//------------------------------// // Kings and Killers // Story: Doom Slayer // by Thule117 //------------------------------// Twilight stared at the creature before her, tears streaming from her eyes. To her left, Celestia and Luna stood with stern and angry expressions, that only barely disguised the heartbreak lingering behind their gazes. Twilight however, was unable to suppress her pain. The mask of disapproval she had wished to don, crumbling instantly, as she stared at the being in front of her. A being she now could only barely recognize. His body was shrouded in a monstrous cloak of black flames, making him seem several times larger than normal. Flaring and coiling around him like a living thing, even as she watched it formed awful semi-solid suggestions of horns, claws, and immense bat wings. His eyes, once azure reflections of calm and love, had become pools of crimson light, their gaze burning, cruel, and hateful to the point of homicidal insanity. His usual aura of power and authority, had been replaced, by one that could only inspire terror and madness. Most unnerving of all however, was that even as he stared at Twilight, it felt as if he didn't truly recognize her. There was deference and obedience, however distorted, in his gaze and posture, but nothing more. It was as if he was a machine, a thing that would follow her orders, but had no understanding of who Twilight Sparkle actually was. After teleporting Capper to Canterlot hospital, the three princesses had flown as fast as equinely possible in the direction of Thunderspire city. Having never seen it, and without a clear idea of what it looked like, magical transportation was impossible. And so they had pushed their bodies to the brink of near collapse, in frantic hopes of catching up to Derran, and halting his rampage. They had been able to shorten the journey via a few weightlessness and air manipulation enchantments Celestia knew, yet even so, they only barely managed to arrive in time. Teleporting the last few thousand feet with a sisyphean effort, born of sheer desperation. Nevertheless, even exhausted and covered in sweat as they were, Celestia and Luna presented a terrifyingly commanding presence. "Lower your weapon Doom Slayer." Celestia's normally gentle voice was like steel, giving no hint to the subtle pain reflected in her eyes. There was an edge to her tone, a note of warning, that she was in no mood to tolerate debate. Yet, despite this, neither the Slayer's arm, nor his weapon, moved. Though, notably, his finger had been off the trigger since the three princesses had appeared. When he spoke, his voice was so vicious and filled with barely restrained malice, that Twilight could hardly understand his words. "Dangerous. . . EVIL. . . must be destroyed!" The Slayer snarled, his gaze fixed on the creatures over Celestia's shoulder. His tone was vicious and guttural. The sound alone making the huddled masses behind the princesses, clutch at one another in terror. "No, Doom Slayer." Luna interjected, she did not raise her voice, yet her tone commanded complete obedience, as she stepped forward. "Your rage blinds you to the truth. Look upon these creatures. Scared, starved, broken. . . how can they possibly be a threat?" The Slayer shook his head in an almost mechanical motion. "Grow strong. . . become a threat. . . kill now. . . end it!" He growled, his voice like jagged glass. Celestia shook her head in return, her expression suddenly growing sympathetic, as she moved closer. "Please my love. . . I know this isn't what you want." She offered, her voice gentle and soothing. As Celestia spoke, the flames around the Slayer seemed to recede ever so slightly. The wrathful light in his eyes appearing to dim a hair, as the arm holding his weapon seemed to relax almost imperceptibly. Then, as he replied, beneath the hate and anger, Twilight swore she heard a note of something like. . . sorrow. "Not. . . want. . . but. . . MUST. . . keep you safe!" Luna shook her head, her expression also softening. Her voice somber, but filled with love and compassion as she spoke. "We are safe beloved. You protected us. . . as you always have." The Slayer Shook his head, the flames seeming to recede another fraction. "Didn't. . . save. . . you. . . Derpy did. KILLED HER!! . . . Can't let them. . . get away. . . ." For all the hate dripping from his words, there was now no suppressing the clear tone of regret and uncertainty in the Doom Slayer's voice. Now Twilight stepped forward, tears still streaming from her eyes. "Derpy wouldn't want this!" She pleaded. "You were her hero Doom Slayer! What would she say if she saw this?!" A faint choking sound came from behind the Slayer's helmet, as his eyes dimmed a bit more. His arm trembling for a moment, as the hesitance and misery in his voice became more pronounced. "Dinky. . . how will I face. . . let her mother die. . . ." Twilight felt like her heart was being pulled from her chest an inch at a time. She wanted to scream that Derpy was still alive, and he had nothing to feel guilty for, but Celestia and Luna had warned against it, shortly after they had parted ways from Capper. The Slayer and Derran needed to confront their loss, it was the only way to allow them to truly heal. Giving them an out would prevent that, and possibly, make things even worse in the future. "You know Dinky thinks the world of you! She doesn't blame you for what happened. . . you're her hero too! A hero that she needs to come home!" Again the flames receded, as the Slayer's eyes dimmed another notch. "Not a hero. . . can't be. . . must. . . protect. . . must. . . erase evil." At that moment, Celestia stepped forward again. Drawing herself up and opening her mouth, as she began to sing. Deciding to communicate her feelings in a way she knew, even the Slayer's darkest rage, couldn't deny. . . . Song: Pain by Amy Wadge The song was gentle, mournful, and heartbreakingly beautiful. Washing over the Doom Slayer and the civilians like the tide on the shore, and enrapturing them in the haunting melody. The results, were almost instantaneous. The black flames covering the Slayer began to flicker and rapidly shrink, as if being drawn back into his body by some unnameable force. His eyes suddenly flashing fitfully, as if struggling to maintain their burning quality. Instinctively, Twilight and Luna lent their voices to the song, the Slayer's outstretched hand once more beginning to tremble. Then, as they hit the first chorus, the black flames flared, guttered, and then died completely. The bestial outline of vast wings, savage horns, and cruel claws, vanishing, as if having never existed. Their voices joined together, the three princesses doused the annihilating fury of the battle mad warrior, with a song of commiserating sorrow. The Slayer's outstretched hand swiftly going from a trembling, to a full blown shaking, his gaze flickering between bloody red, and ice blue. Then. . . finally, as his eyes flared like twin crimson stars. . . he collapsed. The gun vanishing from his grasp in a flash of scarlet and a crack of displaced air, as he stumbled to one knee. His head bent down as if by an immense, unseen weight. Then. . . as the final notes of the song drifted off into nothing, the Slayer raised his head. . . revealing an icy blue gaze, rimmed with tears. For a time, the princesses and the warrior stared into each other's eyes, one gaze expressing sympathy, while the other showed only a near endless pain. Finally, Celestia spoke, and placed the final nail in the coffin of the Slayer's rage. "Derpy is alive beloved. . . ." She declared with a gentle smile. "She can be restored." For some time, only silence reigned, as the kneeling figure, processed what he had just been told. Then, slowly, he reached up to grasp the sides of his helmet. The hiss of the pressure seal breaking, sounding oddly loud, amid the all consuming quiet. As, with near infinite care, Derran Grandel, removed his head from its armored covering. Twilight almost lost control of her tears completely, as she saw his face. Never in her life, had she seen somepony who looked so broken. His hair was soaked with sweat, his skin was deathly pale, and from his bloodshot and haunted eyes, tracks of dark crimson trailed down his face. . . . How great must the Slayer's pain have been, that he had cried tears of blood? Yet, even all that, was not as heartrending as the look on his face. His expression looked delicate as crystal, his gaze hollow, he looked like he could crumble to dust at a single errant word. Averting his gaze, Derran seemed unable to look the mares he loved in the eye. When he spoke at last, his voice was so soft, it could barely be heard. Derran's usual confidence and strength completely erased, in favor of the trembling tone of somepony doing all they could, not to break down completely. "Is this. . . true?" He asked, knowing his ladies wouldn't lie, but clearly desperate for reassurance. "It is my love." Luna intoned softly. "And I have no doubt that when she recovers, she will want to see you." Derran nodded, almost imperceptibly. "That. . . is good." He declared simply, as silent tears fell from his eyes. Twilight, unable to bear it anymore, rushed forward. Wrapping her hooves tightly around Derran's neck, she began bawling her eyes out into his shoulder. Celestia and Luna swiftly followed suit, holding him with their hooves, as their wings surrounded him in a cocoon of love and warmth. "Don't ever scare me like that again!" Twilight sobbed. "I thought I'd lost you!" She declared. The terrible memory of his unrecognizing and wrathful gaze, making her