Ordnance is Magic 2: Bombardment Boogaloo

by Perturabo

XV. Mail Call

It was another nightmare that brought Fluttershy to wakefulness. The darkness in the room hit her first. It was disorienting and close, nearing the borderline of being panic-inducing, her curtains accomplishing little besides darkening the constant angry red glow that stared down from the sky. The after-images of visions danced behind her teal eyes, steel masks and hazard stripes and jagged knives reaching towards her. Even in the opening throes of wakefulness the vividness of those memories were enough to reduce the mare to a squealing and squirming mess in the sheets. The aroma of fearful sweat beading in her butter-coloured fur slowly diffused throughout the room.

The tight feeling in her chest that always accompanied Fluttershy’s early morning episodes of dread was only soothed by the feeling of a hand resting on her shoulder. The touch was reassuring, but still enough to be notable. Her eyes snapped open. Dragging in a few deep and lingering breaths the Pegasus blinked away the hazy wetness in her eyes and tried her best to relax muscles that now ached with tension. It was perhaps another minute before she was able to recover some measure of composure, and focus sufficiently to make out the face of who’d come to her aid.

“Th…thank you, Spike.” Her gratitude was accompanied by the small, sad smile that had become common between her and the dragon over the time since the fall. The rubbing of her soft yellow hoof against his wrist was enough to draw out an, admittedly small, smile from Spike too, though an equal degree of concern still flickered in his green eyes. He hesitated before eventually slowly helping her sit up, pulling his claw back in the process and rising from where he’d sat on her bed. With a roll of her stiff shoulders Fluttershy leaned against the cushion and headboard, her eyes fixated on the curtains which were just about managing to hold back the tight of unnatural red light. It took her a few moments to even cotton on that she and the dragon were not the only ones in the room.

A slight gasp left Fluttershy as she looked round, trace elements of her old personality suddenly asserting themselves as she blushed and felt her ears fold against her forehead. The Cutie Mark Crusaders, though they hadn’t referred to themselves as such in quite a while, remained in a loose huddle as they looked at her. All three of them wore their concern far more openly than even Spike had. Behind Fluttershy’s hoof-maidens were two guards alerted by the sounds of distress, their spears clutched tight to armoured bodies as the ponies awaited some form of direction. The sight made her want to squirm again. She’d never gotten used to giving orders, or even having any real staff. Spike helping her was one thing, she knew him well enough to have become accustomed to his self-imposed servitude. But the Crusaders, and above all Guards being willing to fight and lay down their lives for her…Rainbow Dash or Rarity might have enjoyed using or, as Fluttershy affectionately expected of the former, abusing such a position of power, but she had no stomach for it. Even the fleeting thought of her friends was enough to make the smile she gave to assure those gathered that everything was fine even more forced.

It was enough for the Guards, the two of them warily backing off and returning to their posts. The three younger ponies trotted inside instead and set to their tasks; Scootaloo headed over to the window and, with a breath to steel herself, opened the curtains. The orange Pegasus frowned and drew back a little as she looked outside, taking in the new blasphemies that the touch of the Warp had visited upon their kingdom that ‘morning’.

“It’s almost as grim as your paintings from back in first grade, Sweetie.” She chuckled weakly, always the one to try and introduce some levity into the situation. The unicorn returned a muted snicker of her own as she delicately extracted the cushions from beneath Fluttershy and began to strip off the now-sweaty sheets. Applebloom remained silent, having made her way to a table and pouring a cool glass of water for the Element of Kindness. The mare cast them all a brief glance. They had grown since leaving Ponyville, not quite the size of a full-grown pony but larger than the children they had been. The fact that not one of them had managed to receive their cutie marks had been put down to the twisting nature of the magic that now infected Equestria, and proof that whatever powers might be watching it now had some sort of sense of humour. Fluttershy had spoken on the matter with them before. She’d expected the Crusaders to particularly suffer from that affliction, and so the stoic nature with which they took it had been particularly surprising and inspiring. If anything the trio had began to consider their blank flanks as a mark of honour – the possibility of hope for the future, to become greater than the situation all found themselves in now. What had hit them were the deaths of others. Applebloom and Sweetie had taken it hardest, though the confession the lord of the Iron Warriors had given Fluttershy as he’d unleashed his mechanical monstrosities had at least allowed her to give some closure to the latter, but Scootaloo hadn’t come out of it unscathed. The palpable loss of innocence that exuded from all three of them never failed to cut Fluttershy deep and keep the pain sharp. Perhaps that was why she kept them around.

