Spikes world seemed to stand perfectly still as he watched the bullet travel through Asho’s head, unable to take his eyes off the moment of her death, even as her life blood splattered across his chest and face. Everything was silent, and colour no longer seemed to have any meaning upon the world. Inevitably however, the fleeting moment of awful clarity passed, and reality came crashing back down upon him.
“ASHO!” He screamed, his voice breaking as he clutched the dead body of the Twilek to his chest, closing his eyes and trying to convince himself that this wasn’t real.
When he opened them, they were no longer the same. No longer were they the large, innocent eyes of the happy-go-lucky Spike, now they were the yellow eyes of a predator, burning with rage.
“I’LL KILL YOU!” He bellowed, before roaring, his voice traveling around the square and shaking the very buildings around him.
Thrusting his hands forward, Spike screamed as he grabbed the offending Mandalorian in an iron telekinetic grip, ripping him from his position on top of a building and brining the sniper down to his eye level, struggling feebly as Spike applied force to him, his armour beginning to strain and crumple. Roaring again, Spike brought his fist slamming forward into the Mandalorians chest, denting the armour and drawing a cry of pain from his enemy. Spike was dimly aware of voices from behind him, but his own screams of rage were stopping them from reaching his ears.
Letting out a final roar, Spike unleashed a gout of flame at the suspended Mandalorian, drawing a scream from the enemy as the fire washed over him. Spike didn’t let up until his enemy was nothing but a burnt corpse, charred remains of what had once been a warrior, diving forward at a Krath soldier who had charged forward, a sword that was clearly not his clutched in his hands, and a mad scream gracing his lips.
In one swift movement, Spike darted around the blade, grabbing hold of the man’s weapon arm and twisting until a crack was heard, the man’s battle cry turning to a cry of pain as he dropped his weapon.
Not allowing his enemy any respite, Spike hoisted him above his head, before clamping his jaw around the man’s neck, ripping bloody flesh, muscle and sinew away as he tore his head back and spat the chunk of meat back into the man’s face, receiving only a gurgle and a spurt of blood as the man floundered like a caught fish, before falling limp in Spikes grip, and being allowed to fall.
Seething with rage, Spike stared out across the square, looking into the seething mass of enemies that had overrun the defences. They had all halted, starring at Spike in what he could only describe as fear. Right now though, all he cared about was keeping them away from the others. Asho had fallen, but he would die before any of the others would follow her, but to do that, he would have to open himself fully to the force, allowing himself to delve into the corrupting side of the malignant power. It was a price he would pay gladly.
Suddenly, Spike collapsed to the ground, landing on the charred corpse in front of him and letting out an unholy cry of agony. The world spun around him as he realized he was laying on his side, panting in exertion. His head throbbed as the pounding of the soldiers feet echoed in his ears. He could hear yelling. Some of it might have been his.
“Spike!” Could have been Tarhal, or perhaps Zule.
“Spike, you’re back’s bleeding!” Corinna?
“Force, going wild.” He spat out in between cries of pain. “Need to stop ene…arg!”
“You, don’t just stand there, drag him inside and seal the blast doors! Asho to!”
Spike felt numerous hands grabbing hold of him, dragging him across the stone floor onto something much cooler. Metal?
“You, help me get this armour off him. We need to see what’s wrong.”
The pounding of footsteps rushed away.
“That’s the last strap.”
“HURTS!”
“My god. Look at his back.”
The pressure was unbearable. Something was pressing against his skin from the inside. It wanted to get out. Spike rolled himself over so that she was sitting up. The sound of his hide tearing was drowned out by his scream of pain.
By the end of the day, the entire garrison of the cannons would know that Spike the fire drake, was now a dragon.
***
Spike looked around the darkness that now surrounded him. He knew he had seen this place before on his many meditative excursions into his own mind, but this time it seemed different, murkier and somewhat depressing.
“Moonstone!” He shouted, trying and failing to get up from his side. When you were unable to raise yourself in your own mind, it was clear that something very wrong had happened.
When he received no answer, Spike began to hyperventilate, his mind going into overdrive. What if this wasn’t his mind? What if he hadn’t died outside on the battlefield? Was this the afterlife?
