//------------------------------// // Trial Fifteen: Rotted Saviors // Story: Born In Light, Forged In Darkness // by Jest //------------------------------// “How does that feel, sister?” Lotus inquired. Aloe merely lifted a single eyebrow, revealing more of her glowing green orb. “Right, right, but how does it feel?” Lotus pressed. Aloe shifted from hoof to hoof, gauging how the new heavy barding felt on her now undead, unfeeling body. It was primitive, fashioned from bits looted on the battlefield, and no doubt intended to armor a demon twice her size. Despite this, the heavy iron plates and jagged blackened metal gave her little issue, giving the undead an almost complete range of motion. “Good,” Aloe replied. “I particularly like all the spikes.” Aloe brushed a hoof against one such pointy bit sticking out from her shoulder that was nearly six inches long. “If only we could find you a helmet,” Lotus remarked aloud. “My countenance is, I’m afraid, beyond saving,” Aloe pointed out. Lotus sighed. “I know. But at least then you’d look the part of a bodyguard.” “I suppose,” Aloe reluctantly agreed. While Lotus began to rummage through the mound of discarded armor left behind by the enemy, Aloe looked around. The other necromancers were rallying their personal escorts of undead, while others packed on extra layers of protection from the elements. The ever-present blizzard had reached a new level, filling the streets with enough snow to bury even the tallest pony. Zombie-pulled plows cleared the way for the main army, while what few expert weather ponies remained helped to keep the winds at bay. Even then, the effect was minimal, forcing the various factions to seek shelter amidst the buildings that still had all four walls. An effort that was becoming increasingly difficult the further in they got, as most structures were almost completely destroyed. There, in the middle of an intersection, the necromancers and their entourages made no such attempt to make camp. The others would rest, recuperate, plan, and perform recon, while a few amongst them continued the assault. Most notable of which was the various sky fortress segments that had disengaged from Cloudsdale proper. These large, nearly city block-sized chunks of solid cloud drifted on their own wind, moving east along with an escort. One primarily made up of Cloudsdale survivors and pegasus militia members, though there were others amongst them. Clad in black armor that made them nearly invisible against the eternal blizzard, they moved like shadows. High above the battlefield wasn't the only place the assassins of Ebonwind could be spotted. A few had gathered at a nearby street corner, each one checking their weapons or armor while waiting for something. The answer to this unspoken question was answered a moment later when a tall, slim pegasus approached Aloe and Lotus. Their features were indistinct, hidden by so many layers that Aloe couldn't even tell what sex they were. All she could see amidst the black wave was a pair of bright green eyes and the pommel of a dagger that bore the image of a single black lightning bolt on it. “Greetings, death singers,” they announced, voice like the sound of air slipping under a door. “I hope the presence of my wings shall not be detrimental to your work.” Aloe’s eyes narrowed, the burning orbs of emerald bearing down on the pony before her. “They will not be necessary,” Aloe stated. “Isn't that right, sister?” “Their presence will be… tolerated,” Lotus half agreed, a wool-covered hoof grabbing her undead sister’s shoulder. “We will need their help to gather a flock of listeners large enough to assist the paladins held up on Acorn Street.” “Their numbers are not so great that we cannot overcome them,” dismissed Aloe. “I have no doubt that the vengeful dead shall crush your foes, but can they keep you safe?” whispered the pegasus as they slowly walked around the armored undead. “Even if caught unaware, they will still send assassins, and what is a better counter than blades of your own?” Lotus smiled wearily. “It will not be for long.” “Fine,” Aloe agreed. The pegasus bowed low and extended their right wing out. “I, Broken Blade of the Ebonwind, shall endeavor to earn your respect.” “We move to gather more listeners. Are your people ready?” Aloe half asked, half stated. “Always,” replied Broken Blade with a nearly invisible smile. “To Market Street,” Lotus commanded, her voice soft, but audible to all. As one, the necromancers and their charges moved in lockstep with each other, heading eastwards. In the distance, a dome of teal magic could be seen encompassing a pair of apartment blocks. Assaulted from all sides by hordes of imps and lesser demons, the area was clearly the sight of a great battle. One they were walking directly into. Lotus stood tall atop what had once been a pony’s stall, the puny shop likely having served as that individual’s livelihood. Now, it was destroyed, its banner torn, its wheels shattered, but its ragged skeleton reached forth from the slow, serving as the former spa pony’s lookout as she surveyed the area, seeking