tighten her grip, as if afraid Derran would inexplicably run off. For a moment Derran seemed unable to react, till at last, Twilight felt him slowly wrap his arms around her, Celestia, and Luna. "I'm sorry. . . ." Was all he could manage to reply with, his tone miserable beyond words, as he held his lovers close. For some time, they stayed like that, bound together by bonds of shared sorrow and comfort. Above them, the clouds ceased to thunder and flash, turning instead to a placid grey. Whispers echoed out through the crowd of Thunderspire citizens. Some wanted answers, others wanted reassurance, and some wanted to offer thanks to their royal saviors. However, it was Tempest, who finally took the step, clearing her throat to garner the princesses attention. Separating reluctantly from their beloved, Celestia, Luna, and Twilight positioned themselves between Derran and the scarred maroon unicorn. Tempest unconsciously swallowed, as she fought back a sudden attack of nerves. Celestia and Luna's faces were impassive and unreadable, but Twilight looked like she wanted to buck Tempest across the face. For a moment, the former lieutenant to the Storm King hesitated, uncertain how to begin, before finally speaking in a tone of sadness and regret. "I. . . I know it probably doesn't mean much. And, I know it's probably too late for second chances. But. . . for what it's worth. . . I'm sorry." She declared feelingly, before pausing to contemplate her next words. "I. . . I've been angry and alone for a long time. . . but, I know that's not an excuse for what I've done. I also know this change probably feels too sudden to be real, so I understand if you don't trust it." Here Tempest gave a humorless laugh, before looking at the ground with a placid, if sorrowful, expression, as if seeking something nocreature else could see. Finally however, she turned her gaze back to the unflinching faces of the princesses. "It's kind of hard to explain, but I suppose. . . coming that close to death? Being that certain I wasn't going to make it? I guess it put a lot of things into perspective. . . ." Here Tempest took a deep breath, before bowing her head low. "I surrender myself to your custody princesses, and. . . if possible. . . after I serve out whatever punishment you feel is fitting. . . I . . . I would really like to come home." Tempest's tone was devoid of arrogance or presumption, her words frightened and exhausted, but pure, and from the heart. Celestia slowly nodded, but her expression remained unmoving. "You have caused a great deal of damage Tempest. Likely more than you will ever know. . . ." She intoned, her voice was calm, but Tempest nevertheless winced at Celestia's declaration. "However. . . I can tell that this experience has granted you a measure of wisdom not easily found. We can discuss matters of crime and punishment later, but for now. . . ." Here Celestia stepped forward, pulling Tempest into a hug, and giving a small smile, as her tone suddenly became warm. "Let me be the first. . . to welcome you back home." Tempest tried not to cry, she really did, but it was like holding back the tide. . . impossible. "I. . . I just. . . I don't. . . ." Whatever Tempest had been trying to say, was drowned out amid the sound of sobbing, as she returned Celestia's embrace, crying out her gratitude into the solar princess's chest. As Luna watched, she let the edges of her own mouth quirk upward, and even Twilight felt her anger swiftly ebb away into nothing. However, the heartwarming moment was abruptly ruined, by a frightened murmur from the nearby crowd, and a sound of slow, mocking applause. . . . "Oh how absolutely darling! Really! I'm misting up over here. . . ." Declared the Storm King, his voice dripping with malicious sarcasm, as the crowd parted in terror before him. Striding through the masses with an arrogant swagger, as if he hadn't a care in the world, the King twirled a crystal capped staff absentmindedly with one hand. "Of course, personally, if little Tempest here were to stab me in the back, I'd be a lot less forgiving. . . oh wait." Suddenly, in a move so fast and fluid it could barely be followed, the Storm King hooked his foot under a discarded spear lying on the ground, flipped it into his hand, and hurled it straight at Tempest's back. The spear never even got close. . . as a black blur leapt over Tempest and the princesses. Redirecting the spear into an end over end spin with a downward axe kick. Before sending it straight back the way it came, with a second perfectly aimed strike to the butt of its black iron haft. The bident spear whistled by the Storm King's head, missing by scant inches, before embedding itself deep in the cobblestone street, as a voice like an arctic winter, spoke. "Tempest Shadow, is no longer your concern vermin. . . ." With eyes like twin chips of ice, Derran Grandel, interposed himself between the ponies and the Storm King. "Your fight. . . is with me." The storm King looked into Derran's frigid gaze with a bored expression. "Ugh, this is what you're like normally? Honestly, I preferred you before. Noble hero types like you are so unbelievably boring!" Derran's expression didn't budge even an inch. "Are you under the misinformed delusion, that I care for the opinion of a petty backwater tyrant?" He asked, his tone as cold and calm as a killing frost. Here the Storm King chuckled. "See now, that at least had some teeth to it! You know, now that I think about it. . . you seem like an up and coming go-getter type. So how does this sound: you kill Tempest and give me the princesses, and I'll make you my new number two, whaddya say?" Derran's gaze narrowed. "I would say: that you have entirely taken leave of your senses." The Storm King just laughed, as he leaned on his staff. "Oh c'mon, consider the benefits! Piles of gold, command of an army, all the mares you want? Honestly, this is an amazing gig! And perfect for a murderous take-no-prisoners individual like yourself." At that, the crowd around the Storm King visibly shuddered, as a deathly chill suffused the air. For a moment, the King and Derran stared into each other's eyes, the tension almost palpable. Then, suddenly, lines of shining crimson light began tracing themselves over the waist, sides, and arms of Derran's armor. A moment later, there was a faint crack, as the upper part of Derran's suit seemed to break open from the back. With calm and measured movements, Derran removed his chestplate, and tossed it aside. Arching an eyebrow in confusion, the Storm King was briefly nonplussed. "W-what uh. . . what is he-what is he doing?" He asked with a glance at the princesses, clearly flummoxed, but apparently still unconcerned. The princesses gave no response, their expressions like stone, as Derran answered. "I have disgraced the Light, and my Ladies names, with my deeds these past few days." He replied coldly, his gaze like frozen steel. "Honor and justice demand I offer up penance, to atone for my actions." Here Derran glared at the tyrant, his tone unnervingly calm. "I have decided that you, shall assist me with that penance. . . ." The Storm King just continued to look confused, as Derran pulled off his gauntlets and dropped them to the ground, leaving him in nothing but bare skin from the waist up. Finally, he unlocked his helmet from his belt, and threw it to one side. Staring straight into the Storm King's eyes, Derran spoke in a growling tone. "Besides. . . it is rare indeed that I encounter an enemy who has seen me lose control, and has not been terrified to the point of catatonia, madness, or suicide. It would be poor form indeed, if I did not. . . honor, such fearlessness." "And. . . how does getting half naked relate to that? Because just to be clear: I don't swing that way." The Storm King declared caustically. Derran seemed completely unphased, as he worked the kinks out of his arms. "You, Storm King, have directly attacked Equestria. On any other day, I would kill you where you stand for such a blasphemy. However. . . today, I offer you the ultimate rarity. . . a way to alter your fate." The Storm King rolled his eyes. "How magnanimous." He declared in a sarcastic deadpan. "Can we hurry this up?! Not all of us get paid to stand around and flex you know!" Derran ignored the jab, as he pointed over the Storm King's shoulder. Following his gesture, the Storm King, the crowd surrounding him, Tempest, and the princesses, saw he was pointing at the tyrant's slightly damaged palace, several hundred feet distant. A mass of polished black stone, partially embedded in the mountain, and overlooking a grand, flagstone plaza. A wide flight of steps lead from the plaza to the temple-like structure's entrance. The gigantic bronze doors to the palace flanked by massive fluted columns, holding up a frieze and stone tiled roof, all covered in carvings of lightning bolts and storm clouds, as well as the Storm King's arrogantly grinning face. "The rules of our duel are simple. There lies the seat of your power, and here I stand, without weapons, and only half my defense. For every three strikes you give me, I am allowed only one. You are permitted whatever weapons you can find, I am permitted only my fists, and any weapon I can wrest from your hands. Should I be slain, you are free to do as you will. However, should I survive to stand at your palace's threshold, you. . . shall die." Derran declared, his tone as frighteningly calm as his expression. "WHAT?!" Twilight's voice shouted. "Derran you can't be serious?!" Turning back to regard Twilight with a near emotionless gaze, Derran nodded his head, his voice completely