The Conversion Bureau: The Other Side of the Spectrum (The Original)

by Sledge115

Converge (4/4)

Converge - Part Four

‘Oh, where did it all go so wrong?’

Rarity dodged another swipe from the monster’s sword. Applejack, meanwhile, was just galloping back to strike at it once more, having been knocked back twice. Even with two unicorns blasting away at the equine abomination, even with Applejack and Fluttershy striking at the beast’s armored hide, it still wasn’t enough.

“Can’t believe I’m saying this…” muttered Vinyl. “Change of strategy, girls! FALL BACK!”

“Fall back?” Applejack repeated incredulously, even as training kicked in and she moved according to a superior’s instructions, all four retreating back into the same pugmill-house she and Fluttershy had made their grand entrance from. “Vinyl,” she said, not bothering to address the DJ by her rank, “We’re only buying ourselves a slower death that way!”

Before Vinyl could reply, a shadow appeared from up above. “INCOMING!”

They each dodged, barely, the metal railcart the ghoul had thrown in their direction, crashing into the tracks with an almighty smash, but in doing so, Applejack made a false move and nearly tripped over one of the rails.

“Curses!” the applefarmer swore, shaking her bruised forehoof. “Flamin’ Tartarus, Ah’m sure there was a rusty nail in there!”

“Rusty nail?” echoed Rarity, halting mid-retreat. She glanced down, and sure enough, one of the metal cut-spikes meant to hold down the wooden crossties beneath the iron tracks had begun to come loose. It was merely Applejack’s bad luck to have bumped that very spot.

“Yeah, rusty nail! Ah’d thought Fuse at least cared more about proper workmanship than… what in flamin’ Tartarus are you doing?”

“Applying a skill,” said Rarity.

She focalized her aura with all her might to pull at the nail. It budged, but didn’t free up, too tightly-wound as it was into the heavy rail. And meanwhile, not far off, the terracotta ghoul was stomping straight for her.

“Rares!” yelled Applejack. “Ah know ya can’t stand a hair out of place, but now’s not the time!”

“I have an idea! Please, help me!”

Groaning frustratedly, Vinyl lounged forward, her own aura alit to join with Rarity’s, yet still the wretched nail refused to leave its berth. The leaden sound of oversized footfall approached furthermore.

“Rarity!” Applejack shouted in alarm. “LOOK OUT!”

Any eventual reply was cut violently short, as the terracotta ghoul unexpectedly jerked back with a powerful kick which knocked Rarity in the face. The world turned upside-down, right-side-up, upside-down, right-side-up multiple times in a grotty, pounding haze as she hurtled along the railtrack.

It was too much, all too much for her. She collapsed. Darkness began to enclose her vision...

“On your six, soldier! On your six!”

Rarity’s eyes fluttered open. The world began to orientate itself. Beneath her battered and bruised body, that upon which she lay, the earthen floor of some enclosed space, which had to be the pugmill-house they’d all been making a beeline for. Not much light in the off-hours, save for what feeble sunlight penetrated the sooty, overhead windows.

She’d seldom felt so glad to see Celestia’s Sun.

“Oh, thank goodness you’re awake.”

And Fluttershy, her best friend, standing by her side.

“Thought we’d lost you over there, sugarcube. Ya weren’t breathing for a sec,” Applejack wiped a drop of sweat off her brow. “That was a nasty blow you got there.”

“Yes, I... thank you,” Rarity replied, massaging her forehead. Something struck her as odd. “Who turned off the noise? Why’s the beast not pounding at this place’s walls, shaking us all with dust from the ceiling?”

“I think you’d better see for yourself,” said Fluttershy. “Looks like the cavalry’s here.”

Rarity’s heart skipped a beat. Had the PHL finally turned up?

Her answer appeared within the frame of the doorway, in the form of a masked, black-armor-clad human soldier, striding across the railtrack in a hunched, battle ready position. In his wake followed a blue pegasus, a Changeling, and a griffon – all members of the Alliance.

Instantly, the soldier opened fire on something outside her field of vision. A pained roar confirmed that he not only aimed for, but hit the terracotta beast, drawing its attention away from her and her friends. As for the blue pegasus, she leapt and flew, firing a volley of rounds with her battle-saddle. The Changeling, unnoticed until now, leapt and fired off blasts of green energy from his horn, accompanied by the griffon’s aerial strikes.

From behind, a white forehoof graced her shoulder.

“Told you they were coming,” smiled Vinyl.

But the DJ’s optimism soon came to seem misplaced. Even under all the sustained fire, the ghoul scarcely faltered one bit. With a roar befitting a beast from Tartarus, the misshapen creature tore at the railtrack, snapping up a full thirty-inch-long iron rail like a twig, and viciously used it to swat aside the griffon.

If not for his robust constitution, the poor fellow may well have ended cleaved in half. As it was, he lost his balance and nearly cork-screwed into the claypit below, forcing the Changeling to meet him mid-air and shove him in the pugmill-house’s direction, where they both landed in a graceless heap at the doorway. This left only the human as a ground force, and his bursts of fire came off as desultory on their own.

It wasn’t long until he noticed Rarity, her cover hardly enough to hide her entirely.

The soldier ran, past his recovering comrades, to her position, dodging a torn-off piece of railtrack as it slammed into the side of the wall a few paces away. Even from the interior, the impact sent cracks all along that area’s of the small building surface, to Rarity’s horror. He bowled over to Rarity’s position and, ignoring her gasp, took cover, switching firearms and looking over the mares behind that black mask of his.

“Are you… are you with the PHL?” asked Rarity.

Without missing a beat, he removed his mask, revealing a distinctly angled, sharp face.

“Course I am!” the soldier replied, quite tartly. His accent distinctly reminded Rarity of a Trottingham native, or whatever passed as Earth’s equivalent to the town. “And, given how the Lieutenant hasn’t got you clasped in irons, I’ll assume you’re on the level, Miss. So you’ll know we’re here only for ponies, not... whatever it is we’re up against now.”

“Wait,” Rarity said. “I thought–”

“We didn’t expect this at all, so, no. Didn’t level up sufficiently to fend off walking statues.”

“Can’t you just shoot the abominable thing?”