out the dead. They called to her in a great multitude, their forms mostly buried under the snow, leaving the area strangely serene. One broken by the occasional frozen hoof or skeletal hand that reached out from the white blanket. “They were shopping,” Lotus whispered. Her well-trained eyes could pick out the tiny spots of light that now served as poor tombstones. Arrayed in groups around stalls, the many lingering souls painted a grim picture of a day suddenly interrupted by violence. One that had likely started on the far right side and spread out, as the bodies’ placement became more chaotic the further out from there. “They were living,” Aloe added. Lotus wanted to cry, and maybe if she had been the pony she had been a few months ago she may have. Now, she was used to that feeling and pushed it down, focusing on the job and the many faces looking up at her. Nodding to them, Lotus extended a hoof towards the formerly peaceful market, ordering her troops to begin their dark harvest. The shrouded faces of her necromancers moved out amongst the field of dead, their attendants close at hoof. After watching them for a few moments, Lotus hopped down from the stall and sought out the closest group of bodies. Two bright souls and two smaller ones waited, lingering on the mortal plane due to the suddenness of their demise. Humming a soft song to herself, Lotus began to work her magic, the other necromancers joining in. The tradition of singing, humming, or whistling had sprung up naturally out of a desire to ease the transition back into life. None amongst the grim cabal needed to discuss this change, it simply happened, and so their name was coined. “Those who did fall, hear my call,” Lotus whispered. The trickling rivers of greenish magic went down into the snow, seeping deep into the white mass. The moment the spell took root, Lotus was bombarded by different emotions, none of which were her own. Hot, indignant anger of a kid, the cold rage of a parent who had seen their child wronged, and the confusion of someone too young to understand. “Rise, rise and take your well-deserved revenge,” Lotus urged. The first to emerge was the father, his large heavy set frame pushing through the snow and allowing his wiry wife to follow suit. The unicorn mare immediately sought out someone, anyone to satiate her blood lust, but found no one worthy. A teenage filly almost ready to graduate pushed herself through the frosty crust of ice and scrambled out. “Where did he go?” she demanded, grabbing Lotus by the shoulders. “Where is the bastard that hurt my sister?” “I know not, dear one,” Lotus calmed. “But I know where the pony who gave the order lies.” “I don't know what's going on, but if it means getting back at that bastard who took my daughter, I’ll do whatever you want me to,” exclaimed the stallion. “That is-” Lotus paused and raised a hoof. “A moment. It seems as though your other foal wishes to return as well.” “She shouldn't have to see us like this,” exclaimed the mare. “I agree. But she is quite insistent. I’m not sure I can-” Lotus was cut off when the ghostly spirit of a young filly flew up through the snow and grappled her father’s neck. “Oh, daddy. I’m so glad I found you. It was so cold,” she whispered. Aloe stepped forward. “We need to continue and let them have a moment.” “Of course, there are many more listeners,” Lotus agreed. The former spa pony gave an apologetic nod to the family before departing, leaving them to have a strange reunion. Upon turning around, she noticed that many of her fellow necromancers had been successful. Dozens of undead clambered out of their snowy graves, heeding the call of the death singers and seeking revenge. “Energy surge, east side,” whispered Broken Blade, hoof raised. Lotus followed the limb over to a mostly intact government building of some kind, its windows alight with blood-red magic. Even from where she stood, the earth pony could sense the spell building rapidly before exploding in a flash. A second later, the windows shattered, allowing a horde of imps to clamber out of the structure. The many creatures took wing and launched themselves down at the necromancers in the midst of their various songs. Before the attackers could reach the ground, a flurry of daggers and bolts cut their number in half, the assassins drawing first blood. Lotus began to move and issue commands just as what appeared to be an enormous brain emerged from the building. Eight metal-clad limbs sprouted from the strange creature’s bottom half, allowing it to clamber down the side of the structure. With no eyes or mouth to speak of, Lotus was unsure of what the creature could do. That was until its wrinkled mass pulsed. A bright red light instantly crushed a trio of zombies pulling themselves from the snow, their forms reduced to a handful of organic mush. “Protect the singers, focus on the spider!” Lotus barked. Assassin, undead, and necromancer alike launched themselves into the fight with whatever weapon they had on hoof. Through the flurry of throwing daggers and small hoof-launched crossbow bolts came the imps. Their