neutral as he replied. "I assure you my Lady, I am quite serious." Twilight opened her mouth, marching forward as she prepared to voice the opinion that this was the stupidest, most batshit insane example of toxic alpha-mare bullshit she had ever heard of. But was stopped. . . by Celestia's upraised hoof barring her path. Twilight looked up at her old mentor, confusion and surprise writ large upon her face. "Let him go Twilight." Twilight stared at Celestia for a moment. Her former teacher's tone was strained, and her gaze was filled with misery. However, there was also a clear hint of anger, as she glared at the Storm King. Twilight turned back to Derran, wordlessly begging him to stop, to just come home. Wanting to tell him they could just arrest the Storm King and throw him in a cage in Tartarus, to tell Derran he didn't need to prove anything. . . . Yet, as she looked into his eyes, the words died in her throat. Derran's gaze was stern, cold, and filled with a terrifying intensity. Sadness flickered at the edge of his expression, yet it was overwhelmed by a look of terrible and relentless purpose. Twilight felt her whole body turned numb, by a sense of sorrow, mixed with an unspoken acceptance. She knew without question, that nothing she said would stop Derran. Too much blood had been spilled, too much terror unleashed, too much misery bestowed, for him to let either himself, or the Storm King, walk away. Twilight swallowed, tears in her eyes. She could tell Derran was in pain. Guilt and anger laying frozen behind his dark expression, yet eating away at him from within. Perhaps this fight would bring him no peace, but it would at least allow him to look those he loved in the eye. Closing her mouth, Twilight nodded her understanding, as both Luna and Celestia draped a comforting wing over her. She didn't need to be told, to know her herd sisters already understood her thoughts. Turning back to the Storm King, Derran seemed immovable as a mountain, as he spoke. "I am prepared to meet my fate. . . what of you?" He asked, his voice as sure as iron. The Storm King simply rolled his eyes. "Whatever, let's get this over with so I can get back to draining those sappy princesses magic and enslaving Equestria." He declared flippantly, clearly hoping to provoke Derran. However, Derran simply nodded, his expression unmoving, as he turned to face the Storm King. "Very well. . . then let us proceed." He declared, his voice filled with an unshakable calm, as he moved to the center of a large thoroughfare between the massive hole he had punched through the wall of Thunderspire, and the Storm King's palace. As the crowd around them nervously parted, the king and the warrior squared off. Nearly as tall as Derran, the Storm King looked him in the eye with a bored expression. "So now what captain dramatic?" He asked, leaning disinterestedly on his staff. Ignoring him, Derran took a deep breath, closing his eyes, he held it for a moment before letting it out. Repeating the process, Derran let his arms fall to his sides, his eyes still closed as he stood there. Then, suddenly, the atmosphere began to change. The air seemed to thicken, a strange energy suffusing it, as Derran once more inhaled, filling his lungs with the smoke and dust tinged air. On the edges of the street the pair stood on, the inhabitants of Thunderspire suddenly backed away into the surrounding streets and alleys. A feeling they couldn't describe pressing down upon them, and urging them to withdraw. A strange weight of power, that was at once terrifying and calming, filling the area. As Derran let out his breath, the feeling intensified, causing all, save the princesses, to whimper in fear. It was as if a massive invisible beast was rising up from Derran's immobile body. The denizens of Thunderspire instinctively shying away, lest they catch its eye. The temperature seemed to drop, as the steel gray clouds overhead briefly parted, a sliver of muted sunshine throwing half of Derran's face into shadow, as he opened his eyes. Across a body toned from countless ages of battle and struggle, a faint shimmer of light seemed to appear. Twin orbs, like chips of arctic ice, seemed to glow with a ghostly fire in his skull, as at last, Derran spoke. "Now. . . we begin." He intoned, his voice reverberating through the air like the echo of a struck gong, as he took a step forward. . . . Soundtrack: Dominance by Kenji Fujisawa The Storm King gave a toothy smile, as the strange biped the princesses called 'Derran', advanced toward him with slow measured steps. It had been awhile since he had had cause to fight in person. Most assumed he was like other, lesser kings, who would never dream of dirtying their claws in actual battle. However, before he became the Storm King, the tyrant of Thunderspire had been quite the brawler, and had made sure to keep up his training, even after attaining his crown. This wouldn't be the first overconfident would-be-hero the Storm King had put down. With a manic grin, the tyrant spun his staff around his body, the weapon humming strangely as it sliced through the air. As the furless biped continued forward, his hands empty and his guard down, the Storm King laughed. "Heroes. . . always thinking you're such tough shit. . . .'' Here he leapt forward, spinning the staff into position to attack, as he brought the crystal tipped head down on his opponent's skull. "RIGHT UP UNTIL SOMEONE PUTS YOU IN THE GROUND!!" He roared, as with a wet smack, he struck the first blow, forcing Derran's head down slightly, before spinning into his next attack. Bringing the staff around his body, the Storm King sent the head of the weapon straight into Derran's left temple. The sharp edge of the crystal, splitting the skin in a spray of blood, before the tyrant reversed his grip, and struck a blow to his opponent's chin from below. Jumping back, the King surveyed his handiwork with a confident grin. A shallow cut ran across the side of Derran's jaw, but aside from that, he seemed none the worse for wear, as he continued his advance. The King blinked in surprise. Most creatures would have been down for the count by now, screaming out in pain, assuming they could still scream at all. Derran had made no visible effort to defend himself, and the Storm King had cracked rocks with blows less intense than the ones he had just bestowed. Letting out a grunt of frustration, the Storm King spun his staff again. "Don't you know trash like you is supposed to kneel before a King?!!" He snarled, as he brought his staff in for another overhead strike. For a moment, the King didn't understand what had happened, as a blur of movement intercepted the arc of his attack. Staring down at his now empty hands, the Storm King just had time to wonder when he had lost his weapon, before he was grabbed by the fur around his collar. Eyes like an eternal winter, bereft of any emotion save a terrible, dark ferocity, locked onto the King's. As, with little more than a flick of his hand, his opponent sent him hurtling away down the street. Bouncing hard off the unyielding cobblestone, the Storm King cried out in pain, as he slid to a halt on his back, nearly forty feet away. Forcing air back into his lungs, the Storm King pushed himself onto his feet to glare at his opponent. Still moving forward, the figure's features were like cold unfeeling metal, as he threw the staff he had taken to the side without so much as glancing at it. The weapon's haft embedding itself into the wall of a stone building, like a piece of straw hurled by a tornado. Bearing his teeth in a snarl, the Storm King cast around for a new armament. It didn't take him long at all to find one. The strange biped's earlier attacks had littered the streets with the mangled and half disintegrated corpses of countless storm beast soldiers, thrown there by various explosions. It was the work of a moment to find a still intact spear. Bracing himself, the Storm King rushed forward, intending to impale the furless biped right through his gut. Unconcerned, Derran simply kept up his forward march, his face still not betraying even a hint of emotion. Pushing himself to his top speed, the Storm King roared in triumph as the bident spear's razor sharp tines, punched into Derran's stomach. The crowd and Twilight let out cries of fear and despair, that swiftly turned to gasps of disbelief. The Spear had indeed penetrated Derran's flesh, both tines embedded into blood slicked abs. Yet, the spear, impossible as it seemed, had gone no further than a few inches. Halting halfway before where the two tines met the haft. The Storm King stared at the sight in shock, before stumbling. Even with a spear lodged part way into his stomach, Derran was still moving forward. The Storm King's expression of shock quickly turned to rage, as his feet skidded along the ground, unable to resist his unflinching opponent's advance. Thinking quickly, the Storm King lifted his foot, jamming the butt of the spear into the cobblestone with a downward stomp. For an instant, the tyrant thought it had worked. The butt of the spear catching on the uneven stones and the spearpoint sinking a bit deeper into Derran's body, as he continued forward with the unstoppable inexorability of a glacier. Then, the Storm King heard the whining creak of strained metal, an instant before the haft of the spear, snapped in two. Derran stepping calmly over the pieces, as if they were no more than twigs. The Storm King stared at Derran, his jaw slack, as the silent warrior walked right by him, his expression betraying neither pain nor concern. Shaking his head, the tyrant felt apprehension