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// Chapter I: Welcome to the New Age 
// Story: Shattered 
// by sunstar93 
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The scarlet sky announces the imminent rising of the sun, the beginning of another arduous day. I slowly stagger to my knees and push myself up to stand on all four hooves. The battlefield before me, once a beautiful expanse of lush green grass and delicate wildflowers, now glistens with blood and dew, and the stench of the dead is suddenly overwhelming. I cannot see out of my left eye and for a moment I panic, before I realize that dried blood has crusted it shut. It is painful to try to open anyway and I can’t immediately assess the severity of the injury to my face. It can wait.

“Storm!” My ears swivel backwards to catch my name, and I turn my head to see two intimidating stallions galloping towards me. One is a colossal crimson stallion, his short golden mane stained brown with blood. High General Macintosh. My father.

I nearly collapse as I try to canter over to him, but I catch my balance, feeling my legs shaking beneath me. Father leans against me, supporting me with his massive frame. The plate metal of our armor grinds together as I fall against him and allow him to bear some of my weight, helping me walk. His breastplate is pocked with dents and craters, the chainmail protecting his withers and forelegs slightly broken in places. Nothing is able to penetrate chainmail; swords and axes merely break a few individual links, never going through completely.

The other stallion accompanying us is General Striker, an imposing fiery orange charger who serves just beneath my father. Striker is missing most of the plate armor from his chainmail suit, but aside from a few scratches, seems mostly unscathed. This was not Striker’s first ambush attack and he seems to have fared out better than most.

“Are you badly hurt?” he asks, supporting me on my other side. Together we make it across the field and back to a small group of ponies huddled together. A medic busily flits between the ponies, applying antiseptic and wraps where he can, temporary care until we make it back to New Ponyville.

“I’ll be fine,” I grunt, gritting my teeth against the pain. Every step feels like my hooves and lower legs are on fire, blazing through my skin and armor. A Juggernaut warrior isn’t brought down by anything less than a sword through the heart.

We finally reach the group and I collapse to the ground, groaning as I roll onto my side so I can relieve my legs of their burden. Father stands over me, casting his shadow across my face. The medic appears beside me and begins to inspect my eye. He applies a damp cloth to the dried blood that has crusted my eye closed, wiping it away. Next, he rubs antiseptic into the gash above my eye and I wince at the sting.

“Not too deep, you should be lucky,” the medic remarks. “How did they get your helmet off?”

“Not sure, don’t remember,” I reply. Maybe it will come to me later, but right now it doesn’t matter.

He then examines my legs and hooves, calling over another pony to assist him. “There is a considerable amount of shrapnel embedded in your lower legs. It managed to rip open the plate armor, and since there is no chainmail barrier there, has gone straight into the flesh. We will remove it, but it will be painful.” The medic does not skip around the problem. I nod weakly, just wishing for him to get started so it can be over.

“You were very brave,” Father praises. “Couldn’t be prouder.” He then leaves my side to check on the rest of the ponies. They are mostly ponies-at-arms, with a few cannoneers present. The medic interrupts my thoughts, asking me to stand so we can remove my armor. It is very painful, but he is efficient and soon I am lying back down on my side, legs outstretched, my armor stacked in a pile.


My next conscious thought is Striker nudging me awake. “We’re leaving soon. Better put your armor back on,” he snorts before turning away. The searing agony from my legs is gone, replaced by a dull burn, but nothing like the scalding pain from before. I look to see all the shrapnel pieces gone from my skin, the bigger pieces leaving behind open wounds that had been sutured. I find my strength returning to me as I manage to get to my hooves. Much better.

With the exception of my lower legs, the armor covers me from jaw to tail, and I feel invincible. If only I could find my helmet, but I can always get another one made. Father approaches me, the visor of his helmet up to reveal part of his face. Two double-edged blades jut out like tusks from the jaw of the helmet, curving up slightly in the middle to maximize inflicted damage. A third blade, serrated on one side, razor-sharp on the other, sits like a horn on top of the nose, right in the middle. It is a fearsome weapon by itself, but when attached to a charging Juggernaut stallion, it is a death sentence.

“Are ya fit for travel?” Father asks. He has abandoned his silent-farmhand persona for one of a formidable warrior comfortable with giving commands. I nod, my white forelock hanging in my eyes. I toss my head and meet my father’s emerald green eyes with mine, exactly the same shade. “We’ll report straight to AJ when we return.” I assume he means him and Striker.

Father trots to the front of the troupe of warriors, calling out, “Ready? Be on the alert!” He tosses his head so his visor falls over his eyes and flicks his short docked tail to signal our move.

“That was one hell of a battle, huh?” A familiar voice sounds in my ear. I look to my left to see a mint-green pony trotting beside me. Her navy blue mane is cut brutally short and her tail is sectioned off by spiked leather cuffs. A mace swings from the end, leather straps connecting between each cuff so as to support the weight of the ball. Two of its spikes are broken off and it is stained rust brown. “…Storm?”

“What?” I shake my head. “Sorry, Ice Flower.”

Ice Flower rolls her magenta eyes playfully. “You fought really well out there,” she comments.

“Well, I don’t know about that. It doesn’t take that much skill to charge through a bunch of ponies,” I joke. But in reality, we have one of the most important jobs. By racing forward and crashing through enemy lines first, we can incapacitate dozens of ponies at a time, giving the ponies-at-arms and cannoneers a better chance.

“It’s also not a job for just any pony. It takes a pony with an amazing amount of courage to do it.”

“And you have to be the size of a barn. Don’t forget that,” I smile. Ice Flower laughs, her sweet voice music to my ears.

“But what about you? Certainly it can’t be that easy to swing a mace from your tail?” I question.

“Well, you get used to it. And they’re much lighter than they look. But they teach us how to swing them so they inflict a lot of damage. They can knock out an armored pony, but can kill if it hits in just the right spot.” She flicks it to demonstrate and I dance to the side.
“I believe you, trust me! No need to prove it to me.”

It is nearly dusk before we reach the fortified city of New Ponyville. Several guard ponies, the size of Father and bearing weapons as fearsome as Ice Flower’s mace, nod to us as we enter through the gate.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Storm,” Ice Flower says before breaking off with other infantry to head to the armory. The cannoneers, laden with their devastating hoof cannons, retreat to the black powder storage to stow away their weapons. I continue to follow Father, Striker, and the other Juggernauts towards the main building, built near the middle of the town. It is a rugged stone structure bearing the Earthborn crest above its iron and wood doors. Father signals for me to join him at the door.

“Striker, notify the guards to watch for Whitegold forces. I think we might’ve beaten ‘em back, but we can’t be caught off guard.” Again.

That means I’ll be going with Father to report to Supreme Commander Applejack.