Entrenchment

by SFaccountant

Diplomacy is Hard

Entrenchment
An Age of Iron story

Chapter 5
Diplomacy is Hard

****

Unknown Ork Camp

Gox stumbled into her tent in an agonized daze, and collapsed almost instantly onto the bed of rags and leaves that apparently passed for a mattress in Ork "society". It was hard and dirty, and didn't help soften the impact with the ground at all. But it was damn near a luxury in an Ork war camp, apparently; most of the boyz slept out in the open, on the rocks.
Gox's body ached from head to toe. She was bruised and had a few small lacerations. Her head was throbbing with pain as well; partially from various impacts, and partially from having to listen to and replicate the Orks' atrocious speech patterns for hours at a time.
"Why does everything these barbarians do involve hitting each other?" Gox moaned, curling up on her bedding. A flash of green surrounded her, and the bruised and bleeding body of an Ork Shoota Boy was replaced by a bruised and bleeding changeling guardian.
She began to heal herself with her magic while she lay on her bed. While her mission was going poorly from a personal safety perspective, in light of her actual objectives it was going splendidly. She had infiltrated the Ork army and learned about what passed for civilization among the aliens. Nobody suspected anything; in Ork tribes, apparently, warriors came and went all the time, and no one bothered to keep track or verify their soldiers' identities. She could not only act freely, but any time she needed a new identity she need only find a secluded place to shift form.
What was more, the Orks' absurdly simple command hierarchy allowed authority to shift easily as soon as a bigger Ork showed up. The possibilities boggled the mind.
"If only their primary form of social interaction wasn't punching each other," Gox moaned.
The flap of her tent shifted, and the changeling's eyes darted to the entrance.
"Wot da..." a Gretchin froze after stepping into the tent, a purloined scrap of metal in his hands.
Gox huffed out of the side of her mouth, and her horn flashed.
The Grot's eyes dilated, and then his eyelids fell half-closed as the magical domination took effect.
"Come here, worm," Gox demanded.
The brainwashed slave stumbled over to the changeling, dropping the shiny metal shard near the front of the tent. Gox raised her head toward the scrawny alien and took a few sniffs.
Her expression soured deeply.
"Nothing. Just like all the others. Just like every wretched creature in this pathetic alien race!" she snarled. "Not a single shred of love in you! This is preposterous!" She kicked out at the Gretchin with a foreleg, knocking him over.
That was perhaps the most revolting thing about her target society, and was almost as agonizing as the constant physical abuse. None of the Orks experienced love. Their hearts were barren. They held no real affection for other creatures of any sort. The Gretchin were the worst, completely soaked in fear and spite, but even the higher-ranking warriors didn't have loved ones or family. Gox was starved. The only prospect of getting some nourishment until she was recalled to report to the hive was feeding off any prisoners the Orks took in their raiding activities.
Her eyes narrowed at the small greenskin. "That reminds me... Trogg attacked a pony settlement this morning, didn't he? He should've returned by now. Did he manage to take any hostages?"
"Yes'm!" the Grot nodded drunkenly. "I heah most o'da hosses tuk off 'fore da boyz got dere, but dere wuz a fyoo wut was fiddlin' wit sum gizmo an' got cawt!" The alien slave giggled.
"Ugh. I'll bet the savages plan on eating them, too," Gox moaned before she stood up, "if I hurry, I might get to have my fill before the thugs do."
A wave of green washed over her, transforming the equine-shaped, insectoid creature into a bipedal, muscle-bound Ork. The bruises were much reduced by now thanks to Gox's magical regeneration, but she didn't feel much better after just a few minute's rest.
While passing by the Grot, Gox placed a hand over the top of its head. Her eyes flashed green. "You saw nothing here but a sleeping Ork. Now leave."
The Grot stumbled the moment she let go, falling flat onto its face. It quickly picked itself up, suddenly free of the magic that had entranced it and suddenly nervous for reasons it couldn't quite articulate. Gulping, the alien slave crept backward out of the tent.

It didn't take Gox long to find the "victorious warriors" among the camp's dregs. Some were laughing and shooting their guns into the air for no reason, others were bartering away loot for guns to shoot into the air for no reason, and some were fighting over portions of loot so that they could start bartering for guns to shoot into the air for no reason. The take was actually quite lucrative, or at least it would have been considered so for any species other than Orks. There were bags of gems and bits, lots of fresh food, furniture, and various other trinkets that would have been immensely useful if the aliens had any intention of turning their squalid war camp into a home. Instead, however, most of the Orks' attention was centered around some kind of bulky metal machine with a dish on top, and three terrified earth ponies that were being kept behind a circular wire fence.
Gox narrowed her eyes as she lumbered up to the temporary prison. The Nob Trogg was arguing with a Mek, probably about the potential uses and value of the stack of metal he had dragged back from his raid. There were numerous other Orks giving the equines hungry looks, but their location and the pair of guards standing on either side of the cage made it clear that they belonged to the Boss. Around here, that Boss was Trogg.
"Oi! Wadda ya want? Dis 'ere loot iz da Boss's!" growled one of the Slugga Boyz on guard after Gox wandered too close to them.
"Yeah, I noh. Jus' lookin'. I ain't gonna tuch 'em," Gox assured the warriors. The ponies were a dark blue stallion, a yellow mare, and another mare who was cloud blue. The mares huddled next to the stallion, their eyes darting rapidly from one Ork to the next.
"Didn' git many of 'em, did ya?" Gox snorted. She made it up to the fence and peered down at the equines.
"Nah. Dere wuz onlee dese wunz left." One guard shrugged, unconcerned. "Wutevah."
The trapped stallion looked up at Gox fearfully, his ears pinned to the side of his head.
"'Ello, hossy," Gox said amiably, "you'ze ain't got long 'fore ya end up in da cookin' pot. Anee lass wordz?"
The ponies cringed and looked at each other. Then the stallion gathered his courage and glared up at the changeling spy.
"You'll get what's coming to you soon enough, greenskin. The cooking pot is going to look downright comfortable compared to where you're going."

Gox laughed, backing away from the pen. Inwardly, she was greatly relieved, and somewhat troubled. The blue stallion and yellow mare were lovers, drawing deeply upon their bond in this harrowing time to stay strong before their imminent demise. If she could have gotten the two alone she would have sucked that love away to nothing, but even being near them gave her some small and much-needed nourishment.
What troubled her, however, was another emotion that loomed large over their love and grappled with their fear: hope. The ponies actually seemed to think they might survive this. Perhaps they were just delusional optimists, but looking at the way they huddled and cowered in their prison suggested they knew precisely how serious their situation was.
Gox approached the raid's other main prize. Trogg's argument with the Mek had reached the point where he was slamming the Ork engineer into the mysterious machine repeatedly, and numerous other warriors were watching and pointing at the spectacle in raucous amusement.
She decided they were too busy to interrupt, and spotted a Grot quietly unscrewing a few bolts to steal at the bottom of the looted device.
"'Ey, you. Da runt. Whazzis fing heah?"
The Gretchin jumped, startled. Then it quickly cowered and started looking about nervously. "Uh, well, dunno. Badcrank sed it'z sum kinda cah-myoo-nicatah fingy."
"Communicator?" Gox asked. Her sudden concern was such that she completely forgot to properly butcher the word. "How'z dat?"
The Grot shrugged. Then he snatched up the bolt he had been tugging on and sprinted away.
"Yer gunna bild me a damm zappgun, or I'm gunna bild a new pointy stikk wit yer hed!" Trogg shouted suddenly, turning away from the Mek and evidently ending their argument.

Gox stared up at the bowl-shaped hunk of metal capping the tower. In her head, several recent observations clicked into place.
The ponies had been captured while working with some kind of machine during a raid of their village.
All the other ponies had apparently escaped. Only the three captured equines had stayed behind, apparently to work with the device.
Those same ponies seemed inexplicably confident that they would be rescued, and the raiders destroyed.
The machine, as it turned out, was a communication device. A human communication device, obviously.
"Oh dear," she mumbled, again forgetting to speak as if she had a severe head injury.

Gox rushed up to the Mek that was dragging himself up on the ground. "Oi, Badcrank, git up!" She grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, surprising the alien engineer. "Ya noh how ta dryv da Trukks, rite?"
"'Cors I do," Badcrank grumbled, massaging his battered skull, "so?"
"Gud! Follah me!" Gox shouted, giving the Ork's arm a tug. Then she started jogging toward the back of the camp.
"Wot'z goin' on? Wheah ya goin'?" the Mek asked suspiciously even as he followed.
"Away from heah," was Gox's answer.
"Whyzzat?"
Machine gun fire started coming from the camp. Or rather, MORE machine gun fire started coming from the camp than usual. It wasn't very easy to tell, but there was a steady increase in volume that indicated that more and more Orks were shooting at an actual target.
Gox looked up just in time to see a dark, pony-sized shape darting overhead between the clouds. A single object dropped into the air before it banked over another white patch.
The changeling's eye twitched. Were she able to assume her true form, she could fly up there and easily put down an upstart pegasus. As an Ork warrior, however, all she could do is try to find a shoota with which to gun it down. And even that was an unlikely feat at best; she'd never managed to fire even a single full magazine without her shootas falling apart on her.
"Oi, 'old up. Wot'z 'at?" Badcrank stopped moving and pointed to the object that had fallen from the speedy flyer. It was a small metal sphere about the size of an orange, and it had been dropped in front of the Ork hut that served as the warband's armory. Suddenly it opened up, its metal shell splitting apart like the petals of a flower. A bright red light began to flash.
"Bet I cood mayk sumfin' nifty outta dat," Badcrank mumbled, stepping toward the object.
Gox's eyes widened. "No! Stay back! We're under attack!"
The Mek froze in surprise, glancing back at the disguised Ork.
Artillery fire crashed onto the hut a moment later, and the both of them were blown off their feet as the munitions detonated. Orks that had been racing to the armory for a weapon were flattened in an instant, and chunks of torn metal and shattered roof rained down on the surrounding camp.
Gox stumbled upright, her ears ringing and her vision blurry. She had no idea what had even happened, but she knew what was coming next. The 38th Company was here, and as such this settlement was a loss. She'd only heard of the power and brutality of human warfare from third-hoof accounts, but was in no hurry to see it confirmed for herself.
She stepped over to Badcrank and grabbed the Mek's arm, hauling him to his feet. "Le's go! We ain't got tym fer ya layin' abowt!"
The Mek gave her another odd look, his forehead creasing above his welding goggles. But when she began running again, the engineer followed.
Gunships were coming in now, the scream of their engines competing with the rattle of Ork guns.
"Get out of here! Hurry!"
Amongst the rush of Orks racing to battle in the opposite direction she was going, Gox caught sight of the pegasus from before. It had swooped down to the cage containing the pony prisoners, and was cutting an opening in the steel wire fence with some kind of leg-mounted chainsaw.
"Oi! Dem hosses iz gettin' away!" Gox shouted, pointing to the cage as she ran by.
Only one Ork aside from Badcrank seemed to hear her, and he quickly turned around with his axe raised in the air. He was about to shout a battle cry, too, but a burst of heavy bolter fire sawed across him from above, ripping the alien in half in an instant. A transport gunship then angled in for a landing over his corpse, ready to unload its soldiers.

