//------------------------------// // XII. Tiskin' a Taskin' // Story: Ordnance is Magic 2: Bombardment Boogaloo // by Perturabo //------------------------------// They did not try to bury the dead. They would have had to strip them of their armour, and even though – at least in Baramiel’s case – there wasn’t much to recover intact anyway, having to carry it around did not appeal to even the Iron Hand. Even besides that, the ground they found themselves upon still reeked of the pervasive taint of Chaos. The idea of laying their fallen to rest in it seemed disrespectful at best, and with the possibility to outright harm them at worst. Instead, they burned the bodies once Zuriel had retrieved the gene-seed. Despite how charred the majority were already, the timbers that had once been houses in Ponyville were pressed into service of fine funeral pyres. They creaked as Moulkain and Baramiel’s corpses, even stripped of their armour, were laid upon them, but they held. It only took a little effort to get the fire going. The flames crackled through the eternal crimson glow the sunless sky bathed the world in, snapping and dancing as if they had a life of their own. There were only six of them left now: Nehemiah, Joshua, Gideon, Helsturnn, Voss, and Zuriel. Seven, if Adamant Tower was included. As he stood beside the Space Wolf and watched the bodies of the two other Astartes turn to ash, the flames reflected in the steel of their weapon and his own eyes, the pony contemplated on two things. The first was that he was alive, when three gene-forged super soldiers who had fought against the worst horrors of the universe had died. That was grimly ironic enough, only made worse by the fact he knew the other Space Marine were just as aware of it. The second was, again, just how little this was starting to affect him. That they had died was shocking, but Uzzael’s death had shaken him for days. Now, he felt nothing but a stoic numbness as he watched two of their companions return to the earth. Although he couldn’t be certain, the pony wagered that is how the other legionaries felt too. “We go no further tonight.” Nehemiah’s voice was weary, even wearier than usual, but even now it brooked no argument. The Dark Angel rested his palm on the pommel of his sheathed blade, tattered robes blowing softly in the wind as he glanced around the wreckage of the town. “We take a night to recover…to mourn. In the morning, we begin again.” The movement was subtle, but the Calibanite glanced over at Voss, as if daring the unstoppable Astartes to argue. For once however the tenth legion vigilator was silent. Helsturnn, though, did the arguing for both of them. “We are Space Marines, Dark Angel.” He snarled. Adamant thought that statement was a little superfluous, and he was sure he’d heard the Wolf say it before. After all this time, the days were starting to blend together, if you could even call them days. That said, the way the Grey Hunter’s nostrils flared convinced the pony against arguing. “We do not stop. Not until the mission is complete.” “I am aware.” The Dark Angel kept his calm remarkably well, even as he felt the eyes of his two remaining brothers bore into his back. Over the discussion, the ‘click’ of Zuriel cycling melancholically through the gene-seed canisters affixed to his narthecium could be heard. “But we serve no-one by dying in this forsaken place…and we still have to decide what to do with that.” He turned, inclining his head towards the body of the tainted Iron Warrior. Vortun’s body lay slumped and unmoved on the ground, still grinning despite the sword wound lanced through its face. They had considered burning it, but decided that that would afford it something far too close to dignity. “Leave it.” The sergeant and the grey hunter looked round as Gideon spoke up. His voice was hollow, and even stonier than before. The loss of Baramiel appeared to have hit him harder than he would have liked to admit. “Leave it,” he repeated, armoured shoulders raising a little in a shrug. “I don’t want to let it get away with what it did, but there’s not much more we can really do. I’d rather not waste any of the resources we still have on it.” “Gideon had a point.” Zuriel piped up, looking up at last. The white portion of the Blood Angel’s armour were streaked by mud and dirt, whilst blood had dried in places that made it hard to tell where it ended and the crimson ceramite begun. “I would…very much like to vent my own fury upon the remains of the traitor, I assure you, but for