As they worked, and Fluttershy finished stretching out, she found herself looking round at Spike again. The dragon was stood dutifully by the side of her bed, arms folded and a thoughtful look on his face. She studied him a moment. He glanced back, giving another attempt at a smile.

“…Which one was it this time?” He asked quietly, demanding nothing. She knew what he was asking, rubbing her eyes again. Usually her nightmares were filled with the figure of the alien who’d slaughtered the other ponies in her home and crushed her leg, the mare giving the limb a quick shake at the memory, but as she thought back Fluttershy recalled that he had not been the sole cause of her fear.

“Lorkhan.” Her voice was even more quiet than usual, barely above a whimper. Even saying the word was enough to make her curl up a little more. Spike’s concern became a little more apparent, but the mare held up a hoof to assure her aide she could manage. “I…I haven’t thought about him in a long time…”

Silence persisted for a moment, none present quite sure what to say. Fluttershy didn’t much care. Her gaze was fixed blankly at the mattress she sat upon as the mare allowed herself a rare moment of introspection on the matter; she wished she could hate Lorkhan. He was the one who’d commanded his fellows to tear the heart out of her world, he was the one who’d brought about the murder of her friends, he was the one who’d ruined her life…hating him would be so much easier. But she had been as close to him as any of the ponies had been with the aliens. She’d even liked to think of herself as his friend. Perhaps it was just because she’d never found out what happened to him. Sense told her that the Warsmith must have either left with his brothers or died, and Fluttershy could not quite discern which of those two options she would prefer to be the truth.

She was grateful for the most part that Spike kept quiet throughout her reverie. The dragon’s face was pulled tight in a grimace, scaly tail slowly wafting back and forth behind him, his sole reaction being a shallow nod. Applebloom quickly brought over a tray with the glass of water atop it, Fluttershy receiving it with a demure murmur of ‘thank you’. She gave it a few sips, letting the cool liquid clear her throat for her, lowering it and taking a final deep breath. “Has…umm…has there been any word from the…” A brief hesitation broke up her sentence. “The Space Marines.”

“No.” Spike sighed as he answered, arms still folded and doubt plainly writ onto his face. “Nopony’s heard anything, not that I’m surprised. If anything the storm’s getting worse…” It was his turn to momentarily fall silent and grim, and Fluttershy couldn’t blame him for it. “Even if they are planning to do as they said, I don’t think we’ll know unless something actually changes.” A bleak chuckle left the dragon. “And with the way the world out there’s looking, I don’t think they’ll be coming back anyway.”

It was hard to argue with him on that account. Fluttershy finally slipped out of bed and set the empty glass down, sighing in agreement. A small smile and polite gesture of her hoof was enough to dismiss the Crusaders. As they filed out of the room the yellow mare trotted towards the window, Spike in tow. If he had any doubts he didn’t voice them. Outside the sky continued to roil and churn in what always seemed to Fluttershy like agony. She sighed, allowing herself to lean against Spike’s hip a little as what could be the shapes of daemons flickered in and out of view in the distance. Her thoughts always were drawn back to the group of Astartes presumably out there now; she had little more hope than he did that they’d actually make any meaningful change, but at the same time Fluttershy knew that if anyone in Equestria could do anything, it was them. If anything she felt sorry for the pony she’d been told had gone with them…and guilty, that she couldn’t even remember his name.

She turned to the dragon to inquire after said pony’s identity, and it was then that she noticed him wince. The mare frowned, her soft lips parting in confusion, though confusion turned to horror as she saw him double over and clutch his stomach. As the dragon’s breath continued to grow more laboured and he squeezed his eyes shut, panic kept her frozen in place.

