Shattered

by sunstar93

Chapter IV

The sun has just broken through the mist when I step forward to face my opponent. Striker has ordered early morning training, and my opponent still looks drowsy. He is a formidable challenger, a dark gold stallion with a blazing orange and red mane; he is missing most of his left ear and it curls over, the scar jagged and coarse as though it had been chewed off. Wildfire shakes his head, his eyes clearing as he begins to wake up, and flicks his short tail. I stomp the ground with one hoof and toss my head in response. Striker steps back and gives us the signal to begin.

Wildfire doesn’t charge right away, instead breaking into a gallop and circling around me. I know this move: he will try to confuse me and make me dizzy before charging at me from the side. I am ready, lowering my head and backing up, trying to keep him in front of me. He breaks from his circle and gallops towards me, his head so low that his muzzle is almost skimming the ground. I wait until he is almost on top of me before I dive to the left, barely getting out of his way. I take advantage of the two lower blades on my helmet, stretching my neck forward and using all of my strength to force them under Wildfire’s stomach and bring my head up. It works, and with his balance thrown off, Wildfire stumbles and crashes onto his side. I spin around and raise my hind legs, my hooves making contact with his armor with a deafening clang. I hear him gasp for breath as the wind is knocked out of him and there is at least one dent right behind his elbow. With the belly of his armor exposed, the metal is thinner, since it relies on the pony to stay upright.

Wildfire struggles to his hooves, panting, and growls, but I can’t make out his words. He bucks in frustration and gallops in my direction. I whirl around and meet him head-on, our helmets scraping together, the blades grating against each other. We are in a deadlock and he forces his head up, finally breaking us apart and charging forward again, hitting me in the chest before I can react. I fly backwards, stirring up dust, and scramble to stand up. Wildfire is suddenly in front of me, but I lower my head and our helmets are again locked together. I strain my muscles, willing myself to push him back. The sweat beads down my forehead and into my eyes, the salty sting blurring my vision. I muster my strength and take a step forward, the muscles in my neck screaming to surrender. I try to take another step, but it is just too much. My legs finally give out and I fall to my knees, defeated. Wildfire steps back and stands before me, ready in case I try to attack him again. But I surrender.

Striker trots towards us, grinning, and I can see that he is proud. I slowly get to my hooves and Wildfire removes his helmet. “You’re getting better, especially with your offense,” he compliments. I take off my helmet, my forelock plastered to my skin with sweat. “But next time, if you’re locked head-on, try shaking him off to the side. Then, if he breaks, you can get him with an uppercut under his jaw with your blade.” I nod, thankful for the advice.

Wildfire looks as if he has barely broken a sweat, but I can see that the skin under the chainmail is nearly black. Father approaches us and still looks drained, but he walks with confidence and stands tall.

“Storm is getting better. He actually gave Wildfire a tough time,” Striker reports. Father smiles as Striker continues, “I think these early-morning sessions are definitely helping them improve.”

“Can’t never have too much practice,” Father remarks. I can see the pride radiating in his eyes and my chest swells. Father is everything to me: my role model, my teacher. Striker begins to walk away, calling for two more armored stallions to meet in the center where Wildfire and I fought. I follow Father and Wildfire to the side lines, the morning sun casting long shadows in front of us. Right now, I wish I could go back to sleep and recover from the intense practice session.

Suddenly, there is a deep bellow as the war horn sounds. It is an intricately designed one-of-a-kind horn, carved and shaped to obtain the perfect pitch. It was actually Apple Bloom’s idea, as a kind of warning system to signal an imminent attack on New Ponyville.

There is a brief moment of panic, and I even find my own heart racing in my chest. Swift Breeze appears outside the armory, trying to settle the frightened ponies. She calls for the infantry to don their armor and meet her by the gate. I see Ice Flower gallop past me, followed by Copper, and I feel my jaw clench, teeth grinding together.

Father gallops back to the house to retrieve his armor and Striker is rounding up the rest of the Juggernauts, looking perfectly at ease in the pandemonium. Applejack appears outside of the main building and begins to call on some of the infantry captains, ordering them to ensure that the few citizens are safely in their homes and out of the way. The hoof canoneers race back and forth from the black powder storage, Father cutting through their path as he rejoins us. I put on my helmet again, waiting for Father or Striker to say something. Wildfire shuffles next to me, impatient. One of the guards on the opposite side of the wall raises the iron gate, and I briefly catch the word “Everfree” as he briefs Father on what is happening outside. The guard then gallops to Applejack and Swift Breeze, explaining it to them as well.

Father glances back over us before flicking his docked tail and signaling for us to move out.

Author's Note:

This is kind of a short chapter...sorry!

Also, the war horn is similar to the one used by the Pegasi in the Season 2 episode "Hurricane Fluttershy".

Comments

[sunstar93]

Yes they are! And I will have the next chapter put up soon so you won't have to wait long