stir in his gut for a moment, before, with a growl of annoyance, he picked up the pieces of the spear. Twirling the spear halves like batons, one in each hand, the Storm King ran at his opponents back, before jamming the sharpened head of the spear into his collarbone, and the jagged edge of the broken haft in his opposite hand, into the region of Derran's left kidney. Yet, once again, the weapons penetrated only an inch or two into his hardened muscles, before stopping completely. Gritting his teeth, the Storm King yanked out the portion of the haft that held the bladed spearhead, in a spattering of crimson droplets. "WILL YOU JUST DIE ALREADY?!!" He roared, aiming the twin tines for the back of his foe's unprotected neck. Again, Derran's reactions were like lightning, his body becoming a blur, as he whirled around. Grabbing the Storm King's wrist as smoothly and easily as he might pluck an apple from a tree. Using their combined momentum, Derran pulled his foe over his shoulder in a graceful twirl, before he once more hurled the Storm King down the street. Sending the tyrant's body smashing through the remains of a long abandoned market stall, in a hail of rotting cloth scraps and splintered wood. Never once during all of this, did Derran slow so much as a step. The Storm King leaned on a nearby building, catching his breath as he rose unsteadily to his feet, the world seeming to spin around him. Behind him, Derran reached behind his back, to pull the jagged spear shaft out of his side and drop it to the ground. The Storm King struggled to retain his composure as he turned to face his still advancing opponent. "This is ridiculous! What in the name of Tartarus are his muscles made of?! Hardened steel?!" Glaring around, the Storm King tried to come up with a plan, just as his eyes landed on the broken bodies of a pair of his former soldiers. "Those ought to help." He declared internally, a grin coming to his face. Twilight felt like her soul was being sliced out of her body a piece at a time. Her eyes were filled with tears, and every passing moment brought a tidal wave of emotional torment, yet she could not look away. This wasn't just unpleasant, it was barbaric! What did Derran think he was proving with this?! Even if he showed no signs of pain, the wounds Derran had sustained had to have been agonizing. Blood trickled from his injuries in sluggish streams, as a faint sheen of perspiration covered his body. Yet still, he moved forward. Twilight couldn't take this, she wouldn't take this! Charging her horn, she prepared to teleport between Derran and the Storm King. If he was upset then so be it! She didn't care about his pride or honor, or whatever else he thought he was upholding with this insane stunt. She loved him too much to let him go through with this! Only a pair of hooves, placed on her shoulders, stopped her from completing the spell. Looking up at the princesses on either side of her in disbelief, her anger fizzled as she saw Celestia and Luna's expressions. Like Twilight, tears streamed from their eyes, but their faces were set in expressions of stern determination. "I know how hard this is." Celestia declared, her voice, despite her best efforts, trembling slightly. "But please Twilight, trust that there is a purpose." Twilight wanted to argue that no purpose in the world could possibly justify this, but she stopped. As she felt the ever so slight shaking of Celestia and Luna's hooves on her shoulder. That alone, told Twilight more than their words ever could. Taking a deep breath, Twilight steeled herself. She didn't know what it was that the elder princesses knew that held them back from interfering, but she had to believe it was important. Still, as she watched the Storm King grab a pair of crossbows off the ground, she couldn't help but feel doubt. The Storm King gave an unhinged looking smile, as he leapt to his feet after retrieving his two new weapons. Both crossbows were uncocked and unloaded, but it was the work of a moment to reverse that. Slotting his feet into the loops at the end of the weapons, the Storm King heaved the bowstrings back, till he heard the click of the latch. Fitting a pair of steel tipped bolts into the grooves, the Storm King glanced up, and let out a laugh. Derran had not increased his speed by so much as an inch, and was still a good thirty feet distant. "Lets see if those eyes of yours are as resilient as the rest of you!" The King called out, as he brought the crossbows up, and took his aim. Derran made no move to dodge, as his opponent carefully lined up the sights, before pulling the triggers. The bolts let out a faint hiss as they shot towards their target, and the Storm King grinned, the shots had been nearly perfect. Contrary to his little bluff, he knew his aim one handed wouldn't be accurate enough to actually hit his target's eyes. So at the last second, he had changed the weapons trajectory, aiming straight at Derran's bare chest. Even if he missed the oncoming warrior's heart, he'd likely damage his lungs, a painful and crippling injury that, even if it took a minute, would eventually, but inevitably, kill him. What's more, there was no way he could possibly dodge or-. The storm King's train of thought was suddenly and irrevocably derailed, as Derran's arm's shifted in a flicker of blinding speed. Two meaty thunks were heard by the King and the crowd of onlookers, followed by a collective gasp. Derran continued moving forward, his pace as unhurried as ever, and his expression giving not so much as a hint of discomfort, despite the two crossbow bolts impaling the palms of his hands. Dripping with blood, the steel heads of the bolts had stopped inches before striking Derran's chest, half their length having gone through each of his blocking appendages. The Storm King stared, as the strange warrior continued to advance, oddly, making no attempt to remove the projectiles still embedded in his palms. What in the wastes was wrong with this creature?! He no longer had those black flames making him invincible! He had removed his armor from the waist up! And, to top it all off, he was bleeding from multiple injuries! Yet he just kept going! He didn't show any pain or concern whatsoever, just this absurd look of dark determination, that never wavered for so much as an instant. This 'Derran' creature was barely defending himself, and was clearly hurt. . . so why did it feel like he was winning the fight? An icy chill shot through the Storm King, as he threw aside one crossbow in order to more quickly reload the other. His hands shook slightly as he pulled another bolt from the quiver of a dead storm beast, and he snarled in anger. It didn't matter how determined this pony loving wackjob was! Death by a thousand cuts still ended in death! With both hands now available, the Storm King was able to direct his aim with far greater precision. Lining up the sights with the advancing biped's skull, the Storm King smirked. "Third time's the charm." He chuckled to himself, as the string snapped forward, and the bolt became a blur. The projectile's journey through the air took all of a split second, yet that was all that was needed. Derran's left arm became a streak of nigh invisible movement, stopping the bolt an inch from his right eye with a clenched fist, the bolt already piercing his palm having been snapped in two by the movement. The Storm King's mouth fell open, as the broken bolt fell to the ground with a light clatter, but his opponent wasn't done yet. Twirling the intact bolt around in his blood slicked palm, Derran gripped it by its fletching with three fingers, before throwing it back toward the King with a flick of his arm. The bolt struck the crossbow in the Storm King's hand with the force of a rifle bullet. The weapon shattered like a cheap toy, as the bolt's steel tip split the frame down the middle. As the tyrant stared dumbfounded at the remains of his destroyed weapon, Derran, without so much as a wince, pulled free the bolt embedded in his other palm. Dropping it to the ground without so much as a glance, as he continued toward the palace. Backing away from the oncoming warrior, the Storm King cast aside the remains of the now useless weapon, as he felt an intense pulse of rage suffuse his body. Who did this sorry excuse for a two bit comic book character think he was?! Coming into his territory, smashing up his wall, stopping him from killing that traitor Tempest?! This was the Storm King's empire! His kingdom! He was GOD here! Did this freakish furless piece of shit think he was greater than the almighty STORM KING?!! GREATER THAN THE CONQUEROR LORD OF THE WASTES?!! The Storm King snarled, his eyes bulging as he tore a pair of scimitars from the prostrate corpses of another two failed soldiers. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM?!" He bellowed, spittle flying from his muzzle. "I'M THE STORM KING!! TERROR OF THE WASTES!! CONQUEROR OF KINGDOMS! DESPOILER OF HIPPOGRIFFIA!! DOMINATOR OF KLUDGETOWN!! RULER OF ALL I SURVEY!! THIS KINGDOM?! THIS CITY?! THE ENTIRE WORLD?!! ALL OF IT IS MINE BY RIGHT!!!" The Storm King continued to rant as he waved his two new swords overhead. "THE MAGIC OF EQUESTRIA BELONGS TO ME! I'M THE ONE WHO BROUGHT ORDER TO THE WASTES!! I'M THE ONE WHO MADE THIS KINGDOM STRONG!! THIS WORLD OWES ME ITS FEALTY!! YOU SHOULD BE WORSHIPING ME!!!" He screamed, as he charged at Derran like an enraged bull. With a psychotic roar of pure hate, the Storm King swung his swords down at Derran's head, only to find them blocked by his bare forearms. Though it could not cut through his bones, the razor sharp steel bit deep into the meat of Derran's limbs, only to be ripped free again in sprays of blood. In a flurry of flashing steel, the Storm King slashed repeatedly at his opponent like a mad dervish. Derran dodged or blocked the worst of the hits, but otherwise barely attempted to resist, his body swiftly becoming covered in cuts and stab wounds. "DIE YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF FILTH!! DIE LIKE THE DOG YOU ARE!! DIE! DIE!! DIIIIIIEEE!!" The Storm King's shrieks of rage accompanied countless strikes, as overhead, a light rain began to fall. Blood and water swiftly mixed together, and trickling down from Derran's wounds, created a trail of crimson along the street, terminating at his booted feet. Yet still, Derran continued silently onward, as he accepted strike after strike. "FALL! FALL!! FAAALLLLLLL!!!" The Storm King screamed, his sword swings becoming haphazard and barely aimed, as if he was beating Derran with a pair of clubs. Then, suddenly, abruptly, and without so much as a hint of warning, the blades stopped dead. The Storm King felt his eyes widen, his insane bluster snuffed like a candle in a windstorm, as a pair of blood covered hands gripped his wrists. A pair of eyes, like ice torn from the heart of a glacier, and seeming to glow with a ghostly inner fire, were held mere inches from the Storm King's own. The swords fell from numb claws, clattering to the ground as the Storm King stared into those eyes, his mind straining as it looked into an arctic abyss. That gaze. . . it was. . . indescribable! It was old. . . so unimaginably old. . . filled with a sorrow and pain that no mortal could ever even hope to grasp. In those eyes, were held an ocean of unshed tears for every innocent life that had ever suffered the predations of evil. Yet, beyond that sorrow, was something that froze the King's very soul. It was. . . a storm. . . a storm of such unimaginable power and wrath, that it could scour entire universes free of life. So vast that no living being, mortal or immortal, could ever see its beginning or end. That storm, it wasn't fueled by the uncontrolled fury of the black flames, but by a focused, righteous anger, bound by a sense of duty as unbreakable as iron chains. This was not a look of unbridled hate, but one of absolute focused conviction. It was then that the King recalled the word that described that gaze. . . judgement. This. . . this was what they meant, when they spoke of the judgement of sinners. . . . In that instant, The Storm King was certain he was going to die, that the creature before him was going to simply blink, and erase him from reality. Trembling from head to toe, the Storm King couldn't even summon the will to breath, as the figure before him, released his wrists. . . and continued walking. The Storm King fell to the ground, his legs unable to support him, as he stumbled, gasping for air, to his hands and knees. The rain falling to the ground around him was the only sound to be heard, as the King turned his head to watch the creature continue toward the palace. For a moment, the King considered running, but swiftly discarded the idea. Even if by some miracle he escaped the city, he would never run fast enough, or far enough, to escape that. . . thing! Whipping around, he forced himself to his feet, snatching up a dagger that had fallen from the hand of another dead soldier, as he took a step back toward the princesses. One step, was as far as he got, before he froze. . . . A feeling like his entire body had just been submerged in ice water, halting him as completely as if he had run into a brick wall. Taking one of the princesses hostage clearly wasn't an option, as every instinct within the Storm King's body, told him he would die before he ever got close. Looking around wildly, the Storm King's eyes fell on the cowering figure of a young malnourished storm clan child in an alley, yet once again, a feeling like being encased in ice halted him. Returning his gaze to the slowly retreating back of his foe, the Storm King felt his mind shatter, as he realized the reality. There was no plan to be had, no clever exploitation of weakness, no preying on the innocent for an advantage over the hero. Because there was no hero here. The Storm King wasn't fighting a savior or a champion, this creature was far more terrible than that. "Is he. . . ?" For some time the storm King stood there, his expression all but blank. Then, suddenly. . . he began laughing. Great heaving guffaws and unnerving cackles, indicative of a complete loss of sanity. "What is a king to a god?!" He howled out, his mind becoming a shattered morass of violent euphoria and delirium, as he hurled himself with suicidal abandon at his opponent. A screeching warcry on his lips. Clutching the dagger in both hands, the Storm King leapt into the air, putting his full body weight into a single plunging attack. Only to feel his jaw crack, as the heel of an armored boot, hooked itself under his chin, before with an impressively flexible twirl, Derran sent him bouncing down the street, spitting teeth. Ignoring the pain with a combination of adrenaline and madness, the Storm King flipped up onto his feet, hurling the dagger in his hand with all his might at Derran. Barely moving, Derran's right hand blurred, coming up to catch the dagger's blade between his middle and index fingers. Flipping the dagger into the air, Derran caught it by the tip, before sending it straight back at the Storm King with the force of a cannon shot. The Storm King cried out, as the horn sticking out on the right side of his head, was sliced off near the root. The bone hard appendage, parting like butter, before the nearly supersonic blade. Recovering quickly, the Storm King gave a manic grin, as he seized a small dangling oil lamp from outside the remains of a nearby building. With great peals of unsettling laughter, the King rushed forward, hurling the crude clay object at his enemy. Raising his arm, Derran protected his face, as the lamp shattered, covering his left arm and part of his shoulder with oil. With a psychotic chuckle, the Storm King snatched up a second oil lamp and a fallen spear, coating the bident's head in flammable liquid, before swinging it at the stones beneath his feet. Sparks erupted from the impact, as the oil ignited, coating the spearhead in fire. With a blood crazed howl, the Storm King ran at Derran again, swinging the flaming weapon at his left arm. In a flash of igniting volatiles, Derran grabbed the spear just below the head, before snapping it with a simple jerk of his wrist. Apparently unconcerned with the conflagration consuming his limb, Derran tossed away the spearhead, and grabbed the Storm King with his blazing hand by the neck. The acrid smell of burnt hair filled the air, as Derran brought his forehead down on the Storm King's nose with a crunch of breaking bone, before once more hurling him down the street like an unwanted buckball. The Storm King, his nose broken, half his teeth missing, and with the fur on his throat and neck singed away, came to rest at the foot of a towering statue of himself. The immense twenty foot tall carving, crumbling from the Doom Slayer's earlier assault, and cracked along the base, giving the now utterly mad Storm King, an idea. Scrambling up the side of a building abutting the statue, the Storm King giggled as he crossed the roof. Pausing on the way as he discovered the remains of one of his archers, half embedded in the cracked adobe. Snatching up the warrior's abandoned greatbow and quiver, the Storm King looped both over his shoulders and waited. As expected, Derran had not altered his course, despite almost certainly knowing the Storm King's plan. Between the rain, and the swift consumption of its fuel, the flames on Derran's arm had quickly gone out. Leaving behind only charred flesh, that would have had any other creature in too much agony to stay conscious, let alone keep moving. Yet, Derran still continued forward, whatever pain he might have felt, hidden behind his unmoving expression. Twilight couldn't understand why she wasn't moving. Within her, every instinct and desire, screamed at her to teleport over to Derran, knock the Storm King out with a sleep spell, and then take her love to the nearest hospital whether he wanted to go or not. So why couldn't she? Before her, the stallion she loved was covered in blood and injuries, even if he refused to show it, the pain he was in must have been agonizing, and all of this for no worthy reason Twilight could discern or imagine. So why couldn't she save him? Swoop in and make everything better like he had done for her a dozen times before? It wasn't that she was unable, in truth it would be astonishingly easy, the work of a moment. So what was holding her back? As best Twilight could describe, it was. . . a feeling. A feeling that she could not understand or rationally explain. A feeling that kept her silently watching her lover tear himself apart, in the name of some misguided ideal she didn't understand. Tears streamed from Twilight's eyes, mixing with the rain falling down on her, to flow over her face in glittering rivulets. Her heart ached as if it was being stabbed by a white hot iron, and in her mind she was screaming desperately for Derran to stop. Yet there she stood, in silent agony, paralyzed and helpless. She saw the trap the Storm King was preparing, yet no warning left her lips. Only a profound sense, that she needed to see this, not just for Derran's sake, but for hers. There was something she needed to witness here, something she needed to learn. Yet, what that could possibly