the sake of the mission we must remain logical and sanguine.” Silence reigned a moment, all of the Astartes bar Voss exchanging glances. “I sincerely hope that was not a joke.” Joshua, the handless Dark Angel, muttered. Adamant didn’t really get it, but he was smart enough by now to say nothing. The Space Marine’s soon got to work in any case, searching to try and find somewhere to shelter for the night. Adamant helped too, sticking close to the Blood Angel apothecary as they combed the ruins of the town. Eventually, the group decided on the burnt-out wreckage of the town hall. It had been a circular structure once, with multiple tiers of construction and high glass windows. The entire top half had been demolished when something had smashed its way clean through, but the lowest level was still somewhat usable. Trusting in the twisted timbers to provide them with some sort of cover, the Space Marines and their guide settled down. It was quiet, and cold, but Adamant knew better than to ask for a fire. “You shouldn’t have spoken to him.” The pony flinched as he heard Helsturnn speak up again, almost able to feel the Dark Angels rolling their eyes in frustration within their helmets. At the very least, however, the Space Wolf had dropped his voice, and was at least trying to speak civilly. “I understand why you did, but you should not have done so.” “He was finished, brother.” Nehemiah responded, trying his best to stay composed himself. “There was no harm in it.” “We both know it is not as simple as that.” The Space Wolf had the unique quality of making everything he said even when he was trying to be calm, into a growl. “He was a traitor, and a…a monstrosity. We risked corruption enough by simply standing in its presence.” He took a sniff of the air again, his grey body hunched over and idly thumbing the teeth of his sword. “Besides, giving it last rites like that…it makes me sick.” “I understand that.” The Dark Angel conceded. “But that thing was a brother of ours once, despite what it allowed itself to become. I still do not think there was a danger in it.” He paused, to let the discussion sink in. “Besides, he offered some information about what the Iron Warriors were doing here.” “Hardly any.” The Wolf snorted in return, some belligerence starting to creep into his tone. Had he not been so on edge, Adamant would have groaned. “You should never underestimate the prey, Nehemiah. Even when wounded, they can-“ “Yes, they can get away.” The pony flinched, and even the other Astartes seemed a little surprised at the sudden anger that crept into the Dark Angel’s voice. “I suspect you Wolves know that better than any, or must I recount the events of Prospero?” The silence in the remnants of the building was choking, even as the Wolf slowly bristled. The scent of his kill-urge filled the air, fangs flashing and pupils dilating. The Dark Angel did not back down immediately, continuing just to stubbornly stare. Finally, however, he put his pride aside and held up an apologetic hand. For a moment it seemed like Helsturnn wouldn’t accept it, the grey hunter’s shoulders still tensed and his body ready to pounce. Eventually he calmed, the anger slowly seeping from him. “What about you?” Adamant Tower froze, his eyes widening, as Zuriel spoke up. Somehow he could tell that the Blood Angel was speaking to him, and sure enough the apothecary’s eyes were unwavering. So were those of all the others. Even so, the crimson-armoured Marine did sound genuinely curious. “You’ve come with us on this whole journey. You’ve been our guide. This was your world, before the Iron Warriors reduced it to…this…do you think that sergeant Nehemiah should have spoken with the traitor?” “I…” That was the best that the pony could manage straight away, though it wasn’t for lack of trying. The combined sudden scrutiny of the group made thinking coherently a challenge to say the least. “I…I think that…” He looked between them all, from the helmeted faces of the Dark Angels and Iron Hand, Zuriel’s curious expression, and Helsturnn’s feral scowl. “Yes.” He said at last, sighing a little and looking down as the Wolf’s frown deepened. “I know our cultures are very different and all…heck, I don’t even really know what mine is anymore.” He chuckled humourlessly. “But we used to believe that everyone deserved a second chance, no matter what they’d done…though I suppose I don’t really think that any more. Not about the-“ “’A second chance’.” For the second time that evening, all of them were surprised