Captain Shining Armour, of the Equestrian Royal Guard, didn’t have many regrets.
He had a stable career doing what he personally considered one of the most worthy and important jobs in the realm. His wife, whom he loved dearly and more than anything in the world, was the successful and benevolent ruler of a kingdom that until recently had laboured under the shadow of tyranny, and his amazing little sister (best friends forever, he added subconsciously) was the chosen apprentice of yet another benevolent Princess. He was held in awe by his men and those he protected, and through all his efforts the Ponies of Canterlot-and indeed all of Equestria-were able to sleep soundly in their beds at night. Yes, Shining Armour wanted for little, and his was a content life of courage and honour.
But there was one regret that Shining Armour did have. A single failing that haunted him every night of his life, festering unspoken within. No matter what he did to try and stop it, or how he attempted to convince himself it wasn’t his fault, the hateful memory would not let him rest.
He’d spoken about it with Cadence sometimes, on the nights where she woke to find him sitting at the window with an anxious look darkening across his face. She was always willing to lend a sympathetic ear; of course she was, she had arguably just as much if not more than Shining. The difference, he supposed lay in the way they dealt with it. Secretly he’d always known that Cadence was the mentally stronger of the pair, although she’d never let him say it. She’d been able to reconcile herself with what had happened, to face her fears and move on from it. Shining Armour never had-not entirely, anyway. He could push it to the side and pretend it never happened effectively. He could still do his duty to the realm unburdened by fear. But sometimes, when he was alone in the dark, the nightmares and the remorse and the pure horror welled up in his gut again.
He hurt. He hurt all over, hurt in ways he didn’t know a body could hurt. Whatever they were doing here, and no matter how stupid they seemed, those bastard…what had they called themselves? ‘Iron Warriors’? The Iron Warriors knew how to throw a punch, particularly the horned devil that had duelled with him. If it hadn’t been for Twily and her complete disregard for the traditional rules of Equestrian single combat, he may well not have been able to consider these thoughts that now bounced through his head like enraged parasprites. Shining tried to right himself-he couldn’t, and a stream of pain shot up his foreleg like neural fire. He was fairly sure it was broken. Looking up through a pained squint, he saw Twilight cradling his head. There were tears in her eyes, their steady dripping wetting some of his white fur that was already stained with blood.
“Hey…Twily…” Shining managed weakly, smiling up at her. She smiled back, although it was forced, and her eyes were still pools of shimmering wetness.
“Don’t…don’t EVER do that again, Shining…I thought I lost you…” she sobbed, pulling him closer into an embrace. He gently patted her hoof with his. It hurt, but it was worth it.
He looked away, back out over the great hall and the scene of carnage it now was. The windows were blasted completely away, letting the cool air and bright morning sun waft through. There were bodies littering the ground-mainly Pony, but one or two Iron Warriors. The rest of the Iron Warriors had been cast to the ground along with the debris, some of them lying unmoving whilst others attempted to get back on their feet. Shining couldn’t see the enemy he’d fought through the dust kicked up by the blast, but most of the enemy had been near the windows when they were blown in. It made sense they were the most effected by the turn of events. He looked around again, eyes now focusing despite the pain, and saw what exactly had had the audacity to attack the palace of Canterlot.
Shining Armour hurt all over. He knew he would probably die whether they won this battle or not. But that was nothing compared to the horror that filled him now-the horror that woke him in the dead of night, the horror that haunted his every conscious thought.
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“Fucking bastard.” Rorke swore as he regained consciousness. He knew he couldn’t have been out long-not for more than five seconds-but for an Adeptus Astartes, five seconds was bordering on the abominable. He tensed and flexed those limbs he could. Nothing was blown off or seriously broken, which was always a good start. He attempted to connect to the vox, to get back on his feet, to do something; that didn’t go so well. Shit.