be, Twilight had no idea. As far as she could tell, the only thing she was learning from this, was what true pain felt like. . . . To the enslaved residents of Thunderspire, 'hope', was a dead word. With the rise of the Storm King, hope had been erased by endless loss. First they lost those who dared question the words of the Storm King, cast down by their fellows for not wishing to listen to his honeyed speeches. After all, any who questioned the Storm King's promises of glory must be silenced, for they were liars and conspirators greedily seeking to keep the Storm Clan, as once they had been known, from greatness. Next, they lost their morals, sacrificed on the altar of false promises and self delusion. What mattered the sacrifice of a few children for experiments, when their blood would buy the rest of the tribe prosperity? Only when their sons and daughters began to be dragged away en mass, did the first voices cry out in alarm. They were ignored, branded as traitors, if the King was to make them strong, he must have no one muddying his glorious message or defying his will, it was only the lowest ranks of families after all. Then. . . then their children were returned. That was when hope, truly, began to die. . . . The patriot sons and daughters, so eagerly sacrificed, were no longer Storm Clan. . . they were monsters. Twisted abominations created through alchemy and psycho-indoctrination. They answered to the Storm King alone, with no memory of who or what they had been, nor the loved ones they were commanded to subjugate. Only then did the Storm Clan see the horror they had seated upon the throne. Those who were strong were dragged off to the labs for conversion to fuel the Storm King's armies, while the rest were used as expendable labor. Only too late did they see the truth, that the Storm King only cared for one subject of his burgeoning empire. . . himself. Hope was lost swiftly after that, beneath the cracks of the lash, and the rattle of chains. The Storm Clan were rendered down, their spirits crushed, and their bodies broken. When the dark beast had come, howling for their blood, many had secretly welcomed the idea of it finally being the end. This dark titan, a brutal god from the dawn of time, had surely been sent as their just punishment, for letting their vile leader lay claw upon the throne. What else could so mighty and terrifying a foe be, save divine judgement? Then. . . when the princesses had come, they had been struck dumb with wonder. These ponies, even discounting the all but overwhelming aura of wisdom and authority they already possessed, seemed like ants before a raging forest fire. Yet. . . not only had they halted the monster, they had commanded it. Then, before the eyes of the Storm Clan, the vengeful beast of black fire had transformed, into a warrior seemingly torn from a forgotten age. Without fear, he had leveled the playing field, answering the cruelty and treachery of the King with an honorable challenge. It was then that they knew him. . . for this warrior had stood among them once before. His appearance had changed, and his demeanor had darkened, but his honor? His courage? His power? These they recognized, and in their hearts, hope blazed anew. It was the oldest saga of their clan, from a time so ancient few recalled its details, even as the story remained. . . . Ages ago, the god of storms had come, bringing floods, lightning, and tornadoes. Ever hungry, the cruel god had demanded a sacrifice of the Storm Clan, a single child every month, and in exchange, it would spare their homes and crops. Then. . . after many years of this, a young warrior, strong of body, quick of temper, and noble of spirit, had risen. Enraged by the cruelty of the storm god, he swore to do whatever it took to end the sacrifices. Though the Clan begged him not to, the warrior would not be swayed. Leaving his clan, he sought gods of light in a distant land. And under their tutelage, the warrior trained long and hard, till his body and will were like iron. Then, on the appointed day of the next sacrifice, the warrior returned. And climbed to the top of the mountain beneath which his clan made their home. There, the warrior challenged the storm god for the fate of his tribe, enduring freezing rain, flensing winds, roaring thunder, and bolt after vengeful bolt of lightning. For nearly three days, he stood upon the mountain, defying the storm. Till his fur was scorched away, his ears deafened, his eyes blinded, and his horns melted down to nubs. Only when the storm finally relented, did the warrior descend the peak. His body had been scarred almost beyond recognition, but the storm god, unable to best him. . . was the one who had broken. It was from this event that the clan took their name, and as for the warrior, though blind deaf and crippled, he became the very first of the Storm Kings. Now, before the eyes of the warrior's descendants, it seemed as if the legend. . . had returned. The Storm King giggled madly as Derran moved into the perfect position. Originally he had intended to line every street in Thunderspire with statues of himself. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to secure a large enough supply of black granite for both his palace and all the desired idolatry, so the project had been put on hold. Fortunately, they had still managed to construct a few along the main road leading up to the palace. At twenty feet tall, and nearly twenty tons each, they depicted the Storm King leaning on his staff as he gave a jaunty claws up. As he wedged himself between the damaged statue and the wall of the building, the Storm King savored the delicious irony of crushing his enemies with his own image. At long last, Derran reached the proper spot, and the King put every iota of his considerable strength, into pushing against the back of the statue with his feet. At first nothing happened. . . then, with a crackle of breaking stone, the statue shifted. Redoubling his efforts, the Storm King gave a mighty heave, the statue finally beginning to move in earnest. Until, with a final explosive exhalation and a grinding of stone, the twenty ton mass of carved granite tilted, and began to fall. Victory. . . the King was certain of it, as he clung to the side of the building. Watching with a deranged grin, as the upper half of the statue fell towards his enemy's unprotected head. This 'Derran' might be able to withstand arrows and swords, but nocreature could survive ten tons of stone collapsing on their skull! As if in slow motion, the statue fragment fell, turning so that the Storm King was granted a perfect view of his own magnified face captured in stone. With an unpleasant giggle, he imagined the carving gave him a jaunty wink, as it tumbled toward their mutual foe. The Storm King's giggle became a full blown cackle, as the chunk of rock obscured his view of Derran. Feelings of relief and elation flooding his body. . . only for the feeling to be shattered, by an explosion of rubble. . . . With a cry of surprise, the Storm King released the side of the building, as he was peppered with micro-fragments of splintered rock. The faint hiss of the falling rain momentarily overshadowed, by the sound of stone hitting stone. Impacting the ground in a painful heap, the Storm King felt the breath blasted from his lungs, while his ribs screamed in painful protest. After spending several unpleasant moments on his back, forcing air back into his chest, the King turned on his side to see what had happened. Only for the color to drain from his face, as he saw the still moving figure of Derran, finish retracting his burned and bleeding left arm, from what looked like an overhead punch. "Impossible!" The Storm King declared, his tone one of whispered terror, as a half forgotten story from his childhood, was suddenly recalled with perfect clarity. His mind crumbled even further, as he took in the halo of fragmented granite, surrounding the figure in the center of the street. For a moment, horror paralyzed the tyrant, only to be turned once more to frantic, insanity fueled desperation. Pulling the greatbow from his back, the Storm King knocked a nearly javelin sized arrow, pulling it back with a grunt, before aiming the trembling tip at his foe's retreating back. "You aren't! . . . You can't be! . . . I AM THE STORM KING NOW!!" He raved, as he let the arrow fly. To the Storm King's horror, the arrow only grazed the shoulder of his still walking foe, leaving a faint line of red on his right bicep. "You aren't real!" The Storm King declared, his tone one of pleading, as he nocked another arrow with shaking claws. "You can't be real!!" He babbled, drawing the bowstring taught as he prepared to fire again. "YOU ARE NOT REAL!!" He screamed, as the arrow whistled through the air, to clip the ear of the silent warrior. The warrior did not so much as flinch, his steps as sure and unhurried as when they began. While the Storm King nearly dropped his bow, as his entire body shook with terror. Drawing the final arrow from the quiver, the tyrant forced himself to calm down. Ignoring the part of his mind screaming paranoid children's tales about ghosts and vengeful ancestors, as he pulled the bow to its limit. Taking a breath to steady his aim, the King lined up the arrowhead with Derran's spine, and took the shot. This time, his aim was perfect, the arrow flying straight at the center of the alien warrior's back. A flash of barely visible movement flickered through the air, as the arrow seemed to vanish, only to reappear in the warrior's blood covered right hand. Still walking forward, Derran glanced briefly