“Moonstone! Please!” Spike begged, once again trying to move.
“This is it then?” A voice came from behind the fallen dragon, and Spike managed to turn his head enough to catch sight of Moonstone, the purple mare casually inspecting one of her forehooves. “Is this where the Dark Side finally takes you?”
“What are you talking about?” Spike asked, his voice wavering slightly.
“The Dark Side is a strong force, is this where it ensnares you as well as so many others?” She reiterated.
“I haven’t fallen!” Spike roared, writhing slightly.
“Of course you haven’t.” She said, laying a hoof on the immobile Dragon, stroking his head soothingly. “Not yet anyway. Continue though…” She trailed off.
“I. Have. Not. Fallen!” Spike roared again, putting emphasis on each word, before Moonstone placed her hoof on his lips, forcing him to be silent.
“Come now Spike, you did not think that your display outside the cannons was natural do you?” She said smoothly. “The anger you felt? The power you briefly wielded? This is the strength of the Dark Side. A path that you do not even know you are treading until you have slipped to the bottom of it, from which there is little hope of return. But hold steady now, keep your nerve, and you may yet remain on the path of the Light.”
“I hate them. The Krath, the Mandalorians, especially the Sith. I hate them, I just…I just wish that the Dark Side…wasn’t.” Spike finished weakly.
“Without the darkness the light means nothing. It is one of many. But in the middle of the darkness, when despair and death are all around you, the light means everything. It is hope.” She said softly, before beginning to fade, as Spike was hauled back to reality, and the pain that came with it.
***
“Hold him still. We don’t know what they’ve done to him.” A voice that Spike recognised as Corinna’s. “Do we have anything to dress his wounds with?”
“Nothing, I’m sorry.” An unfamiliar voice replied.
Spike could feel more hands grab onto him, holding him down on what seemed like a very small platform as his body twitched and jerked, before finally his eyes snapped open, the wide pupils contracting suddenly in the presence of the light streaming into them.
He panted heavily as he fixed his eyes on the people around him, trying to hold in a scream as more unbelievable pain washed around his body. Taking a deep breathe in, Spike clenched his teeth and pushed himself up, knocking the hands holding him down away with ease and keeping his eyes fixed on Corinna to keep his mind away from his back.
“Careful Spike.” She warned, but hurried to his side as he swung his legs off the table, collapsing to a kneeling position.
“Fine.” He muttered in return, grabbing hold of her and hauling himself up, nearly toppling her over.
Craning his neck, Spike looked at his back, setting his eyes upon the two new wings that sat there. They were tiny little things, hardly bigger than a Pegasus’s and covered in blood. However, unlike a Pegasus’s wings, these were not covered in feathers, instead being leathery and rough, not unlike that of one of Luna’s personal guard. The hide around his back however was not in as good a state. As the wings had burst forth, they had ripped the skin into bloody ribbons, making his back look as if he had been flayed for days. Blood was still oozing from it, but from the damage done to it, it should have been bleeding a lot more.
“How. Long.” Spike grunted.
“Blast doors were sealed one hour, twelve minutes ago.” Corinna replied.
“Where.” Spike began, groaning as he collapsed against the wall, barely keeping his balance on his feet.
“I’ll take you to her.” Corinna said solemnly, moving over to Spike and wriggling under his arm, helping the larger Dragon out of the room and down the corridor.
The inside of the bunker complex was tight for someone of Spikes size, especially when walking two abreast down the corridor, the Republic soldiers who had helped hold him down and provide medical help for Corinna as she tended to Spike.
Eventually however, the corridor widened out into a low ceilinged room occupied by what Spike truly hoped was not everyone that remained of the Republic forces, the room barely holding thirty men, as well as two Jedi in a corner, standing vigil over a single corpse. By the looks of things, it was the only one that had been recovered.
Slowly, the two remaining Jedi made their way over to their companions, Spike getting his first proper look at Asho without rage clouding his mind. The corpse was a mess, that was all Spike could say about it. Her body was covered in numerous cuts from the fight, although compared to the final injury she took, these were nothing. There was hardly anything left of her head, the sheer size of the round that finally killed her having reduced the back of her head to pulp, and scraped a lot of the front of it to, leaving an exposed hole through which Spike could see the table she was laying upon.