Rorke exhaled steadily, and slowly pressed up with his hands. He managed to rise slightly, and he quickly started scrabbling around for his sword. It took him a moment to remember that he didn’t have it; the Xenos had confiscated it when Lorkhan had gone through with the idiotic idea to surrender to them. Not for the first time that day, Rorke snarled. This was quickly proving to be one of the singularly worst experiences of his entire life, and that took some doing. Finally, he managed to raise his body into a kneeling position, the blackness that now stood in place of his vision disorienting him further. Without bothering to run armour diagnostics he knew his helmet was ruined, the front dented and smashed-perhaps beyond repair. He yanked it off his head, hissing in agitation as the broken pressure seals cut into his skin, and turned it over to look at it. He had been right, the flat nosed mark 4 helm was little better than scrap, but despite himself Rorke couldn’t quite bring himself to throw it away. It stared at him with cracked red lenses, as if knowing all the answers and not telling. Mag-locking it to his thigh, Rorke pushed himself to his feet with a grunt of effort, instinctively reaching for his missing bolt pistol.
Around him, other Iron Warriors had also started recovering their wits and were retreating back into a general group from the new arrivals. It seemed that Mordecai had been the first back to his feet, and Rorke didn’t bother to hide his annoyance. No Iron Warrior was nice, but Mordecai…Mordecai was just plain scary. No one with that much power should be that polite. Trying to take his mind of it, Rorke looked around to see if he could spot Lorkhan. He finally identified him lying on his back, cast across a piece of fallen debris, and for a single glorious moment Rorke thought that the old bastard was finally dead. Moments later though, the Warsmith stirred and pushed himself into a sitting position with his Mechatendrils. Rorke growled again-yes, today was definitely an exceptionally bad day.
The Iron Warrior turned to look at the newly arrived party. Lorkhan had been incorrect-they weren’t a drop pod. They weren’t even Imperial. They looked, to Rorke’s eyes, much like the Ponies that they’d only recently been fighting against-but these ponies were corrupted, black and with gaping holes punched through their limbs and bodies. The Aspiring Champion shifted his stance without realising, trans-human muscle memory recalling the best way to grapple with the Tyranid beasts these latest attackers put him in mind of. Around him, the surviving members of Rorke’s squad had fallen in and were preparing for combat in a similar fashion. Kravix, the squad’s Lascannon bearer, breathed heavily and grunted as the blood from wounds that hadn’t yet been clotted by the Larraman cells seeped out from his armour’s joints. Brother Alpus was still strangling his last foe, the Pony’s gasps for breath that wouldn’t come growing ever- weaker. Behind Rorke, the Vortun’s Obliterator’s cycled through their weapons, once again unsure as to how to react. They seemed to settle on Assault Cannons, the multiple barrels hissing with anticipation.
“What do we do?” Zuko whispered over the vox. His voice was still ragged from his duel with the Xenos captain. “What the hell do we do?”
“We should renew the attack. Kill them whilst they’re off guard.” Lorkhan hissed. The Obliterator’s took careful aim. The Iron Warriors braced themselves to charge.
“Lord, be reasonable.” Mordecai. Of course it was. “Superhuman though we may be, even we will struggle against both our prior enemies and this fresh force.” The Warsmith turned his head to look at his advisor. Mordecai stared straight back. Neither spoke for some, agonisingly long moments before the Sorcerer took it upon himself to go on.
“At the very least, there seems to be some underlying tension between our hosts and these insectoid fellows. It would be prudent to at the very least fall back, recover our weapons and allow our enemies to bleed one another before mounting a counter-attack.”
Before Lorkhan could reply, there was another series of loud impacts in the great chamber. More of the insect-horse things, whatever they were, rose from craters carved in the floor, hissing and shaking off the last of impact disorientation. They certainly did hit with some force, and Rorke admitted that many of them travelling in close formation together could look from a distance like a drop pod. Seeing the sense in Mordecai’s words the Iron Warriors began to slowly back off. Their retreat was not even noticed by the Xenos queens that now stood glaring at one another.