over his shoulder, his eyes blazing with an unearthly blue-white light. Before whirling around so quickly his limbs seemed to become invisible. The Storm King felt a rush of air pass over his fur, as a loud twang, and a stinging impact on his cheek, announced the greatbow string being sliced in two. The unusable weapon dropped from numb fingers, the Storm King feeling his eye twitch, as Derran finally stepped into the plaza just before the palace. Seized by a sudden and all consuming panic, the Storm King grabbed a pair of dislodged bricks from the ground, before running straight at Derran with a lunacy filled scream that was a mix of terror and hate. Derran did not even turn, as the Storm King caught up with him. Smashing the first brick into the back of his head with the strength only the truly insane can manage. The brick shattered against Derran's skull like crystal, amid a puff of red dust and burgundy shards. Skidding to a halt on the rain slicked stone, the Storm King didn't even appear to notice the loss of his weapon, as he stood in front of his foe, and swung the second brick at the side of Derran's head. Once more, the improvised weapon broke apart like poorly made porcelain. The dust and brick fragments mixing with the rain, to leave a smear of red across Derran's neck and cheek. Now nearly halfway across the plaza, the Storm King, bereft of weapons, resorted to throwing a straight punch. Derran barely acknowledged the attack, as he caught the tyrant's fist in his left hand. With a grip like a vice, Derran pulled the King close, before striking him in the gut with his right fist, knocking the air from his lungs with explosive force. As the Storm King doubled over, black spots dancing before his vision, Derran continued past him without so much as a glance. Hacking and coughing, the Tyrant forced himself to his full height, before stumbling to his hands and knees, and vomiting. Forcing his gaze upward, the Storm King felt a surge of panic, as he saw Derran was now only a few steps from the palace stairs. With what little strength remained to him, the King let out a scream of rage, as he threw himself at Derran like a wild animal. Leaping onto the back of his foe, the King clawed at his opponent's eyes, as he sank his fangs into his neck. Incredibly, it was like biting into a rubber tire, his teeth barely able to penetrate the skin, or the tensed muscle beneath. His claws had only slightly more luck, as they sliced into Derran's flesh, but failed to inflict more than superficial injuries. Worrying desperately at Derran's neck with his fangs, the King screamed, as one of his arms was seized in a grip of steel. Bones turned to powder, as the Storm King was pulled from his perch, and smashed into the palace steps. Dazed, and blinded by pain, the Storm King barely noticed, as he was sent flying through the air like a cannon shot, to slam heavily into the massive bronze double doors of his palace. Opening his eyes, the world spun around the tyrant, his vision blurring, as it came to rest on the figure slowly advancing up the steps. In that instant, the Storm King, died. . . . All that remained of the arrogance, the confidence, the megalomania, and even the insanity that made up his personality, and had shielded him from fear or doubt for so long, vanished, in the face of a penultimate, primal terror. . . . Up the stone steps of the palace, came a figure that seemed an image torn from the nightmares of every monster, evil beast and unjust ruler, since the beginning of creation. Wings of flaming golden feathers spread from its shoulders, blotting out all shadows and darkness, as they seemed to surround the king in an all consuming golden light. From the depths of a hooded silk robe as black as the void, trimmed in red thread that smoldered like a burning brand, a pair of blue eyes, shining with an unearthly light, tore into the depths of the Storm King's soul. The being was immense, taller than any mountain, broader than the sky, and more ancient than time itself. A halo of golden flame surrounded its head like a crown. And as it moved forward, the universe itself seemed to tremble at its every step. A scream of true horror was ripped from the throat of the being known as the Storm King. The pain in his broken arm vanished in the face of his terror, as he scrambled to open the doors of his palace with his good arm, before slamming them shut behind him. His feet skidding on the polished stone tiles of his palace, the fear maddened former ruler slammed his fist against a hidden button near the door. The sound of gears turning and mechanical devices whirling, were nearly drowned out by the fallen king's continued screaming. As massive pieces of lumber emerged from the stone walls on either side of the door, and slotted into thick loops of beaten steel. Not staying to see the palace entrance finish its lockdown, the screaming tyrant ran into the throne room. Tripping over an ostentatiously decorated carpet, he spun in the air, falling on his back to stare up at the high vaulted ceiling, supported by massive pillars carved in his likeness. As he scrambled to his feet, the broken tyrant struggled to catch his breath, just as a massive deafening boom echoed through the palace interior. Turning with wide and tear filled eyes, the former king felt as if his very life-force was draining away, as his gaze fell upon the doors. The two, twelve foot tall and half foot thick hunks of solid bronze, each emblazoned with the heraldry of the Storm King, had been bent inward, as if struck by a battering ram. Already, the timbers barring the door had begun to splinter. The alchemically treated beams of oak, one foot by one foot square, fifteen feet long, and as strong as iron, had been designed to stop conventional invaders in their tracks. But it had never been intended to stop a god. . . . Scurrying like a rat in a sinking ship, the figure of the terror stricken king, hid himself behind a support pillar, as another deafening boom sounded. The doors to the palace bulged and warped as if made of clay. The lowest oak beam snapping in two, and partially ripping free the brackets holding it in place. The other two beams cracking and splintering, as daylight shone through the point where the two doors met. There was a brief pause, during which the cowering figure of the hapless tyrant dared to hope the monster had gone away. However, that flicker of hope was swiftly extinguished, as, with a scream of tortured metal and snapping wood, the door exploded inward. . . . The former king struggled to suppress another scream, as the double doors were ripped from their hinges and sent flying into the throne room, as twisted hunks of scrap metal. Consumed by terror, the king made a frantic break toward the throne, hoping perhaps to hide behind it. Amazingly, he almost managed to reach his destination, before, like a bolt of divine lightning, a bident spear sheared clean through his right leg. A scream of agony was forced from the lips of the tyrant, as he fell to the ground before his throne. Just managing to turn over as he clutched at the stump of his amputated limb, the horrified former king stared at the figure in the door frame. Covered in cuts and stab wounds, one arm and part of his chest and neck badly burned, and his hair matted with blood and rainwater, the figure seemed no less terrifying than the vision from a moment ago, as he walked unhurriedly into the hall of the Storm King. The wretched figure before the throne, quailed in the presence of this bloodied and battered being, pinned to the spot by eyes of icy blue, lit from within by an unnameable ghostly radiance. "I give up!" The Storm King cried out, tears streaming from his eyes as he pleaded for his life. "Please! I give up!" The figure of Derran Grandel paused for a moment, his expression unreadable, as he strode over to the pillar closest to the Storm King. Like all the others, it was carved into the image of the tyrant himself, smiling as he gave a double finger gun gesture to the empty room. The vain sculptures turning the seat of a government into a temple of ego. Examining the pillar, Derran spoke in a tone of absolute calm. "Do you recall what I mentioned earlier? About honoring your courage?" He asked simply. For a moment, the former Storm King simply stared, pain and the beginnings of blood loss making his thoughts sluggish. "Yes. . . yes I remember!" He slurred, his voice desperate and pleading. "Please, I'm losing blood!" Derran appeared not to hear, as he turned to look impassively at the dying king, before suddenly seeming to vanish. A second later, a blur of motion slammed into a nearby support pillar. A massive hunk of its base exploding into dust and rubble, as cracks spiderwebbed through it. Almost faster than the king could keep track of, the blur moved from pillar to pillar in a rough outward spiral. With a sound like a sledge smashing through a brick wall, support after support had their bases all but obliterated, in a fountain of rubble and dust. The sounds of destruction rang through the cavernous throne room, each individual echoing crack of stone, combining together in a roaring cacophony, till finally, it ceased. In a blur of motion, Derran appeared once more before the crippled tyrant, to stand beside the one pillar he had left intact. "There is something I may have neglected to mention." Deran stated, his expression and voice like stone and ice, as he grabbed hold of the final pillar with his right hand, fingers like diamond rail spikes, embedding themselves part way into the stone. His muscles bulged, veins popped out on his straining