“S-Spike! W-what’s wrong?!” When it became clear that her friend wasn’t going to give her a verbal answer, dropping shakily to his knees and clutching his stomach, she rested her hooves on his side and tried to find some words to say. Fluttershy she knew she should have called for help or tried to get him into a more comfortable position, but the thought of losing another of her friends was nearly tipping her over the edge.

“Spike, p-please, talk to me…” She asked, starting to lapse into the tell-tale signs of hyperventilation. “Not you, n-not you too…” She sniffed, giving the struggling dragon another shake. The mare had no certainty about what was happening, but none of the possibilities were encouraging. She’d heard talk from down in the hospital wings, of sudden sicknesses and plagues ravaging whole swathes of the Empire. If it had struck at her friend, then-

Her thoughts were cut off abruptly as Spike convulsed, and burped.

A gout of green flame made Fluttershy stumble back as the dragon collapsed to his knees and gave a few heavy pants. Finally trotting back over to him and rubbing his back softly, breathing heavily herself to calm down, dragon and pony both looked down at the floor.

Their hearts stopped at the sight of the scroll. The last licks of fire faded away as it came to lie still, staring back up at them innocently. Its very existence seemed like an impossibility. With all the madness Chaos had unleashed upon the world, perhaps it actually was. Either way Fluttershy still stared down at it, legs wobbling in trepidation as she gulped.

“D-do you…think that’s a bad thing?” Spike looked round at her. His answer were accompanied by a bleak chuckle.

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” The reptile sighed. “It is definitely a bad thing.”

***

Lorkhan had slept little the previous night, if at all. The midnight hours had been spent staring up at the cracked ceiling of his room in the hope that the myriad of age-worn cracks in the plaster would offer some sort of answer to the myriad of problems besieging the fortress of his thoughts. The bleak scowl etched onto his face did not leave as he showered or ate breakfast, nor did it abate during the lonely walk to school. The only positive thing he could say about the whole situation was that at least the serried ranks of his compatriots had the decency to leave him be…sort of. Kroeger threatened to stuff him into a locker, of course, but Kroger did that to everyone – and one of the few things that Lorkhan did pride himself on was that he was faster than that violent meathead.

The others were largely still infuriatingly flushed with the ‘success’ of the previous night, and Lorkhan couldn’t help but take some grim amusement from the fact that Rorke, of all people, was the only one who seemed to truly appreciated how the situation threatened to spiral out of control. At least they, too, knew better than to bother him before he had anything to report or orders to give. It was lunchtime before cold vitality began to return to him. Though it truly pained him to miss an opportunity to indulge in a helping of what the slop the cook served for lunch, except in every conceivable way, Lorkhan immediately set off for the Principal’s office.

Part of him was well aware of just how insane what he was doing was. Few dared barge in on Principal Perturabo uninvited, and none came out well from it. But Lorkhan refused to allow cowardice to rule him in the moment; Perturabo would never permit an audience of his own accord before the Battle of the Bands was done, and this matter would not wait.

He did not even slow down as Mr Forrix attempted to halt him, taking just a moment to draw in a deep breath before pushing the door open and striding in. The low murmur of conversation instantly ebbed away as both figures within the small office turned to look at the newcomer. Even the mild traces of Lorkhan’s bravado drained away as he felt the Principal’s steel-cold gaze rest upon him. He skidded to a halt, biting his lip awkwardly and giving a pronounced gulp. Consternation turned to confusion as he looked round at the other figure.

“Toramino?” He asked, trademark paranoia seeping in as his expression became more suspicious. The white-haired boy smirked, clasping his hands behind his back and pushing his chest out proudly, but he said nothing.

“Mr Lorkhan.” Perturabo’s enforced calm was betrayed by an underlying rumble of rising anger. Lorkhan knew well how mercurial the school’s head was, and how volcanic his temper could become. It took only seconds under both their scrutiny to decide that offense was the best form of defence.

“I…I know this is unorthodox, sir…” He began, trying his best to maintain a straight and calm expression. “But you always said that we shouldn’t hold back any information that could affect the school as a whole, and…” He took in another deep breath. “Something strange is going on at Canterlot High, Principal. Something to do with their Battle of the Bands.”