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“My dear Celestia” the Changeling purred, voice silky and inviting despite the malice of the one who bore it. “How good it is to see you again.”
Princess Celestia did not rise to the bait, furrowing her brow and letting a magical aura envelop her horn. Besides her, Luna did the same-although with more obvious anger, stamping her hoof on the stone floor in warning-whilst for their part Shining Armour and Twilight merely stared with mouths gaping. Celestia couldn’t blame them-the last time the Changeling’s had invaded, it had nearly split the Elements of Harmony forever. She’d hoped to never run that risk again.
“Chrysalis.” Was the sole word she spoke. The Changeling queen laughed; it was a horrid scratching sound that was soon taken up by her minions. Those that hadn’t smashed into the chamber hovered outside, or-from what Celestia could judge from the faint screams emanating from the city streets-had taken to amusing themselves throughout Canterlot.
“Did you miss me, Celestia? I have to confess I didn’t miss you. After our last tango I’d hoped to be rid of you entirely, but as we both know that pink brat had other ideas.” Chrysalis practically spat the last few words, turning to look at Shining Armour. “I see the Guard Captain is here, though? It’s been a long time, has it not? I admit I spoiled myself with you. The love I siphoned whilst impersonating your bitch was the most nourishing I’ve ever experiences. Since then, nothing has quite compared. Where is our dear Cadence anyway? I’d hoped to settle a few scores with her.”
Sensing her brother still in shock, it was Twilight who spoke up.
“She’s not here Chrysalis, but when she finds out that you’re back she’ll come back and banish you all over again!” she shouted. Chrysalis laughed for the second time, shaking twilight’s confidence no matter how much of a brave face the Unicorn put on.
“Oh I very much doubt that little one. You see, last time I was overconfident. I wished to rule Canterlot, but I confess that mistakes were mad. Sparing your pathetic Princesses’ life was one of them-an error I shall not be repeating, I assure you. But now this isn’t about conquest, just revenge. When your precious Princess returns, Twilight Sparkle, here will be NOTHING left to save.” The Changelings laughed again as the few remaining Equestrian Guards tried to form a defensive formation. The Changelings were slowly fanning out, surrounding the Ponies.
“How did you know when we’d be vulnerable?” Celestia attacked, mind still reeling at the implications of this second invasion. Chrysalis smiled in response, fangs bared.
“Come now Celestia, when that craft dropped from the sky above Equestria, all sorts of hungry eyes detected signs of weakness in the Solar Empire. The Changelings merely got there first, and with the help of my sleeper agents amongst the ponies of Canterlot I identified that you had your hands full with…with whatever they are.”
Finally, Chrysalis looked at the creatures that a few moments before had been locked in mortal combat with Celestia’s forces. They had attempted to sneak off as the two rulers argued, a feat rendered nearly impossible by their heavy armour. It was difficult enough for the regular troops; for the bigger ones with the strange projectile weaponry, it was almost depressingly comical. As one they turned on their heels at their inclusion in the conversation, looking at one another in an attempt to project an air of innocence. Some of them whistled slightly, folding their arms behind their backs and kicking nonchalantly at the ground. Celestia stared on incredulously; how could any warrior be so utterly lethal in combat, and yet so…so oblivious.
“Who exactly are you, anyway?” Chrysalis asked, her voice a mix of sarcasm and genuine curiosity. The one referred to as ‘Warsmith’ stepped forward, snake like tendrils affixed to the side of his armour retreating slightly.
“We’re the Iron Warriors, lady. Not that that’ll mean anything to you, obviously.” The Warsmith’s voice sounded almost bitter there, Celestia mused. At least he had some pride in his colours, no matter how fleeting. “We were just engaged in a delightful little sparring match with your fiend here…but I can see that you two have some unresolved tension, so we’ll just be going.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the chamber’s door as the rest of the Iron Warriors turned back to leave. Before they could make any progress, a dozen of the Changelings dropped down before them, spitting in warning. From what she’d seen Celestia reckoned the Iron Warriors could probably have gone through this opposition hardly breaking a sweat, but for what it was worth this resistance stopped them in their tracks.