Without a second glance, the human ejected a lone bullet from his discarded firearm, and held it in an outstretched palm.

“Rubber bullets,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Wolff’s only got a net launcher, as does Gilford back at the yard, Coxa’s far too lightly armed even for this mission, and Mist’s support. Course, we’ve brought normal rounds, but just in a mag or two. Not exactly a monster slayer, eh? Bjorgman’s the only one with heavy enough firepower to maybe punch through that, and at this angle, due North from the brickyard’s walls, we’re outside her line of fire… speaking of, Coxa, just where is Mist at?”

“Still flying, last I saw her,” the Changeling replied as he dragged his griffon comrade further into the relative safety of the pugmill-house, laying the rather overweight fellow to rest behind the clay-mixing paddles. “Perhaps another cloudburst might do the trick on that thing?”

The human soldier harrumphed. “Hope her radio’s intact! If I reach her, she might be the best bet we’ve got. Even if any PHL doctrine involving the undead involves breaking their legs, then electrocuting them, and then setting them on fire.”

“B-but, surely you’ve got something!” Rarity insisted. “Wait. Why do you even have a doctrine for fighting the undead?”

“We’re too imaginative for our own good.”

“What?” Rarity demanded. “... I mean, what of the others? There’s got to be more coming?”

“Not sure about that– careful there!” the soldier shouted, ducking as a piece of the ceiling collapsed close by, debris just missing them.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Fluttershy said worriedly. “What’re we going to do…?”

“Well,” said the soldier, getting back to his feet. “Under these special circumstances, I’m open to suggestions from locals, even if they’re civvies. Amongst you lot, we’ve got a pegasus and two unicorns, so is there anything you’d like to share?”

“Two unicorns?” Rarity mimicked him unintentionally, casting a sideways glance at Vinyl.

The DJ coughed, gesturing at something. “I don’t think Corporal Harwood means me.”

A quiescent, golden glow illuminated the pugmill-house. Turning, Rarity saw, at the heart of this new light, the very nail she and Vinyl had struggled to pry loose, and beyond, the caster of the aura, an ocean-blue stallion advancing timorously yet steadfastly from his hiding spot.

“Uh…” Noteworthy began sheepishly. “Saw you guys outside. Figured you could use help…”

“I know you’re there, human! Come out, so I can face ya, stallion to stallion!”

His defiant cry resonated back-and-forth across the rows of crates lining the delivery depot. And yet, no answer came, not a human to be seen. But Locksmith knew better than to just trust his eyes and ears.

“Just the same, aren’t ya, you monkeys!” he yelled angrily. “Always hiding behind yer weapons, yer gadgets, none of ya got the stomach, none of ya, why can’t ya just stand up and bloody fight, like a real stallion? COME OUT!”

The gangster stomped a hoof, cracking the earthen floor beneath him. It was an old reflex, that of a threatened animal standing its ground.

And then, it came. A tall figure bowled over the stack of crates to his right, one fist aimed right for his eye.

It was close.

But, agile as he was, Locksmith managed to dodge the attack, age-old instincts taking over. Still, he stood his ground, and turned to face his opponent.

The human towered above him. Slightly less heavy-set than a minotaur, the alien creature looked strong enough nevertheless. Its hairless form was hidden by what looked like an odd sort of black armor, with only its face left uncovered - a thick-browed, moustachioed and tanned face at that. Having missed its initial strike, the human held a sort of flintlock pointed his forehead, unflinching and unmoving.

Locksmith spat. “Hah! Already resorting to your fancy toys now, are ya? Drop ‘em, and fight me like a real stallion, ya damn dirty, slant-eyed ape!”

The human said nothing in response. Then, before Locksmith’s unbelieving eyes, the creature emptied its weapon, eyes staring at him with an inscrutable, though intense glare. The weapon’s ammunition scattered across the floor, though the human kicked one small piece in his direction, as if to prove a point. They were small, ball-shaped projectiles.

“Rubber. Every last one. And yet, each of them infinitely more precious than you are,” it told him in a far-too-calm tone. “And every one of them is enough to send you and your goons off with your tails between your legs.”

“ENOUGH!” Locksmith snapped, clicking his horseshoes intimidatingly. “Shut yer mouth, I’ve had enough of you humans and yer fancy talk! This ‘ere would do your mouth a nice be–”

He never finished his words, for the armor-clad human had dashed forward in a surprisingly agile maneuver. Its outstretched fist connected with his muzzle from an angle, sending his head crashing on the earthen floor.

Locksmith barely had enough time to register the pain when the human struck his barrel with one of its hindlegs. The impact sent him tumbling to the floor, bones and muscles screaming. He groaned, stars dancing in his eyes, expecting doom to befall him the very next instant.

Then he noticed that the human had already turned its back on him.

“Reporting in. Hostile leader has been incapacitated accordingly, Overwatch, over.”

Fool. This human would regret his second’s inattention soon enough, Locksmith vowed. The brass lining of his horseshoes was a testimony to that.

Shaking his head in an effort to clear the haze clouding his senses, he gruntingly pushed himself back up, slowly, hoping his enemy wouldn’t hear and look back at a crucial moment. At this distance, it would be a delicate maneuver, but if he aimed right, he should be able to jump the human, one blow of his brass-girded hoof sufficient to crush the weak point between the guy’s helmet and that tough-looking black armor.

The strength flowed back into his hindlegs, and he reared forward with a feral snarl.

“Understood, Overwatch. Nordfjell will– AAARGH!”

Locksmith barreled into the human with the force of a charging bull, sending them both crashing onto the ground. But before he could muster enough force to punch through the helmet and crack this creature’s skull, his opponent just managed to swat his hoof aside.

Allowing the human no time to fully recover, Locksmith headbutted the creature, pinning it beneath his bulk – although it was taller than he, to his notice, he himself was by no means lightweight, as more than one poor sod had discovered to their cost. The human struggled beneath his build, legs pinned down under Locksmith’s own.

From outside, there came a sound of thunder.

Once again, a sudden, unplanned downpour hit the contours of the claypit.

