The Return

by John 117

Chapter 11: Grim Reaper.

After the tingling sensation of the magic wore off, Marcus opened his eyes to see tall cliffs around him, the steady rock formation moving up as he looked up to large mountain ranges on either side of the rather wide ravine. In front of him was a camp set up with fires mixing in between some of the huts. Beyond that...Marcus knew the sight already. A body riddled mess of a warzone. Black crows sung their songs over the dead as they ate to their unbiased hearts content. They didn’t care what it was they ate; they were just hungry. Some of the decaying corpses were missing limbs, while others had multiple long gashes across their bodies, letting the crows get to the meatier parts faster, saving them time.

As Marcus’s company came to understand their surroundings, ponies began to emerge from the makeshift huts. Almost all had some kind of wound, whether it was major like a missing limb or just a scratch on the chin. All of them were surprised in the best way to see the spartan and his company. More began to rush out, greeting the company as heroes even though they had yet to even do anything. Hooves were shook, and hugs given out like candy. These men had seen something, and it didn’t look like 300 ponies were here; more like something in the low 90’s.

How late were we? Marcus thought as he looked around at the terrible shape of the soldiers. He had seen this before back in Covenant wars, but he didnt expect anything like this with the griffons.Marcus finally noticed how they were reacting to him. Muttered prayers to the Sisters and hushed whispers about his deeds in Baltimare wandered through the crowd, giving new life to the walking dead. Marcus walked up to one of the less wounded, a pegasus with matted brown fur, and took his helmet off his helmet and looked the pegasus in the eye.

“What’s your name son?” The poor stallion could barely hold the Spartans steely gaze.

“S-Steel Wing, sir.” Marcus looked around at all the ponies, noting that they were all looking to him now, watching to see what he would say.

“Steel Wing, were here to give you guys a bit of help. Rest easy, the Spartans are here.”

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After finding out that most of the leading command figures were among the crows buffet Marcus decided to take up what command there was, lending aid to the wounded and prioritizing the severely wounded to be apart of the earliest med-evac. Those who could fight were added to the Spartan ranks. Overall, wounded included, there were 83 of the original 300 left; an attach the same day as the arrival of the envoy at Canterlot came and nearly wiped out the small force. Those who survived fortified what they could, but were constantly harassed by aerial attacks, picking off and wounding even more of the survivors. Marcus had thankfully found a gunnery sergeant who had survived, and seemed to be the pony responsible for helping the survivors.

“The only reason we’ve made it this far is because of the unicorns. The ones we had left after that first wave dedicated themselves to maintaining a small barrier around the camp, trying to keep ground forces out. Some past out from the effort, but it’s held since. Pegasia like me have been tasked with defending against the aerial assaults, but there weren’t a whole lot of us left to do it…” Marcus nodded while listening and studying an aerial map of the surrounding land. The area they were in now seemed to be the long stretch of the whole ravine, being the closest part to the Equestrian border. The rest were stretches of twists and turns between mountains, with the nearest sector closest to them being what looking like some kind of glad between mountains. It was defendable with the right stuff, but right now they didn’t have the right stuff.

We need a god damned wall. After that, just focus on the aerial attacks. Marcus motioned for his lieutenant Bulls Eye.

“Lieutenant, gather what Earth ponies you can and start getting some kind of barricade together. Have them buck the walls of the cavern and use the rocks that fall for it.” Bulls Eye nodded and went out of the battered tent to organize the ponies. Marcus was about to send out another order when a horn rang out. It was a loud, deep bass that rattled to bones of those who heard it. It echoed through the ravine, sending shivers down the spines of those present. The surviving ponies from the original group paled at the sound, nearly bolting at the sound. Marcus stepped out of the tent and looked towards where the sound originated. Bulls Eye Ran up to Marcus with a worry in his teal eyes.