In retrospect, Lorkhan might have preferred an angry reaction. At least there would have been something tangible then. Instead, oppressive silence continued to radiate from the other side of the desk. It was all he could do not to squirm. Toramino eventually let out a snort, Lorkhan’s hands bunching into fists reflexively.

“Oh, wow…you’re serious.” He chuckled in his grating, mocking tone. ‘Even for you, Lorkhan, this is a hilarious misjudgement. You march in here making demands, like-“

“If you’re quite done kissing my arse, Toramino.” The boy instantly fell silent at Perturabo’s icy rebuke, hanging his head in shamed contrition. The Principal returned his gaze to Lorkhan, who in turn offered a curt nod of thanks. The student body’s natural competitiveness was not an easy thing to shake off, however.

“What are you even doing here?” He asked as he frowned at his peer. Toramino opened his mouth to reply, but once again the Principal deigned to do so for him.

“He came to beg greater boons for his dress-up society.” Toramino’s face flushed an even more embarrassed crimson, but attention had already moved away from him. “Although, pain me to admit it as it does e raises a valid question. Why exactly are you telling me this, Lorkhan?”

The question made him clam up. Why had Lorkhan come to tell him this? He had never really paid the reasoning any mind, instead assuming that the Principal would know what to do. He’d expected orders, some chain of command to exist. It took him a while to come up with anything at all, and every moment he stayed silent he felt more of his credibility be stripped away beneath the glare of his Principal.

“Ahriman was there.” He blurted out suddenly, latching on to whatever he could. Toramino cast a confused frown at the Principal, but Perturabo said nothing. “Ahzek Ahriman, from Prospero High.”

“I know my brother’s favoured student, Lorkhan.” Perturabo’s face might have softened for the slightest moment at the thought, but it was over in a second. “Get to the point.”

“There was another band. These girls, the Dazzlings or something like that.” Lorkhan gave an angry sneer at the memory of them. “We were getting a little…competitive…and then Ahriman showed up and started making these requests. He said that since we were using his instruments, we-“

“You got help? From one of them?” Toramino’s surprise was matched only by the speed with which he pounced on even the possibility of weakness. Lorkhan knew he had to respond quickly, but how exactly to do that was another matter entirely.

“No…yes…sort of…that’s not the point!” He snapped, feeling Perturabo’s ire deepen every time he stumbled over his words. The fact that he knew what he was about to say would only make things worse was hardly a cause for confidence. “The point is…I…” He hesitated, taking in a deep breath. “Principal, I think they’re using some kind of…of dark magic.”

He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth. The principal’s patience, which had already worn thin, could be felt crumbling entirely. Lorkhan took a reflexive step back, and even as he smirked Toramino scuttled round towards the door and the other boy. That he considered it safer to be closer to the target of Perturabo’s displeasure than the Principal himself. Perturabo’s gaze continued to bore into him for a moment before the Principal sighed. The pen in his hand snapped clean in half as he formed a fist. Lorkhan gave another gulp.

“That is a very…very nice story, Mr Lorkhan.” His temper rested on a knife-edge and was clearly just about to tip over. “It is good to see that you have managed to retain your imagination. I am afraid it rather falls apart, however, when I tell you that I spoke to my brother scant weeks ago and he specifically told me that he and his students were not using dark magic.” The boy would have pointed out to anyone else that that was a curiously specific denial to make, but right now he was focusing just on maintaining eye contact. Daring to look away now would only make things worse. At least Toramino had stopped smirking by now, though Lorkhan couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps he’d have favoured simple mockery.

“This…event is, what? In two or three days? This weekend?” Perturabo asked. Lorkhan’s response was a shallow nod. “I will put this little display down to mounting stress, then. For now.” The Principal obviously intended that to be the end of the debate, but despite his rising unease Lorkhan couldn’t bring himself to bring up just yet.

“Sir…I…I really think-“ Whatever he was going to say was cut off as the Principal slammed both fists on the desk, the entire room echoing with the sound. Perturabo looked him square in the face, towering body shaking with barely-contained rage.