“Oh, I insist that you stay. From what I can see you’ve been having a ball here, and I’d rather not have to deal with another threat to my authority at a later date.” The Changeling Queen said. The Warsmith’s shoulders dropped as he gave a sigh of frustration. Satisfied with their answer, Chrysalis turned her attention back to the Ponies.
“News travels fast, Celestia. We’d been stationed outside Canterlot ever since we’d heard of the falling star, and once your loyal Captain’s shields went down my armies could stroll right in.” She grinned manically, eyes utterly devoid of mercy. Celestia shivered.
“Sleeper agents? From the last invasion?” Twilight asked, voice tinted with confusion. Chrysalis nodded proudly. “Doesn’t that seem a bit coincidental?” The Unicorn went on. Chrysalis’ expression changed, from one of self-assuredness to confusion.
“What do you mean?”
“All I’m saying is it’s lucky that over the past months we’ve received absolutely no sign of them, despite security being stepped up since the wedding affair.” Twilight said. “Plus, you’ve never seen fit to use them before, but now they just happen to be on call? All I know is that doesn’t add up perfectly.”
Chrysalis was speechless for a moment, before an angry look entered her eyes. “Enough!” she barked. “It doesn’t matter what you think, girl. Canterlot is mine, and you’re all too weak to do anything about it!”
Luna lowered her head, a magical blast charging up along her horn before a shake of Celestia’s head stopped her. The sun Princess looked back at Chrysalis, unable to stop herself smiling slightly. From out of the corner of her eye she saw the Iron Warriors watching with rapt fascination.
“Not quite.”
Chrysalis saw what was happening a moment too late as the white light enveloped Celestia, Luna, Twilight and Shining. With a howl the Changeling queen spurred her minions onward, trying to stop her enemies’ spell, but the Ponies of Equestria had already teleported away.
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Lorkhan didn’t even bother swearing. He knew it wouldn’t have helped, in any case. In a flash of radiant light the Princess and all the other brightly coloured horses had disappeared, leaving only their decidedly less attractive cousins behind and surrounding the Iron Warriors. Admittedly, the Warsmith mused, each Astartes was at least twice the height of their foes-more, in Vortun and his Cult’s case-but they were fatigued even for Marines by the sudden battle, and they were heavily outnumbered by the enemy found in this room alone. Factoring in that these ‘Changelings’ looked a lot less friendly than the Xenos they’d become acquainted with prior, and Lorkhan found himself in a rather unfortunate situation rather quickly.
“Mordecai,” he said over the vox, “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of these creatures being infused with the touch of the Warp?”
“Alas, that does not appear to be the case my lord. They’re certainly unpleasant, but I cannot feel the taint upon their souls.”
“You sure? They’re certainly ugly enough.”
“True as that may be sir, I must stand by my original conclusion in this case.”
Lorkhan rolled his eyes in frustration as he considered an escape plan. Before he could decide, the Queen turned to face them proper. Despite her prior bark of annoyance, Chrysalis seemed content to menace the IV Legion’s warriors with the sudden disappearance of her preferred enemies.
“Poor, arrogant Celestia. She really thinks she can get away from me that easy? Hah!” The Queen shook her head, almost sympathetically. “Worry not, my friends, I shall avenge your persecution by the Equestrian nation. Unfortunately, you won’t be around to see it.” Chrysalis gave another laugh as she disappeared in a bolt of sickly green-without another word from their leader, the Changelings attacked.
The Iron Warriors had been expecting such a move though, and with no more expression of surprise than an obligatory “oh shit” from the Warsmith they ran towards the door to meet them. The Obliterator’s Assault Cannons spat high velocity death, thudding into the Xenos ranks. They burst open like spring flowers in bloom, their vile green insides spraying the ground. Iron Warriors lashed out with fists, or in Mordecai’s case telekinetic psychic power, crashing into Changeling bodies and snapping their frail bones. They pushed their way towards the door as one, bludgeoning their way over a pile of broken Xenos bodies.