The changeling clicked her tongue irritably while dodging through the Boyz going the other way. More artillery was crashing down over the camp, detonating buildings one after the other. Pegasi wearing dark red armor, oversized optics goggles, and various Chaos Stars made daredevil dives from a bank of low-lying clouds, dropping beacons or making weak, diversionary strafing runs around the gunships. The whole base had gone from victory celebration to killing ground in minutes.
Not that the Orks seemed to mind. In fact, it seemed like they were having a blast. Gox could hear Trogg bellowing a challenge above the hurricane of gunfire, laughing with glee even as his entire warband was surrounded and blasted apart.
Gox and Badcrank finally reached the vehicle lots. They were located a fair way away from the rest of the encampment, mostly because one Trukk had crashed and broken down there and all the others had then decided to park around it. Gox quickly surveyed the lots and found a Wartrakk that looked like it had all its pieces taped and glued together correctly.
"Dat wun! C'mon, ya Grot-lovah! Git us owtta heah!"
"Wayt, we'z taykin' off? We'z not heddin' bakk t'da fight?" The Mek jumped onto the seat. Then he started fiddling with the knobs under the handlebars.
Gox scowled. She wasn't exactly sure how to frame her retreat so that it made sense to the engineer. She didn't really understand the concept of Ork retreat in the first place; they loved to fight, and didn't fear death, but still ran away sometimes. How did that make sense? Her limited time amongst the aliens hadn't revealed the answer. Unfortunately, few Orks like to discuss psychology.
With no idea of what to say, living with Orks had at least taught her what to do. Gox reached into the cab and slugged Badcrank in the side of the head, knocking him onto his side.
"Stop yer yappin' an' git dis heep moovin'!" Gox snarled.
Badcrank growled back, but then immediately went back to starting the vehicle. Punches to the head were truly a language that every Ork understood.
The engine sputtered to life, and the tailpipe vomited a cloud of black smoke. Gox climbed up into the gunner's seat. The weapon itself was a double-barreled light cannon attached to a swiveling gunner's seat. Both barrels of the gun were clearly of different calibers and she didn't see anything resembling a targeting aid, but it was still easily the most mechanically sound firearm she'd seen so far in the Ork arsenal.
The vehicle started rumbling, and the engine coughed up another cloud of smoke. "Wheah we goin'?" demanded the Mek.
Gox was still working that question out when a string of explosions ripped through the vehicle lots. Parked bikes flew through the air on streams of fire and Trukks folded inward. Gox flinched away from the waves of fire and metal, but Badcrank immediately stood up to identify the threat.
"Oi! Dose're grayskin boyz!"
Gox winced. Indeed, there were a cluster of a half-dozen dark armored suits hovering at the edge off the lots. Missiles and plasma bolts streaked into a row of idle tanks, rapidly reducing the Orks' vehicle squadrons to ruin.
"Wot're ya waytin' fer? Git owtta heah!" Gox shouted to her driver. She didn't think it would take the mechanized soldiers long to notice the one Ork vehicle that actually had a crew operating it.
"Wot're YOO waytin' fer? Shoot da puny gits!" Badcrank shouted back. The Wartrakk launched itself forward, rumbling toward the closest thing to a road that led away from the camp.
Gox was rather nervous about actually fighting a battle against the Ork's enemies, but had to reason that she was probably pushing the socially acceptable limits of not being a psychotic idiot already. With a wordless growl, she swung the gun around toward the Crisis Suits.
The heavy recoil of the weapon nearly unseated her immediately, and Gox was quickly shaken past the point of properly aiming. Shells rolled up a heavy ammunition chain on either side of her, while hot metal casings bounced out of the cannon receivers and right onto Gox's head. After a mere three seconds of fire, a clunking noise came from the feed and the shooting stopped.
On the other side of the weapon, at least her burst fire had been aimed properly to start with. A stitch of heavy impacts crossed over the chest of a Crisis Suit, almost tearing through the frontal plating entirely. The battlesuit staggered, badly damaged but still functional.
The same couldn't be said of Gox's gun, which would only emit more clunking noises rather than bullets each time she pulled the trigger.
"Oi! Why'd ya stop shootin'?" her driver demanded.
"Da dakka jammed!" Gox growled, slamming a fist onto the controls. Why did the damn guns always fall apart on her? They never seemed to do that for the other Orks!
As the Wartrakk started picking up speed across the barren ground, one of the battlesuits took a moment to fire a spread of missiles after the escaping vehicle. Gox felt her heart seize up when she saw the spread of approaching warheads, and her eyes flashed a bright green.
A visible tunnel of swirling wind came from the disguised changeling, expanding to swallow up the incoming ordnance. The funnel proved barely strong enough to scatter the explosives and push them off-target, and Gox's teeth rattled in her head as they detonated beside and behind her vehicle.

As the flame receded, however, the Wartrakk kept moving. Soon they were outside of the battlesuit's range.
"That was too close," Gox said under her breath. The Wartrakk's rear bumper, scorched and loosened by the recent missile explosion, fell off into the dusty plains, punctuating her point.
"Wot da ZOG wuz dat?" demanded Badcrank.
Gox spun the turret weapon around to face forward, and was rather disturbed to see the Mek staring back over his shoulder. This was alarming mostly because it seemed he had seen her act of desperate magic, but also because he was supposed to be the one driving.
"Oi! Keep yer eyes on da rode, ya git!" Gox yelled.
Badcrank took a moment to adjust his bionik eye, refusing to turn forward. "Sumfin's not rite wit youz..."
Gox stared down the Mek for a few seconds, and then glanced up at the gun she was manning. "So, do ya noh wot'z rong wit da gun?"
"It'z jus' jammed up, z'all," Badcrank answered, "da dakka gitz stukk sumtymes. Nokk da feed looz. Dat shood do it."
"Oh! I sees," Gox said brightly, finding the shell lodged in the cannon receiver. She smashed a fist against it, and the munition settled into the weapon properly.
Then she angled the gun down at Badcrank.
One brief squeeze of the trigger blasted the Mek's upper torso off. Gox snapped the gun upward again immediately, careful to avoid shooting the vehicle itself.

"Wretched barbarians..." the changeling hissed, climbing across the hookup between the cab and the gun trailer. The vehicle was still rumbling along, grinding past rock outcroppings and dry shrubs. She was now far enough away from her previous home that she couldn't even hear the explosions anymore.
She grimaced as she shoved Badcrank's corpse out of the seat of the bike towing the vehicle, and then sat down in his place.
"Okay. That was close, but I learned a lot and didn't like any of those losers anyway. I just have to find a new Ork tribe, and this time-"
The handlebars suddenly came off in her hands.
"... What?" she mumbled, staring at the mess of bent pipes that was used to guide the Wartrakk.
A moment later a loud bang came from the engine. Several scorched bits of metal were flung out onto the ground, and the Wartrakk began to decelerate.
"What?"
A few more seconds after that, the vehicle came to a compete stop and wheezed smoke from its ruined engine.
Then the front tire popped off and rolled away.
"WHAT?!" Gox screamed to the sky, slamming a fist onto the control dashboard. "This thing was working fine a second ago! Why does everything just fall apart when I touch it?!"
A spring broke free within the dashboard a moment later and shot a button out into Gox's eye.
"AAAAAUGH!! What in the hive is going on here?!" she howled to the heavens, one meaty green hand pressed over her face.
No answer was forthcoming. The only sound other than her frustrated grumbling was the hissing from the badly overheated motor.
"... I have to go," Gox mumbled, slipping off of the vehicle, "I didn't exactly make a stealthy getaway, and I don't know how determined those Company soldiers are to hunt down survivors."
She started trudging away from the Wartrakk, already regretting her haste in leaving the camp. The terrain was largely desert, and neither food (especially changeling food) nor water were in evident supply.
"I suppose the only consolation in this whole affair is that I didn't get stuck with Tox's assignment," she muttered bitterly, "if I'm having trouble dealing with these idiots, I can only imagine the horrors she has to put up with trying to infiltrate the humans themselves..."

****

Ponyville

"Oh, Hive Mother bless me, this is THE BEST!"
Tox gasped, trembling, as she held her hoof against the outer wall of the Nethalican. Power surged through her. Voices whispered in the back of her mind. Visions of foreign places and creature flashed before her eyes. And all throughout the experience, the nourishing energy of the temple washed through her.
"Yes. Yes. Yessssssssss..." her tongue hung out of her jaw, and a few droplets of drool escaped onto the cracked dirt below her hooves. Just a touch against the wall of the building was enough to quench her appetite, but the sensation of absorbing the power slowly got more intense and enjoyable the longer she was in contact. "More. MORE!"

Across the street from the temple, Lyra and Bon Bon sighted the unicorn and stopped heading back home from the day's shopping.
"Geez, is she at it again?" Lyra asked. "Who is that pony, anyway?"
"That's Tox," Bon Bon informed her roommate, shifting the box that was secured on her back. "I met her when she first arrived in Ponyville a little while ago. Does she do this often?"
"Every day, as far as I can tell," Lyra snorted, stifling a giggle. "She just stands there touching the temple, and her eyes sort of glaze over and she mumbles a lot to herself. Weird, huh?"
Bon Bon frowned. "Don't you think that might be dangerous?"
"I don't see how. I tried touching it and nothing happened. I don't even know what she's doing."
"Lyra! Are you serious? What if it hurt you, or... or... I don't know, summoned a monster?"
"Get real, Beebee, it doesn't do that," Lyra scoffed. Then she paused. "Well, I mean, it DOES do that, actually, but not just by touching the building."
"How do you know?!"
"Because I touched it and that didn't happen."
"Lyra!"
"Oh, hey, here comes the priest."
The two mares fell silent as a man in a dark red robe walked around the corner of the structure. He was carrying something in his hand that trailed along behind him around to the front of the temple.
"Wait, what's that he's carrying?" Bon Bon asked in concern.
"Ssh! Hold on, check this out! This part is hilarious!" Lyra giggled.

"Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h YEAH. That's the stuff," Tox whispered. A delightful quiver ran up her body, generating sensations that she hadn't known she could experience before she'd arrived in Ponyville. "Just... Just five more minutes. Five more, and theWAAUGHRBLLGR!!"
Tox leapt away from the Nethalican after she was blasted by a jet of water, and then turned to glare at the one who had sprayed her.
"Get out of here, you little pest!" the temple acolyte snapped, holding up the garden hose he was carrying. "Either convert or bugger off! This is private property! No loitering!"
Tox growled incoherently and then pulled down one eyelid, blowing a raspberry at the man.
His response was to shoot another jet of water at her, but Tox cast a quick spell to speed herself up and raced off ahead of the spray.

"Ha ha ha! Oh, wow!" Lyra laughed and pointed a leg at the robed man. "That guy is a riot! He does the same thing to the tourists! Sometimes they try to get the skulls to take home as souvenirs."
"Yes, yes, very funny. Can we go home, now?" Bob Bon groused. "I don't like leaving you-know-what alone for this long."
Lyra frowned as she and her roommate started heading down the road again. "I don't know why you won't just call Jakey by his name. Or why you're still so bitter about me keeping him."
"He's an UNDEAD ABOMINATION, Lyra!"
"I even embalmed him, like you asked! He hardly ever gets little zombie bits on the floor anymore!"
"Ugh..."

Tox poked her head out from behind a corner, her eyes narrowing at the two mares. Seeing no one else in the vicinity, in particular no grumpy humans with garden hoses, she took a moment to magically dry herself off. The water soaking her coat was squeezed off onto the ground, leaving her fur unusually puffed out. Another shift in her disguise magic settled her hair, and she was ready to get back to work.
She probably didn't need to bother hiding in order to use some low-level magic to dry herself, but Tox had to be extra careful. Mostly because she kept getting caught siphoning the Nethalican's energy for her own consumption. That probably threw up a few warning flags. And because she couldn't seem to stop herself from doing that, she was REALLY hoping she could compensate by being extra cautious elsewhere.
Tox looked up and checked the remaining daylight. It would be evening soon.
Aside from rubbing herself against the nexus of evil on the edge of town, Tox had spent all her time in Ponyville delicately getting to know the humans and deciding which of them to subdue and replace. Many of the individuals she'd had to write off right away as potential targets. The Sunsworn weren't taken seriously among the 38th Company, and probably wouldn't even be allowed in Ferrous Dominus. The Merchant Corp guards were very rarely alone, and they would quickly be missed. The actual workers in that same group were even worse, as they possessed skill sets she'd probably be unable to master during the course of her infiltration. The mercenary soldiers were a better prospect, but they had very little autonomy; at any moment she could be gathered up and sent into a warzone! How was she supposed to work under those conditions?
So that left the Chaos cultists.
Not that she was trying to gain suspicion-free access to the Nethalican. Really.
They had power, they seemed mostly free to see to their own affairs day-to-day, and they were mysterious and strange enough that no one would question a bit of odd behavior from them. Perfect.
She even found that one of them, in particular, was generally avoided by his peers and the non-Chaos population of Ponyville. A loner who could often be found taking long walks to isolated places late at night. It was such a perfect scenario that she had been honestly suspicious at first, wondering if it was a trap. But a few nights of silent observation had revealed nothing amiss.

As Celestia brought the sun down below the horizon - or spun the planet further so that it looked like it did, or however that was supposed to work - she spotted her target. A repulsive man, even for a human Chaos Cultist, Leonard Kruss was tall and bloated, with a constant aura of stench around him and a small coterie of flies circling him in escort. Between the bandage wrappings, filth-spattered robes, and his respirator mask, much of his body was concealed entirely from view. Unfortunately, this didn't extend to the man's rotund, bloated belly, which stuck out over his belt. That rolling patch of exposed skin was like a canvas to display all the more visually disturbing diseases and infection, bearing thick, wet scars, lesions, and other symptoms that Tox couldn't even identify. Kruss's head was covered by a pair of persistently fogged goggles and a pointed hood, and his robe was a badly saturated green with some kind of symbol on the back. The Mark of Nurgle, apparently. Tox recalled hearing about that one on her first day in Ponyville.
The man strode away from the Nethalican, even further from the edge of town. Ponies that saw him quickly averted their eyes, which aided Tox enormously as she crept after him. She'd tracked the human zealot before, but today she would make her move and replace him.
Tox charged her horn with magic, and then shrouded herself in a strange fog, becoming little more than a colored blur as the last few slivers of daylight vanished behind the horizon.
With her goal set and her target oblivious, Tox followed Leonard Kruss into the Everfree Forest.

****

Everfree Forest - Gardenblight

"Grandfather, bless this place with your holy poisons. Let pestilent life grow warm and strong from your touch, that it may be gifted to our enemies. Through your love, our foes become our converts, and our flock swells further. Such is the way of the blessed cycle. Such is the way of Nurgle."
Kruss knelt by the edge of a bubbling marsh, his grimy hands clasped together as his raspy voice entreated and praised his god. This was his personal project, a gift of devotion that he had nurtured in the tangled nest of raw, magical wilderness that was the Everfree. This was Gardenblight.
To Tox, it just resembled a bunch of obviously diseased plants clustered together in a particularly unlucky patch of forest. The marsh was overrun with filth, insects buzzed about the place, and parasitic fungus decorated every tree. While generally disgusting, there wasn't anything particularly ominous about it.
Other than the creepy guy feverishly mumbling prayers to an evil god, that is.
The changeling watched silently from behind a sap-encrusted tree, working out an engagement plan. She could kill the man before taking his place, and was fully prepared to do so, but ideally she wanted him as a prisoner. As much as Tox had learned about humanity and the 38th Company, she didn't think she knew quite enough to stroll into their fortress just yet.
Inhaling deeply - and then wrinkling her nose at the stench - Tox stepped out onto the wilting grasses of Gardenblight.

"H-Hello?"
Kruss was quite surprised to have his prayers interrupted, but remained calm. He slowly stood and turned around to regard whoever had stumbled upon his ceremony.
A yellow unicorn timidly stepped toward him, her eyes darting back and forth. Obviously afraid, as many were of Nurgle's attention. Initially, at least.
"Hello, young pony. Are you lost?" Kruss asked. A long trail of flies started buzzing around him, creating a shadowy corkscrew around his head.
"No... I don't think so." Tox gulped. "There's someone looking for you, Sir. Will you follow me back to Ponyville?"
Silence. Kruss stared down through the fogged-over goggles, slowly tilting his head to the side.
"He said it was important," Tox said, averting her eyes, "one of the other Chaos priests, I think? I don't think he wanted to come here himself."
Kruss raised a hand and wiped the moisture from his goggles. Milky white eyes bugged out from behind the dirty shield.
"What are you?" Kruss whispered.
Tox swore her heart almost stopped. "What? What am I? What do I look like?" she asked, sounding highly offended.
"Deceiver. Deceiver. Deceiver." Kruss said the word over and over, as if marveling at it. One grimy hand reached into his robe and drew a long dagger. "They can smell it. You're different. You're... wrong. No love. No hope. No-"
"Okay, yeah, I get it." Tox's demeanor changed instantly, and her eyes narrowed. "You're pretty sharp for a crazy guy. I'm afraid I can't let you tell anyone about this, though."
Kruss stumbled forward, brandishing his weapon. "Deceiver. Deceiver. Decei-"
A magic blast knocked the man off his feet, and he fell into the mud. His dagger flew through the air and landed in the water, quickly sinking beneath the murky surface.
Tox's horn sparked green, and she smirked. "Where's your god NOW, little man?"
Kruss started climbing to his feet immediately. "Nurgle is all around us, deceiver. He will protect his children."
Tox's horn flashed again, and another bolt leapt from her horn and slammed in Kruss. This time, however, he braced himself against the blow he knew was coming. His sodden boots dug a furrow through the muck as his body lurched backward, but he remained upright.
"Well, Nurgle is taking his sweet old time, then," Tox mocked. Her horn flickered with power threateningly.
Then the changeling fired again, loosing another kinetic bolt against the Cultist.
This time, surprisingly, the corpulent man leapt to the side and evaded the sizzling bolt. Then he surged forward, reaching for Tox's horn.
The changeling was surprised, but made no move of her own to evade. It became obviously why when Kruss swiped his hand through her head; the mare's body dissolved instantly into mist, collapsing onto the fetid grounds.
Kruss stood upright immediately, swaying back and forth as the swarm of flies flew a new circuit around his ears. "Deceiver. Deciever. Dec-"
Another magic blast took him off his feet again, plowing him straight into the muck.
"Yes, fine, I'm a deceiver. We already covered that. You can stop chanting it," Tox said blandly while she lowered herself from an overhanging branch. Her insect-like wings had emerged, and they buzzed rapidly while she shifted into a hover.
Tox was somewhat worried when she saw Kruss push himself up again. "Listen, pawn: whatever delusions of power your god grants you, it will not be enough to defeat me," Tox hissed, "I tried to resolve this with a subtle touch, but you wanted to do this the hard way. Nonetheless, you cannot win. The longer you drag this out, the more painful it will be for you!"
Kruss chuckled deeply. "Painful? Nurgle's children don't know pain."
Tox clicked her tongue, and her horn started to build up a charge. "Then let me TEACH you, monkey!"
A crackling arc of energy like a green lightning bolt surged toward the Cultist, striking him in the chest.
"Pfeh," Kruss spat, walking forward and grabbing a low-hanging tree branch. He snapped the rotted limb away from the dying tree, and then started building up speed for a charge at the changeling.
Tox was honestly shocked. The man should have been on his knees from that spell, his every nerve alight with agony. He wasn't even slowed.
She hovered up sharply as the Cultist swung at her. "Okay, wait, so you mean you LITERALLY don't feel pain? That's actually kind of impressive."
"One of Nurgle's many gifts, wretch!" Kruss leapt into the air, swinging his makeshift club at the changeling.
Tox released a bolt of kinetic force directly into the rotted weapon, shattering it, and then followed up with another blast to the man's head. Kruss stumbled backward again into the mud.
This time, Tox followed up with a different spell. "You've proven to be a surprisingly challenging foe, monkey. Insofar as you've taken a lot of hits, at least." Creeping vines started reaching up through the mud and loam, wrapping around Kruss and pinning his arms and legs down. "But you never really stood a OW!"
Tox flinched back, feeling a sharp pain in her hip. Looking back, she saw a fairly large insect burrowing into the fur above her cutie mark, its abdomen quivering softly in the gloom.
A quick spark from her horn fried the parasite, popping its body instantly. As the bug's scorched and shattered carapace fell away, however, Tox felt new twinges of pain from her legs and on her back.
"Ow! Ow! What the hay?!" She began thrashing about wildly while more insects landed and sunk their jaws into her flesh.
"You come to Nurgle's doorstep with treachery in your heart..." Kruss ripped one arm free of the vines that bound him. "I am not the only sentinel within this garden. Your corpse will feed my precious flowers." A veritable carpet of buzzing insects rolled toward the changeling. Interspersed with hundreds of relatively harmless flies were large, hungry parasitic beetles with mandibles like razors. They dove through the swarm and clung to the fur of the infiltrator, and then sank their mouths into the warm, tender flesh beneath. Pain blossomed all over Tox's body, and some of the more dangerous parasites started burrowing into her hide.
Suffice to say, Tox was not happy about this.
A crackling noise came from the changeling's horn, and then she seemed to explode in a nova of bright green fire. The surrounding insects burned to cinders in an instant, and a roll of steam washed over Kruss from the vaporized surface moisture.

