for you."





"Penumbra," a voice, clearly Nicholas - though with an unknown, feminine quantity as half of it -  but whispered and morose, spoke in her mind, "finally, you are beginning the first of your transformations, the first of your evolutions. You are becoming strong. This is good.

A great trial is soon to begin, though, perhaps, not the one you expect. A trial far greater than even this, this War in Heaven. A trial that will push everything to the very brink, maybe even push it over. I have a curse, some may call it a gift, but it is a curse nonetheless: the curse of foresight. For millennia, my life has been dictated to me, dictated by visions and prophecies that convince me of victory, but leave no space for my own development. It is as though we are all just words on a page, we all claim to have free will, yet behave exactly as my visions predict, just like a book. Is it free will if our fates are already determined?

You are becoming strong. But, you are not nearly strong enough. Not yet. This first evolution, first transformation, will be the catalyst for your rebirth. In time, you will be strong. In time, you will be strong enough to face this final, great trial. All in time.

For now, take me, and do your strongest."





She was suspended in sensory deprivation for what felt like hours, before the thinnest rays of light began to penetrate the layer of shadow surrounding her. Slowly, the shadow thinned, and before long she was surrounded in a translucent bubble of grey. With a rush of wind, it vanished, leaving her to slowly settle to the ground. She wobbled on her new legs, was mostly blinded with her new eyes, and could hardly hear with her new ears. Eventually, she collapsed, falling a considerable distance before impacting the floor.

Slowly, her senses returned to her, she felt the cold hardness of the ground and saw the clawed feet of Emperor Nicholas. Looking up, she saw his almost delighted - with what seemed to have a foundation of relief - expression. At least, she hoped it was delight and relief.

"Fantastic," he said, "truly fantastic. I had almost worried that wouldn't work."

He floated forwards a mirror for her to use. She instinctively reached out with a hoof to grab it, before recoiling slightly when she realised her foot had four claws. She grasped the air with them, testing their feel and use, as well as marvelling at them. Slowly and deliberately, she reached out for and grabbed the mirror. It slipped slightly, she was still clumsy in this new body, after all, but stayed in place.

Her face was far stronger than it had been: her jaw was larger, with dagger like teeth perfectly interlocking beneath her lips; her eyes glowed magenta, a vapour emitting from her black sclera, with the tiniest dot of silver light within her pupil. Her ears were like pyramids atop her head, incredibly well attuned and able to bend beneath her indigo mane should it be needed.

"It worked," she said, voice seductive and powerful, "amazing."

She stood up, shaking on her new legs, but gradually getting used to them, viewing her new form from her own eyes. Her wings were massive, even folded up onto her back, extending some two metres from her shoulders. She slowly opened them, testing their strength and feel, before fully flaring them. They curved upwards, almost touching the ceiling, casting even Nicholas into shadow.

Finally, she reached out with her magic. Her new horn was incredibly responsive, filling her mind with perfect images of her surroundings, even being able to touch upon the magical imprint of Nicholas, the mass of which made the edge of her horn tingle. She could barely comprehend the reserves of power within it, though would happily work to use them.

She began to steadily pace about the room, getting used to her new legs. The claws clacked against the metal floor, creating the illusion of dozens of tiny footsteps with every step she took. She tried jumping, then hovering with her new wings. They, naturally, created immense amounts of noise, but easily kept her hovering with just a few flaps. She felt more comfortable as she was than she had been previously.

"I think," she said, still getting used to her new voice, "that I should introduce myself to my friends."





Luna and Rarity stood on the bridge of the Night Truth, looking out over the surface of Cradle just as the rays of a new dawn came over the horizon. Light bounced from ship to ship, off emplacements on the ground and off the chrome and silver foundation of the Shield World's surface, refracting as if by a prism through the viewscreen of the cruiser.

"Incredible," Rarity breathed, "just beautiful."

Luna smiled. "Indeed it is. Cradle is a marvellous world."

With the ethereal scream of an opening portal, the room was bathed in cyan light. The pair turned to the large, open space behind the command console. Emerging from the portal came Nicholas, who had shortened himself to just over five metres tall, and a pony who seemed of a similar phenotype to Luna, though shorter and with feathery wings, but seemed to hold much greater power, held around her in an aura of purple.

"Hail." Luna bowed. "I had not expected your visit."

Nicholas waved her up with a hand. "I had not planned upon it, though she insisted." He gestured to the pony by his side.

"And who is she?" Rarity asked, looking her over.

Nicholas stepped aside, giving the pony the go ahead to introduce herself. "I," she said, voice radiating authority, "am Sunless-Halo-of-Penumbra." She struck her most regal pose, clumsily. "Scholar, first and foremost. Though you will know me by another name: Twilight Sparkle."

"By Faust!" Rarity exclaimed, "it really is you! I hadn't thought my suspicions would be correct. What happened to you? Why do you look so...strong?"

Penumbra laughed, a laugh Luna seemed to share some kindred spirit with. "This is who I always was, Rarity, deep within. Nicholas just helped to release it. I've been around a long time, Rarity, longer than anyone, I just didn't know it. I'm still me, I just look without how I am within."

Rarity smiled. "It suits you, darling."

Luna approached her. Both Penumbra and Rarity couldn't help but tense up, with Penumbra putting on a better facade of calm than Rarity, especially when the latter caught sight of Nicholas' hand slowly creeping towards the hilt of his sword, his eyes glowing slightly brighter than usual. The Princess of the Night stood over Penumbra, casting her into partial shadow, eyes locked, whole body rigid and straight. She pulled her head back, causing Nicholas to grasp the end of Oathbreaker's pommel, his claws moving faster now.

She bowed. "Hail, Sunless-Halo-of-Penumbra, noble scholar of our race, your subjects greet you."

Penumbra recoiled slightly in confusion, her jaw quivered, searching for a response. "Hail," she said simply, looking to Nicholas, who shrugged, his claws quickly darting back to his side.

Luna rose. "I had thought," she said, "the files seemed too similar to you to be a coincidence."

Nicholas had allowed the three the time to reconvene, to speak again after their separation of many days. He, meanwhile, had broken off, accessing the Night Truth's command centre to learn of the progress of the many operations he had set in motion. He had received only one message, a report from one of the few dozen PHALANX teams he had dispatched, it was audio only.

The voice was likely masculine, but so obscured by static and the cracks of gunfire it was difficult to be sure, "Blue Team encountered...confirm hostile...overrun...lost contact with other...gateway is active, gateway is active...swarming through...argh!"

The origin of the message was an area of interstellar space, a few light years from Cradle, which had previously been filled with PHALANX IFF tags, now empty and silent. If they were, as he suspected - as he knew - all dead, that would mean one hundred and ninety-two PHALANXs were gone, along with years of training and augmentations. It was, however, going to be worth it. No cost was too great.

"Penumbra," he called, the pony entering within a minute, "I have a mission, return to the Hand of Fate, speak to Zealot Kaidon, they will supply you with armour and weaponry."

Penumbra nodded. "Where are we going?"

"You," he said, hundreds of plans and stratagems floating in his mind, "are going to war."