numbers fell dramatically, but there were so many that even the sudden barrage did little to slow them. The mass of low-level demons simply avoided their dying brethren and swooped down upon their foes. With claw and fang they sought out the necromancers but when they couldn't, they settled on anything living or unliving. Zombies still clambering their way out of the snow found themselves flocked by a horde of demons eager to rip them apart. Limbs were torn off, eyes gouged, and rotten body parts were strewn across the snow, the undead barely able to defend themselves. Those who had already managed to form up into a more cohesive block fared much better, their undead strength keeping the imps at bay. A few were pulled away from the group and were killed a second time, but they were in the minority. Groups of necromancers surrounded by their bodyguards both living and dead fought in tightly packed circles. Assassins sprung from the darkness, stabbing, slicing, and otherwise narrowly keeping their charges safe from harm. Aloe and Lotus found themselves in a similar situation, though theirs was far from the dire circumstances others were faced with. Aloe stood front and center, her heavily armored form serving as an anchor point for the weaker undead. With each swing of her forelegs, she batted another imp from the air, knocking them senseless. They were usually then finished by one of her fellows, but it hardly mattered to the former spa pony. Her intention was to grab as much attention as possible, her heavier armor able to take a beating that her allies couldn't. Claws scraped, fangs broke, and more than one crude blade snapped upon hitting her hardened carapace. Throughout it all, she continued to crush, punch, or headbutt any living demon that dared face her directly. Behind her, the Ebonwind assassins ducked, dove, and struck between the zombies when needed. Focused primarily on keeping the airborne imps from their necromancer charges, they were a force to be reckoned with. On the ground, they attacked from seemingly nowhere, their poisoned blades leaving their foes twitching and gurgling on the ground. In the air, however, was where they truly shone, easily managing to avoid the imps’ floundering attempts to get past them. The demons looked like oversized geese barely able to fly in comparison to the deft and dexterous assassins. Each swipe was slow, easily dodged, and quickly countered with a far more deadly attack that almost always killed. Broken Blade was the least seen, but easily the most lethal of the dark cohort, every strike killing its mark. Shallow stabs crippled, and even the smallest prick seemed to leave the imp writhing in unbearable agony, only to perish a moment later. Impossible to hit and barely ever visible, they moved through the demons’ ranks like the specter of death itself. Aloe herself mainly stayed on the defensive, coordinating her forces and lending aid when necessary. A word empowered a flailing zombie, giving him the strength to throw off the imps latched onto his back. A quick spell sent a ray of negative energy into the face of an imp bearing down on one of her fellow necromancers, killing it instantly. Together they were able to resist the onslaught with relative ease, but Aloe could tell that it wasn't the case with everyone. The other squads were excelling and had taken minimal losses, but weren't making the gains that her group was. Still, she could tell that they would win, given time. That was until the spider brain finished descending and turned its attention on the closest pocket of resistance. The demonic entity’s grey mass pulsed brightly for several seconds before flashing a maleficent crimson. Immediately the entire group of necromancers, their charges, and the imps attacking them were crushed into a ball. The snowy ground around them was also caught up in the attack, leaving a deep divot at the center of which sat a multicolored sphere of flesh and metal. Aloe glanced at Broken Blade and was ready to command her to attack the spider, only to notice that they were gone. The assassin, along with their cohort had departed, slipping through the ranks of imps and descending on the spider brain. Their incredible dexterity kept them one step ahead of their demonic foes, allowing the assassins to pass through their enemey’s meager defenses. Broken Blade was the first to reach their target, but their dagger was stopped by a staticy red field. The assassin retreated just in time to avoid the fwomp of a telekinetic burst which would have spelled death for them. Others tried the same and were stopped, each one narrowly avoiding the spider’s counterattack. Some imps turned to protect their leader, while others continued the assault, too bloodlusted to care. The sudden division was perfect in Lotus’ mind, and with a bit of magical urging, she commanded a charge. With Aloe leading, the zombies plowed through the disorganized imps in a tidal wave of rotten rage-filled flesh. Half-frozen limbs smashed aside the meager resistance and allowed them to link back up with the other squad. Within seconds