Wind and Stone

by Ruirik

Rebirth

Colts and fillies knew nothing about death. After all, the youthful mind wasn’t capable of processing abstraction or eternity. The youth could understand only what was in the present. Hunger, satisfaction, pain, pleasure; these were the concepts that existed in the moment and were thusly comprehensible to the youthful mind.

Surely consequence had been learned over time. The pursuit of an action in the cause of satisfaction could on occasion produce punishment—pain. Through the repetition of trial to gain satisfaction and subsequent pain, the youthful mind began to conceptualize orders of events, and thus could begin to consider how actions produced reactions—consequences.

Yet these observations were short lived. At most a consequence would last a few hours: the sting of one’s flank or cheek after the cuff of a parent’s hoof or the burn of a wound sustained from a brave jump. Even positive consequence: the satisfaction of a warm meal, the praise of another from a task well done was equally fleeting, and after each came the next set of events.

Like all the rest of his ilk, the colt had struggled with the concept of death. Food, of course, was dead, but it was food. To the youthful mind, incapable as it was of seeing past itself, the food existed only to fulfill the need of hunger and give satisfaction. To be alive meant to exist as the youth perceived it. One had to display the very signs of life that he could understand; that of needs and fulfillments.

Until Nimbus he had never understood death.

Since the last hybrid had satisfied itself in his body, the colt drifted in and out of consciousness, though for how long he was never sure. On occasion he was perfectly aware of where he was. He remembered what had happened, the spear he’d leapt into, and the faces of ponies he found familiar as they worked to save his life. Other times the world was blurred, as though he was observing everything through a thick pane of clouded glass. The figures he saw in the room moved slowly and sometimes quickly. Most of the time they seemed to ignore him, though the colt was fairly certain he’d been made to drink something from time to time.

The pain of his wounds came and went, much like his moments of lucidity. Sometimes he felt nothing, others he wished Gnade’s spear had sent him to the Great Skies where he could be with Longbow and Dawn. Yet he languished in his mortal coil, drifting between those blissful bouts of numbness and the terrible moments of torment.

Yet through it all, there was one presence he continued to notice. It was that of the tall mare with a broad chest and a coat pure as the freshly fallen snow. In his more lucid moments he saw her. She tended to his wounds, talked to him, and at night, when the nightmares came and the pain of his wounds grew too great, she gave him wine and held him against her breast until he grew calm.

How she reminded him of a divine creature he would never forget. To his unfocused eyes she moved about his vision with a glow that seemed to spring from the depths of her soul and cast its illumination upon the room. The colt found it nearly blinding at times, and in those moments he found himself resisting the urge to pull the sheets over his head. It was one of the few things of beauty he’d seen in so long.

The wine burned his throat when he swallowed and left a taste in his mouth like that of soured fruit. He knew he protested, but the actions were never intentional. The forces that compelled the liquid into his mouth persisted, and time after time he was forced to yield to the burning, bitter fluid poured down his esophagus.

Despite his resistance, every dose of the liquid brought with it a sensation of floating. He was aware of his pain, aware of the horrible memories, but with the bittersweet medicine he felt as though he were floating several inches above it all. Each time he was aware of his compromised state, yet he could never quite get the feeling that he had the wherewithal to change his circumstance. Between the bouts of delirium, respite, and torment, he slept. The sleep he found was rarely peaceful.

Again and again he found himself back in the gnarled forest. The same dread wood he had found himself in the night he resolved to run away from home and find his brother. How many lifetimes ago that last night seemed from his lonely bed.

The forest was different than it had been before. The skies were red and painted with clouds like streaks of blood on fabric. The branches grew claws that swiped at his flanks. His wings were gone, replaced by bloodied pits where they’d been torn straight from the flesh. Sinew, tendon, muscle, and bone, all were visible in the weeping wounds.

Night after night the colt found himself in the same dream.

Night after night he ran in futility to escape the snagging branches and unseen beasts.

Night after night the shadows within the blackened wood set upon him with demonic purpose and threw themselves upon him like wolves. Hooked talons sunk into his flanks, cruel beaks bit down on the back of his neck.

Then, as the colt pleaded and cried for it to stop, a flash of brilliant light burned the monsters away. For the briefest of moments he beheld a mare, a silhouette of midnight blue in the center of the near blinding light. The figure approached him looking to his eyes taller than any mare he’d yet beheld, and on her head a crown of black, like that of a Nimban war helmet.