Cihuateto’s terracotta ghoul got drenched by the rain, water sliding off its congealed, armored hide in big fat drops. Alas, if the blue pegasus on her cloud above had pinned her hopes on melting the undead creature, she was to be sorely disappointed. Other than to stain the loamy brown skin and grotty yellow, exposed bones a deeper shade of both colors, highly concentrated liquid had no more effect on it than the punch of hoof or weaponry.

Next to Noteworthy, Miss Rarity, whom he knew as a generally marshmallow sort of gal, for all her bouts of theatrical hysteria, looked on the verge of bending the metal nail in her aura – and as though she thirsted for the strength to do that, let alone inflict the same upon the ghoul.

Another potshot from Harwood and the elder griffon’s guns were not much help, either.

“Noteworthy, do…”

“Sorry, I’ve not the faintest why I am here,” said Noteworthy, answering the unasked question. He clicked his hoofcuffs helplessly. “Maybe it was the humans… but seeing them here, maybe I was wrong… I can’t be too sure. Sorry I couldn’t help out more.”

He did feel bad about it too, for a wonder. While he feared that by falling in with the humans, Miss Rarity had not learned as much as she ought to from the Grand Galloping Gala and still let her wishful fancies cloud her too-romantic nature, he knew her for a beautiful heart. The notion of his inability to aid her bore down heavily on him.

“Its fine, dear. At least we have Applejack here.” Rarity nodded toward the applefarmer, who sounded busy describing a technique to DJ-Pon3 taught to her by Pinkie Pie’s older sister. Perhaps in need of distraction from the stalemate between the team and the ghoul, the DJ was sure listening with rapt attention. “This war’s got me worried for us all, but the alternative is so much worse.”

“Alternative?” asked Noteworthy,

His mind went back to that scene he’d observed from afar, conjured by the trickster Lord of Chaos, all those months ago. That much, he could remember. What he’d seen beneath the cornucopia of sickening imagery, had left him with some choice words all gathered here may not want to hear...

Yet he’d still moved in to help Rarity and the DJ for the last inch of removing that rusty nail.

Nearer by the doorway, Applejack huffed unhappily. “Pardon my askin’, Rarity, but what’d you stay behind to grab that spike I tripped on for anyway?” she demanded, rubbing her forehoof.

Rarity gloomily inspected the nail. “Now I’m not sure. It’s just… something caught my attention. Like I could use it as… as some sort of sword, like the Major’s got, maybe? Guess I was… starting to get fed up with being unarmed…” she admitted, not looking Applejack in the eye.

An uncomfortable pause hushed over the gathering, to be soon interrupted as certain farmer trotted over to her friend.

“Hey, girl,” Applejack told her gently. “From what Fluttershy tells me, ya don’t do half bad just by bein’ you when backed in a corner. Ah saw them ruffians ya left hanging in the treetops, with Zecora now. No scratch on their hides, but down and out cold. That’s finesse for ya.”

“Thanks, Applejack,” Rarity smiled wanly. “But if only we could think of some way to stop that beastly creature,” she groaned to each of the mares in attendance. “Kicks or punches, firepower, rainwater, it doesn’t matter what, nothing we got is hurting it.”

“Not to mention the power of rock, which you’d think would be ideal for a clay-thing,” added DJ-Pon3, forehooves folded, a bitter undercurrent lacing her glib choice of words.
Something shimmered just outside Noteworthy’s field of vision. He looked, and was it just his mind playing tricks on him, as it had been prone to do in his youth, or did an unearthly radiance momentarily pass over the nail, lying discarded on the floor?

“Not music…” Noteworthy muttered under his breath, staring unblinkingly at the rusty nail. “Not water, not fire, nor pressure…” A ghostly mosaic took shape in the kaleidoscopic space behind his unusual, wonderful eyes. “But all at once.”

The ceiling to the pugmill-house came tumbling down in a shower of wooden debris.

“BREACH!” shouted the human soldier, swiftly aiming around to the exposed space.

A crumpled-looking blue pegasus hobbled into view, one wing battered by splinters. “Sorry, Har,” she coughed, raising the other wing in a poor salute. “This creature was doing me in…”

The large griffon pointed upwards. “And looks like it made a hole big enough for it to fit past.”

Noteworthy followed the griffon’s claw, and indeed, his jaw dropped as he was that the terracotta ghoul had scaled the side of the building, intent on coming in as death from above. Shrieking in unholy hatred, it dropped itself in their midst with a resounding, pulse-pounding thump which shook the building’s foundations.

“Rarity!” he shouted desperately, eyes set on the horrific apparition. “Listen to me! That thing was stitched together from many, many bits and pieces, same as one of your dresses! You have to undo it!”

“Oh, thank you so much!” the dressmaker shouted back, skiving a crushing punch. “That’s a fat lot of help. As if this big ugly walking mound of mud had a centerpiece I could just pick at!”

“You don’t need to!” Noteworthy yelled, above the sound of compressed clay meeting rock. “It’s like playing a tune! All you have to do is hit the right keys in the right order!”

“How am I supposed to do that?!”

“Well,” Applejack growled as she set herself into a combat stance, “ Ah’m not gonna stand here and wait for the situation to solve itself!”.

DJ-Pon3 had only just turned to ask what Applejack had in mind when, dwarfed anything Noteworthy felt today, even the ghoul, an orange glow flowed down from Applejack’s barrel to her legs, and she charged forward like a shot.

“Yee-haw! Let’s go!”

Yelling some chant she must have picked up in a human bar, Ponyville’s applefarmer rushed right up to the undead creature and pummeled it in the face. Applejack transformed into a whirlwind of punches and kicks, and while no Rainbow Dash in terms speed, the force behind each blow finally, finally caused the ghoul to falter back, through the doorway, way along the rails positioned on solid ground and onto the raised section of the track.

Awed, against his better judgment, Noteworthy watched Applejack duel the otherworldy being, forcing it to retreat, unable to match any strike of hers in equal measure, as their fight took them to a place where a sheer drop awaited the combatants to either side.

He dared take a step outside. They all did. She must have known they were watching, even with her back turned to them, for, grinning, Applejack slammed her hoof with deliberately paced slowness onto the track, splitting the crossties neatly in half. Unable to balance itself upon the suddenly-weakened wooden supports, the terracotta ghoul remained frozen in mid-air for a split second, then tilted, and spiralled into the heart of the claypit, sinking into the clay like a being drowning in quicksand.