the imps found themselves pinched and quickly outmatched, with the smartest or more cowardly taking flight. Some escaped, but most were dragged down and stomped into a paste by the angry dead. “Continue,” Lotus ordered. Together they pushed toward another group of necromancers, using their increased numbers to make short work of the disorganized imps. Their progress was quick, but not quick enough in Lotus’s mind, as she could see that the assassins were slowing. A reddish haze filled the air around the spider brain, dragging imp and pony alike toward the ground. It wasn't long before the more exhausted of the assassins hit snow and were crushed by an unseen hand. The rest fought on, weaving and ducking while flapping furiously in an effort to keep aloft. The effort was a valiant one, but they needed assistance if they were going to have any hope of winning. This help came when the final necromancer group was rejoined, and together Lotus strode alongside her sister. “As one!” the twins called, their left forehooves held above their heads. The zombies formed a wall of rotten flesh, while behind them the necromancers linked forelegs with one another. With Lotus at their center, they gathered a dark, blighted power that crackled like black lightning across their forms. The spider creature seemed to sense the coming danger, however, and turned suddenly, its brain twitching excitedly. The wrinkled folds pulsed, creating a crushing force intent on ending the threat to its existence. The attack never landed on its target, however, as Aloe banged an armored hoof against her chest, somehow intercepting the telekinetic burst. The reddish energy rippled across her body, squeezing down on her, but doing very little damage to the zombified mare. The spider immediately understood that something was wrong, and tried to attack a second time. Only to get a dagger buried in the folds of its wrinkled mass, drawing forth a gush of reddish-black blood. An unearthly wail filled the minds of all present, causing some to bleed from their ears. “Scream for me, you bastard,” Broken Blade muttered. The spider creature lowered itself, only to push back up a moment later, bucking the assassin off of it. The Ebonwind soldier easily rolled mid-air and glided away, getting as far away as possible. Just in time too, as Lotus had gathered a critical mass of energy and with a thrust of her hoof, unleashed it upon her foe. The pure black lightning bolt shattered the spider’s defenses and struck it with the force of a cannonball. The demonic entity was launched backward, seemingly unharmed, save for a single grey mark on its side. Then the many folds and layers began to darken, a midnight plague spreading across its surface. The beast shrieked again, but this time it was in a panic, the entity’s wail almost desperate. Crimson sparks rippled off the strange monster’s form to no avail. Within a few seconds, its entire body had turned the color of the night sky, only to collapse into a pile of ash. Lotus sighed. “It is done.” “No, sister,” Aloe corrected, “we have work left to do.” “You are right. Singers, are you ready?” Lotus asked. The other necromancers nodded grimly, forelegs still interlocked. “Then let us sing,” Lotus commanded. Together they joined their voices, their melody made stronger by the sudden presence of distant drums and the soft clack of a piano. The song was dark, foreboding, but hopeful, calling forth the dead who lay within the frosty embrace of the heavy snow. They moved, danced, and urged the restless listeners from their slumber, promising them vengeance. Those who heard the faint whispers of the heartsong felt tears spring to their eyes, while hope stirred in their hearts. These lucky few would recall that moment until their dying day, remembering clearly the grim tune forevermore. A towering red demon stood impatiently amidst his army, hoofed foot tapping impatiently at the stone street. Though snow continued to fall all around him, the creature’s fiery aura kept the large flakes at bay, turning them to rain before they could hit the ground. He wore nothing, but didn't require armor as large bony segments jutted from his form, creating a natural shell not unlike plate mail. Around him, various cultists, moon-mad denizens of Canterlot, and demons waited nervously. They watched in silence as their demonic overseer scratched at the horns jutting from his head before leaning heavily on his massive greatsword. Throughout it all, the demonic overseer watched as his forces assaulted the magically protected set of apartments directly across the street from him. “The messenger is here!” shouted a voice. The demon and his entourage all turned to watch as an out-of-breath greed demon trundled up to them. The overweight and rotund creature nearly fell over after coming to a stop, its bulbous chest heaving as it filled its lungs with air. The leader had no patience for such a show, however, and grabbed his lesser by the throat, hoisting it into the air. “What news do you bring? Is it ready? Are the charges in place?” demanded the greater demon in a deep