This chapter is a behemoth. And kind of... depressing. No, that big red ribbon of content warnings is not for show.

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Thanks for turninging a particularly crappy day at work onto something good.

As for all those warnings... weren't they justified hundred times over through the whole fic? Doesn't really get much darker than it already is, at leasy imao.
I mean its the mature 'mature' story, not just an edgy wanna-be. And that's refreshingly good.

9686518
Well, honestly, there were a couple parts towards the beginning that were a bit softer than this particular chapter. This chapter was rough. I actually kinda teared up in a couple spots. I figured "Oh man, if I'm tearing up while writing this, think about someone who's unprepared for this kind of punch in the gut."

Having elements of black comedy and grimdarkness is a very tender balancing act. I actually redacted some parts on my editing pass that I thought were a bit too graphic, not because they exceeded my limits (I don't really have any), but because sometimes, being too explicit actually reduces the drama and horror. William F. Nolan in Stephen King's Danse Macabre put it best:

Nothing is so frightening as what's behind the closed door. You approach the door in the old, deserted house, and you hear something scratching at it. The audience holds its breath along with the protagonist as she/he (more often she) approaches that door. The protagonist throws it open, and there is a ten-foot-tall bug. The audience screams, but this particular scream has an oddly relieved sound to it. "A bug ten feet tall is pretty horrible," the audience thinks, "but I can deal with a ten-foot-tall bug. I was afraid it might be a hundred feet tall."

The more left to the audience's imagination, the more horrifying something can actually become.

I'm glad you enjoyed it, by the way.

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\\sets a char to make 460+ bolts of linen cloth before writing

Wholly agree about leaving some details out for those reasons.
For me, as far as the "edginess" is concerned, the line is drawn if the description of a particular kill/mutilation is prolonged over a few paragraphs for the sake of it. There are surely other concerns, like the plot development, character representation and the readability, but those are usually much more obvious.

And it differs on people and circumstances quite significantly. I still remember one particular scene occasionally - I was DM'ing a small fantasy campaign and had a dialogue between a lizardman cleric (player character) and a lizardman Mage (NPC voiced by me). The subject quite quickly went to the degree of disgust that mage had for Humans, how he likes torturing them for fun and basically stopped there because the player said that he's feeling uncomfortable about it and had just to summarize things quickly before moving on. It honestly felt rather sudden to me, as he chose to play as a member of an openly xenophobic race, member of an even more xenophobic society with a big grudge towards humans and a follower of a deity which favors cruelty, raw strength and survival of the fittest. And before this very scene he supposedly didn't really understand how it would all fit together, keh.

As for my impressiom - well I read the story over 8 hours, or to be exact 2 hours of opportunity during worktime plus 2 hours during a way to home. Combined with my usual habits, I guess the bigger picture was dominating over individual scenes. Though tbh, I can't really focus on more than a few short-lived moments when a MC (and other cast) weren't struggling for survival itself, finding a meaning for it or both.

Darkest moments for me? The first time when the numbers of Ponies alive is mentioned in comparisson to how many there were not so long ago and the Karkadann once we learn more about them. There are many others, but these stand out for me...

I wouldn’t dare vocalize it, but my commanding officer was an irresponsible son of a bitch.

Yeah, no. Three missions in one go with no rest or recovery? He's actively trying to get you killed at this point.

“Were the whorehouses in Canterlot too fancy for the likes of you?”

Nah, they aren't that fancy. I mean your mom only cost like two bits.

The soul of all ponykind had been flayed and laid bare. We were an entire nation in agony. A gazelle in the crocodile’s jaws. Flopping. Spinning. Bloodied and torn. We weren’t fighting. We were just struggling to survive.

leaving a locomotive-shaped hole in the wall in the wall as it went.

In the wall? In the wall!

That explosion just took out over a hundred Confederate soldiers and guardsmen, a few dozen alien mercenaries, and a couple hundred of the staff running the detention camp.

Hope you know where the prisoners are being kept and you didn't just fire a random explosion without a bloody care.

Being mounted by one would be a terrible ordeal, by any stretch of the imagination.

Probably makes for good fantasy during heats though.

He left a spread-eagle damarkind-shaped impression in a brick wall, before peeling off like a cartoon character and falling flat on his face.

Ouch, whiplash!

It was a valid question.

Celestia and Luna couldn't handle vines.
Cadence fares little better, always being captured.
No fucking clue what's going on with Flurry Heart
And Twilight's MIA, probably wracked up a seven digit body count by now.

