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// A Return to the Nonsensical 
// Story: I Blame You 
// by Whitestrake 
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	The cathedral was decorated for something big, a funeral, perhaps. The statue had its hands clasped together as it knelt before the golden crucifix, its throne forgotten by the wayside. Heavy bells tolled, an the air was serene in its simplicity. I felt no fear or anxiety in the statue's presence, a first that I enjoyed immensely. The faceless nonhuman seemed at peace, completely oblivious to my presence. I knew it knew I was there, but that was beside the point. Feeling no need to keep my distance, I approached the kneeling sculpture. My first step clacked against the floor like an Italian dress shoe, something that quickly alerted me to my fitting formal attire.

I wanted to ask why I was hear, especially after the closed casket materialized before the gilded cross. Sadly, my voice was still muted, but my companion seemed to understand my unspeakable request. The living statue gestured me forward, and I was slightly worried it would toss the coffin open and force me to look at the screaming souls of those I'd killed in the Borderlands. My sorrows weren't brought to the surface again, much to my relief, but that didn't make the encounter any less creepy. I took my place next to the animate sculpture, and it took the courtesy to open the casket.

Empty. The funeral's guest of honor hadn't arrived, or hadn't been born, or had died so long about his or her bones turned to dust. A hand on my shoulder brought my attention back to the statue. It pointed to itself, then me, then held up two fingers. Then it repeated the process, using its whole hand to gesture, but only raised its forefinger. It pointed the digit at the casket, and a chill ran through the calming atmosphere. Things would come to a head soon, both of us would meet face to face in the waking world.

One of us was sure to be found wanting.

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Eight hundred bits. Eight hundred gold coins added to my account at Ponyville's bank, an account that grew fatter every day because I never bought anything. I wouldn't touch the money, not after what I did to get it. It was safe to say what I did was wrong, even Chrysalis, the changeling I described as a sociopath, had a bit of guilt weighing on her heart. For something that happened a few weeks ago, the savannah still haunted my dreams more than the statue. Every waking moment I was forced to wonder if what I did was justified, I meant in Cuatla; the scorpion nest was more than fair.

Semeru had lost both eyes during the ambush, and I killed him because he wasn't useful, because the sculpture pointed me in the proper direction. He had been a pawn in the whole thing, nothing more than a body the king needed in order to keep his stranglehold over the region. Equestria and Zebrica would both face an economic boom, now that stories of the Burned Man and the Pyromaniac were being spread by Cuatla's survivors, keeping bandits and marauders from setting up shop in the Borderlands. What was a few bodies between economic allies?

Apparently Gurabba had blabbed during their version of a UN meeting that Celestia had two human warriors under her command that hired themselves out whenever the job didn't conflict with Equestria's interests. He embellished the stories to the point that Griffonia's High Chancellor now thought Jay and I fought an entire army with our bare hands. Badass legends or not, there was a part of everyone left in that grassland, something none of us would ever get back.

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“Finally decided to join us?” Chrysalis looked up from her newspaper, her favorite method of keeping a hoof on the kingdom's pulse. While I had been holed up in either Leviathan, my basement workshop, or the master bedroom, it did not mean there was something wrong with me. The dethroned queen actually knew I was feeling guilty about Cuatla, everyone was to an extent.

“Ran out of food, figured I could scavenge from the house.” I needed a haircut again, my usual stubble had grown long enough to need a comb. Trixie shot me a sympathetic look, a glaring difference in the two in regards to my mental state. The queen treated my guilt like it was nothing, like a quick boot in my ass would set me straight. My magician accomplice was gentler in her attempts to make me spill my guts, she kept treating me like my heart was made of glass. “Anything interesting happen while I was trying to work myself to death?”

“I got a letter from my mother.” Chrysalis's mother, the Grand Matron of the changeling species, was someone I was hoping to never meet. How she figured out where her wayward daughter had gone, I had no idea.

“You what?” Trixie seemed shocked, completely caught off guard because both of us had told the showmare that the shapeshifter's mom had left her for dead. Perhaps it also had something to do with Chrysalis not telling her until now. At the magician's disbelief, the dethroned queen seemed to take offense.