“Get…out.”

It was that that cast the two into action. Sharing the briefest of glances, Toramino and Lorkhan turned and fled from the office without a moment’s hesitation.

***

“Students.”

The school intercom crackled to life less than a minute after they were both outside. Static blared for a moment, Toramino glancing up at the nearest speaker whilst Lorkhan continued to stare at the ground. The Principal’s voice was remarkably composed, and as flat as ever.

“Could anyone practicing dark magic on school grounds desist immediately and report to the decimation room. It is making Lorkhan uncomfortable.”

“I told you.” Toramino’s voice followed on from the speaker cutting off almost seamlessly, Lorkhan closing his eyes and breathing a silent sigh of frustration. “I told you he wouldn’t care. Shit Lorkhan, what did you actually expect to accomplish by-“

“Shut up.” Lorkhan snapped suddenly, thankfully making his classmate fall into irritated silence. “Just…shut up, Toramino.” He had no doubt in listening to whatever retort the egotistical head of the brotherhoods was going to offer, not when his already-strained mood had been rendered so dark. He straightened up and sighed, marching away with an expression as hard and uncompromising as rock the moment he could.

Toramino watched as the boy left, patrician face drawn in a petulant scowl. Despite all the contempt he felt for the other boy, however, his own interest was undeniably engendered. He wasn’t as blind to his flaws as a lot of his compatriots believed; he did not, however, consider ambition to be one of them. And whilst maintaining the power he’d worked hard to acquire at Olympia High was always his prime concern, it never hurt to keep an eye on what the other schools they’d had dealings with in the past were doing.

As Lorkhan passed from sight, he tapped his top lip with a finger. It wasn’t long until a thoughtful grin crossed Toramino’s face. With a last chuckle himself he turned and walked away, mind afire with the opportunities opening themselves up before him.

***

“Okay then, I’ll be the one to ask, since you’re being your usual charming self.”

Zuko was the only one who was still waiting for him after school. It was an unexpected, and slightly uncomfortable, display of loyalty. It was enough even to briefly overpower Lorkhan’s foul mood. He came to a stop in front of the helmeted boy, blinking and glancing around the emptying foyer of the school.

“…Where’s Barbus?” He asked, raising a slightly suspicious eyebrow. The two had their lockers right next to each other, and to find either completely alone at the end of the day was certainly unusual. Zuko gave a small shrug and pushed himself off the wall, pulling his backpack a little higher up his shoulders.

“Dunno. He said there was this café place that he wanted to try, Sugarcube Corner or something-“

“I’ve heard of that.” Lorkhan interrupted, frowning in recognition. “That’s near Canterlot High…what the bloody hell’s he doing that for?” Zuko’s shrug did nothing to lift his spirits.

“Varvillon’s gone to tend to his flower garden. Mordecai’s in the library, and I didn’t care enough to ask what he’s doing. Vortun just went home, same as Rorke.”

“Which is what we’re doing.” Lorkhan added swiftly, already going for the door. Zuko’s helmet tilted in confusion, but after a moment he too began to follow.

“…going home?” He piped up after a moment, staying a step behind his compatriot as he glanced at him. “Huh, and here was me intending to just sit on the sidewalk and toss pebbles around all night.”

“If you don’t to do that after then be my damn guest.” Lorkhan responded. “But I didn’t mean our homes. We need to go and see Rorke.” He breathed an sighed inwardly at the sound of Zuko coming to an abrupt stop.

“I won’t do it.” The helmeted boy stated bluntly as his companion looked round, shaking his head. “I’m not going to do it, Lorkhan. You can’t make me do it.”

“Oh, stop whining.” The other student snapped, turning around and briskly starting to walk again. He was going to do it anyway, with or without backup, but he couldn’t deny that having Zuko with him would make him feel at least a little safer. “As much as it pains me to admit it, he was the only one of us who properly distrusted those instruments. If he has any other gut feelings about them I want to know.” It took a few minutes, and it came with a grudging sigh, but eventually the sound of Zuko jogging to catch up with him could be heard.