“Well… damn and blast.”

Cautiously, everyone edged out, keeping at a safe distance from Applejack and the broken elevated section of the track. But it was Harwood who’d spoken. Only humans would use such colorful language.

In such a deadpan way too.

With a sigh, Harwood rubbed his helmet before turning to the others. “Alright, it’s looks down for now. Everyone? Let’s go help out the Sarge.“

“Um…” Noteworthy finally spoke up, but promptly flinched at gaining all the sharp-featured human’s attention onto himself. “I’m… I’m looking for my friend? Peachbottom? She was running away from you all and… I’m kind of worried about her.”

Harwood waved to the griffon. “Wolff, get him in custody. You, you’ll be safer with the others.”

“But, what about Peachbottom?” Noteworthy insisted. “I can’t just leave her...”

“The mare’s in with the others,” Harwood said, in a resigned tone. “You will find her somewhat banged up, yes, but at least she’s alive.”

The window besides Locksmith abruptly shattered into a thousand pieces, a nearby table following suit. Startled, Locksmith leapt back – the pain of his torn ear was all too familiar, and somewhere out there one of the humans’ friends were watching him.

It was all too unfortunate that he had forgotten about the human pinned under his weight.

Suddenly, the world around him was all bright, blinding light. Amidst the twinkling stars dancing in his eyes, Locksmith cursed himself for forgetting what those accursed limbs could do – with one hand, the human had found the strength to reach out for a nearby wooden staff, and brought it down hard.

Shaking his head clear out of the daze, Locksmith fixed his glare onto the human. This time, his opponent clearly had his full attention, from the way he gripped onto his newfound weapon to the way he kept his stance alert.

“So, found yerself a new toy, eh?” Locksmith chuckled, the two of them circling one another with deliberate slowness. “Yer not the only one crafty enough to use one of those.”

With a snap of his neck, the burly stallion reached out for a wooden bar with his muzzle, firmly holding it tight within the grip of his teeth. It was sturdy, but with a pull, he lifted it from the stack, balancing it between his jaws. While he may not possess a human’s hand’s ability to twirl whichever object it held, he did have the advantage that the alien would need to hold its staff in both hands to pour its full strength into the baton.

And his next trick was one the other guy would never see coming.

He charged forward, brass-girded hooves stomping across the stoney warehouse floor. No big surprise there for the human, true, whom he knew had time to dodge him, but the important part was that it’d be forced to duck out of the way, evading his staff’s length. Whether to the left or right made no difference. The surrounding shelves ensured that. Because the great thing about this nifty little trick was that the enemy’s attention would be focused on the baton – which was to say, the wrong place entirely.

All it took was a heartbeat. Still a good ten feet away from his awaiting prey, he abruptly let his forehooves skid to a near halt, placing additional muscular pressure on his wings – and then gravity, aided by the balance and counterweight provided by the heavy wooden staff to either side of his firmly straightened shoulders, did the rest as the concentrated force in his upper body mass, along with the staff’s perfect horizontality, turned a simple act of elastic bucking into a full mid-air forward flip.

Yes, this sucker would feel Locksmith’s hocks smash his face in, see if he didn’t.

… Except he didn’t.

Against all his expectations, the creature jumped above him, barely dodging what would have been a very painful impact. It clearly took some effort, but even then, Locksmith found himself slack-jawed at the sight of the human managed to support itself across the shelves, legs split evenly to support its weight.

In an equally fast move, the human jumped off its position and struck Locksmith in the back. Stumbling down, he barely managed to readjust himself when the human followed up its opening strike with a spin and a powerful kick, sending him crashing into the shelves.

But Locksmith would not be cast down so easily. With a mighty growl, he gripped onto his staff and dug his way out of the debris. His eyes darted left and right, before spotting the human ever so smugly dusting off its armor.

The human sighed. “You’re much more persistent than you look.”

Locksmith spat. “Then you ain’t seen nothing yet!” he shouted, stomping down a hoof. With fire in his eyes, the ashen pegasus lifted the wooden staff held in his mouth and charged.

Perhaps it was mere luck, or the raw power driving his anger-fuelled bulk, but this time, when he swung the staff around, the creature didn’t quite succeed in ducking the blow. Locksmith heard wood make impact against bone, with a sharp, crunching sound.

Even as he tumbled from the human’s retaliatory kick, he knew he’d broken something. Glancing at the human, Locksmith saw him kneel down, holding one of his hands in restrained, yet visible pain.

“Not so tough now, are ya?” he sneered, though he wisely kept himself at a distance, with the staff held down in a defensive position. “Ya know, before coming ‘ere, I’d heard some guff ‘bout how special it makes you apes, havin’ those long, spindly things at the end of yer forelegs.” He pawed at the ground with a brass-lined forehoof. “But now ya see the downside, dontcha? Break just one finger… and buck goes your grasp.”

The human looked up at him. “You shouldn’t mouth off so…” it whispered dangerously.

“What’re yer gonna do to me now, ape?” Locksmith taunted, flapping a wing in derision. “I know, how ‘bout taking a swing at me from the rafters, you got four of those things, right? Try it, I’ll give ya a head start, ten seconds as the crow flies by night. I’ve a full six joints to bear behind me ‘ere!”

“Seven. And one too many.”

Before Locksmith could figure out what it meant by that, the alien creature was reaching for its discarded wooden staff again, just as he’d anticipated. But, rather than trying to get back to its knees and smash down on him as he was expecting, it grabbed the pole’s far end and, with a flicker of its wrist, swished the thing around in a ninety-degree turn across the ground, like the dial on a clock, catching him right in the jaw

It was, to say the least, a very unpleasant impact. Stumbling backward, he spat out a tooth.

“If you call yourself a real stallion,” said the human, painfully yet resolutely ambling back up to a stand, “Your deeds will speak louder than your words, much louder. Now quit this nonsense and call it a day.”

Through the white haze his fractured jaw had left him with, Locksmith saw the human, who’d planted the staff to the ground with its good hand for support, use its wounded limb to pull out two pairs of hoofcuffs from its pocket.