A hoof reached out to the colt from the light, and like a dream he saw the color shift from darkness into a divine white. The hoof, cool, yet gentle like the light of a summer’s moon, caressed his cheek like that of a mother, and in his mind he felt a warmth envelope him like a protective blanket. The colt’s eyes shot open and through the dim orange illumination of lanterns he beheld the divine mare clutching him to her breast.

Like a leaf trembling in the bitter autumn wind, the colt pressed his ear to her chest and listened to the slow rhythm of her heart. She was alive, and he sensed that through her will, he too was alive.

---

“The sentence is death.”

“Commander Moon, please,” Iron Rain pleaded with the bedridden stallion. “You can’t do this!”

“This is not some peddler’s deal, Iron,” Gold Moon all but spat her name. “She will suffer a traitor's death precisely as she deserves.”

Iron repressed a shudder. The death for traitorous soldiers in the legion was one most Nimbans found appalling. The Nimban way was quick, simple, even. You betrayed your comrades, your head was cut off. Nice and clean.

The Cirran way was fittingly more cruel yet masked with a lovely veneer of theatricality to make it more palatable. The condemned was marched out before an open court, given a brief show trial, then sentenced to death. The gathered masses were usually roped into the frenzy as well. The mare or stallion presiding over the trial would petition the crowd if there should be mercy or not. More often than not the crowds would demand their bloodlust be sated.

The sentence, at least for serving soldiers, was to be beaten to death. Friends were made to take up wooden practice swords and beat upon their friends, ponies they had trained with since the day they had enlisted, until dead. Sometimes one of the condemned pony’s cohorts would refuse to execute the punishment. In turn they would be made to share in it as befitting a traitor to the Empire. It was a controversial practice, one that often instilled a deep resentment in the rank and file.

Questionably more merciful was the Long Fall.

Nimbus always was more civilized.

Rain couldn’t stand for that. Not for a pony she hated, and certainly not for Summer. Her brother, her father, she could feel them glaring down upon her. Their immortal sounds demanded her to do the right thing, to save Summer. “She is a citizen of Nimbus and a brilliant medicus. I won’t—“

“Enough!” he shouted before a fit of coughing overtook him. When he spoke again, it was with that same lecturing, steady tone that he so often used, speaking down to the mare looming over him as if she were still a filly. “She disobeyed direct orders, killed prisoners of war, and attacked her fellow soldiers! No skill as a medicus, and certainly no place of birth, can compensate for that loss of discipline.”

Rain agreed, of course. How could she not? Nimbus had been a city built on discipline. It had been what kept them alive for so many generations between the borders of Cirra and Gryphus. What Summer did insulted her heritage, it insulted Rain’s command, and worst of all it sullied the memory of Nimbus itself. “Commander Moon, I’m not proposing that you let her walk away without punishment at all. . All I’m asking is mercy. With all that my ponies have lost, they’ve just been—“

“They are alive, Iron. Thanks to the sacrifice of thousands upon thousands of good Cirrans.”

His assertion rankled Rain. As much as she wanted to chase the line of thought he was trying to lead her down, she instead forced herself to pause a moment. Rain was a soldier first and foremost. Her father had been a shrewd tactician with a keen eye for politics when needed. His daughter had never taken to politics, finding them more troublesome than they were worth, even when she recognized some of the necessities of such systems. “I can’t let you do this, Commander. We need all the doctors we can get right now. Please, be practical.”

“Practical?” Goldmoon seemed at once annoyed and amused by Rain. “Cirra’s front line is failing. Our morale is crumbling. I will not allow us to lose our discipline. If I lessen her sentence, how long do you think we will have to wait before we see looters? Deserters? Other traitors?

“We Nimbans won’t give in! We’re a city of warriors!”

“Indeed.” Moon massaged his wrinkled brow with the tip of a feather. “You’ve lived your life amongst soldiers. You’ve only ever led Nimban elites, Rain. Your shock troops, your ‘Rainstorm’, are a mighty force. I admire them. But they number a dozen at most. The legions I have to answer for number in the thousands, and a thousand Nimban nobles is a force Cirra desperately wants for. My forces aren’t your career soldiers. They’re conscripts; some of them barely stallions and mares grown, and no matter how skilled, no drill instructor can turn a farmer into a true soldier in six months. I fear for their discipline. Because if those farmers break and run, the empire dies, Rainstorm or no.” Moon raised a glass of brandy from his table, slamming it down his throat in a single violent motion.