“Well, Trix, some of us actually have family we talk to.” As much as I liked the changeling, she could be a real pain. Lucky for her she was useful enough to warrant having around just in case. It t didn't help that Trixie's family was a bit of a tough subject, even I had no idea of her private life.

“What does the old crone want?” I did know, however, that Chrysalis felt no emotional ties to her mother, not after being sent on a suicide mission to fulfill a prophecy I was half-certain was complete bullshit. I've no clue why changeling blood was green, but it produced a similarly colored blush on the queen's cheeks.

“She's wondering if you know I'm a changeling, and in case you do, when her granddaughter is due.” Right, that's what I get for keeping a master of infiltration and deception; she had to learn it from somewhere. The two of us shared a look, and a small glance at Trixie's mortified face, before the two of us started laughing. “You know, on the off chance I have you hypnotized.”

“Oh, I needed that.” I wiped a tear from my eye, but did a double-take when the queen presented the letter to me. Yep, all there in black and white, signed by Her Majesty, Matron Karapass. One bit of the letter had me worried, enough that I briefly considered called Celestia, Luna, and Cadence from Canterlot just so I would have enough alicorns on my side, because I doubt Leviathan had enough firepower to destroy this problem. “She sent you to die! Why is she coming to visit?!”

“Have you considered that she might just want to see me again?” The look in her eyes told me she actually felt the same way as me, but part of her desired her mother's approval. We looked to see Trixie already grabbing her emergency escape bags, ready to camp at Twilight's for a few days until the whole thing passed. “We have two days.”

“She's not bringing any of her own praetorian guard, is she?” Chrysalis's face told me how stupid of a question that actually was, so I dropped it. With forty-eight hours to prepare for what may be the biggest and greatest battle Equus has seen in eons, I had only one plan. “Jesus Christ, get the princesses down here!”

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Extra – I Bane You
Three weeks into Dark Crusade, at Victory Bay.

A massive explosion tore through a mass of modified changelings. The Liberators had deployed a Baneblade into the field, and the seemingly hopeless battle was quickly changing tides. Griffons flew from the sight of it, often dropping their Tau-made pulse rifles in the process. A second round detonated within a unicorn magic-mortar team, irreplaceable personnel that would be mourned and honored for their noble sacrifice.

“Face the might of the Baneblade!” The vaguely accented voice of an Imperial Guardsman filtered in over the static produced by the sub-par vox systems used by Equusian forces. A massive object slammed into the enormous tank's side, followed by a burst of three lascannons fired at close range.

“I could say the same to you!” The voice of the so-called Burned Man sounded as furious as a Grey Knight charging heretics, and came crystal clear from his own Baneblade. Governor-Militant Lukas Alexander watched from afar as the Valhallan-painted tank rammed into his own. The general had never seen stolen armor in battle, save those Leman Russ tanks Orks were so fond of scavenging. Fighting stopped in several areas, with griffons and ponies helping Guardsmen to their feet so they could see the display of supreme firepower.

“You've taken the Emperor's holy armor!” The Imperial tanker said those words as though the mere thought of theft was a grievous sin. Despite its ineffectiveness at such range, the Equusian Baneblade fired his Demolisher Cannon. The high-yield round bounced off his opponent's hull like he'd tossed an orange at it, but arced into the concrete fortification behind the Guard-owned tank. The well-placed shot destroyed a key heavy weapon emplacement, allowing a swarm of changelings to cross the Hellfire Cannon's blast area safely.

“Have I taken it, or have I returned it to its intended purpose?” The strange idea gave the mentally-vulnerable man pause, a brief two seconds of total immobility. It was long enough for the Equusian commander to fire a single shot from Leviathan's Mega Battle Cannon. The shell would have impacted on one of the frontal heavy bolter turret emplacements, had it not been removed for maintenance purposes earlier that day. Given weak point and the immense force of the blast, the entire crew of the First Kronus Regiment's only functioning Baneblade was incinerated as there tank was reduced to a flaming wreck. It was a one in a million chance, and the gamble payed off for the invading army.

Upon seeing the complete annihilation of what was considered the most powerful of Imperial Guard vehicles being turned to scrap metal, several Guardsmen either fled or started flying the Equusian banner.