rumbling tone. “Soon,” squeaked the fat demon, shaking an outstretched hand, upon which rested a dull grey object. “It should be ready soon.” “Good,” rumbled the leader, plucking the mostly colorless stone from his subordinate and dropping him to the ground. “Ready the troops and form battle lines. The moment the dust settles and those buildings are rubble, I want you ready to pick off any survivors.” He raised a finger and glanced around at his sub-commanders intensely. “But remember. The commander is mine. He has stymied my advance for too long, and I will have my revenge.” “Yes, baron,” muttered the nearest cultist. “Good,” murmured the large crimson demon. Standing there, he looked down at the dull stone, waiting for it to turn the telltale red that meant it was ready. His subordinates watched either him or the apartment, none bothering to eye the nearly six-foot tall pile of snow that surrounded them. The demons made no camp and swept aside only enough of the white stuff to stand with all their feet on the ground. In fact, the drift was so large and so close that some of the demons sat or leaned in the stuff without paying it much attention. It remained quiet until two pairs of undead hooves reached forth and pulled an imp into the snow, its sudden cry immediately stifled. Barely any of the demons even batted an eye at the disappearance, their attention elsewhere even as more of them were picked off. Another imp, a rage demon, and even a pain elemental were grabbed before anyone seemed to notice. Unfortunately for the undead attackers, a pain elemental is not so easily dealt with nor silenced. Its scream of panic and confusion could be heard far and wide, piercing the din of combat from the apartments. As one, the demons turned towards the snow bank and the flurry of ice crystals that flew into the air. “What in the infinite hells is-” was all the baron could mutter before the attack began in earnest. The snow heaved and burst as a horde of undead ponies as well as other Canterlot natives emerged. Armed with naught but their rage, they dragged down their startled prey and trampled the confused creatures. Moon-mad ponies, cultists, and demons fell en masse before a concentrated defense could even be considered. “Form up!” bellowed the baron. “Abandon the offensive, where are our spotters?” Unseen to the demon, his scouts lay dead or dying atop the roofs. Daggers were buried in spines, and enormous ballista bolts cut down any who survived the assassins’ assault. Crossbow fire and magically silenced lightning bolts shot from the mysterious clouds moving against the wind. As the baron’s forces scrambled to redirect their fury, the wall of zombified flesh surged outwards. Noone was safe from their icy grip, and even greater demons were quickly surrounded and trampled. Though individually powerful, these great fighters were no match for the endless raging tide of those they had once slain. Even the baron himself soon found his bodyguards engaged in melee, and his sub-commanders dying or otherwise indisposed. He cared nothing for their survival and merely gripped his greatsword with a single massive clawed hand. Swinging down between his bodyguards, the demon cut down a pair of earth ponies right as they were about to drag an imp to the ground. Repeating this motion several more times, the baron found that the glee that came with a kill was incredibly short-lived. There were always more, and the dead feared not death nor dismemberment. Even when their losses piled up, they charged over the corpses, using the mound of bodies to bury an unfortunate imp. Within seconds, the baron found himself surrounded on all sides and beset by angry faces. “Worthless fodder,” spat the greater demon. He shifted his grip, but stopped when he noticed that the stone was now blinking a bright red color. With glee, he attempted to activate the rune and detonate the bombs, only for it to get batted out of his hand before he could. He lost sight of the thing as it was swallowed by the horde of undead, their multitude blotting out everything but the night sky. With a growl on his lips, the demon threw off the ponies attempting to hold him down, and began swinging his sword. Each wide, sweeping arc returned a half dozen zombies to their graves, his pace never slowing as he cut a swath around himself. With unnatural strength, the demon cleaved through bone and body, actually managing to push back against the tide of rotten flesh. His subordinates were less lucky, as soon unseen assassins as well as the several ballistae were turned against them. Massive bolts the size of tree trunks flew unerringly from the blackened sky, destroying those larger demons able to hold their own against the dead. Those with wings or other methods of flight were cut down by the members of house Ebonwind. The baron didn't care and searched intently for the missing stone, tossing zombies aside in his panic. He was forced to pause and hack his attackers to bits, but he soon found what he was looking for. Wrenching the thing from the cold grip of a dead minotaur, he grinned and looked