When the Cultist managed to wipe off his goggles again, the unicorn was gone. Instead was a larger quadruped, black in color, with a curiously hole-ridden carapace and a curtain of dark blue hair that made up her mane and tail.
"And now you've seen the truth," Tox said tightly, an arc of green lashing around her horn. It was curved and twisted, with a round notch cut into the front. "But you will never speak of it, human."
Kruss had mostly gotten free of the vines by then, but was in no position to dodge. A beam of green power struck him, tearing away his bonds and slamming him back into a tree. The beam stopped a moment later, and he slumped weakly into the muck once again.
Another of the parasitic creatures that infested the garden landed on Tox's back, having apparently survived the earlier magic purge. When it tried to bite into the changeling, however, its jaws scraped uselessly against a thickened carapace shell rather than warm flesh.
Tox zapped the irritating bug with a brief thought, and then calmly walked up to Kruss. "Under normal circumstances, you may have fended me off well enough to escape," she admitted, her eyes glowing. She reached the man and shifted a hoof under his chin, tilting his head upward. "But it's been kind of a crazy week, you know?" Her horn flashed with energy again.
Kruss was battered and bleeding by this point, and even if he couldn't feel the pain of his wounds he still felt his strength waning fast. His vision was hazy, and when he spoke he could barely manage a gasping mumble.
"What are you... here for? Why attack Gardenblight?"
Tox snorted, and then dropped the man's head back into the mud. "I'm here for you, dolt."
"What? What could you... want from me?"
Tox's horn surrounded her with a shimmering emerald aura. She reared up, and then her posture shifted along with her body structure.
When the magical light receded, Leonard Kruss was staring up into the lenses of a set of fogged goggles just like his own.
"... Everything," Tox said, grinning beneath the mask. Then she held up a hand that sparked with magic. "Rest now, little ape. We'll have much to talk about later."
Her hand flashed, and Kruss's world went dark.

****

Everfree Forest - "abandoned" lair

Tox trudged into her home base while dragging Kruss behind her, muttering incoherently the entire time. She was sore and out of breath, and she could tell that some of the parasites that apparently made their home on the Nurgle Cultist had made the jump over to his look-alike while he was being hauled through the forest. They weren't as large or painful as the bugs that had attacked her in the garden, but they were also much harder to get rid of. Stopping her trip to engulf her body in magic flame was not only time-consuming and exhausting, but also quite likely to draw attention if someone saw it. Or was within the same square kilometer. It just wasn't a good idea, was the point.
But now she had found the cavern she had set up in the Everfree Forest, and the next phase of her infiltration had finally come to an end. Giving a sharp tug to Kruss's leg, she practically threw the man into the cave. The magic wards she had set up around the entrance - a minor charm to instill a sense of creeping fear in wandering animals - briefly flared as the Cultist passed through them.
Tox sighed in relief and then pointed a palm at the long trail of disturbed dirt she'd left behind her. In a flash of green, the ground churned and then settled, instantly rubbing out the trail that she'd left while dragging Kruss through the woods.
The visible trail, that is.
"Ugh... I regret everything about this decision." The changeling guardian coughed and gagged on the stench that still hung in the air and likely created a strong - if not eminently repulsive - trail directly to her hideout. She knew no spells to manipulate odors, unfortunately. Her disguise included a respirator, but the simple visual copy her magic had created wasn't actually capable of filtering the air that she had to breathe. "'Take Mammal Anatomy rather than Olfactory Enchantment' they said. 'There's hardly any homework and you get to dissect pigs in class!' Wow, I sure am glad I know so much about lactation now that I'm in the field!" Tox growled and entered the cave, giving Kruss a solid kick in the side as she passed.
She quickly went to work enchanting a set of chains and manacles lying on the floor and then attached them to the rear wall of the cave. "I'd better be right about him being lonely and isolated, because if anyone suspects anything and investigates, this infiltration is over. The blasted garden shows clear signs of a battle, and I'm not going back there to tend to it if the stupid insects can somehow see through my disguise. And want to eat me."
She paused briefly in her work, narrowing her eyes behind the mask that mimicked the Cultist behind her. Kruss was able to figure out she was a spy almost instantly. She still wasn't completely sure how he had done that, only that the flies were apparently involved somehow. Wasn't it possible that other humans could figure her out if Kruss had? If she could instantly have her cover blown without any warning, her mission was nigh impossible. She needed more information.
Tox turned her head and glared down at Leonard Kruss. Then her eyes flashed, causing the lenses of her goggles to glow a bright green.
In an instant, Kruss's clothing was ripped off his body, and then hung in the air next to the now-naked man.
Tox immediately turned her head away, quivering in disgust and horror. "I did NOT need to see that..." Still shaking, she floated his robes closer so that she could observe them.
Aside from being filthy and obviously colonized by insects she couldn't identify, there were several objects within the robes that she figured she didn't want in arm's reach of her prisoner. There was a grenade, a small handheld device with a screen, several pamphlets, vials of awful-looking fluids, and a rusted amulet bearing the Mark of Nurgle. At least some of the items looked important enough that Tox debated pocketing them immediately. She decided against it, pushing the stripped clothes into a corner of the cavern.
Then she took a moment to pull down her goggles and breathe on them, fogging up the eye wear even more before she was willing to turn back to the nude Nurgle Cultist.
With a sharp gesture of her hands, the manacles Tox had enchanted snaked across the floor of the cave and snapped closed over his arms. Probably. She could really only see a shadowed outline of the man now. Those were probably his arms.
The chains dragged Kruss to the rear of the cave, and then shortened such that there was barely two feet of slack between the human and the metal pegs driven into the stone.
"All right, then. Time to chat."

****

Leonard Kruss awoke to the unfamiliar sensation of having water wash over him.
"Hnng? What?" He groaned and shifted to his side. "All right, I'm up. I'm up." He tried to wipe his face, but found his right arm restrained. For some reason his left arm wasn't, and he used it to rub his eyes.
Then a second bucket of water was dumped on him.
"I said I'm up!" Kruss shouted, lurching his head up.
Then he paused in shock. He was staring at himself. The memories of what he had been doing all came back to him at once.
And then he was splashed with more water.
"The first bucket was to wake you up," Tox insisted, "the rest are just because you really need a shower." She dropped the empty bucket, letting it bounce across the bare stone floor. "Welcome to your new home, ape. Make yourself comfortable. You won't be leaving."
Kruss took a long moment to observe his surroundings. There wasn't much to see. A single glowing crystal was set into the ceiling, providing some dim light to the interior. His clothes lay in a heap off to the side, well out of reach. On the other side, a steady drip of water came from a stalactite and created a small pool of water.
He looked up at the spy that had captured him. "Why did you chain up my right arm and right leg rather than two of the same limb? Or all of them, even?"
"Because you're ugly!" Tox snapped. Then she raised her hand toward the prisoner, and a soft, green light came from her palm. "From here on out, I'll be the one asking the questions. I have some homework to do before I replace you."
Kruss's head was encompassed in Tox's spell, and he immediately felt light-headed and dazed. He guessed this was some sort of witchcraft to aid in his interrogation.
"How did you detect me? Back at the garden you knew I was a spy instantly. The mare I was disguised as doesn't even exist, so it's not like I could have been doing something out of character. What did you do?"
Kruss didn't respond. He felt a prodding urge to do so, but it was strangely... subtle. Clearly this creature wasn't capable of reading his mind or simple domination, or at least didn't want to use those skills on him, for some reason.
"Who are you?" the Cultist asked. "What are you trying to accomplish?"
Tox sneered, although the expression was completely hidden by her mask. "I said I'm asking the questions here, monkey."
The power of the spell intensified. Some kind of strange, barely perceptible pressure started to build around Kruss's head, but he hardly felt compelled to cooperate. "What are you doing?"
The changeling paused, then let her arm drop. "Right. Immune to pain. Forgot." She frowned at the man. "That's going to complicate the torture."
"And how long do you think you have to break me?" Kruss asked. "How many days do you think I can go missing before my peers go looking for me?"
"I figure I have at least three days in which they're surprised at your absence but too relieved to care," Tox answered, crossing her arms over her chest, "followed by at least a week in which they're concerned, but don't want to actually put forth the effort to search for you."
Kruss frowned. "... Anyway, I won't fall to your sorcery, deceiver. You're wasting your time."