“Here, put these on yourself and you can leave with some semblance of dignity,” finished the human wearily. “Else you’ll be made to look the fool, more than you already have.”

“Put those on,” Locksmith repeated indignantly. “Are ya out of yer darn mind? No, never! That’s what kept happening to Shorty, throwin’ the fight outta some half-reared notion of honor, and see where that landed him. You’re not corralling me!”

Even in his defiance, he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the human should it make the first move again.

“Well,” the human replied in a completely flat tone, as he staggered and shored up his stance. “It was worth a shot.”

Harwood whistled as kept a trained eye on where the ghoul had sunk.

“Shouldn’t assume all’s for the best,” he explained. “If that’s where it came from, it can come back from there, see? But you did a fine job on that Frankenstein, Miss. We could stand to continue adapting unsullied Equusite techniques for battle in the remaining months.”

“Something the Major taught you, Applejack?

For some reason, Rarity felt compelled to whisper as the human soldier went on his way, leading the troops at his command. He still didn’t seem to have recognized them as the Element Bearers – but given how covered in dirt and grime they were, was that so surprising?

“Hm?” Applejack tilted her head at the questio. “Oh, no. That was my personal trainer’s doing, Ah just used the fighting style the Major taught me and mixed them together. Maud’s even better at this than me, quicker too.”

“Pinkie’s older sis, right?” Vinyl asked, giving the claypit a look of hate. “Yeah, she’s a beast. I’ve seen her take down a reinforced wall with a flurry of punches. Like that anime show… what was it called it again?”

“Fist of Northstar.” Rarity answered unthinkingly.

“Yeah! That’s the one… hey? How do you know that?”

Rarity blushed brightly at Vinyl’s prodding, and began to prim her mane.

“She don’t talk much, though…” mused Applejack. “And has a small pet.. rock. Of all things.” The applefarmer giggled. “Pinkie called her over, asked her to teach me her special skills, because Ah was the strongest mare she knew, besides Maud herself. Maud took a look at mahself and said mah magic was much more… potent than hers, so she taught me the basic’s ‘Double Layers’... Heh, first time Ah got it right, Ah blew a boulder to dust because Ah was so frustrated with it. Maud said she was impressed… didn’t rightly look it–”

“Guys, weapons up!” Vinyl called out.

All the soldiers in the area, plus Noteworthy their captive, tensed, and those who bore arms raised their weapons in response to the order.

To Rarity’s great fear, the ground began to rumble again, a magical surge spiking all around.

“Not good,” Harwood whispered from up ahead, rifle aimed at the claypit.

The pit erupted.

Had the clay been as magically superheated as it was an hour ago, the rain of burning mud would have scalded the skin off each and every one of them. Fortunately, though that was a relative term in Rarity’s humble opinion, the worst that befell them was just a new layer of filth.

To begin with.

All eyes widened in the face of what they saw. Multiple skulls rose up from the muck, jagged teeth snapping like piranhas. As the skulls rose further, it dawned on everyone watching that there were ten faces in all, five to a row, and another. Just as that sobering thought set in, one more skull burst forth, larger than any of the others combined.

Swallowing, the large griffon checked his talons. “Don’t tell me… those are… its fingers?”

“We don’t want the whole of it coming back up,” said Harwood, his tone unnaturally steady. A horrid slurping sound reached them from the pit. “But it would seem to be draining the earth itself to grow bigger.”

“What’s to do?” asked the griffon tremulously.

“I see only one thing for it, Corporal Harwood,” Vinyl told him grimly. “Those net guns. If we can’t stop the creature from regenerating, we trap it.”

“Wolfsschanze!” barked Harwood, dispensing with preliminaries.

“I’m on it!”

The large griffon launched a net at the closest group of ghouls. Rarity knew this would normally hinder even a unicorn, but, recoiling, she realized the group weren’t even slown as they tore through the net like paper

Wolfsschanze seemed put out by the foe’s feat. “Oh…”

“Ease up, lad, blade out,” the blue pegasus told him, cradling her wing. “Remember old Gilford’s teachings.”

“Aye!” Returned to life, he pulled out his blade and lobbed the head off an approaching ghoul, freshly clawing its way out of the expanse that was the claypit. “Much better! Call it a start on my road toward the Tournament!”

“Applejack!”

Ducking a blow, Rarity was startled to hear it was Noteworthy who had just cried out. “You need to do that thing again!”

“Ah am doing that thing again!” Applejack barked back, bucking a ghoul to dust with ease.

“No! I mean disrupt the channel of magic!” he shouted desperately. “That ghoul from before, it’s controlling them through the ground. You have to hit the ground and force your magic through to disrupt it! Like hitting the right key on a piano!”

That was when Rarity remembered she’d never let go of that horrid, rusty old nail. “Fluttershy! Fluttershy, what am I keeping this thing for!?”

For a mare of timid repute, Fluttershy was ducking and weaving amassing ghouls like a bird flitting through trees, imbued with a grace and, dare one say it, confidence to her flight which had not been present before.

“No idea!” her friend called back. “Were you planning to stitch a thread with it?”

“Stitch? No…” And surrounded by the ghoul’s familiars, memory hit her. “But stake… stake, like a vampire! That must be it! We’ll drive a stake through its heart!”

“What heart?” yelled Applejack. “That thing’s nought but mud and bones!”

“But it’s more than that!” exclaimed Rarity, feeling the excitement of discovery pouring into her. Was this how Twilight felt all the time? “If it’s undead, it doesn’t need a centerpiece to channel thoughts through… it’s like a single, smooth, well okay, maybe not-so-smooth pattern! We just need to spread the same damage everywhere at once!”

“Real tall order there,” commented the Changeling, who’d adopted the tactic of shifting into various ghouls in an altogether unsuccesful attempt at confusing the real deal. “How’d you propose to do that, Miss?”

Rarity stared intently at the nail, all else drifting from her mind.

‘Rares, you fussy, unrealistic perfectionist, this had better work...’