into silence. Adamant felt what seemed to be ice spread through his veins as the Iron Hand’s slow, methodical drawl reached his ears. “You believed in second chances.” There was something about his deep and almost artificial voice that was far more unsettling than any of the others. For a moment, it was hard to tell if he’d even asked a question, or was simply making a statement. “…umm…y-yes?” Adamant answered nonetheless, all the limited familiarity he felt he’d built up with the Marines falling away under the Iron Hand’s scrutiny. The Space Marine said nothing, just staring at him for a moment. That was all it took for the pony to realize he’d given the wrong answer. “Your weakness disgusts me.” He was on his feet in seconds, servos whirring in his legs as the Medusan grasped his bolter and aimed at the pony. Only an equally rapid reaction from Gideon saved Adamant, the Calibanite rising and knocking his brother’s arm aside. The shot went wide, the booming report lingering in the air. Voss struggled against Gideon as the other Space Marines got up and half-readied their own weapons, but his eyes never left the pony. “Our brothers are dying for this cause. Blood of the Imperium, spent for a worthless world you couldn’t even defend yourself. You do not fight. You do not produce. You do not even hate correctly. You hide behind your walls and cower…what is your purpose? What is your function?!” For the first time, real anger began to crack his voice, the Iron Hand straining in Gideon’s grip. “Brother, be at peace-“ Nehemiah began, but Voss would be silenced as he turned his furious gaze on his commander. “Do not tell me to be at peace, Nehemiah.” He practically spat, bionic hand curled into a fist. “Tenth Legion blood has been spilt on this world now. A son of the Gorgon has perished, for nothing. What is it you intend to do? What is even your stratagem?” “Close the Warp gate in what remains of their Capital.” To his credit, the first legion sergeant didn’t miss a beat before answering. “Fight our way through the entire Daemonic host, if that is what it takes-“ “And you think that that will work?” If before it had been an undertone, now Voss’s scorn bubbled up to the fore in force. “It is illogical. It cannot be done. The numbers do not lie.” “That does not sound like any Iron Hand I have ever heard.” Helsturnn’s own disgust was prominent, baring a fang as he looked at the Medusan. “Ferrus would be horrified to-“ “Ferrus is dead.” The Iron Hand’s sudden blunt pronouncement cut off even the Space Wolf’s condemnation. It was not that the content was surprising, they all already knew it, but to hear Voss suddenly give voice to it with such bitterness was offsetting. “Ferrus failed. He had a duty, and he failed because he let weakness creep in.” His helmeted head swiveled, the piercing cold of his eye-lenses falling on the pony. Adamant had stumbled back in an attempt to clear himself of the Iron Hand’s anger. The pony was on his back, eyes wide with animalistic urges of fright and sweat coating his brow. “He allowed emotion to cloud his mind, and my Primarch failed.” Perhaps some of the still-human part of Voss hoped that giving voice to the concern would help lift it from his mind. It evidently did not. “That is not the point.” Zuriel insisted, unwilling to lay a hand on their enraged brother for fear of setting him off further. Instead, he simply raised a gauntlet, clearly imploring the Medusan to calm. “We are doing this because it is the duty of the legions to fight evil such as this, not-“ “No.” Voss’s interjection was sharp and curt, but it was final. “It is exactly what you are doing here. Talking to the traitor filth, accepting any mission on behalf of these abominations,” the last word was clearly spat at Adamant. “It is all letting in the same weakness that consumed Ferrus. I would stop aiding you, if there was anywhere else to go.” “And yet, there is not.” Gideon sounded just as frustrated as Voss, though his anger was directed at the Iron Hand. It seemed to be will alone that was stopping the Dark Angel from cracking. “We are committed to this now, and we gave our word to see this done. You gave your word. So unless you want to be guilty of the same failure you’re accusing your Primarch of, I’d suggest letting it go, brother. Voss at least looked at him now, his anger redirecting every few moments. He held eye contact with the Angel, aware of all of the others looking at him too. And, just when it seemed he’d do the unthinkable, the Medusan had the