Tox glowered at her captive silently, mentally cursing her choice in targets. She certainly regretted not studying this "Cult of Nurgle" more extensively beforehand.
But that gave the changeling spy an idea.
"Speaking of wasting my time, I'm curious: what is this 'Nurgle' thing all about, anyway?" Tox planted her hands on the swollen hips of her false body. "Is this some kind of elaborate ruse so that you never have to bathe? I've seen my share of absurd cults, but worshiping disease seems somewhat beyond the pale."
"Nurgle is more than a God of disease. He is a creator. A protector. A father." Kruss gazed up at himself, and his wart-ridden face hardened. "Your sense of disgust, your revulsion of illness, your arbitrary sense of 'cleanliness'... it is a weakness. Nurgle frees us from those weaknesses, and places us in harmony with our surroundings. You have no need to cleanse yourself. You needn't fear the parasite."
"Oh, hive mother help me," Tox sighed, rubbing her head with a hand.
Even as she dismissed the man's words outwardly, however, she guided his thoughts with her magic, gently prodding him to continue.
"You doubt our power. Our creed. As do many others, out of fear. But Nurgle is the guardian of the cycle, the great progenitor, and all will succumb to him in time," Kruss continued.
"Yes, I do doubt your power," Tox drawled, "from here, you don't look all that powerful."
"You defeated me, yes. A single man, poorly armed and helpless before your witchcraft," Kruss chuckled, "but you would have forgone even that challenge if you had been able. Nurgle protects us from your lies, deceiver."
Tox tilted her head. "That seems like an... odd specialty for a plague god. Being able to sniff out intruders."
Kruss finally shifted his body around so that he was directly facing his host, sitting on his legs. "Nurgle is ever vigilant for the machinations of Tzeentch. Disguises and deception are favored tactics of the foe, and Nurgle's servants have learned to see past the lies that Tzeentch uses as his weapons."
If Tox's mouth was visible to her captive, Kruss would have seen that she was smirking. The Cultist's mouth was running freely, now, and secrets were already starting to spill out. "Tzeentch? So if Nurgle is the god of disease and filth, that makes Tzeentch, what, the god of soap and grooming?"
Kruss hesitated, surprised by the question. Tox waited patiently, but was inwardly worried that she had made a misstep. Why had he stopped talking?
"So, then... you're not of Tzeentch's ilk?" Kruss asked, sounding intrigued.
"I don't know anything about your ridiculous little cults. That's why we're having this conversation," Tox grumbled, "so, what is Tzeentch?"
The Cult Acolyte stared up at the copy of his own face. He had to admit, the visual likeness was perfect, as was his voice. But everything else about the man standing over him seemed... off, somehow. It was too shallow. This creature didn't talk like him, know his mannerisms, or understand his religion. No Tzeentchian infiltrator would be so clumsy and ignorant as this one had been.
Interesting.
"You wish to replace me?" he asked suddenly. "So that you may infiltrate the Nethalican and walk amongst my peers without their knowledge?"
"Yyyyes...?" Tox said hesitantly. "I'm pretty sure that much is obvious."
"Most of the others will be unable to see through your disguise," Kruss said bluntly, "there are no sentries which can detect deceit as I did in Nurgle's holy shrine."
Tox blinked repeatedly.
"However, there are individuals that can unmask you. There is little you can do but avoid them," the Cultist continued.
Tox's goggles glowed a brilliant green as she modified her spell, probing Kruss's mind. While her magic couldn't pull images from his consciousness, she should have been able to sense any falsehood from him. To her bafflement, she could feel none from the man. He seemed to be telling the truth.
"Uh... okay. Who should I look out for?" she asked cautiously.
"Discord, for one," Kruss grumbled.
Tox grimaced. "Ugh. Right. That's an easy one. Although I wasn't aware he hangs around your temple."
"He is an infrequent visitor. And logically, there's no reason to assume he could sense your true form. But logic does not apply to him." Kruss shook his head. "Next is Lord Serith, the Chaos Sorcerer. He is a powerful telepath, and will immediately detect your lies and panic if you speak to him."
Tox snorted. "I can protect my mind from some half-wit human wizard."
"Serith is not a human," Kruss warned further, "he is an Iron Warrior. Or at least, he was. I heard he's something else, now. But even if you can protect your mind from him, that itself will tell him that you are an impostor, as I could not."
Tox winced. "Ah. Okay. Good point."
"Serith appears at the temple regularly, but not often. He visits about once a week, and he should not be in for several days. Still, if you see an Iron Warrior with the trappings of a magic-user, you must avoid him." Kruss wet his dry, cracked lips. "Finally, there's Father Virgil."
"Okay. And what's his deal?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean, you don't know? Does he have some kind of power that can detect me?"
"I don't know."
"Then why would you bring it up? Is he some kind of Sorcerer too?" Tox demanded.
Kruss glanced down at the floor uncertainly, and then back up at the changeling spy. "I do not believe he is a psyker. Father Virgil is a Chaos Priest."
"Like you?"
"No, not like me. Me and the others... we are mere preachers and students. We communicate with the Dark Gods but are not favored by them. Virgil is... different. He speaks to Chaos, and Chaos answers him." Kruss shook his head. "I do not know the limits of his knowledge or what powers he may possess. And Virgil will almost certainly be within the Nethalican. He is a strange fellow, and rarely intervenes in the affairs of others. He may do nothing about it even if he does detect you, in fact. But you should be on your guard for the dark-skinned man with the Iron Star on his head."
Tox stared down at the captive Cultist, her mind churning. He spoke the truth. She could tell that much. And yet, she couldn't account for why he had given her all this information. Her compulsion spell couldn't account for it. It was extremely suspicious.
"Why so cooperative?" Tox finally asked. "I have attacked you and aim to infiltrate your home. Why would you help me so readily?"
"Because you will fail," Kruss admitted.
The changeling snorted. "Don't underestimate me, human."
"You fight for a false hope. You resist out of ignorance," the Cultist explained.
"You know nothing about me!" Tox snapped.
"I know you seek to challenge the 38th Company," Kruss countered, "but Chaos will prevail. And perhaps you yourself will have an integral part to play."
"You're speaking nonsense. And none of this really explains why you're helping me," Tox growled.
"Chaos will prevail," the Nurglite said again, "I have faith."

Tox sneered and turned around, walking over to the pile of Kruss's clothes. She leaned over and picked up the amulet with the Mark of Nurgle.
"Faith. Sure. I can work with that. As long as you're willing to answer questions." She held the chain at arm's length, and then walked it over to the cave's water pool to wash it.
Kruss watched his simulacrum dip the tarnished chain into the water and start scrubbing it. "What are you doing?" he asked, perplexed.
"It's called 'washing'. It's a thing us civilized creatures who haven't sworn our lives to filth gods do." When Tox pulled the amulet up out of the water, much of the grime had come off, revealing the silvery metal below.
"Are you going to do that with all my clothes?" Kruss asked dubiously.
Tox snorted. "I don't need the rest of your clothes. As you can see, I've already mimicked your outfit. But this trinket here was more difficult to copy. Metals usually are. Easier to just take yours."
Kruss looked over the body that emulated his own. "It's not a very good reproduction. It looks the same, but I can't smell a thing."
The changeling rolled her eyes. "Yes, perhaps it's lacking in the STENCH department, but..."
Tox trailed off. Then she glanced over to the pile of filthy, infested, putrid robes laying in a heap off to the side. Then she looked down at her own clothing, which looked just as bad but was mercifully odor and parasite-free.
Just a few seconds ago, that had seemed like an advantage.
"Oh, buck me..."

****

Saddle Arabia
Royal Palace, main conference hall

"May I present to his royal majesty, Prince Su'tabel the Third, Lord Ambassador of Saddle Arabia! All rise!"
A pair of camels wearing turbans and carrying scimitars shouted the announcement to the hall as they stood on opposite sides of a gilded doorway. The doors opened, admitting a young stallion wearing a white robe and red headdress.
The Saddle Arabian Prince paused after entering, scanning the long table that occupied the hall. Seated on all sides were representatives from most of the major nations on the continent. The griffon and minotaur diplomats sat next to each other, sharing brief, intermittent conversations in whispers. The zebra and the yaks sat further down, flanking a smallish, nervous-looking diamond dog. On the other side of the meeting table, taking up that entire side of the room by himself, was the representative of the dragons; a rather small serpent by his race's standards, yet still barely small enough to fit into the room comfortably.
The collection of ambassadors was most conspicuous for what it was missing, however: there were no ponies present as of yet.

"Greetings, Prince Su'tabel," the minotaur said with a nod, "the envoy from Equestria has not arrived?"
"Ordinarily she would be here long before the actual meeting started, but as I understand it she's operating under highly unusual circumstances," Su'tabel took his seat at the head of the table. "Nonetheless, she sent word to assure us that she would be here to represent Equestria... and their new allies."
Dark murmuring came from around the table, and Su'tabel cleared his throat to re-gain the attention of the others. "Besides, I don't think we have any shortage of things to talk about in their absence."
"Alien invasion. I never thought I'd see the day," moaned the dragon, "between Discord escaping and the younger Princess trying to banish the sun way back when, we've had our fair share of trouble from Equestria." He shook his massive head, and the long, white whiskers trailing from his maw swung back and forth from the motion. "But now it seems as if they've actually sided with one of the crazy dictators they stirred up. How did things come to this?"
"Hearsay and rumors have their uses," interjected the zebra, "but let's allow time to hear their excuses."
"I'm less concerned with the humans than I am with the other races that were apparently involved in this 'Emerald Dawn War'," mumbled the griffon, clicking her talons together, "the humans may ultimately wish to control us. Yet they've seemed content to simply sit in the badlands and frolic with the ponies. They also have some kind of rational civilization, apparently, putting aside this talk of a 'Chaos Cult'. The Orks, however, are nothing but barbarians and raiders. And these... Tau, as I understand it, brought them here."
"The little blue aliens have much to answer for," agreed the minotaur, "yet now they're part of this 'Company'? How does that work? Surely there must be some way to hold them to account for their crimes."
"The Orks are a threat, yes, but a conventional one," a deer reared up and planted his hooves on the edge of the table as he spoke, glancing around at the other diplomats, "but Chaos is far more dangerous than it appears! Besides their obvious, raw military power, they possess a-"
"Wait, hold on," Su'tabel interrupted, "who are you?"
"I am Blackthorn, representing the deer of Thicket," the stag replied, "and I can tell you that my people's home has become-"
"Thicket? From that Everfree Forest place?" the dragon asked. "That's just one city, right? And isn't it in Equestrian territory?"
Blackthorn frowned. "I can assure you that we are an independent people with-"
"Get out," Su'tabel said firmly, turning and jabbing a foreleg toward the door.
Blackthorn's jaw went slack. "But... But you don't understand! The influence of Chaos is-"
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step out of the room," said one of the camel guards, stepping up behind the deer.