“But-”

Moon slammed his glass of brandy down onto the hard wood of the table. “The matter is settled, Iron,” Goldmoon shouted her down. “I want the surviving members of Celsus’ unit brought to the courtyard at first light.”

The old stallion motioned with a wing towards the door where his faithful aide-de-camp stood. The silent, slight of frame stallion pulled open the door, ushering Rain out with a contemptuous glare. Rain bristled, unable to hold her tongue a moment longer, at least not fully. “This is not over, Commander!”

“It is, Iron.”

While she would have given the world to prove him otherwise, Rain knew it was best to retreat for the moment. No doubt the sound Gold Moon would make if she literally punched the teeth out of his mouth would have been entertaining, but it would be the most fleeting of victories. That it would be her death didn’t bother her. The Rains had never been ones to fear a good death. It was that it would not be a good death, but a pointless one that bothered her. Even more concerning to Rain was the fate that would bring down on her Nimbans.

Their well being was now hers to see to. Nimbus had no treasures in the traditional Cirran sense. They had no coffers overflowing with coin, nor the bountiful fields of wheat, or the productive quarries of cities like Nyx. Nimbus had no treasures at all save for the pegasi that called the city their home.

Seeing red, and hearing the shifting armor of Gold Moon’s guards, Iron Rain stormed out of his room without the courtesy of a salute. Instead she made her way downstairs and out of the Governor’s mansion. Her purposeful gait took her across the block to a heavily guarded secondary residence being used by herself, Pathfinder, and a few relocated prisoners.

Rain passed the guards without a word. They were no longer the Nimban guards that she had posted there, but stallions loyal to Gold Moon. Another thing that had rankled her feathers that morning. Neither of the armored stallions moved to stop her.

The building was two stories tall made out of a wooden inner structure with cobblestone mortared to the outer walls. It had been a bank or a storehouse of some kind before the refugees had arrived. Haze had taken it upon himself to turn it into a temporary prison while Rain was recovering from the battle.

Making her way up to the second flight using a stairwell far too narrow to fly up, Rain paused a moment to shake out her sore leg. Once the tension in the muscles had eased, she continued down to the end of the hallway where two more guards stood beside a door. These two did stop rain, extending their bladed wings out to form an X shape.

“No visitors for this prisoner, ma’am.” The first stallion said.

Rain was not impressed, to say the least. “Move, soldier.”

“I cannot, ma’am. Leave or we’ll be forced to escort you from-”

He was interrupted when her hoof grabbed the neck of his armor, forcibly hauling him so they were nose to nose. All her pent up aggression that had been building for days came bursting out over the hapless stallion. “I am Legate Iron Rain, soldier. You will move aside now or I will remove you from your miserable existence for insubordination and rank incompetence. Do you understand me?”

Blood seemed to have drained from the gray stallion’s face at the very real promise of violence. His companion looked confused with his outstretched wing half closing as though torn between wanting to follow Gold Moon’s orders, and afraid of Rain’s wrath. “I-I’m sorry, L-Legate Rain, b-but Commander Moon—”

“Commander Moon isn’t here, soldier. Just the three of us. Now, go take a walk!”

Rain shoved him past her roughly and marched to the door. The remaining stallion skittered out of her way in terror, though neither sentry got too far down the hall. Rain may have frightened them, but so too did Gold Moon.

Pulling open the door, Rain found her target: Summer Celsus. The disheveled mare had her ankle shackled to the wall with a heavy chain. A small pile of moldy smelling hay provided the closest thing to a bed in the dark room.

“You gods damned stupid half-blood bitch!” Rain began, smacking Summer across the face with the back of her hoof the moment she was in range. Summer collapsed instantly at the blow and stayed on the ground, a hoof covering her now reddened cheek.

“Rain, wait!” Summer pleaded, only to be hauled to her hooves by her mane and slapped again.

“Idiot!” Rain shouted again. “I should kill you myself, you know? Hang you from a Godsdamned tree with a sign around your fucking neck! Here hangs Summer Celsus, a traitor to the Empire!” Rain illustrated the sentiment by waving a hoof through the air. “Do you have any idea what you did? How badly you’ve fucked this up?”