Rorke dodged the snapping jaws of one of the Changelings, knocking the wind out of it with a follow up blow. Behind him one of his brothers wasn’t so fortunate; tackled by five Changelings, he was forced to the ground and had his softly armoured throat ripped out by sharpened incisors. Rorke span and delivered a right hook to one’s face. The skull shattered before his gauntleted fist, and the body dropped unceremoniously to the ground.
Turning, Rorke stared another Changeling in the face. Drawing back his fist to deliver a kick, Rorke could only blink in surprise as a light enveloped it, moving from the Xenos’ head to its feet. Before the Iron Warrior could swing a blow, a perfect copy of Rorke stood before him. There was no blemish, no changes, nothing to distinguish him from the monster that had taken his shape. For a moment, Rorke’s mind flashed to his long-lost cousins in the Alpha Legion. They’d have a field day here.
The transformed Changeling attacked, its blows wild and clumsy. Nevertheless, the surprise of being faced with his doppelganger was enough to throw the Astartes off guard. A fist slammed into his bare head, cracking the nose and causing blood to pour down Rorke’s face. Blinking away the pain, he barely managed to block two follow up punches. A downward kick to the shin incited a yelp of outrage from the Iron Warrior as he tumbled onto his back. The Changeling-Rorke loomed over him, grinning maniacally as it held him down and pulled back its fist again for the killing blow.
The monster smiled for a moment more before the hand erupted from the rear of its skull. Swiftly reverting to its original, equine form, the corpse hung limply on the silver gauntlet that was now stained with its blood. Rorke muttered a silent prayer of thanks to the Gods as Zuko removed the body from his hand contemptuously.
“You’re not wearing your helmet.” The other Aspiring Champion said, grabbing another Changeling out the sky and hurling it into away. Rorke shrugged, the pain in his nose already subsiding.
“Broke.” He replied simply, evading a punch from a second transformed Xenos before grabbing his doppelganger’s head and breaking the neck with a clean snap. Zuko gave a small chuckle.
“As broke as your nose, or more so?”
“Fuck off Zuko.”
“Hey, I reckon it’s an improvement.”
“I’d be insulted if you weren’t such a faggot.” Rorke stamped down on another Changeling’s head, reducing it to paste. The Iron Warriors had carved through a mass of the Xenos Warriors with minimal casualties, the Obliterator’s Assault Cannons reaping a heavy toll. But there were hundreds of them, and more coming all the time. Whilst Changeling’s seemingly favoured method of attack, confusing their foe with transformation, wasn’t working-it was obvious that they were not used to such powerful bipedal bodies, and the Iron Warriors didn’t really care if they hit their brothers or not-they couldn’t hold out forever.
“This is easily the worst idea Lorkhan’s ever had.” Rorke muttered, to no one in particular. Him and Zuko were fighting back to back now, their silver armour caked in blood and yet still reflecting the sun’s brilliant glare. “I mean, he’s had some fucking bad ideas, but letting us be taken to a happy pony tea party where we’re first sentenced to execution through the power of rainbows and sunshine before engaged in a fight to the death with the Tyranid’s decidedly less rational and reasonable stepchildren has to take the cake as the Warsmith’s most inspired cock-up yet.” A piece of stone torn from the floor, most likely by Mordecai’s psychic powers, sailed overhead. It struck three more Changelings, coating the wall with their ichor.
“We went along with it.” Zuko reminded him, punching another clone in the throat. Rorke scoffed.
“Mordecai and you went along with it. I never did.”
“You didn’t try and stop it, dumbass. Now shut up and help me think of a way out of this mess.”