Blackthorn stammered for a moment, and then hung his head. Then he slid out of his seat and trudged toward the door. The diplomats said nothing as he left, some sparing the deer an annoyed sneer as he passed by.
The guard stopped at the doorway, waiting until Blackthorn was in the lobby outside the hall. "There's some free nuts and coffee available here. You can wait in the lobby for now if you want, but after the actual diplomats finish up you have to go or we're going to beat you and toss you out like the rest of the vagrants."
Blackthorn growled as the door slammed shut in his face. "Ugh... This is so unfair."
"Tell me about it," mumbled a buffalo around a mouthful of nuts.

****

Prince Su'tabel waited until the guard took up his position again. "Very good. Now, as you were saying?"
"The Orks want to destroy us. We have spoken to many pony veterans of the war. They have no interest in other beings as anything other than bloodsport and short-lived slave labor."
"But the humans, too, make extensive use of slave labor. They do not think much more of us than the Orks do, I'd wager."
"But they made peace with the Equestrians, didn't they? That has to be worth something."
"Yaks don't care if puny ponies friends with apes! Yaks not submit to crazy space people!"
A guard entered the room from a side entrance and whispered something to the Prince.
"Ah, it would seem the Equestrian envoy has arrived," Su'tabel announced. The guard continued whispering. "It seems they had some trouble landing their... flying machine? Well, whatever." He pressed his hooves together atop the table. "Friends, I don't think it needs to be said that this Company's claim to own our entire planet needs to be rebuffed. However, we must exercise caution. Equestria, at least, seems to be entirely under their thrall, and that's no minor feat. Above all else, we must keep from antagonizing the humans until we know more about them. I'm looking at you, Yakyakistan."
"You not boss of yaks! Yaks not be pushed around by puny horses!"
The minotaur envoy leaned over to the griffon. "Is that really the yak ambassador? He sounds and acts exactly like the rest of them."
"Are you kidding? He's Yakyakistan's finest diplomat," the griffon replied, "he's famous for not flipping out and starting a war whenever the catering doesn't meet his expectations."

The front entrance creaked open again, and another guard camel entered. Curiously, this one looked highly disturbed.
"Presenting the diplomatic representative of the nation of Equestria, Hope Springs!"
Prince Su'tabel stood up from his seat and opened his mouth to speak, but then the guard continued.
"As well as the acting Commander of the Centaur division of the Iron Warriors 38th Company, Warpsmith Kessler!"

Gasps came from all around the table as the two figures entered.
Hope meekly entered and turned to bow her head to the Prince, having performed this role before. Su'tabel didn't notice, as he was staring up at the armored giant that entered behind her, along with everyone else.
Kessler scanned the room slowly from behind the unicorn, his optics cluster pulsing and rotating slowly.
Su'tabel gulped and then stepped away from his chair, toward the new arrivals. "Ah, Mister Kessler, we-"
"Lord Kessler," the Iron Warrior corrected calmly, staring up at the dragon ambassador while he spoke.
The Prince cringed. "Apologies, Lord Kessler. I am Prince Su'tabel, representing the Saddle Arabian nation. You must forgive our surprise; we were not expecting a representative from the Company."
"Your surprise is... forgiven," Kessler said. Then he stepped forward, past the Prince, and sat down. In the Prince's chair.
The silence became ever more tense as Hope crept past her companion and took a nearby empty seat closest to her "escort." All of the other diplomats were seeing an Iron Warrior for the first time outside of newspaper clippings, and each one couldn't help but notice that Kessler was very well-armed. He carried a hefty axe in one hand that he held upright next to his seat, and his belt carried a plasma pistol and a small collection of grenades. Then there were the mechatendrils; snake-like metal tentacles capped with drills, welders, cutting blades, and in some cases drooling mouths with iron fangs. These bizarre appendages faced the surrounding creatures like serpents waiting to strike, occasionally releasing a high-pitched hiss and a puff of steam.
A camel hesitantly approached the Warpsmith, being careful to stay out of range of the mechatendrils. "My lord, diplomats are not allowed to carry weapons into the meeting. I can-"
"I am not a diplomat," Kessler interrupted, gesturing to Hope with his free hand, "Councilor Hope is representing the 38th Company as our official ambassador. I am merely here to supervise the proceedings and assist her as necessary."
"Uh..." the guard chewed his lip briefly, glancing over to Prince Su'tabel. The Prince nodded mutely as he took a new seat further down the table, next to the zebra diplomat. "I'm pretty sure your weapons still aren't allowed in here, Lord."
"You are mistaken," Kessler said curtly, leaning back in the chair he had confiscated. "Councilor, you may proceed."