back to the apartments. “What the hell is the shield doing down- Oh no,” he muttered. As if on cue, a wave of paladins and other survivors poured forth from the building, charging into the fray. The disorganized demons and their pony underlings were already distracted and proved easy prey for the sudden exodus. “At least I’ll get to kill a bunch of these four-legged freaks,” the greater demon remarked to himself. The baron raised a glowing finger and was about to activate the rune when a sudden whizzing noise caught his attention. Twisting to the side at the last second, he narrowly avoided the massive projectile flying directly at him. Or at least he partially dodged it, as his right arm was clipped and torn completely off his body from the force of the thing. So great was the strength behind the blow that the baron barely even stumbled after getting his limb ripped off. With the stone lost, the demon gritted his teeth and grabbed his sword, intent on getting some manner of revenge. Only to once more find himself at a disadvantage as his forces were already being routed, crushed in a devastating pincer maneuver. The demon’s baleful gaze landed on the closest paladin, who he launched himself at with murderous intent. Sweeping aside the undead, the baron cleared a hasty path towards his target, bloodlust rising as realization dawned. Before him stood the commander, notable for his lack of a helmet and bright purple hair that hung low around his shoulders. With the desire for vengeance burning hot in his chest, the demon barely even noticed as a black shape fell over him. The sensation of a cold piece of metal sliding between his vertebrae was the only warning he got before his legs buckled. Before the baron could even fully grasp what happened, he was lying face down on the ground, body twitching as it tried to fight off the poison. “Well well well. How the tables have turned,” remarked a voice. The baron sputtered and spat as he stared up at the unhelmeted face of his bitter rival. “What, no claims of vengeance or damnation?” mocked the royal guard. “I’m disappointed in you, baron.” The demon tried to spit on his foe, but found his jaw unconsciously clenching. “Well then. Best put him out of his misery, eh?” remarked the guard. The soldier then stood up on his hind legs, waited a moment, and then brought the armored limbs down. With a loud wet crunch, the demon’s skull split open like an overripe watermelon, spilling his brains across the ground. The royal guard paid no heed to the mess and turned around, intent on aiding his troops as best as he could. The route was nearly complete, however, as there were no pockets of resistance left at that point. The greater demons lay dead, the cultist leaders were in chains or in pieces, and those who fled were captured or killed. It was almost disappointing in a way, though the captain smiled regardless. “Begin extracting the civilians and getting the wounded ready to move. Those paladins still able to fight will come with me. We have a necromancer to thank, or eliminate,” he bellowed, voice carrying over the din of battle with ease. “Aye, sir!” returned the call. The royal guard gathered his soldiers and trotted in the direction of the main group of undead. He managed to almost reach them when a flurry of purple mist swept down upon the breeze and reformed into the shape of a mare. Beautiful, but demonic, she was instantly recognized by the royal guard, who held up a hoof. “Hold. We know of this one,” he exclaimed. “I see my brother still speaks of me,” Kanathara replied with a smirk. “That's a surprise.” “He informed me that you may come and that you would be seeking his location, as well as our allegiance,” remarked the royal guard. “He is correct. That too is a surprise,” Kanathara mused aloud. The soldier chuckled. “Regardless. I would need some assurances and the chance to speak to the other leaders of your… alliance? Army?” “Ragtag assortment of survivors,” Kanathara corrected. “That sounds… accurate,” agreed the stallion, who paused to clear his throat. “I assume this is agreeable?” “Very reasonable, though I must demand the location of my brother, as well as an explanation as to why he is not here,” Kanathara insisted. The captain hesitated a moment before sighing. “He left to help Cadance who had stayed behind in order to protect a hospital that didn't evacuate in time.” “Typical,” Kanathara muttered. “That's not all, however. I think his true intentions were a bit nobler than just helping the mare he has a crush on,” added the guard. “Is that so?” Kanathara pressed. The captain nodded. “Rumour has it that there is a secret entrance to the castle in Canterlot Royal Hospital. I think he is going to mount a rescue mission for Celestia after getting Cadance on his side.” “How like him,” Kanathara murmured mostly to herself. “I suppose now we will have to save him.” “That would be nice,” offered the royal guard. Kanathara sighed. “Alright then. We better get moving. Oh, but before we do, what's your name?” “Diamond Rose,” offered the royal guard, hoof extended. “A pleasure to meet ya.”