Gulping down her nervousness, Applejack carefully trudged down from the far end into the muddy depths of the claypit. Far from her friends and allies, certainly not far enough for comfort from the raging sounds of battle – or from the monster itself, though it did not see her. The mud squelped and squelched beneath her hooves and she felt sure the thing must hear those treacherous sounds as she tip-toed below the overhang, never straying too close to the primary ghoul, always wary of any sentinels it may have left, however unlikely that was. Expected the unexpected, a valuable doctrine for survival.

Her mind wandered back to Granny Smith, that last, painful discussion they’d shared after she returned home with an unconscious Applebloom across her withers. How her grandmother had urged her not to recklessly place herself in the line of fire, to leave other, more qualified characters in the business of bringing justice to her little sister’s harmers, who’d abducted a man fighting for his right to live in the face of annihiliation by a twisted mirror-land of all she held dear. She’d gone against her elder’s wish as soon as the danger, literally, showed up on her doorstep, yet she’d been prepared. Even pulled the wool over their eyes to keep them from cutting across the Zap-Apple orchard.

Thinking of Zap-Apples reminded her just how insane Rarity’s scheme really was.

‘Granny… Applebloom… Mac… this is it, she told herself. ‘And Flutters… if only Rainbow had been here. Glide higher than ever, girl…’

For the third time on that long, tiring afternoon, torrential rain fell from the heavens.

The primary ghoul squatting the claypool scarcely took notice of it, but Applejack prayed fervently the cloudburst would remain localized as it should. She was finding it troublesome not to splutter merely from all the off-shoot driplets falling by, and doing so meant suicide, surprise being her sole advantage in this situation.

Something whizzed through the air and hit the ghoul square between the eyes.

This elicited a roar, a roar which still had the power to send ice cubes down her neck, yet felt bizarrely token at that stage, as if even the snarling, feral creature which emitted these noises had grown to consider this par for the course.

Applejack dispelled a shiver. No doubt it knew that it, honestly, had got them on the ropes.

… All changed once a bolt of lightning struck the rusty nail embedded in the creature’s skull.

Earth is not the greatest of conductors, Applejack knew it well. Except this creature was not wholly of the earth, for bone without skin and blood without flesh constitued its lifeforce, and the water from the storm allowed the electricity to course far more readily through its body. In the second before, stunned, the creature could react, a buzz emanated dimly on the edge of her hearing, a cross between an arythmically beating heart and the electric, musical crackle of rice paper – Vinyl was no stranger to the uncanny art getting the nervous system psyched, as the blue aura envelopping the makeshift lightning rod could attest.

‘And well done too with that black cloud, Fluttershy.’

The ghoul did not roar this time. It screamed.

Laws of physics, of a sort which she wouldn’t have grasped on the best of days, even with Twilight to guide her through, took over, all the more distorted by the rip in reality at work due to the feral creature’s mere existence. Thrashing wildly, madly, any semblance of rational thought it may have had dissolved. The ghoul knew no better than to blindly grasp for salvation in doing the same thing it had been doing before, draining the clay around it to build a body, not realizing how this energy, consumed too fast, was slowly burning it up.

Steam arose, like it would on a horse exhausted of the chase, from the creature’s moist hide.

Cracks began to zig-zag along the base of its skull.

Now was her chance.

Something raked her shins. Yowling in pain, Applejack snapped her head back to find that a lesser ghoul had spotted her and attacked, baring its teeth viciouly. She bucked it in the face, breaking right through the bone, yet another took its place, followed by two more, lunging at her to bury her where she stood, here in this muddy hellscape.

“Let’s not have any of that, ya varmints!” Applejack roared in her turn, and charged for the exposed face of the great ghoul.

She hit the nail on the head.

Underwhelmingly, it was as if Vinyl’s horn short-circuited and fizzled out.

“Lieutenant?” Rarity asked her worriedly. “What does that mean? Did something go wrong? Could I have miscalculated?”

Vinyl shrugged, too weary now for any fears or anger.

Then, behold! A noise of what sounded like, Rarity would never had expected it, shattering porcelain rumbled throughout the claypit, which was still obscured for an instant by the torrential rain, until no further than a microsecond later when a veritable shockwave blew the water into a shower of needle-like drops, which splattered the bemused onlookers.

Something orange fell from the sky and cratered the ground like a meteor.

Gasping, Rarity recognized who it was. The farmer’s habitually plaited mane was all a-frazzle, near as bad as fillyhood Pinkie’s on the fateful day of that Sonic Rainboom, and her stetson had blown away. She also sported a wild look in her habitually placid green eyes.

“I’m riding high!” whooped Applejack, rearing up. “C’mon, Rares, Flutters! Let’s blow this joint!”

There was no other word for it – she zoomed down the dirt track, straight for the brickyard.

“Applejack!” Rarity cried out after the galloping, crazed farmpony. “Applejack, NO!”

But it was too late. Applejack spun around and, with one great, single kick of her hyper-electrified hindlegs, the whole eastern wall of the brickyard came tumbling down with a mighty crash in a cloud of powdery pink dust.

Taken aback by the shock, everything went quiet, with only the sound of the stirring wind, and, if Rarity’s ears weren’t mistaken, a melee inside the warehouse to hint at further disturbance.

Vinyl was first to speak, albeit mumbling so low that Rarity scarcely picked up on her words.

“Showoff...”

Inside the depot, both fighters, human and pegasus, heard a terrible noise.

“What was th–”

Locksmith had no time to finish before a tile came loose from the ceiling and smacked him right in the head. Dazed, he lost his balance in mid-flight, turning tailspin with no further control over his trajectory. Which, unfortunately, happened to be slap-bang in the direction of where the whole far wall was beginning to collapse.

“Just a bump to the head,” he slurred. “No big deal. You stay right there, monkey, I’m-”

“BREACHING!”

A loud bang reverberated, and the double door flew straight for his face. The impact sent him tumbling backwards, close to a pile of crates such as littered the whole warehouse, and onto the lower end of a newly-sawn plank, left to lean against a fresh pile of red bricks. Blinking back tears from the dust and smoke, Locksmith felt more than saw a dark shadow fall across his view. Not the human. Humans, so far as he knew, couldn’t fly, not even whatever unnatural creature this was who’d fought him to a standstill. Instead, a familiar-looking pegasus mare brought herself to hover in his sights.

