//------------------------------//
// Sus-An 
// Story: Forged Anew 
// by Vermillion Prose 
//------------------------------//

The faint sound of magic and the murmuring of working physicians filled one of the larger guest rooms in Twilight’s castle. The princess herself sat quietly next to Hesperos, who stood imposingly next to her. While most ponies were ever wary of him, she could read his mood in a way most never could.

He was alert, on edge, a high tension wire ready to snap.

They had discussed at length what to do with the astartes they had recovered from the armory. Without hesitation, the rubricae had armed himself thoroughly. Ammunition had been acquired and stored in carefully positioned pouches on his waist, and a fairly large crate of bolt rounds was secured in his room. His boltgun was in hand more often than not now that it was useful again, and an ancient and ornate plasma pistol was locked to his thigh. Cylindrical devices he had explained were explosives of various kinds completed his repertoire, and even with his fierce loyalty such a concentrated show of combat power made her somewhat nervous.

She once more discarded such concerns as she considered the massive body lying on the reinforced bed acquired specifically to handle the absurd mass of the superhuman. She had asked the identity of the warrior, and though Hesperos had his suspicions, he had not deigned to share them.

It had been determined the comatose warrior would not likely be a threat, and that any injuries he may have sustained should be treated. Hesperos had not openly dissented, but his distaste and concern for the idea was palpable. He had argued with Twilight regarding the dangers and risks of a superhuman killing machine being restored and awoken, but her argument that this was no different than Hesperos’s own arrival and her adamant stance of extending the olive branch had overridden his objections. His more complete wargear was his answer.

Using guidance gleaned from study with the rubricae, Twilight lit her magic and began disengaging the seals of the battered and scorched power armor encasing the space marine. She grunted as she was forced to unweld seams and tear ruined seals to properly free the dense ceramite plating and durable undersuit from the body. She did not attempt to lift any of the pieces free until she successfully disengaged the helmet seal with a pop of equalizing pressure. All ponies present gasped, some looking ill, as the helm was slowly pulled off.

Onyx skin steamed for a moment in the cool air, sweat or residue quickly swept away in the gentle air currents of moving bodies. Ponies cringed at what they believed to be fatal, utterly ruinous burns over his skin. Hesperos merely nodded, as if something had been confirmed.

“Salamander,” he stated, as if it was perfectly normal and obvious. Twilight offered him a questioning glance as her horn lit and his psi-stone glowed. The mental conversation hastened things along and her eyes widened in awe.

“So… that’s normal? I mean, for a… Salamander?” The name was spoken somewhat awkwardly, the concepts still forming in her mind. “So is he a dragon hybrid, or…?” She sensed Hesperos’s amusement as he clarified the strange genetic quirk that caused such strange pigmentation in the sons of Vulkan. He also highlighted their innate resistance to heat, likely the only thing allowing the battered man to survive.

As she encouraged the rest of the medical ponies to aid her in removing the armor, she gasped at what was much more obviously damage.

Great whorling patterns of scar tissue were interrupted by raw and weeping burns, much more recent. The part of her that had gained knowledge through the recent mental link identified the ritual brands that had not been ruined by injury. As the plates and undersuit came away, piece by piece, medical scans and visual inspection noted uncountable burns, lacerations, and bone fractures, many of which were already well into the healing stages. Of more note were a multitude of internal injuries to anatomy that utterly baffled most of the physicians present.

When she shared her findings with Hesperos, the rubricae wandered over to observe, though she could tell he was observing less of his physical state and more the psychic.

“The sus-an membrane…” he stated slowly aloud, the other ponies in the room glancing at him nervously and in confusion. “Suspended animation; a healing trance,” he simplified and clarified at once. “He requires an apothecary.” The doctors looked indignant at the the use of the archaic term, feeling discounted, but Twilight allayed their fears.

“We don’t exactly have any space marine healers around. Didn’t your legion use magic for these things?”

Hesperos turned to regard her. “We have no practitioner of the Pavoni arts here…” he trailed off, displeased with the eager look she was giving him.