“They raped him, Iron!” Summer shouted back, her voice cracking. “He’s just a kid and they raped him!”

Rain paused, her hoof cocked in the air to deliver another terrible strike. “The kid?”

Summer nodded. There were no tears in her eyes. Sorrow had long since turned into pure rage. “Can you say that they deserved to live? Don’t you come in here and fucking judge me for what I did. Not when you didn’t even have the heart to do what had to be done at the camp!”

“I did what was best for Nimbus.” Rain defended herself, stomping on the floorboards hard enough to make the wood creak under hoof.

“Nimbus is dead and those griffons were alive! How is that best for Nimbus? They all need to die! Every last one of them!”

“We needed them alive to bargain with Moon.”

“No! We needed a reckoning! We needed to show them Nimban justice. You just needed them for your ego! You wanted something to get Gold Moon to give two shits about your command!”

Rain threw Summer against the wall, pinning her there with a hoof over her throat. “If you think that just because you once courted my brother I won’t kill you right here, you’re dead wrong.” Rain leaned more of her weight onto Summer’s throat. “I could...I should kill you right now. Put you out of my misery.”

Summer’s reply came out as a feeble gasp. The strong limb threatening to crush her windpipe only pressed down harder. She kicked out but her hooves failed to strike Rain, instead hitting only the air.

“It would be so easy…” Rain said in nearly a whisper. Then she backed off, letting Summer collapse to the ground in a heap. Rain watched her cough and gasp for breath for several moments. “But you’re still Nimban… And you’re still like family to me.”

After getting her breath back, Summer managed to get herself upright again. She rubbed at her throat, ears folded back and head slightly down as she looked up at Rain.

Rain sighed. She rubbed her temple with a hoof and sat down for a moment. “Gold Moon wants you to have the traitor's death.”

Summer’s eyes grew wide for a moment, then seemed to settle. Her head dipped somewhat lower as she seemed to resign herself to it. “I see. He would do that, wouldn’t he?”

Iron Rain could only nod.

“Please, Iron, please tell me that they’re not gonna make Finder do it.” Summer looked up at Rain pleadingly. “The kid can hardly walk, much less hold a sword.”

“It won’t come to that. I won’t let it.”

Less than convinced, Summer visibly sagged. “Would you do me a favor, Rain?”

“I can’t release you if that's what you’re thinking.”

Summer shook her head. “No. Just… Just tell Carver and Windshear to aim for my head.”

Rain was still for a time, then made a grim nod. “I’m not giving up this fight so easily. If you’re half Nimban then you won’t either, Summer.”

The older mare laughed though the sound was bitter instead of mirthful. “You damned Rains never did know when to give up.”

Iron smiled. “Siccitates omnes in Imbre desihnunt.”

Summer shook her head, but smiled all the same. “How’s the kid doing?”

“Better than expected. I think I’ve been giving him too much wine for the pain, though.” Rain’s hoof scraped the floor in an almost sheepish manner. “I’m not much of a doctor.”

“The day a Rain goes into medicine is the day we’re all doomed.” Summer joked. “Just keep the bandages dry and make sure he’s getting enough water.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rain turned around to face the door. “I’ll be back later.”

Walking outside of the door, Rain looked to Haze and Thorn. They looked back to her with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Rain focused her attention on Haze, a steely look in her eyes.

“Fly to Stratopolis. Find Senator Celsus and get him here. Now.”

Haze made the smallest of nods and took a moment to strip himself of his armor, helmet, and wingblades. He deposited the items at Thorn’s hooves, saving only his sword, which she helped him fasten to his side just under his right wing. Freed of the weight, he offered Rain a smirk, then vanished out the nearest window in a blur of motion.

---

“Second cohort, third maniple: seventy-three dead, forty-seven from battle, twenty-six from flux. Fourth cohort, third maniple: fifty-two dead, thirty seven from battle, fifteen from flux. Another twenty-eight unaccounted for, presumed lost at Nimbus.”

Gold Moon took a measured breath while his aide-de-camp steadfastly recited the butcher’s updated bill of the legion’s casualties. Before him, spread out on a large table, was a seeming ocean of parchment. Maps, orders, letters from the senate all trying to tell him how to fight the war from the safety of their offices in High Stratopolis.