good sense to back down. He snarled under his breath, pulling out of Gideon’s grip and turning away, bolter still in hand. Without another word the vigilator stormed away; they thought he was going to leave completely, but he did not go further than the perimeter of the camp, his bulky silhouette standing watch atop a pile of broken timber. “…I think you made him angry.” Joshua’s comment was superlative, but it didn’t stop the usually taciturn Dark Angel expressing the thought. Nehemiah sighed as the Blood Angel crouched down and slowly helped the pony to sit up. “I think before we are done here, brother, we are all going to be a lot angrier.” *** “So, am I gonna have to be the one to say it?” Considering that Sunset had, up until that point, been silent throughout the entirety of the Rainbooms’ band practice, Rainbow could perhaps be forgiven for finding her sudden contribution slightly irritating. There were only a few things that prevented the brash girl from snapping at her newest friend. The main factor amongst those was the knowledge that she was right. “Yah don’t have to…ah know what it’s gonna be.” Applejack sighed, laying her bass down and rubbing her eyes with her strong hands. “We can’t do nothin’ against the Dazzlings, right?” Sunset hesitated a moment, before hugging herself tighter, looking away and nodding grimly. “Ah thought so.” Applejack sighed. For saying she was usually so stubborn and willing to keep pushing on, her sudden spiral into what almost seemed like giving up was enough to jar the rest of them. “C’mon, we can’t just quit!” Rainbow, predictably, had taken on the task of insisting they continue. “The school needs us! If we don’t stop ‘em, who knows what’ll happen?” The looked at her, perhaps a little surprised to see the athlete taking such a broad view. Rainbow held their gazes a moment before sighing. “Plus…I reaaaaaaly don’t wanna lose to them.” “Well, what exactly do you suggest darling?” Rarity’s voice was as polite as ever, but as she ran her nimble fingers idly over the keys of her instrument it seemed that the fashionista was swiftly running out of hope herself. “We can certainly play our hearts out, but without Twilight and her magic…” She trailed off with a sigh, Rarity and the rest of the band looking over at Sunset. She shrunk in on herself a little as she felt their scrutiny, slumping down to sit on the floor and curling her knees up to her chest. “I…I don’t understand…” She admitted softly. It seemed partly an apology, but mainly a question she was directing at herself. “Why didn’t it work? Why did…that happen?” They’d all made an unspoken pledge to not speak about the effect that Sunset’s journal had had on them when they’d tried to use it, but in truth it had kept the fiery-haired girl up every night as she turned it over in her mind. “It’s never done that before…” “Well…I-I mean, maybe she…still got it?” Fluttershy suggested, the shy girl trying to find anything reassuring in the situation. None of them really believed her – not even Fluttershy herself. Uncomfortable silence persisted as the thought occurred to them all in the same moment, but it was Applejack that gave it voice. “You…you don’t think somethin’…happened to her, do ya?” The farm girl asked quietly. “Lahk…after she went through that portal, somethin’ happened to her world?” The girls looked at one another, distress written across their faces. “N-nah…” Rainbow chuckled a little, but the worry in her own voice was clear. “I…I mean come on, it’s Twi…she’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could have happened to her?” None of them really wanted to answer that. “Well, in any case, there is nothing we can do for her from here.” Rarity’s voice betrayed her own unease at the thought, but she did her best to keep it hidden. “I rather think we have our issues to deal with here, in any case.” “No argument there, sugar.” Applejack nodded grimly. After a moment her face turned quizzical. “Whah have things been so weird here lately?” She tilted her head and looked at Pinkie, who until that moment had been strangely quiet. “Lahk…where did your friend from last week go? The new kid?” “Hmm? You mean Barbus?” She asked, her poofy hair bobbing a little as she nodded. Rainbow was quick to cut her off. “Yeah, what did happen to him?” She asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at nobody in particular. “One minute he was here, and the next he was screaming something about an order and the fire alarm went off.” “I haven’t seen him since