Tears filled Spikes eyes as he collapsed onto the body, holding the corpse tightly to his chest. He felt a paw touch him on the shoulder, and quickly turned, looking into Tarhal’s bloodshot eyes.
“It wasn’t your…” He began.
“Don’t say it wasn’t my fault.” Spike said softly, turning away the Wookies gaze. “Please.”
“It wasn’t Spike.” Zule insisted.
“Then whose was it?” Spike asked with a sniff. “I gave the orders to retreat. She would have been on her guard if I…”
“She would have died, as would the rest of us if we hadn’t got to the safety of the cannons.” Corinna said firmly.
“No, no, no.” Spike repeated, tears falling down his face, the dragon beginning to hyperventilate, the constant rocking breaking open the few parts of his back that had healed.
“Spike, your back.” Tarhal pointed out, grabbing hold of the Dragon by his shoulders and stopping him from rocking. “Let’s get him somewhere he can rest.”
“No, no.” Spike shook his head. “Just, let me see the blast doors. I want to know that…know that we’re safe.”
“Are you sure? Your back…” Corinna began.
“Isn’t in as bad a shape as Asho, or any of the other dead.” Spike said, before making his way out of the room, steadying himself on the wall as he went. Truth be told, his back felt like it was on fire, the bloody stumps that were his new wings fluttered back and forth seemingly with a will of their own.
With the others leading, and occasionally helping the largest member of their clan when he stumbled, the four Jedi quickly made their way to the blast doors, passing by the soldiers on guard duty as they inspected the massive metal door.
“Ray shielded, half a meter of durasteel.” Zule said as Spike leant against the wall.
“Good. Good.” Spike nodded, his voice getting fainter as he was pulled back to sleeps embrace.
***
Spike awoke again suddenly, finding himself back in the main room of the cannon complex, somebody, or multiple somebodies, having carried him back from the blast door and had lent him down against the wall, a jacket being placed behind his head. All around him he could make out the forms of soldiers, not many of whom were sleeping. To be fair to them, if he wasn’t weary from the wounds on his back, he doubted he would be able to sleep either.
“Soldier.” Spike muttered, touching a man on his shoulder. “How much food do we have?”
“Sir, the other Jedi said to tell you not to worry about things like this, they can keep command for…” he began.
“How much?” Spike insisted.
“With this number, two days water, three days food.” The soldier replied.
“Rough estimate anyway.” Corinna said, walking over. “How are you?”
“Pain.” Spike said simply. “How are the men?”
“Not good. Morale is low, numbers are just as low.” She replied.
“What are we doing about morale?” Spike asked, hauling himself upwards.
“Not much we can do.” Corinna said after a while. “How do you get morale up when an enemy army is knocking right outside your door?”
“You tell them a story.” Spike said with a weak smile. “You tell them anything that will help.”
“I have no stories that will help in that matter. Neither do the others.” Corinna said sadly.
“I do.” Spike said, a slight smile cresting his lips. “I do.”
“That’s your plan? To tell them a story?” Corinna whispered disbelievingly. “Why?”
“Because there’s nothing else left.” Spike hissed so as to not let the soldiers around him hear. “Because I ordered us to be trapped in here, and without hope, we have nothing.”
Moving past Corinna, Spike made his way to the centre of the room, standing to his fullest height, having to bend his head to allow him to do it, but never the less, he cut an impressive figure, even with blood dripping from his wings. Clearing his throat, Spike began.
“Gather round, listen in.” Spike said, drawing the attention of the remaining soldiers. “I realise that you are worried about our current predicament, and I promise you, I feel the exact same way. The situation seems bleak, maybe even hopeless.”
“You got that right, bloody fool.” A soldier muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear it properly.
“Stow that.” Tarhal growled from the side of the room, but to most of the soldiers, it probably just sounded like a menacing threat.
“I realise that you may blame me for this, and you may have every right to do so, but I know of darker situations than this which were stared down by a brave few.” Spike said, contemplating what he was going to say next.