Hope offered a wide, utterly empty smile for her fellow diplomats. "Well, then! We have a great deal to talk about, I imagine! Where should we begin?"
"First on the agenda is the 38th Company's rather presumptuous claim of sovereignty over the entirety of the planet," Su'tabel said, casting a nervous glance toward the warrior-engineer at the head of the table. "Is that acceptable, Lord?"
Kessler nodded. "Councilor Hope?"
"Right! Of course..." she gulped, and her horn lit up to levitate some papers out of her saddlebags. She flipped through them rapidly, and then magically held up a sketch drawing of an Ork warrior.
"Tell me, ambassadors, what do you know of the Orks?" Hope asked, turning the paper left and right to show the other envoys.
A clicking noise came from Kessler's helmet, and then a span of light came from one of his optical lenses. It rendered an image of several Ork units across the table in low-definition hololiths, ranging in size from the lowly Grot to a hulking Mega Dread.
"Oh. Okay. That's pretty handy," Hope mumbled, dropping her picture.
"The Orks are brutal warriors and raiders to the last, and their mobs have infested territory far and vast," noted the zebra diplomat. "But a misdirection this new subject would be. We were speaking of our planet's status as a 'colony'."
"It's hardly a misdirection. The 38th Company and Equestria are the only military forces on the planet with the necessary means and experience to keep the Orks on Centaur III subdued in the long-term," Hope continued.
"That is quite generous to Equestria's military," Kessler interjected. Hope pouted.
"What do you mean 'keep the Orks subdued'? The Orks are already defeated!" said the dragon.
"They lost the war, yes. And at fantastic cost to the Company's army, might I add," Hope said, "however, you perhaps don't appreciate the scale of the invasion force that the Company faced. Even in defeat, there were tens of thousands of Orks that survived the fighting. All of those fighters have splintered and spread, searching for new territory to hold so they could regroup and rearm. The Company has been running near-constant combat sorties just to eliminate the Orks that tried to dig in within Equestria's borders. Soon enough, we're going to have to spread our operations ever further, or the Orks will build up enough strength to threaten Ferrous Dominus, the heart of the 38th Company and the staging point for their only serious opposition." She paused for effect, her brow creasing under her horn. "For this reason, Equestria is proposing that all nations of Centaur III be unified into a federal protectorate! These nations will work together to protect everyone from the Orks, with the aim of eventually eliminating them as a threat permanently!"
There was much disgruntled mumbling and whispering after Hope finished speaking. None of the envoys looked particularly excited by the idea.
"Why, exactly, should we entrust the safety of our tribes to you?" the minotaur diplomat asked with a snort. "Our warriors are strong, and these aliens have already been crippled. We will endure without submitting ourselves to these humans!"
"A contest of endurance against the Orks is futile," Kessler replied. His voice was soft and chiding, as if he was lecturing a child. "You cannot 'outlast' the greenskins. They are peerless survivalists, they reproduce quickly and effortlessly, and they do not experience the despair and fatigue of constant warfare. They must be crushed, utterly and constantly. You are too weak to do this. All of you are."
The yak diplomat snorted angrily. "You not call yaks weak! Yakyakistan mighty nation! Yaks smash puny Orks!"
"You must understand that the Orks are relentless, powerful warriors!" Hope retorted, raising a hoof toward the yak. "Their technology is crude, but still effective beyond any non-magical equipment available to any of our people. The humans alone have demonstrated that they possess the weapons and tactics to hold strategic supremacy over them."
"A likely story from a conquering army that wants to bring the rest of the planet to heel," the dragon muttered, gesturing to the hololith, "but the dragons do not fear these little green men." Then his eyes narrowed at Kessler. "Nor do we fear you, Lord Warpsmith."
"Your suggestion is interesting, I will not lie," began the zebra with a raised brow, "but I am concerned for those nations who do not comply."
Kessler's hololith vanished as he glanced over at the zebra. "You are already part of the protectorate."
"I... but... what?" the zebra stumbled over her words, accidentally dropping out of her rhyming scheme.
"The equines have already submitted themselves in alliance," Kessler explained, "it is this other rabble that must be brought to heel."
"Uh, well, ACTUALLY-" Hope began, only to be cut off by an angry shout.
"'Rabble', are we?" growled the griffon diplomat. "So now we see your true objective! You don't seek 'allies' against the Orks, but simply dominance over the non-equines that will not serve you!"
"B-But Zebrica does not-" the zebra tried to interject, but was immediately shouted down by the yak envoy.
"Quiet, traitor! Zebra on human side! Yaks hate zebra now!"
"You cowards! How could you side with them so easily?" snapped the diamond dog.
The zebra groaned and slumped in her seat.
"So our choices are submit to the 38th Company or defend our territory from the Orks on our own, is it?" the minotaur snorted. "I think you might be disappointed in our decision, Councilor Hope. We would rather take our chances to fight off the savages than become slaves to some other aliens."
"Those are not the options you face, minotaur," Kessler said, leaning forward and resting his free hand on the table. "Councilor?"
Hope sighed, shaking her head. "While allowing sovereign territories to reject our alliance and inevitably perish under the Orks would be an... 'acceptable' compromise ordinarily... I'm afraid certain groups at this table have more to answer for." She narrowed her eyes as she looked over several particular ambassadors. "It has come to my attention that some of the sovereign territories represented here have been conducting military operations against Company assets on its own territory! Human soldiers have lost their lives in a number of clandestine and unprovoked attacks against their facilities and patrols!"
Gasps came from several of the diplomats.
"What? Which territories?" asked the diamond dog, scratching his head.
"Yours, for one," Hope said wryly. The canine's ears stood straight up, and his eyes widened. "As well as the griffon kingdom and the minotaur tribes." The respective ambassadors recoiled in turn, stuttering in shock. Hope looked up at the dragon in the room. "The dragons don't really have anything resembling a military or administrative government, but you should know that dragons have been involved in some attacks as well. Not in defense of their nests or in hunts for food, but rather in planned ambushes on military forces."
"Preposterous!" the dragon snapped.
"Lies! My people have instigated nothing!" the minotaur agreed.
"You accuse yaks of warmongering?! You slander good name of Yakyakistan?!" roared the yak.
That prompted a pause in the shouting.
"Uh... no. We haven't accused Yakyakistan of anything," Hope replied with an arched eyebrow.
"Yakyakistan not stand for this! Yaks not be ignored!" the hairy diplomat snorted angrily and started slamming his hooves onto the table.
"Are you actually TRYING to start a war, here?" Hope asked, furrowing her brow.
"By now yaks emotionally invested in violent outcome, yes," the diplomat admitted, speaking at a reasonable volume for the first time since he had arrived.
"We can accommodate that," Kessler said, pointing to the hairy bovine.
"What evidence is there of these attacks?" Prince Su'tabel demanded. "There have been no rumors, no mobilizations, no declarations of war! We have no reason to believe in these claims!"
The griffon and diamond dog diplomats flinched.
"There is considerable evidence," Hope said grimly, planting a hoof atop the papers she had brought.
Before she could offer up any of them, Kessler's optics flickered again. A new hololith started flashing images in sequence. Pict-captures of battles flashed before the stunned dignitaries. Pony miners and Techpriests fighting off diamond dog soldiers. Mercenaries shooting at griffons dive-bombing a convoy. A power-armored alicorn flying through the air as the dragon behind her was pounded with anti-air fire. A bleeding minotaur with a greatsword, lying on the ground among several human corpses.
Hope huffed and turned toward Kessler. "You know, I wouldn't have bothered spending the time to prepare all these materials if you'd told me that you had a mobile pict-imager."
"Ridiculous," the minotaur snorted. "We know nothing about your technology. How are we to trust that these images are real? Or that the incidents happened on your territory, and not that of the accused?"
"I think you'd know if Company troops were marching on your soil, Ambassador," Hope replied, "it didn't take Equestria long to figure it out. But if you're still not convinced, we have more."
Kessler's optics whirled, and the last picture was replaced by a hololith of a rather haggard diamond dog. There was a name and rank insignia underneath it, but there was hardly any time to read it before the image flickered and was replaced by a griffon. They kept changing, swapping out one prisoner for the next.
"The 38th Company has captured thirty-two diamond dogs, nineteen griffons, and two minotaurs. They have the bodies of several more. Psychic evaluation and interrogation has revealed them to be military regulars conducting covert sabotage missions. Missions that - THEY seem to think - were planned and ordered by their associated governments." Hope narrowed her eyes. "Would the representatives in question like to offer an explanation for this?"
It didn't escape anyone's notice that the griffon looked quite disturbed as she answered, and didn't immediately reject the claim as the minotaur had.
"The nation of Griffonstone denies any involvement in military hostilities against Equestria and the 38th Company," she said firmly. Then she hesitated. "However, we have suffered a string of... disappearances among our soldiers as of late. As far as we are aware, they were simply desertions, probably from troops afraid of having to fight the Orks."
"Well, you can clear them of any charge of cowardice, at least," Hope quipped, "no one afraid of fighting Orks would sign up for fighting Chaos Space Marines instead."
"Griffonstone does not condone these attacks upon your people!" the griffon continued, her head crest ruffling with frustration. "I can assure you that these individuals were acting on their own, not under orders from Griffonstone's military authority!"
"How convenient," Kessler mused, tapping his index finger against the table, "your people attack us, fail, and you have no knowledge or responsibility. I'm sure they would be quite surprised to hear it." His head turned slightly to regard the diamond dog. "And you, canine? What excuses do you offer for your insolence?"
"AHEM!" Hope cleared her throat loudly, glaring at Kessler.
The Warpsmith glanced over to her, and then nodded and leaned back again.
"Sorry about that," the unicorn mumbled, "now, would the representative of the diamond dog kingdom like to offer an explanation for the hostile activities we've presented?"
The diamond dog glanced back and forth nervously, wringing his hands. "Um, pretty much the same thing, really." He paused. "I mean, I MIGHT have heard about some rebellion forming against the aliens, but we certainly haven't helped them!"
"There are thirty-two guard dogs who would be very surprised to hear that," Hope said dryly.
"It wasn't us! I SWEAR it wasn't us!" the canine whimpered.
The dragon envoy blasted a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. "As you mentioned earlier, the dragon elders cannot account for the actions of our individual people. If some of them have taken up arms against you, then that is their business. But for the record, we condemn such pointless hostility."
"That's not good enough," Kessler said. An arc of crackling red energy ran over the blade of his power axe.
Hope sighed and steeled herself. "Even if other nations do not recognize the contributions of the 38th Company to global security, assaulting its people without so much as a declaration of war is intolerable!"
"But after war declared, is okay then?!" demanded the yak.
"Yes, fine. Then the humans can kill you and nopony cares. Whatever," Hope muttered. "For the REST of you, these attacks must be stopped immediately! Whether by rogue elements or official subterfuge, this cannot be allowed to go on any further! Equestria has fought hard for this chance to resolve this matter peacefully; were it up to the Company's commanders, they'd already have your cities under siege! A concerted, absolute commitment to stop these provocations is the only way to avoid open war!"
"And what if we are unable to stop these individuals?" the dragon asked, frowning deeply.
"Then we will do so," Kessler replied calmly, "we will march on your capitals, slaughter your insolent leaders, and lay waste-"
"AHEM!!" Hope said, glaring at the Warpsmith. She hadn't even actually cleared her throat this time, but just shouted the sound at him.
Kessler sighed and leaned back again. "Yes, fine. Go ahead."
"Thank you, Lord," Hope said through clenched teeth, "if the aggressor peoples are truly unable to control their own militaries, then the Company will do it for them."
"You speak of invasion!" the griffon hissed.
"And what are the Iron Warriors to do otherwise?" Hope challenged. "Stand idly by as your agents murder their people? Preposterous." She stood her front hooves on the table to give herself some extra height as she looked over the other diplomats. "You must stop these attacks at once. In the event of further hostilities, I'm afraid that Equestria will be unable to defend your independence, and your countries will be absorbed into the protectorate without the benefit of peaceful negotiation."
"There have been no Saddle Arabian warriors found attacking you, have there?" Prince Su'tabel asked anxiously.
"Negative, Prince Stable," Kessler replied.
The Prince frowned. "Uh, it's 'Su'tabel', Lord."
"That's what I said. Stable," the Warpsmith repeated.
"Oh, wow. I just got that," mumbled the diamond dog.
"We would have informed our equine allies of any such insurgents immediately, rather than using such a tiresome forum as this," Kessler continued.
"But... we're not your allies," the Saddle Arabian pointed out hesitantly.
"Yes you are."
"TRAITOR!!" boomed the yak envoy, causing the Prince to flinch back into his seat. The zebra ambassador leaned over and gave him a sympathetic pat on the back.
"I'm sure that, given time, we can come to an agreement on acceptable terms regarding your respective nations' membership within the protectorate," Hope announced. "For those of the aggressor territories, such a deal would no doubt involve the recovery of the captured soldiers. Unless, of course, you'd rather leave them to rot within the Happy Hills Unification Center."
The diamond dog and griffon shared a glance.
"Happy Hills? That doesn't sound so bad," the canine murmured.
"The name is misleading. I can assure you they're not very happy," Hope explained. "They are, however, being swiftly unified. Brutal forced labor has a way of bringing people together."

A camel guard whispered something in Prince Su'tabel's ear, and he looked suddenly relieved.
"Pardon me, ambassadors, but lunch is served," the desert equine said, standing up, "let us take a short break from shouting accusations at each other and eat."
There were some grumbles around the table as much of the previous tension evaporated. Hope turned toward Kessler. "I forgot to tell you that there would be a lunch break, Lord. I'm afraid we'll have to share my portion. Is vegetarian fare okay?"
"I brought my own meal," the Warpsmith assured her. He reached down and unclipped something that was attached to his greaves. Then he pulled up a tarnished canister of promethium.
"Isn't that the fuel for your vehicles and machines?" Hope asked while camels filed past her seat and started laying out dishes.
"It's fuel for a lot of things." One of Kessler's mechatendrils bit onto the capsule's spout and started draining it eagerly. The Warpsmith's smokestacks promptly began spewing streams of oily smog into the room, and a relaxed sigh came from his vox grille.

"Potatoes on the end, then onions, soup, and stuffed peppers," mumbled a guard to the Saddle Arabians filing out of the kitchen.
He briefly halted one that was carrying a plate of rubies. "Are those gems unpolished? The dragon ambassador has a heart condition!"
"Pear cut, unpolished, breaded with crushed limestone," the cook said with a snort, "made to order, my lord."
The camel nodded and waved him through. "And what is THIS?" he said, spotting another of the equines splitting off to the side. This one carried a large dinner plate on his back, and unlike the others it was covered.
The cook yelped in surprise, and the platter started to tilt over. He quickly stabilized it, sweating profusely and trembling.
The guard made note of this after he approached. "What's the matter? Which dish is this?"
"It's a... uh... a surprise! Yes, a very special surprise for the Equestrian envoy!"
The camel raised an eyebrow. The cook grinned, and his eyes briefly flashed green. "A very, VERY special surprise! Heh heh! Ha ha ha ha!"
"I suppose I SHOULD take a cursory glance at the dish ahead of time..." the camel murmured. "But I'd hate to ruin the surprise by raising the lid while she happened to be looking. And she probably is, because your generally inappropriate laughter is drawing a lot of attention."
"BWAH HA HA oh, sorry about that," the cook coughed lightly, "so, can I go deliver the package?"
"You mean the food," the camel said, stepping aside.
"Sure. That." The cook pushed forward, walking past the dragon and stopping behind Hope.
The unicorn watched skeptically as the dish was carefully shifted from the Saddle Arabian's back to the table, such that it sat between her and Kessler. "So, what is this about, then?"
"Just a little something to show our APPRECIATION for Equestria's role in protecting our fair planet," the cook hissed.
Hope started levitating the cover off, but then the cook quickly slammed it back down.
"No! Wait, not yet!" he said desperately. "It's a... uh... a dessert! So you can't open it yet! Until after I leave!"
"Who ordered that, anyway? It wasn't me," said Su'tabel, narrowing his eyes at the anxious cook.