Stratagem, casualty reports, and logistical issues were hardly the sole focus of his anger, however. Iron Rain had been petitioning him ceaselessly for clemency in regards to the Celsus matter. He had granted her a temporary stay of execution when the master of the local quarry had called on him to. The stallion’s daughter was heavily pregnant, and Summer had been treating her for the difficulties before the incident.

Other matters had also necessitated the action be delayed as well. Survivors from the offensive were still trickling in from griffon territory. They came one by one, or sometimes in pairs. All were injured, some died the moment they set hoof in town. Every one of them needed to be debriefed and the information analyzed.

A sharp knock on the door distracted him from his thoughts, if only for a moment. “I am occupied.”

The door swung open regardless of his claim, and Gold Moon cast an irritated glare at the pony who dared to interrupt him. His narrowed eyes grew wide at the stallion he observed standing at the threshold of his chamber.

“Senator Celsus.” The observation was as much surprise as Moon allowed himself to convey; in the space of a second, the veteran soldier was back to his stern gaze and glowering glare.

In response to the harsh welcome, the stallion smiled. “Commander Moon, so good to see you again.”

“What do you want, Senator?” Moon asked, guardedly.

Discentus’ smile remained affixed, but seemed empty. Though his lips were turned up there was nothing in his eyes. “I’m disappointed, sir. Is there no time for the baser pleasantries?”

Moon only needed to stare to answer.

“Very well. I’m here on behalf of the Senate to convey their deepest concerns about the loss of Nimbus. The ponies and Senate of Cirra gave you Imperium to safeguard our borders. We’re troubled by the way that power has been used.”

Moon stepped away from his strategy table, sweeping a wing in some half-hearted offering of welcome. As the senator approached the table, the soldier spoke. “The loss of Nimbus is a setback, however the war is progressing largely as planned. We—.”

“Planned?” Celsus interrupted, his voice uncomfortably calm. He spoke slowly, his words and tone carefully chosen. “How many thousands of ponies died at Nimbus? The senate knows. Not just the Nimbans, either. We counted the Nyxians, the Pileans, Tonrii, even the curious shortage of Cirrans.”

“If you imply I arranged the deaths of Nimbans to spare the other cities, Senator, your case will be sorely wasted on the Senate. The only reason more Nimbans have died within the city walls is because I let your kin hold the fortifications while the legions from the other cities reached far into Magnus’ territory. ” Moon sighed. “You would be wise to consider some other method to attack my command. Or, better yet, stop wasting precious time and get to the point that actually brought you here.”

“You think I have some sort of ulterior motive?” Discentus held a hoof against his chest, as if wounded. “What would give you an idea like that, Commander?”

“I’ve done nothing to anger you, Senator Celsus. I know your reputation well enough to recognize that unlike Lord Rain’s daughter, you would be grateful to me for keeping your kin behind the city walls. If you truly had some evidence of my incompetence, you would have lead with that, or better yet, sent another Commander to replace me instead of flying this distance yourself.” Gold Moon’s wings set to work pouring two tall glasses of brandy from a waiting bottle whose contents were already dwindling. “I don’t know why you waste both our time pretending this is anything but personal.”

The politician frowned. “What you call ‘pretend’ was my way of trying to make this easy, Commander. I’m sorry if I’ve offended. You’re right. I, and the Senate, have faith in your leadership despite what has happened in Nimbus. I hope you can understand, though, that I’m not a soldier. We senators have a certain way of doing things. We try to minimize pain, both for ourselves and our rivals, whenever possible. And on that note, could your guards please leave us?”

Gold Moon set a glass of brandy in front of Discentus, then tossed his own down his throat with a flick of his neck and wing, and a painful crack from his spine. In the ensuing silence, he offered a similar flick of his free wing toward his guards and his aide-de-camp. Silently, the armored pegasi slipped out of the room. Only then did Moon turn to face Discentus. “Young Lady Rain lost this fight as a legionary; I struggle to imagine you will win it, removed from the battlefield for so long. But as a Commander of the Cirran Legions, I am obligated to grant you the attempt.”

“That’s why she failed, Commander—Iron may be very good at the art of war, but her sword is hardly suited for breaking bread.” Discentus took a small sip of his brandy, gently sighed at the silken taste and the bite of the liquor, and set the glass down next to the dot on the map marked `Nimbus`. “I tried my best to intimidate you to save you face.”