“Marcus…”

“I know. Keep the men moving. I’ll handle this.” Marcus marched out to the field of corpses, his boots sinking in the blood soaked mud. The smell made him wrinkle his nose, the filters on his helmet not taking the smell of rot and decay out of the thick stewy air. His eyes were fixed ahead at the mass that was beginning to form; the Griffon Army. Grim trophies hung from their banner, swaying and spilling what blood was left in them as they were marched forward, some just heads stuck onto a pike. Placing his hands on his hips, Marcus stopped in the middle of the long stretch between the two forces. The griffons continued to move forward, what light that there was shining brightly on their armour, only to be ruined in some cases by splashes of blood and gore from fighting. Beaks twisted and rolled into snarls and insults, they marched forwards until they were a few yards away from Marcus, who stood a few hundreds of yards away from the working ponies. Every now and then, a pony would look on in terrified wonderment. The griffons spat their insults, calling him a gelding and a freak. They showed insults about his mother and family, telling him all of the things they would do to them once they killed and strung up his corpse. marcus just sighed, having heard it all before. He turned up the microphone in his helmet and yelled towards the massed army.

“LISTEN UP YOU BUNCH OF COWARDLY SHITHEAD CHICKEN LOOKING MOTHERFUCKERS. If you are unwilling to offer your unconditional surrender this very instant I will escort all of you personally to the gates of Tartarus where your whore mothers will be waiting. What will it be you lousy bunch of chicken shits; death or life?” A silence rang out among those gathered at the ravine, pony and griffin, and all stared at the lone figure in the middle; some with awe, others, mostly the others, with pure unadulterated hatred. Two of the largest insults to a griffon’s pride was calling him/her a coward, or a chicken. They had just been called such things twice by some lone freak. This just would not stand.

“Stratió̱tes étoimoi !” A griffon in the front with bright red plumage yelled out, raising a claw towards Marcus. All he did was move his hands to his two SMG’s. They had never left his side since Canterlot, and now Marcus planned on using them.

This is my special talent. Time to embrace it. Time slowed as the claw began to lower. Marcus senses began to un in over drive. He analyzed the forces, their strengths, weaknesses, predicted movements, all in the matter of seconds. The taste of salt battered his tongue as his liked his lips, sweat accumulating on his upper lip.

“Fortíste!” The claw finally fell to the ground, dirt getting kicked up from the impact as griffons charged the lone Spartan. He tensed and waited till the last moment. A griffon with a pike charged him, thrusting forward towards the gut. Marcus saw it from a mile away. He grabbed the spear with his right hand and toss the griffon aside, drawing his left SMG and firing wildly, scoring multiple hits at such close range. He then dodged another thrust and put the barrel of the weapon flush with the chest plate of the griffon, giving the poor thing a quick burst. He tossed the pike in the air, killing some unknown griffon at the back of the army. His movements a blur, the only time hi firing stopped was to reload his weapons. The griffons were at a loss for what to do; even if a weapon made contact with the armor, it just glanced off. Marcus did a back flip to regain some space from the forces. He was on pure instinct now. Dodge left, duck under, fire; dodge right, pull back, punch, thrust with newly acquired spear. Kill..kill….kill….

It was all he could think of. Survive, fight, kill. He never stopped, even when his mags ran dry. He just found a spear and began to use it with skill he didn't know he had. Bodies piled up and soon he began to need to step over them, even on top of them to stay where he was. He didn't even know how long he had been going for. 10 minutes? 20? Half an hour? Maybe more. Who knows? The bodies were literally piling up, something he failed to notice in his blood muddled mind. His boot crunched down on the skull of a griffon, who had previously been begging for its life. He killed it without mercy, remorse, or regret. Just another target, no, an obstacle down. Now to the next. But….where were they? He calmed down enough to finally take note of what he had done. he stood upon a small hill, with a red soaked valley around him. it was quiet, peaceful even. All of the corpses around him were smiling in some small sadistic way. Their blank eyes looking back at him. He fell to his knees, finally coming to his senses. They were bodies. Bodies everywhere.

Creator… w-what have I done?...

Ripping his helmet of and throwing it to the ground, Marcus threw his voice to the heavens, yelling out towards what ever god decided to hear him. The only one he knew for certain had heard his cry was the Reaper deep in his soul.

Comments

[Tempestus]

A few errors where you missed a letter, nothing big... Damn Marcus, you cleaned house!