“Hello,” she said, gazing down coldly at him. “Nice to see you again.”

Before he could formulate any coherent response, the old foe, Daring’s first sidekick, fell upon the upper end of the plank with such force, she’d practically taken a dive. And as Equus’ own peculiar laws of physics took over, the ensuing see-saw effect propelled him right over her head, and sent him landing, neat as you please, into the mouth of an open waiting crate.

The last thing he saw and heard was the lid slam close on him, cutting off all light.

“Nice move, Mrs. Fuse,” complimented Jaka, nursing his hand. “Thanks for your help.”

“S’ nuthin’, good fir, jus’ ha’ bone ‘o pig wi’ im,” Minus replied through a mouthful of hammer, nuzzling the crate as she swiftly went about the business of nailing it shut on four corners.

The injured Sergeant gave her a nod, then turned to face a very weary-looking Harwood. The medic, along with the rest of the taskforce, had inexplicably decided to collapse a wall, and then, as if to make a clean job of it, breach a door open. Quite spectacularly, he might add.

“That was a powerful breach you did there, Corporal,” he said sternly. “Could’ve hit any of us with that risky move.”

“With due respect Sarge,” Harwood began, taking a few glances at the rest of the group. Indeed, even Wolfsschanze and Coxa looked exhausted. “We’re all a bit drained, but fuck it! We caught the bugger.”

Minus nodded, and let the hammer drop to the floor.

“Reinforced birchwood casing, best in quality for carrying bricks,” she told the crate smugly. “And sorry, no lock to pick. Just you try bucking your way outta this one, chowderhead. That was for my husband.”

The pilot halted in mid-checkup on her flying machine, her eyes darting around in sudden alert. Prasad unholstered her flintlock, aiming it at the trees surrounding the two of them.

“Uh, Miss Prasad?”

“Shh… quiet, something’s not right.”

Obediently, Blackberry fell silent, scarcely daring to draw a single breath. A cold chill slowly began to creep over him, and it had nothing to do with the wind and gentle rustling which were the only sounds left to perturb the quiet of the clearing. As for the woman, he saw tension in her stance, yet there was no longer any sign of her previous, restrained fury. This was frightening in its own way, though. Before, the human female had appeared to him as a fantastic beast, then, further down the line, as a person with no love for him. Watching her rhythmically sweep the weapon over the surrounding area, aim always dead ahead, it struck him how little Prasad looked and moved like a living soul.

A mare emerged from the foliage to their right.

“Hold your fire,” she stated laconically, raising a golden hoof that looked made of porcelain, though whether in greeting or in command, he could not tell. “Sergeant Prasad. New orders have come in.”

Thus met, Prasad lowered her flintlock by an inch, but neither aim, stance, nor that eerie feeling of automated reaction left her. If anything, she seemed to grow more tense. Blackberry noticed her lips parted slightly from the effort not to openly grit her teeth.

“Operative Cutter,” the pilot responded with a near-matching lack of emotion. “Please state your business. I have my report to make,” she concluded, shrugging her shoulder at Blackberry. Prasad had placed herself cleverly. While she was no longer facing him directly, the pilot stood stiff at a ninety-degree angle from him, ensuring he remained in her peripheral vision as she maintained eye contact with the newcomer.

The mare, Cutter, nodded in acknowledgment. “Would seem we are on the same page, yes. Your captive is subject to these new orders. You are to deliver him effective immediately. Sanction Three has been declared.”

It was a shock to Blackberry, how quickly all the color seemed to slip out of the dark-skinned woman’s already haggard face.

“Sanction Three?” she whispered. “No… no, that can’t be right. The exact purpose of this whole operation was to go against the grain. That’s why I received orders to fly in natives so they could do the job properly, not leave it to psychos on a leash like you!”

“Give the colt to me,” Cutter replied, as though she hadn’t heard the woman. “You are under no duty to do this yourself. But chain-of-command dictates that you do not impede my task.”

Prasad threw one glance in his direction. One.

“No,” she told the mare. “Black ops or not, I don’t care who you are, responsibility for the kid falls to me first. And I must have spoken confirmation from Command that they want this.”

“Will everyone stop calling me ‘kid’ or ‘colt’!” Blackberry exploded, unable to hold himself in any longer. Dazed, sweating, forehooves knocking together, a dim awareness subsisted that nothing he did now would help, hence he had nothing to lose. “Sweet summer sun in the heavens above, if you’re g-gonna do me in, just go ahead and blasted do it, but at least have the basic d-decency to treat me like a person, not a ch-china doll you can toss around!”

His outburst caught the pilot off-guard. And in just that time, a gleaming knife suddenly swept in from where it had lain hidden, beneath the chopper’s belly. It darted swiftly through the air like an arrow, struck Prasad in the shoulder, slicing clean through skin and flesh. All it had taken to miss her neck was that she’d tilted back at the sound of Blackberry’s shout.

“AAARGH!”

Blackberry barely registered what had just transpired, when a second knife slammed into the chopper’s metal hull. Only moments later did he realize it was meant for his eye. As Prasad collapsed, she managed to fire off a few shots from her weapon – into thin air, for the mare had disappeared in a cloud of dust and smoke.

The first knife swerved around again, headed for the space between muzzle and forehead. There came a sharp flicker of light, a sound of metal against metal, and at the last second, something shiny slammed the horrid blade away, shielding him.

He turned to see who it was. And almost fainted at what absurd sight he took in. Standing not two paces from him, battered and bloodied and bruised, yet steady on her hooves and a mad gleam in one eye, was an exact copy of the attacking mare, right down to the razor-straight mane covering half her face.

“I never die, yes...” the duplicate apparition whispered, smiling ferally.

Through her pain, Prasad’s eyes widened in recognition.

“You! But then, that must mean–”

“Heads down!” yelled the new Cutter. No sooner had she said so, did the knife embedded in the the chopper’s hull come loose and, floating, slash towards the kneeling woman.

When he thought about it later, Blackberry would never quite be sure if he correctly remembered what he claimed. The new Cutter dashed by with such speed, the uncanny mare turned into no less than a blur of green and gold, striking the offending knife off-course before further harm came to Prasad. The expression he’d use was on the nose, and yet, no more or less suiting than it sounded.