“This is a bad idea.” He muttered, folding his arms and looking away. “Like, even in a week of bad ideas, this one deserves particular notoriety for being shit…” Uncomfortable silence festered between the two momentarily. “We’re still going to use the instruments, right?” Zuko murmured at last, looking back at Lorkhan. The boy’s face was both grim, and uncertain.

It took them a while to navigate their way to Rorke’s house. They’d been past it a few times, but never actually inside, and the fact that it seemed a little more extravagant than either of their own homes was certainly jarring. There was even a small garden out the front, though the area was still as unwelcoming as any on their side of town was. The two shared a surprised glance, before Lorkhan shrugged and walked up to the door. After knocking a few times Rorke’s mother let them in. The pair of boys couldn’t help but wear their surprise openly again when the haggard-looking actually smiled at them. She left as they entered, leaving the two to look around. The building wasn’t exactly a castle, but it was clean and nothing was broken. A plasma screen hung on one of the living room walls, expensive-looking carpets covering the floors. The kitchen could just be seen through a half-open door. Bright stainless steel caught the last of the sun’s light as it streamed in through the windows.

“Huh…not sure what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.” Zuko mused, glancing around. “It’s actually quite…cosy.” The sneer in his voice was only subtle, a hint of bitter jealousy colouring his every word. Lorkhan’s scowl conveyed it much more openly. Yet again he didn’t bother to reply, instead straining his ear for any trace of their band-mate. Eventually some muffled noise took them both upstairs.

“What is that?” Lorkhan murmured as they walked down the corridor, clicking his tongue thoughtfully as his brow creased. He’d picked up the habit from either Varvillon or Mordecai. He couldn’t remember which. Zuko knew what he meant; the sound that came from down the corridor was quiet, but it was also consistent. For a moment it sounded like Rorke was having a conversation with multiple voices, but if he was then his usually snarling tone was hard to pick out.

“TV.” He identified at last, glancing back at Lorkhan. “It’s a TV, or video.” Lorkhan nodded his agreement and briefly tried to identify what the specific source was. The low volume and his own lack of real interest confounded his efforts. They were at the other boy’s door in a matter of steps. Without hesitation, Lorkhan placed a hand on it, starting to walk through.

“Wait…” Part of Zuko knew that his warning wouldn’t be headed, but it didn’t stop him looking away and murmuring thoughtfully. “Wait, hang on…something about this show’s familiar…” Lorkhan wasn’t listening, striding on through into Rorke’s room without hesitation.

“The instruments.” He began abruptly, not bothering with any greeting. “Why exactly didn’t you li-“

He stopped as Zuko’s warning finally sank in, his wide eyes on the television. Rorke stared back at him, his own eyes wide. It was a pleasant enough room, cosy but big enough to not feel cramped. There were a few posters on the wall, a dresser, though Rorke’s clothes were strewn haphazardly around regardless. Lorkhan didn’t care about any of that though. He just kept staring at the screen.

“What…” His expression started out blank, before creasing into a look of bewildered confusion. “What…” Eventually his expression morphed again. It settled on a look of abject, all-consuming horror.

“What the fuck is that?!”

Author's Note:

I need feminism because Facebook won't let me list my gender as 'Khorne Daemonkin'.

Comments

[Cadmium]

Oh my what will Rorke be watching? My bets are on "My little X" where X is some kind of cute animal.
And Spike getting a scroll from who knows where is slightly disturbing since everypony who knows how to send those scrolls is dead or worse.

I need feminism because Facebook won't let me list my gender as 'Khorne Daemonkin'.

I feel you, deep down i am sure i should have been born a Tzeenchian greater daemon.

[Perturabo]

5849961

Oh my what will Rorke be watching? My bets are on "My little X" where X is some kind of cute animal.

:3

[Your Local Daemonhunter]

Impossible... the only ones who could send a scroll are dead... except Twilight... hm, maybe she sold her soul to Tzeentch or something.

[Xaerouzle]

The title is saying "Ordnance". Please fix it.

[Werbell III]

9 years later, and it’s still Ordnance