“For once Zuko’s not talking out his arse.” Lorkhan pushed his way through the throng, strangling two Changelings in his Mechatendrils. He tightened his grip with the whip-like appendages, cracking both necks. The Warsmith looked at his two Champions, the half of his helmet that was a skull’s grin seeming strangely appropriate in this scene of wanton destruction.
“For once we’re not losing.” He pointed out. Zuko tilted his head slightly as if conceding the point. Rorke just spat.
“We still need to get out of here, sir. Do you actually have a plan this time?” Lorkhan now turned to look at Rorke as the Champion asked the question, the Warsmith folding his arms as his subordinates dropped two enemies.
“Not quite yet, Rorke. How the hell are there so many of these bastards anyway? Surely this room can’t hold them all?”
“I think it’s safe to assume that they’re coming from outside as well, lord.” Zuko sounded distracted. Lorkhan’s idle musings were hardly his greatest concern at the moment. The Warsmith shrugged, as if that satisfied his passing curiosity. Completely ignoring the combat that was raging around him, he rubbed his armoured forehead in aggravation, the heads of his Mechatendrils hovering around his ears as if whispering their secrets to him.
Another Changeling flew at Lorkhan, screeching and with fangs bared. Leaning his weight backwards, the Warsmith caught it under the chin with a brutal uppercut. It sailed away gurgling as it tried to draw in breath through its shattered throat. Shaking off the Xenos residue from his fist, Lorkhan looked along the path from which his adversary had come. The hole in the wall caused by the Changeling’s arrival was still open and raw, the wind picking up through the gaping wound. Sunlight reflected off the Warsmith’s helmet as inspiration dawned.
“Outside.” He whispered. Zuko and Rorke heard him, and followed his gaze out the hole. Zuko stared for a moment, before giving a tired sigh and cupping his faceplate in both hands, shaking his head slightly. The blood had completely drained from Rorke’s face.
“Lorkhan, please tell me this is a joke.” The Warsmith looked at Rorke, his amusement at the Champion’s annoyance clear. “Lorkhan, no, you cannot be serious.”
“Mordecai.” Lorkhan spoke over the vox. Moments later the sorcerer emerged from the crowd. He sounded breathless, the strain of constant psychic channelling taking its toll.
“Lord…” he gasped. Behind the four, another Iron Warrior was tackled to the ground, his throat smashed by the boot heels of his duplicate.
“I need an honest answer, Mord. Can you do that for once in your life?”
“I’m offended, I’ve never been anything but honest with you in my life Lorkhan.”
The Warsmith didn’t speak, merely pointing at the opening. Mordecai followed his finger for a moment, not comprehending before something clicked. He laughed despite himself.
“Yes, Lorkhan. Almost certainly.”
“Almost certainly?”
“I’d wager 95% likelihood.”
“But there’s still a 5% chance.”
“Well…yes, quite.”
“Alrighty then.” The Warsmith looked back at the hole, red optics seeming to narrow in concentration despite the impossibility of such a feat. “Allons y.” There wasn’t a hint of irony in his voice.
He started to run. Mordecai was hot on his heels, trinkets and sorcerous baubles clinking against his armour. Zuko and Rorke for their part tried to run, back into the mass of Changelings where at least their deaths would mean something. The Mechatendrils tied round their legs and sent them crashing into the ground. Lorkhan didn’t break stride as he continued to run, his Champions dragged behind him on their bellies as they desperately tried to break free.
They reached the edge quickly. The Obliterators covered their retreat, still pouring out masses of Cannon fire. The tower of the Castle stretched up high into the sky, raising hundreds of metres above the city. Even from here though, the sounds of battle and screams could be heard emanating from the streets below, and smoke rose from those houses savaged by vengeful Changeling marauders.
Another Legion might have considered another way. Another company could have to fight their way through. Another Captain could have stopped them getting into this situation in the first place.
Without even slowing down, or listening to the still trapped Zuko and Rorke’s howls of protest, the Iron Warriors Thirteenth grand company jumped out the window.