“I fail to see how yielding to you would save me face.”

Discentus chuckled to himself and took another sip of his brandy. “When rumor gets out around camp that an incompetent jailer was assigned to the traitor Summer Celsus, and she slipped out in the night, most of the ponies in the legion are going to have no clue you had anything to do with it. But here in your headquarters, I’m sure ponies are going to put two and two together. If they think I intimidated you by threatening your command or your career, Commander Moon, then I become the villain of our little narrative. And someday, if I don’t manage to make it up to the Great Skies first, it might cost me my seat on the Senate.”

“It also costs me the trust of my stallions, Discentus. And the discipline of the common rank and file.”

“Do you hold your soldiers in such high regard, Commander? You think in their ranks there isn’t a single deserter on his way out of camp? A single pony sneaking an extra bit of rations who hasn’t been caught? The Cirran Legions won’t crumble over one mare who snuck away in the dark.”

“And what happens if word gets out, Discentus?” Moon dropped a hoof onto the table—he seemed to care less for the noise than for hoisting himself up toward the slightly taller, slimmer stallion. “Are you so sure that in all of Iron’s shouting, and now your presence, the rumors wouldn’t spread in camp? What happens to morale when there is a question of my honor?”

“Controlling those sorts of rumors is just another task of you and your subordinate commanders. As I said, Commander, I have the utmost faith in your leadership.”

Moon snorted bitterly. “So if I fail, you would expect me to fall on my sword for your daughter? For a traitor?”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself.” Discentus’ wing gestured to the table. “You’re only arranging an inconvenient schedule for the ponies watching a cell for my daughter; you’d be falling on your sword for the Empire.”

“I have no intention of risking such a dangerous plan to spare your family, Senator.”

“That’s why I haven’t left the decision in your hooves, Commander.”

Moon scowled. “So you are here to intimidate me?”

“No, I’m here to force your hoof. Consider this, Moon. I’ve spoken to more than a few soldiers on my way to see you here. It was hard not to; I was approached by guards on the flight in, guided through the camp, and along the way I only said that I was here to speak to you about an important matter. Your immediate minions here in this room know that I tried to intimidate you, and heard me admit I have an ulterior motive. In a moment, I’m going to leave, and fly back to Stratopolis without so much as a word to the rest of your forces. From that point, you have a very small number of choices.

“You can, as I have requested, arrange for somepony incompetent to be guarding my daughter alone. Simply post the guard schedule in public, and my acquaintances in the legion here will take care of making her disappear with minimal loss of discipline and no obvious guilt on your part, apart from that of being manipulated by a corrupt veteran senator.”

“And if I decide to triple her guard detail?”

“Then you’re going to have a very hard time explaining how she acquired a lockpick and a set of wingblades bearing the maker's mark of your personal unit.” Discentus smiled. “After all, while I may have come here to see you, I’ve been nowhere near her cell.”

Moon glared. “Do you expect me to fall for your silvered tongue?”

Discentus shrugged. “You were the one who just minutes ago said you weren’t willing to bet the Empire on a chance like that. But in case such an option is still unpleasant for you, there is a third way.”

Moon’s eyes narrowed warily, but he held his tongue for the moment.

“Since it is clear that I am not willing to lose my daughter to the noose and you cannot lose face by allowing her to disappear in peace, I propose a compromise.” He stretched out his right wing, holding out five primary feathers while angling the rest downwards. “Five lashings before her platoon.”

“Five lashings,” Moon repeated the idea and snorted. “A slap on the fetlock for capital offense.”

“The choice, Commander, is of course up to you,” Discentus said in a casual manner. “However I encourage you to accept this arrangement. You will find no more generous offer forthcoming.”

It was a few moments before the Commander spoke. “Very well Senator,” he said in a tone of ice. “But you will stay and bear witness.”

This time it was Discentus who was silent for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a measured breath before he spoke. “I have your word then?”

Gold Moon nodded.

---

Black skies hung over the city like an omen. From their lofty heights they bathed the sprawling terrestrial settlement in shadows that grew deeper as day passed into night. With them came powerful gales of wind, the scent of rain and static thick in the warm air.