‘Like a demon out of Tartarus…’

And the new Cutter, the real Cutter, presumably, given the look of understanding which dawned upon Prasad, stood stock still, her fierce gaze fixed onto the patch of grass the mare in disguise had vacated mere moments ago. Then, she turned to face Prasad.

“Inform Corporal Bjorgman. The Blue Spy is out of your control. She must be contained,.” Pause. “By the way,” she smirked, unblinking stare taking them both in. “You pass the test.”

The mare whipped her head around, before galloping into the forest, following after the Spy. And, quite as abruptly as the altercation occurred, the clearing fell into silence once more, punctuated solely by Prasad’s heavy breathing, and his own.

“There’s a medical kit, back of the chopper,” Prasad groaned. “Alcohol and bandages. Get it.”

“B-but what-about...”

“Listen, ki... Blackberry, do as I say. I’ll get Ana on the line. Now, hurry.”

Handgun withdrawn but not raised, Jaka peered through the massive hole in the wall.

“You sure this is the place?”

“Affirmative,” said Harwood. “Unless the Major went up and away, he should be inside. Looks like our crazy mare hit the right spot.”

“Alright, Corporal. Proceed.”

With bated breath, Harwood tentatively started down the piles of debris.

“Major Bauer?” he called out. “Major Bauer, do you hear me?”

“Barely, but yes!” someone answered from the confines of the drying shed.

“Major, are you hurt?”

Bauer emerged, seeming no worse for the war. “No. But I’d have gladly killed some of Fuse’s crew if they tried getting their mitts on Discord.”

“Discord’s here?”

With a thumb, Stephan gestured over his shoulder. “Him and his little girl. He’s been poisoned with something called tatzelwurm venom. Get our experts on him ASAP.”

Harwood nodded, reaching for his radio. “On it, sir.”

“Thank you, soldier,” Bauer told him formally. “Who’s your commanding officer?”

“That would be me, sir,” said Jaka, stepping forward. “I apologize for the delay. Events far beyond our control… complicated the mission.”

“I can vouch for that, sir,” Harwood cut in. “Both the Loyalists, and these… these gangsters, have mostly been subdued. Some of the conspirators may require further attention… such as this mare’s husband.”

He indicated the sandy pegasus who’d come in with the Sarge, unimpeded and unconcerned by the occupying forces, as though she owned the placed, which wasn’t far from the truth.

“Major,” Fuse’s wife said politely, “I know my husband’s gonna be in a tight spot for the foreseeable future, and I understand the trouble he’s caused you. But I hope you’ll accept this package as a token of good faith. Call it an early Hearthswarming present, if you will.”

A pale yellow, wooden crate was brought in, levitated by two white unicorn mares, one of whom Harwood recognised as Lieutenant Scratch. The second mare, a dainty wench sporting a well-kempt purple mane, reacted to the sight of Bauer with a slight widening of the eyes, followed by an immediate snap to attention and a salute.

“At ease,” said Bauer, holding up a hand, “Private Belle.”

So, not only was this mare a native from the more peaceful Equestria he’d found himself in together with Jaka and Ana’s side, she was an individual counterpart to the sextuplet he and the PHL had come to know only as the Solar Tyrant’s most trusted lieutenants. With a jolt, Harwood realised he should have identified her instantly, but due to some subconscious element within his psyche, his brain had apparently refused to draw the obvious connection.

Maybe the difference lay in how she’d dusted herself off immensely since their last encounter.

“What’s in the box?” enquired the Major.

“Something that’ll look good on our report,” Jaka said simply. “Although I regret to say that a few gang members did escape, including the mare who conjured up the artificial adversary which caused us such grief, the ringleader has been taken into… ahem, custody.”

“Hey! HEY!” A muffled voice cut in from the crate, accompanied by an incessant knocking. “It’s all dark in ‘ere! Let me out! Please, let me out!”

“Oh, quiet, you little shit. Think you’ve got problems?” Harwood smartly quipped. “Ever get yourself cuffed to your bed, with a perfectly good pint of beer across the room, out of reach, and to add insult to injury, your roommate just had to go and lose the keys?”

Even Jaka raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds fun!” Wolffschanze chirped in. Gilford rolled his eyes, and Snow Mist looked about ready to burst into a giggling fit.

“Long story, guys,” sighed Harwood. “She’s never letting me live that down, even though it was her bright idea to cuff me.”

“Oh! Oh, I remember that!” Snow Mist snickered. “Yeah, Ana told me you were practically in hysterics over the giant rat inside the room. She had to bust the door open, barge in and rescue ya from that, and then you wouldn’t stop thank–”

“I said, long story, Snow Mist, please.” Harwood emphatically stated, turning away from the now-giggling pegasus, huffing and crossing his arms.

“Ah, you pair,” said Snow Mist, wiping her eyes. “But she was really apologetic about not thinking it through. She did look like she felt bad, Har, so there’s that.”

“...Yes, well, she has my thanks, then.”

He inwardly hoped nobody noticed the slight blush he felt on his cheeks.

Harwood coughed. “Anyway,” he resumed, uncrossing his arms to give the shaking crate an indulgent pat, “Better get used to it, chap, because where you’re going, you’re going to be in the dark for a very long time.”

“What brought down that wall, anyway?” demanded Bauer.

When the unicorn mare, Rarity, chuckled at that, it sounded to Harwood like the first honest laugh she’d allowed herself in a very long time.

“Just a silly pony called Applejack.”

“Hold still, hold still,” Blackberry stated, hooves working fast to staunch Prasad’s bleeding.

“Alright, kid, let’s start this over,” the human pilot grunted through clenched teeth, though Blackberry couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or restrained fury. “What you’re saying is, there’s gangsters present at the brickyard?”

Blackberry wiped his forehead. “I think I prefer pirates anyway,” he muttered helplessly.

This only earned a snort in response. “Ugh, get the feeling there’s plenty we missed out on.” Prasad shot a gaze back towards the treeline where the two combatants had vanished into. “And by the look of things,” she added darkly, grasping her shoulder, “this ain’t done yet. Hurry up so I can radio Command. Need to tell them the Blue Spy has gone rogue…”