//------------------------------//
// 9. Visions 
// Story: A Soldier's March (Abandoned) 
// by Diokno44 
//------------------------------//

Equestria was in flames, ash and soot covered the ground, orange fires spewed out of windows and doorways like a dragon's maw, black smoke clouded the sun. Micheal leapt to his feet, looking at the ruined and musty bed that he had laid down on, Barreta already in hand. Seeing a still complete, albeit cracked window, and a surge of fire roaring through the door, he charged at the glass, and hurtled through, as a stream of fire seared his back.

Micheal's eyes snapped open, looking around, he found himself back in Aetherium, the Princesses, the Mane 6, and Brian all slept peacefully. Salty sweat dripped down Micheal's forehead, his pulse quickened, and he took small, raspy breaths. Deciding to get something to drink, he stepped slowly out of the well worn bed, as his eyes became adjusted to the darkness. Ancient, hoof woven tapestries draped the walls, the room was painted aquamarine blue, a small crystal chandelier hung on the ceiling, swinging gently in the solar winds. 

As he stepped outside of the room, shutting the oak door behind, he thought about the dream. Equestria in flames, an army ravaging the town, and a Johan's giant, translucent face gloating over Micheal, the sound of his laughter rung in his ears. As Micheal made his way into the nearest kitchen, he fingered the small, golden crucifix adorning his neck alongside his dog tags. He was dressed in his combat jacket, a slightly stained white T-Shirt, a brown leather belt, combat fatigues, and his well-worn charcoal black combat boots. His footsteps were nearly silent on the carpeted floors, yet made a soft CLUNK sound on the tiles of the kitchen. He whistled to himself as he entered, a found Gold Blade at the dining table. Looking at his watch, Micheal found  it was almost 4:50 AM. Gold Blade was eating a wheat sandwich with what appeared to be mustard, his sword lay next to the chair, just in hoof's reach.

Upon hearing Micheal's arrival, Gold Blade swallowed his food, before a warm smile came to his face, the slightest hint of his fangs showing. Clearing his throat, he said to Micheal, "Ah, Celestia's guest. Micheal, was it? What brings you here this fine morning?" to which Micheal replied by grabbing a glass, pouring water into it, and chugging it down. 

Feeling a rumbling in his stomach, Micheal inspected the silver and black metal fridge, the light a bit TOO bright when he opened it. Looking inside, he found ham, mayonnaise, egg custard, among an assortment of other foods. Picking out some simple bacon, he heated it in the microwave, and set it down, sitting directly across from Blade. Their was a slight hungry look in his eyes, but Micheal passed it off as hunger for food.

"So, how have you been Blade?" Micheal asked, striking up a conversation. Micheal suddenly  saw a vision of a rifle in his hands, executing POWs in a concentration camp,but this quickly faded as it began. Blinking, Micheal went back to eating his bacon. 

"I've been good. The food here might be tasty, but my mother's cooking was always best." Gold Blade said, before finishing at the moment Micheal did. "Have a nice day Verräter." before trotting away.

(Verräter-German for traitor, Micheal knows only a few words, and even fewer phrases, in German)

"Verräter?" Micheal asked, before a vision filled his mind. He looked around, seeing various Nazi infantry in what appeared to be a desolated town. A BMQ R12 was parked nearby. Micheal looked down, noticing an MP 18 sub machine gun was in his gloved hands. A PARRA-37 combat knife lay sheathed on his right arm, a Luger P08 lay clipped to his belt in his holster. His legs, and those of his companions, moved of their own accord, so were his arms. He passed over a battered Russian soldier, his left leg and some of his fingers at been blown off. Micheal could barely make out what the man was saying, but he guessed it was something along the lines of a swear. His arms raised up, rifle in hand, almost like he was a puppet, and fired a few rounds into the man's skull, a grim smile appearing on the face he now wore. They did this any other survivors they located.

His location changed then. He was now, according to an tag on his chest, a British Naval Officer named William Masterson. He wore a worn, navy blue jacket, dusty charcoal gray work pants, a damaged loafers. He was in a wooden cabin with several other men, one Micheal recognized as Avery Hunt, an Irish Intelligence officer he had gone to elementary school with. Avery wore a maroon sweater, dark blue Levis, and worn combat boots. He appeared to be righting a letter to home, berhaps his wife, Mary, or his nephew Carter. As Michel in Will's body went up to Avery, he turned his head to William, and, in a cold voice that Micheal had never heard him use, he said (And please imagine it in an Irish accent), "Ah, well look who it is. Ol' Masterson, let meh guess. The arse-lickers sent ya to spy on us again? Well tell Heinrik and his gang of milk-drinkas, that we ain't talking. Unlike you boyo, you've gone and sold yaself out to 'em for their blood momey. Ya make me ashamed to call you a friend.", Micheal then looked down, and stared in horror at the swastika and Iron Cross of Valor pinned to the jacket of William.

"Well, I gotcha a lil present fo ya Willy. Take this!" Avery yelled, before hastily unsheathing a large Jambia dagger he had stolen from a guard, elbowed Micheal/William, knocking him to the ground, and repeatedly jabbing the Jambia into his jugular, screaming Irish and Gaelic curses, as the floor and walls were stained crimson.  

As William bled out, Micheal returned to the waking world, as darkness overtook his vision, he lost consciousness, and fell onto the ice cold marble floor....