"Ooh, look! A wishbone!" The diamond dog plucked an arch-shaped bone from his plate and reached over toward the griffon envoy. "Make a wish!"

Kessler tossed the empty promethium canister away over his shoulder, and then spared a glance at the covered dish between him and Hope. His optics automatically scanned the container, returning a chemical analysis.
"Why do you think it strange that I ingest promethium when you apparently consume trinitrotoluene?" he asked the unicorn.
"I consume what, now?" Hope asked.
The cook immediately bolted through the nearest window, breaking through the glass and plummeting out of sight.
The delegates and guards stared after him, stunned.
"I don't mean to delay our sup, but aren't we some seven stories up?"
"Ominous," mumbled the minotaur diplomat.
Kessler took a longer look at the covered dish. Then he suddenly jumped up out of his chair, grabbed Hope's seat, and hurled it away with her in it.
"GET DOWN!!" the Warpsmith ordered, grabbing onto the covered dish with the intention of hurling it out the window after the creature who had brought it.
It didn't even make it out of his hands before it exploded.

****

As far as Hope Springs was concerned, all of reality went completely screwy for a few minutes.
She couldn't hear anything but a furious ringing in her ears. Her vision spun and lurched to and fro. What little she could make out was fleeting, and everything seemed to be obscured by dust and running legs.
After a minute, the ringing gave way to muffled shouting, which became less muffled as she concentrated on them.
Once the unicorn was able to make sense of the world around her, she determined that she had been carried into a room adjoining the main hall. She was on the floor, surrounded by camel guards, and Prince Su'tabel was yelling orders at them.
Hope pushed herself upright, a sense of numbness filling her body as it finally faded from her mind.
"What... What happened?" she mumbled, eyes wide.
"Sabotage! That's what happened!" Su'tabel snarled, kicking a nearby column. "Some cowards have apparently decided that peace isn't in their best interests!"
The Saddle Arabian glared over his shoulder. Hope followed his gaze, and saw that the other delegates had been rounded up as well. They were all dusty, half of them looked terrified, and the dragon was curled up tightly in the corner while clutching his arm.
"You aren't seriously accusing one of us of this chicanery, are you?" sneered the minotaur. "Why don't you blame your pitiful security for waving through an assassin with a bomb?!"
"Well, it definitely wasn't me!" moaned the dragon, shivering. "I can't believe you treacherous mammals used me for cover!"
"Oh, what are you whining about? You're fireproof!" the griffon envoy growled.
"Fireproof! Not explosion-proof! Nothing is explosion-proof! That seriously hurt!"
"You no accuse yaks of sabotage! Yaks never use such sneaky-explodey tactics!"
"Nobody's accusing you or your people of anything, you jerk. The guilty party would have to know how to use bombs and lurk!"
"I have my guards locking down the palace grounds and sweeping the courtyard," Su'tabel snarled, "the coward won't get away with this..."
"What about Lord Kessler?" Hope asked softly.
All other conversation and complaining stopped.
"We... evacuated the room as quickly as possible," the Prince explained. "There's still a fire in there. I have more guards coming in to put it out."
Hope looked toward the doorway leading into the adjacent room. Cracks and fissures covered the wall to one side of the door. Smoke and dust were seeping in along the ground, and she could hear the sound of a roaring fire and crumbling masonry.
"Lord Kessler was at the center of the blast. He... did not leave the room with the rest of us."
Hope was still fairly numb, but she was barely able to feel the tear that crawled down her cheek.
"Wow," breathed the diamond dog ambassador, taking a thin, greasy object from his belt and holding it up. It was the greater half of a wishbone. "Be careful what you wish for, huh guys?"
The diamond dog chuckled.
Then a spear of melta gas vaporized him on the spot.

"WHAT THE FLYING FEATHER?!" the griffon screamed, leaping away from the ashen streak that now cut across the tiling.
"Lord Kessler!" Hope shouted.
The Warpsmith lurched out of the cloud of dust, smoke curling around his body and a loud hiss coming from a gasping mechatendril. His optics flickered and sparked, his movements were stiff and leaden, and his left arm was missing up to the elbow.
"You're alive!" the unicorn cheered, fresh tears rolling down her dirtied cheeks.
"Kill the alien," Kessler said coldly, pointing his power axe at the horrified griffon diplomat.
"... Yay?" Hope added uncertainly.

The ambassador for Griffonstone tried to take flight and make for a window, just as the saboteur had done. But there was too little room to maneuver and Kessler proved shockingly fast despite his size and injuries.
His axe bit into the side of the fleeing griffon, tearing through the hybrid creature in an instant.
The Warpsmith had turned on his heel and selected his next opponent before his last victim had hit the ground. The minotaur roared, clenching his hands into fists.
"MURDERER!! You kill innocent, unarmed diplomats! This is the 38th Company's commitment to peace?!"
"Yes, pretty much," Kessler answered calmly before decapitating the bull-creature. The minotaur managed to land a punch against the Iron Warrior's battered armor at the same time, but after shrugging off a bomb such a blow was meaningless.
"Lord Kessler! Please, stop!" Prince Su'tabel shouted, recoiling in horror.
"No. No more restraint," said the Warpsmith, "no more... peace. These creatures want war. So war it is."
The yak ambassador crashed into his side, actually managing to surprise the Chaos Marine. Kessler toppled over, his armored body slamming into the floor hard enough to crack the tiling.
"For Yakyakistan!" bellowed the envoy, rearing up.
One of Kessler's mechatendrils curled around and then blasted the bovine with a short blast of flame, interrupting his next charge. The yak lurched backward, screaming, as his hair caught alight. Kessler pushed himself back to his feet.
"Lord, please, reconsider! At least let me execute them FOR you! I feel like it's my obligation as a host!" Su'tabel begged, stepping in front of Hope to block her view of the violence.
"Keep your feeble guardians back, vassal," Kessler demanded before slicing into the burning yak. The power field crackled, and the scent of ozone mixed with the variety of other terrible smells currently circulating in the room.
The zebra was next, trembling on the ground below the mighty Chaos Space Marine.
"Please, I know I objected to your offer before! But now I believe in our alliance to my very core!"
"Whatever," Kessler said, stepping over the zebra. He had no idea why the striped pony thought he was going to harm her, frankly.
"Guards! Guards! Do something! Stop him!" screamed the dragon, backing away as far as possible from the rampaging Marine.
"Yeah, no. I don't want any of this," remarked a camel watching the massacre with wide eyes and quivering knees.
"Besides, you're like five times his size!" said another.
"I'm a lover, not a fighter!" the dragon moaned.
Kessler shot another melta blast from his mechatendrils while he advanced. The spear of super-heated gas burned through even the dragon's fire-resistant hide, punching a hole in the serpent's chest.
"I'm too young to die! I'm not even a thousand! AAAAAAAUGH!!"

Su'tabel turned his gaze away as the Warpsmith started hacking away at the ambassador, hugging Hope against his chest to protect her from the horrific sight. He was moderately surprised when she suddenly shoved him away and then jumped past him.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU PSYCHOTIC TIN MAN?!?!" the unicorn screeched.
Kessler barely turned away from his bloody work, his mechatendrils digging into the exposed internals of the dragon. "This is how an Iron Warrior negotiates," he said coldly. Hot blood pooled around his feet, mixing with that of the other non-equine delegates.
"No! No, it isn't! This isn't negotiation in any sense of the word! And I've SEEN how Iron Warriors negotiate! This is definitely not how!" Hope screamed.
"It does not matter." Kessler ripped the broken heart from the chest of the draconic ambassador, holding it up above his head while blood drooled down his remaining arm. "I am victorious. The diplomatic conference is won."
"No! It isn't! That's what I'm trying to TELL YOU!" The diplomat pony stamped her hoof on the floor in frustration. "You are NOT victorious! This is NOT a victory!"
Kessler paused, staring at her. Then he looked up at the bowling-ball-sized heart in his hand. "I don't understand. I have eliminated all opposition. Or do I have to kill the equine participants too?" the Prince and the zebra flinched.
"You can't kill anyone to win a conference! Avoiding violence is the entire POINT of this exercise! If you murder the other delegates, you lose by default!"
Kessler tossed away the dragon heart, and then pulled his power axe free of the dragon corpse's rib cage. "This makes no sense. I was attacked first, with the bomb. Is it not THEY who lost, then?"
"Not if you murder them immediately before we even determine responsibility! We don't know if any of them were involved in the attack!" Hope shouted in frustration. "Now we have nothing! Worse than nothing! The other kingdoms are sure to go to war, even if they never wanted to!"
Kessler mulled this over. "I see... then how does one win a diplomatic conference?"
"You don't really 'win' a negotiation," Su'tabel interjected, "you simply reach a compromise that gets you as much of what you want as possible."
"You can lose a conference, but you cannot win?" the Warpsmith asked, perplexed. "No wonder the Tau have an entire caste for this. Diplomacy is hard." Then he turned toward the door. "Let's be off, then. I need a new arm."
Hope groaned and trudged after him, stepping lightly to avoid the splashes of blood and chunks of gore littering the tiles.
"So, uh... about this 'protectorate' thing... did you want us to... do anything?" Prince Su'tabel asked nervously. The zebra mare was standing behind him, trembling.
"Oh, we'll work that out later. A little bit too much excitement right now, you know? Don't call us, we'll call you," Hope assured him.
Kessler opened the door to the next room. Then he stopped short.
"Hey! Hah... Sorry I'm late! Hah... Got here as fast as I could! Hah..." A tiny, airborne creature with gossamer butterfly wings and long, curled antennae hung in the air in front of the doorway, gasping for breath.
"There was a bad cross-wind. Hah... But I'm here now! I'm representing the breez-" One of Kessler's mechatendrils darted forward and snatched the newcomer up in its jaws. Two crunches later, it was gone, swallowed by the mechanical tentacle.
"Let's hurry," the Iron Warrior commanded, "I have a lot of invasion plans to go over since we're doing that, now."
"You're incorrigible," Hope grumbled, following him through the door.