Iron Rain woke well after midnight with a strange feeling in her gut. The rattle of the wooden shutters that clung to the outside of the windows creaked at their hinges with a high pitched wounded sound. Flashes of lightning lit the world outside in a veil of white that faded as quickly as it arrived. With them followed the low, quaking rumble of thunder, which made its presence felt through tremors in the walls and floors.

Rain glanced to the opposite side of the bed. The colt lay sleeping, soundly as she’d seen him since the rescue, though perhaps another strong dose of wine had helped. She groaned and rolled out of her bed, her hooves making dull thuds against the thick floorboards. In a moment she was at the window, peering out into the darkness. The scent of rain and static met her nose, but did little to ease her consternation.

The city was bathed in darkness. Only a few lanterns provided meager illumination, and they were all within the safe confines of ponies homes. In there they were safe from the wind and rains, but they did little good to provide light in the streets. Pegasi had good eyes for day flying, but the nights belonged to the hybrids.

Scowling, Rain moved away from the window and towards the door. She pulled it open and peered down the halls. Not a soul was to be seen in any direction she looked. For a moment she wondered where Gold Moon’s guards had gone. She didn’t think the Commander had relocated his post to a different building after Senator Celsus had arrived.

Biting at the leather-wrapped handle of a pitcher, Rain poured water into a ceramic cup. She took hold of it with her right wing, using her dexterous primary feathers and bringing it to her lips for a sip. As she swallowed, her left ear twitched from a scratching noise.

She twisted her neck around and immediately felt her blood run cold. A griffon soldier, naked save for his fur and feathers, climbed through the window, his beak and talons dripping with blood. He smiled at her and made a show of licking at his beak.

Rain hurled her cup at his head, the ceramic vessel easily batted away by the avian paw. The griffon lunged at her, flapping his massive wings to get a burst of speed, but Rain was faster. Without time to get her sword, Rain spun quickly in place, taking hold of the water pitcher and slamming it down on the griffon’s head.

The blow stunned the beast, who fell to the floor with a heavy thud. His charge was not wholly unsuccessful, though, and his claws managed to put a few scratches on Rain’s cheek. The mare didn’t give him a chance to recover though, raining a second, third, and fourth blow onto his head with her hooves. She didn’t stop until she felt the broad dome of his skull buckle under her strikes. She didn’t stop until blood and gray matter splattered out through his nostrils and ears. She didn’t stop when his head was crushed to paste under her hooves and the last reflexive twitches of his limbs had grown still. And even then she stopped only when she saw a second hybrid clambering through the window.

Upon seeing his compatriot dead the hybrid let out a low hiss and lunged. Rain dodged to the side, biting back a scream as she was forced to put weight on her bad leg. The hybrid overshot his lunge, his heavy form slamming into the cabinet with a loud crash. He twisted around quickly, raising a wing in a defensive manner in case Rain tried to kick. She didn’t though, instead scrambling past the foot of the bed to where her zweihander was resting against the wall.

Before she could reach it the hybrid’s claws caught her tail and hauled her backwards. Rain spat out a curse and bucked out with her rear legs. One hoof caught the hybrid’s cheek and he flinched for a moment, but only tightened his grip on her tail. Rain felt her stomach drop as the griffon threw her to the far side of the room where she hit the wall with a crash. The blow stunned her, and before she could move the hybrid was on top of her, it’s claws around her throat and strangling her.

Panic rushed through her like imprisoned lightning. Her wings and hooves flailed and kicked out, but she couldn’t dislodge the hybrid’s grip. She landed punch after punch on his cheek, and even as he spat teeth and blood on the floor he only tightened his grip.Each strike of Rain’s grew more and more weak as darkness crept in at the edge of her vision.

The griffon’s beak was moving and Rain was thankful she couldn’t hear his taunts over the sound of her own rapid heart, which banged louder than any drum in her ears. Her limbs were getting heavy, so very heavy that she soon couldn’t lift them more than a few inches. In the distance she could hear the town bells ringing out in alarm.

Father...

Suddenly the beast let out an ear-piercing screech. His claws released Rain’s throat and he stumbled off to the side. Rain coughed and gasped, her oxygen starved lungs greedily gulping in mouthfuls of air. She rolled on her side, protecting her throat with a foreleg, but what she saw made her eyes grow wide.