then.” Pinkie shrugged, looking slightly upset at the fact. Despite the ridiculousness of the thought, she would no doubt blame herself for him not coming back. “Sorry, Dash…” The athlete blinked, gripping her guitar slightly harder. “…What’s that supposed to mean?” She asked, trying to be nonchalant about the issue. It was enough to make Applejack snigger despite their situation. “Oh come on, don’t y’all try and deny it, yah were lovin’ that little chat you were havin’ with him.” She smirked. It didn’t sink in immediately, Dash continuing to just stare in incomprehension. “Well…yeah, it was good. I don’t get to talk about Daring Do mu-“ She paused mid sentence as what her friend was implying sank in. Dash’s eyes flashed in annoyance as she scowled. “Oh come on, seriously?! I do not!” Applejack’s maintained smirk didn’t help her calm down. “I do not.” She insisted again. “Like, doesn’t matter to me if he turns up again or not. Nuh uh. Don’t give a damn.” She shook her head emphatically, folding her arms over her chest. One eye snapped open after a few moments to see all of her friends – even Sunset – looking at her in slight disbelief. “I do not…” Dash repeated a final time, though this one was an agitated mumble. “Yes, Rainbow. We all believe you.” Rarity nodded, the tone of her voice making it clear they did anything but. The fashionista looked over at Pinkie with a curious expression of her own. “But Applejack does have a point. That whole affair does seem slightly odd…you’ve really not heard anything from him at all.” “Nope.” Pinkie shook her head, lightly tapping the drums around her with the sticks. “But I’m sure wherever he is right now, he’s happy, at least.” *** Du-dun du-dun-da du-dun du-dun du-dun du-dun-da da-dun…. The slow, grating carnival music filled the auditorium as Principal Perturabo cranked the tombola’s handle. Lorkhan couldn’t help but give it his full attention, eyes fearfully wide. Barbus and Mordecai on either side of him were the same. The crumpled pieces of paper within the turning glass ball fell over and over one another, almost mocking him with each new revolution. Pertuabo’s expression never changed even as he stopped and uncrumpled the released paper, looking at them all with cold disgust. “Obax Zakayo.” To his credit, which was more than Zuko would normally say for the boy, Zakayo tried to fight. He wasn’t as big as Vortun or as scrappy as Rorke, but he was strong and unwilling to just let himself be dragged away. He stood from his seat sharply as numerous students and faculty closed in on him, his hands raised defensively and balled into fists. Kravix went down from a right hook to the face. Mr. Vull Bron, the geography and geology teacher, took a panicked knee to the gut. But there were always more to replace them, and only one Zakayo. He howled as the towering form of Merihem picked him up, draping the other student over his shoulder and starting to lumber away. Everyone else in the room, besides the Principal himself, shuddered as the doors slammed closed. “Well,” Perturabo said flatly, voice as stony as ever once all was still. “Don’t you all have somewhere to be?” None of them needed to be told twice. As one, the assemblage stood, practically falling over one another in an attempt to get their stuff and get out. Most were simply glad it was the end of the day. “I don’t know why you were looking so worried.” As Lorkhan slung his rucksack straps over his shoulder, the rest of the group doing the same, Zuko’s helmeted head swiveled round. “Technically we’ve sort of got a grace period until this stupid competition’s over. We can’t get decimated until then.” “You know what?” Barbus countered, folding his arms over his chest. “Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel nearly as secure as I thought it would.” There was a general murmur of assent from the rest of the group, but Lorkhan didn’t join them. He was too busy glaring at the tombola machine on the stage. He hated it. He hated what it represented, especially since Perturabo seemed to have adopted a policy of decimating the school simply because he was bored. He knew that most of the others at the school felt the same about the machine, but it didn’t lessen his loathing in any way. “Err…Lorkhan?” He was brought back to attention by Varvillon’s fingers snapping in front of his face. “Earth to Lorkhan?” The boy flinched, looking round in maintained annoyance. ‘What?” “I was merely curious to know how your rendezvous with the brotherhoods yesterday went, old