arm, and his face flushed slightly, but Derran's expression remained frozen in a wrathful glare. As the king watched, a fresh jolt of adrenaline cleared his mind and vision, as the pillar. . . began to move. The tyrant stared, his eyes wide as saucers, and his mouth gaping. Each of the pillars supporting his palace weighed nearly twenty five tons! It had taken hundreds of laborers days just to haul one of them into position! Nocreature could be strong enough to push one over with a single arm! It was impossible! Yet, even as the thought crossed the king's mind, the pillar wobbled, cracks appearing at the point where it met the ceiling. "Aside from the seraphim, only two kinds of creature have ever held no fear of me. . . ." Derran intoned, his voice terrifyingly steady, as dust fell from the ceiling, the cracks at the pillar's base beginning to extend into the roof above. "The first. . . are those too insane to understand the danger I represent. . . ." With a loud crack, a fissure appeared in the pillar near the top, the room beginning to shake, as the already damaged supports began collapsing. Chunks of roof fell from the ceiling, as the entire structure of the building was critically undermined. Yet, amid it all, Derran stood impassive and unafraid, continuing to speak, even as the last remnant of an empire crumbled around him. "The second. . . are those too foolish to recognize the danger I represent. . . ." Paralyzed by an all consuming combination of fear and awe, the Storm King could only watch as his palace began to shake itself to pieces, while Derran spoke the last words the tyrant would ever hear, in a voice devoid of all emotion. . . . "Congratulations. . . on not being insane." With a final booming crack of sundered stone, the pillar in Derran's hand broke away from the ceiling. Guided by an arm like an iron beam, the massive hunk of disintegrating rock, hurtled down toward its screaming target. The last thing the Storm King, the Tyrant of the Wastes, the Despoiler of Hippogriffia, Dominator of Kludgetown, and self proclaimed god, ever saw, was his own smiling stone face. . . an instant before it crushed him into bloody pulp. As the citadel of the Storm King crumbled into ruin, Derran turned on his heel, rubble cascading down around him, yet never seeming to strike him, as he walked towards the shattered door, and the light beyond. . . . The rain had stopped. . . . That was the first thing Twilight noticed, as Derran emerged from the collapsing palace. Overhead, the clouds parted, and warm sunlight bathed the cracked cobblestone streets, partially destroyed buildings, and shattered wall of the city of Thunderspire. Steam began to fill the air, as the unrelenting heat of the desert wastes gradually reasserted itself. Within minutes, the entire city and the desert beyond, were enveloped in a thick cloud of evaporating mist. The silence was deafening, as if the opaque vapor was somehow smothering all sound. Then, a bloodied, bipedal figure appeared like a ghost from the fog. He was covered in horrendous injuries. His chest, stomach and arms, all bore horrific cuts, some so deep Twilight could swear she saw the pale glimmer of bone. One arm, and part of his shoulder, were charred and blackened, the skin cracking and weeping from burns that should have been crippling. One side of his head had swollen slightly around an ugly gash, and a mixture of sweat and water trickled and dripped from him onto the street. Yet, despite his injuries, the figure walked with his head held high, and his expression set, as if simply taking an energetic stroll about town. Twilight watched as the figure passed through the crowd of Thunderspire citizens. Parting before Derran like smoke before the wind, they fell to their knees and bowed their heads, whispering what sounded like prayers to their ancestral spirits. Derran ignored them, acting as if he were alone in the mist, as he gathered up his armor. Redonning his cuirass and gauntlets before locking his helmet to his belt, Derran did not speak a single word, or make any move to treat his injuries. More than that however, he seemed unable to look either Twilight, Celestia, or Luna, in the eye. "I will head home by foot my Ladies. . . ." He stated simply, his tone empty of all but the barest phantasm of emotion. "Will you not. . . allow us to dress your wounds?" Luna asked, her tone resignedly hesitant, as if she already knew the answer. "I will be fine." Derran stated, his strange lack of emotion seeming almost to chill the air around him. "But you. . . ." Twilight trailed off, as Derran turned to leave. She wanted to say more, inside she was virtually screaming, yet the words wouldn't come. "I will be fine." Derran repeated, his tone like a featureless slab of stone. However, no sooner had he taken his first step toward the fog shrouded desert beyond the city, than a small child rushed out from the crowd. She was dressed in a filthy assortment of rags, and her thin spindly arms, matted fur, and gaunt features, indicated she was partially starving. She had expressive, wide blue eyes, and couldn't have been much older than five or six. Moving as fast as her legs would carry her, she wrapped her arms tightly around one of Derran's legs, before anycreature could stop her. "Thank you!" She cried out, tears trickling from her eyes as she nuzzled her black furred cheek against the side of Derran's knee. Celestia, Luna, Tempest, and the entirety of the Thunderspire citizenry, stared at the child with stunned expressions, that swiftly turned to exhausted smiles. Only Twilight, by error or chance, continued looking at Derran. And so it was only she alone, who saw it. . . . It was only for an instant. . . but to Twilight, it was an instant that filled her with a feeling of absolute horror. As Derran looked down at the storm clan child, hugging and thanking him, something flitted across his icy blue gaze. It was a look. . . a look that Twilight didn't even have the words to put a name to. It was ugly, twisted, filled with disgust and a naked, arrogant hatred that Twilight could scarcely comprehend. It was as if Derran was not looking at a child at all, least of all one expressing gratitude, and instead was staring at a bulbous leech, that had somehow affixed itself to his armor. As Derran raised his hand, Twilight opened her mouth to call out a warning, as she prepared to yank the child away with her magic. In that second, she had been dead certain that Derran was about to crush the filly's skull. Yet, when his hand came down, it was only to give her a gentle pat on her horned head. "You are. . . welcome." He said slowly, his voice still mostly emotionless, but calm. Twilight blinked, Derran's gaze was once again normal, even if his face remained strangely inexpressive, like a mask of stone. For a moment, she wondered if she was seeing things. That look in his eyes. . . it couldn't have been real, could it? Derran was. . . ok he wasn't perfect, but he'd never kill a child, that was absurd! Derran was a lot of things, but he wasn't a butcher, maybe the Doom Slayer could justify such atrocities, but even then, only when in a blind rage. . . . Derran wasn't like that. Derran was kind, calm, chivalrous, he was a warrior, not a monster. . . . This time, when Derran turned to leave, Twilight felt no inclination to stop him. There were times before when Twilight had had cause to fear Derran. When she first met him, she feared the unknown quantity he represented. When he had broken her heart, she feared he had never truly cared for her. And when she saw him swathed in the black flames, she had feared his mind had been lost forever to his rage. Never before however, had she truly feared Derran himself. . . until now. She watched Derran walk across the massive crater in the now shattered Thunderspire wall. His gait slow and his tread heavy, Twilight carefully studied his every movement, until the mists beyond the wall swallowed him up. For some time, Twilight stared at the point where Derran had vanished. At her side, Celestia and Luna turned to speak with the crowds of smiling Thunderspire citizens, already seeking to gain new allies, and repair the damage the Storm King and Derran had wrought. Twilight however, was oblivious to it, standing stock still, as she replayed the events of the last few minutes in her mind. Searching through Derran's words and actions, hoping to understand his thinking, and to explain away what she had seen. Derran's sorrow? His repentance? His grief? Twilight had thought it was for the lives the Doom Slayer took, and the destruction that was inflicted, but now. . . a dark and unpleasant thought made her wonder. . . was Derran's sorrow truly for the lives that he had taken? Or was it perhaps. . . only, for her and her fellow princesses? Soundtrack: Waiting for the Thunder by Helloween DERRAN WILL RETURN IN THE FINAL BOOK OF THE GUARDIAN SAGA: LEGION! This story is dedicated to all those loved ones lost to the COVID-19 pandemic. Gone but not forgotten, we hold you always in our hearts. Special thanks to: My loving parents, who still care even when I drive them crazy. My friends, who still want to hang out with me despite my pony loving madness. My little sister, who plays video games with me despite me taking it way too seriously. My editor Bronyshot2020 for all his hard work in making my stories shine. ID Software, for bringing us the demon slaying catharsis we need in these trying times. All my incredible readers, who are constantly inspiring and pushing me forward. And of course, the creators of MLP, may the new generation be as amazing as the last!