“Long ago, in times faded to legend on my home planet, there were two goddesses, one who watched over the day and the sun, while the younger sister watched over the night and moon. Disillusioned by a foul daemon who infested her mind, the younger sister rose in rebellion, only to be defeated by her sister, and banished to her own dominion, locked in the moons embrace. Nightmare Moon, the mare in the moon, was truly created on that day.”
He paused, looking around at the soldiers who were now all staring directly at them, their troubles and worries momentarily forgotten, before Spike forged onwards with the tale. Now was the time to amend the truth, this was after all, supposed to be a story to rouse their spirits.
“She did not stay locked in her prison forever though, and soon, one thousand years after her imprisonment, she beseeched the very stars themselves to free her from her void cell, returning to enact her terrible vengeance upon the goddess who had banished her all those centuries ago. Weakened by the many years of peace that had followed her sisters defeat, the old goddess stood no chance against her sister, who had not been idle in her years away, and fell before her quickly wrath. For ten years, she ruled by world with an iron hoof, silencing any rebellion swiftly and brutally, plunging the world into darkness for a decade.”
“How does a planet survive without a sun for ten years?” A soldier piped up, and Spike realised that they were buying it. Desperate minds he supposed.
“On my world, things work differently. The goddesses walk amongst us, and we are fortunate for their grace, for they wield power beyond the scope of mortal knowing, strong enough even to rend the laws of nature asunder and force the moon to become life giving. Times were bleak, hope non-existent, as it is now.”
He paused once more.
“But now, as then, I can see heroes poised to take up arms against their oppressors. In the eleventh year of the Nightmare's tyranny, six brave mares, ponies from all walks of life, rose up and defied the daemonic goddess and her immense armies, uncaring of the consequences, for the rewards were beyond the counting. For the first time since the old goddess had fallen, ponykind, and indeed the world itself, had leaders, a force they could rally behind. And rally they did, rising in the first truly unified rebellion to follow the six mares example. From city to city, and continent to continent, the six mighty warriors lead their armies against the Nightmare that plagued their home, seeing victory after victory as more and more ponies rose up in arms with them. Finally, the heroes reached the centre of the Nightmares web of tyranny, striding into the fortress of a goddess unsupported and their heads held high. Six mortal ponies squared off against an immortal goddess who had command over nature itself, but they did not falter, willing to give their lives if that is what it took to free their home. But that was not needed, for their courage saw them through, and on that day, harmony overthrew tyranny, and cast the daemon back from the foul warp it had come from, allowing the old goddess to finally return, freed from her own prison as the wards around it slipped away. Six mortal mares proved that day that evil, will never triumph, as long as those with the courage to stand up, do so, regardless of the consequences. That is what you all did today. You stood up to a force of greater numbers, with surprise on their side. You stared them down as they threw themselves at you again and again, battering away at your comrades as surely as the seas mighty waves will topple even the largest of cliffs, but you did not stop to think of retreat, you did not run, you held the line, and for some, they paid the ultimate sacrifice, yet they died standing. That is all anyone can ever ask of you, and all your duty will ever demand, that you stand tall, you hold the line, and you die standing!”
Spike shouted the final few sentences, making sure that everyone could see and hear him as he praised them. He had got them into this situation, but he would be dammed if the last thirty two of these brave soldiers would die easily. His back was bleeding heavily now, and his world was beginning to spin, but he would not let up, not yet. He had to stay strong.
“When they come, if they have the courage to face us again, then none of you are allowed to die before you have taken ten of them with you! I, will always be ahead of you! I will lead you to victory,” he began to falter, stumbling slightly, “or I will proceed you to the afterlife, and meet you…” His world span, and Spike could feel himself tumbling towards the floor, only to be caught by three sets of hands, and looking around to see Tarhal, Zule and Corinna holding him up.
“WE will always be in front of you!” Zule corrected, bellowing louder than Spike had been able to muster. “And if Spike can talk of war, and fighting, and victory in his state, then none of us have any excuses not to follow his lead!”
“Reckon if they’re motivated enough?” Spike said with a weak chuckle.
“Yeah, you could say that.” Tarhal chuckled, but Spike didn’t hear him, his wounds overcoming him once more, and allowing him to slip from the waking world.