boy.” Mordecai explained, smiling as he usually did. Lorkhan had kept to himself that day, and given vague answers at best. Now promised to be no exception. “I got it done.” He snapped, his brow creasing with weary irritation as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get in.” “Are you sure?” Varvillon asked. There was an undeniable degree of eagerness in his voice that Lorkhan found unseemly. “Does…this mean we can go and use the instruments again? For practice.” “Isn’t the point we don’t need to practice?” Rorke snapped, snorting the beginnings of a nosebleed back up a nostril. He seemed even angrier than usual at the suggestion. “Those things make me feel…feel…” He trailed off, and the short boy’s face creased into another expression that was veering dangerously close to thoughtful. Varvillon just sneered dismissively at him. “Lorkhan.” The brief debate was stopped by another voice, this one making Lorkhan close his eyes and tense. As if even thinking about him had summoned him, Honsou stood behind them, a knowing smirk on his face. “It’s done.” “You got Honsou to help?!” Barbus hissed, casting the group’s ‘leader’ a sidelong glance. “Nobody said anything about the half-breed.” Rorke growled. Honsou simply laughed off the derogatory moniker, keeping his eyes on Lorkhan. “It’s done.” He repeated, offering no explanation as to how he’d accomplished it yet. “You’re on the set-list. Your ballet recital or whatever is this weekend-“ “How did you do it anyway?” Zuko asked, more tolerant than the others and folding his arms over his chest. “And I thought you’d enjoy watching us fail as much as everyone else would.” “I just walked in, if you idiots can manage it anyone can.” Honsou shrugged. At the back Vortun gave a snorting snigger. “The Canterlot babies all too busy hating each other anyway to notice what I was doing.” That certainly matched what Barbus had told them after his own bungled infiltration. Unable to shake a nagging sense of curiosity, Lorkhan shared a glance with Mordecai. The polite boy seemed just as intrigued. “Anyway, you didn’t let me finish.” Honsou chuckled. “The thing’s going on this weekend, but the auditions are tomorrow afternoon.” “What?!” The cry came from the seven of them in unison, and was almost afraid. “Nobody said anything about auditions!” Rorke snapped, lashing out with a foot and kicking the closest chair over. “I’m not doing any fucking auditi-“ “Yes.” The iron in Lorkhan’s voice made even Rorke pause. “You are.” He sighed again, rubbing his face once more. For the thousandth time, he cursed Perturabo for making them do this, and wondered if maybe it would have been easier to just take their decimation. “But…I understand that that doesn’t leave us much time.” “Not my problem.” Honsou shrugged, pausing only to pat Lorkhan’s shoulder. “Try not to die.” All of them watched with narrowed eyes as he left, followed by a sigh. “It’s fine.” Varvillon insisted again, trying to sound casual. “We were going to have to do this anyway for real, we may as well see what we’re up against. Plus, we’ve got Mord’s instruments.” He grinned. “Indeed, I’m certain we shall be absolutely smashing.” Mordecai smiled as he clasped his hands behind his back, as hopeful as ever. “I’m actually rather looking forward to it.” “Makes one of us.” Zuko muttered. Lorkhan kept his lips pursed, drumming the fingers of one hand on the opposite bicep. Eventually, he raked a hand through his hair. “Okay,” he began. “Okay. You guys go practice the song-” “We have a song picked out?” Barbus asked, blinking in surprise. “I think it was chosen outside of the scene to make it more of a surprise.” Zuko answered calmly, Barbus nodding in understanding. “Go practice, the song.” Lorkhan finished through gritted teeth. “Everyone knows what instruments they’re playing, right?” They nodded. “Okay…by tomorrow afternoon, you will have it perfect. No mistakes.” Without so much as a goodbye, the boy turned and began to stalk away down the aisle formed by the seats. The others watched him a moment as they maintained the huddle. “And vhere exactly are you going?” Vortun asked, meaty face twisting as he raised an eyebrow. “They know what we look like.” Lorkhan reminded without slowing or turning round. “We’re going to need some disguises.” They all flinched on the last word, but kept silent until he’d left proper. “Should…we be concerned?” Barbus asked, gulping a little. “Oh, yes my dear boy.” Mordecai chuckled, rubbing his chin. “We should most definitely be concerned.”