Pathfinder was limping towards the griffon, his back right leg dragging lamely behind him. His broken wings hung low at his sides, the wrappings having come loose. Clutched in his teeth was the buck knife she’d left on the nightstand, blood and ichor painting the blade crimson. He stepped forward, the griffon stumbled back, clutching at his abdomen where blood poured from between his taloned fingers.

When Pathfinder got too close the hybrid lashed out with his talons. The colt stumbled, with three fresh goughes staining the green fur on his chest red. Recovering, he advanced once more towards the stumbling griffon. The hybrid lashed out a second time, but his strikes were slowing down as more blood poured from his body. Pathfinder’s stilted gait continued with the beast’s claws leaving nothing more that a small notch in his left ear.

The griffon twisted around, scrabbling for the window to make a retreat, however Rain lunged at him from across the room with two flaps of her powerful wings to close the gap. She came down on his back, the sudden blow collapsing him to the ground. He let out a pained cry and thrashed wildly under Rain. A moment later the colt was at her side. He spat out the knife and grasped the hilt in his fetlock before burying the blade in the hybrid’s neck.

A wet gurgle sounded from the hybrid, foaming blood spilt from his beak staining the white feathers and floorboards. Pathfinder pulled the knife back and stabbed his neck a second time, then a third, fourth, fifth, sixth… He stabbed and stabbed long after the griffon’s gurgles and death throes has ceased and the griffon’s neck had been reduced to shreds of meat. He stabbed when the door of the room burst open with Haze and Thorn, their coats smeared with blood that wasn’t their own.

“Are you alright?” Haze asked, running towards Rain and skidding on the bloodsoaked floor. Thorn followed behind, though her steps were more measured.

“I’m fine, what’s happening?”

“Enemy sortie,” Thorn said, gingerly putting her hooves on Rain’s cheeks and turning her head left and right to check for injury. “They hit the hospital's first, looks like they’re targeting medics.”

“Let’s get going, then,” Rain said with a strained groan as Thorn prodded her neck.

“The militia is already mobilized as are Gold Moon’s troops. You’re staying… here,” Thorn trailed off, her eyes looking past Rain.

Confusion furrowed her brows for a moment, and slowly she turned her head to see what gave Thorn pause. Pathfinder was still on the griffon, having cut and stabbed through the hybrids neck, severing the head from the body. He was gasping for breath between stabs, his torso quivering and stained crimson from his wounds tearing open.

“Kid,” Rain limped over to him, but her words fell on deaf ears set behind empty golden eyes.

“Kid,” she implored, her voice gentle as she reached out to stop his stabs.

A tremor rattled his small form and his breathing was ragged. His eyes dripped with bitter tears, and as his adrenaline wore off he collapsed from his wounds.

Comments

[Alondro]

All those places. All that time.” A soft, bitter chuckle passed his wrinkled lips. “I’ve never once seen any sign of the Gods.”

Alondro strolls in, "Sorry 'bout that. I was takin' a crap. I'm old, takes me a while. Wuzzup?"

The dying critter blinks, "Th-this... THIS is one of our gods?!"

The others nod in dismay, while facehoofing heavily.

Almost Dead Pone whines, "Oh I sooooo hope I go to Tartarus."

[Alondro]

Then Celestia appears! "And now we'll have peace and rainbows, tra-la-la!"

The pegasi, "Buck that."

Discord appears, "WANNA SEE ME TURN GRIFFONS INSIDE OUT, AND STILL KEEP THEM ALIVE IN AGONY FOREVER?!"

And that's how Discord took over this FUBAR Equestria!

[KMCA]

Finally got around to reading this chapter, it's been staring at me for days!

[RoboRed]

Confusion furrowed her brows for a moment, and slowly she turned her head to see what gave Thorn pause. Pathfinder was still on the griffon, having cut and stabbed through the hybrids neck, severing the head from the body. He was gasping for breath between stabs, his torso quivering and stained crimson from his wounds tearing open.

“Kid,” Rain limped over to him, but her words fell on deaf ears set behind empty golden eyes.

“Kid,” she implored, her voice gentle as she reached out to stop his stabs.

A tremor rattled his small form and his breathing was ragged. His eyes dripped with bitter tears, and as his adrenaline wore off he collapsed from his wounds.

...Yikes.

Can't say I blame him after what happened, though.