Any other questions, smartass?

“Damark’s loaded with titanium, apparently. More than those freaks could ever use. If we bombed those fuckers back to the stone age and took their world, we’d have enough titanium to build millions of chargers and thousands of warships, and then some. I don’t think the galaxy would mourn the tragic loss of damarkind culture, either.”

......THAT'S LITERALLY WHAT YOU'RE PROTESTING ANOTHER ALIEN RACE DID TO YOU!

“What do you think?” Garrida looked down at Clover. “She’s going to be a drain on resources from here on out. She’s no good to me without a leg, and Crusher doesn’t have any prosthetics to spare. Even if he did, why would we waste a valuable medical device on a complete basket case?”

....shoot the griffon. She's dead to me.

“Well done,” she said. “If you looked like you were going to do it, I would have stopped you.”

Bull fucking shit. The gun was already pretty much half fired. There's no way in hell you would have stopped it in time. Literally kill yourself.

They’d taken her

They made it personal.

“Kill them all,” I said.

So much for the 'morality test'.

He had to hunch over and blade his massive body sideways to get through the doorway.

The floor must be straining under the weight of someone that big and that heavily armored. I don't suppose you can take the floor out from under him?

It’s the meth. Irrational, extreme mood swings are a known side effect. Stay focused and ignore it!

The meth probably wore off a long time ago. Buuuuut your sister's dead. Tortured, raped, and killed. Now is definitely the time for anger. Lots of anger. In extreme violence mode.

The simple answer to that is that, well, I don’t know. I’ve asked the same question, believe me.

"They said that the story needed an antagonist to keep the plot going, I don't know what they meant by that"

Seriously though, the black in the black and gray morality is making the gray look white by comparison.

There was a rush of wind, and suddenly, he had his injured son slung over his shoulders.

What are you? An anime character? You have to actually contend with air resistance and drag you know! Stop ignoring the laws of physics damnit!

If you want a real killer’s job with real killer pay, we’re hiring. For you, I’d be willing to go under the table. -Emlan Broggas, Tarrasque Security Solutions

Heh, ok, I kinda like you. You keep shit company, but you I like.

our eroticism—and selfishly, cruelly turn them towards their own economic advantage while leaving us with nothing but toil and humiliation. We lived and loved harder than they did, and those soulless, unfeeling, empty, limp-dicked satyr sons of bitches were taking that strength and making it their property.

It's starting to feel a little like you're railing against pony porn.

Not broken. Not sent adrift. Whole. Alive.

Hoodoo! Windy!

Whelp, once you hit bedrock there's nowhere to go but up.

We kept up the tempo, surging past them as they fell. We leapt into the dark, yawning maw of the shattered windows of the railway line’s offices. The buildings were partly lit on the inside by strings of work lights running off backup power, but the halls were mostly bathed in shadow. There were Confederate rear-line personnel and civilian contractors, huddling together in the darkness. Instruments of our oppressors. Khaki-wearing devils. They whimpered and cowered in fear when they saw us. We were the reapers, come to take their lives.

“Kill them all,” I said.

Haybale scratched his head. “But, Sarge, didn’t Garrida say to focus on—”

I wheeled on Haybale. “I don’t give a fuck! If they didn’t want to die, they wouldn’t be here, on our planet, kidnapping our people! Waste these assholes!”

On my orders, my squad and I mowed them all down, heedless of their screams of terror, advancing in a slow march as all of us emptied our beams into the crowd. The room flickered green in the darkness. When we were done, there was nothing but a steaming pile of corpses, flash-cooked from the inside out. We left none alive.

We kept moving through the structure, clearing rooms. Doors would open. An unarmed cleomanni would try making a run for it, begging for their lives, only to be beamed in the back.

If it is wrong for me to find this satisfying, then I don't want to be right. This is the effect your story has on me.

“Good.” Garrida nodded. “I don’t care what units or formations Bell had you in a moment ago. Anyone who’s got wings will join Raptor Team. Everyone else, Team Ostrich. We’re going to assault the Dodge City detention camp and free the captives, but we’re going to do it my way. Combat Engineers, you are to rig every inch of the locomotive with CH. We’re gonna start this bitch off with some big fireworks.

My god.. both of them are fucking Insane

Second, you needed allies to support you. We didn’t have that, either. Equestria had no friends, and the cleomanni forbade others from so much as trading amicably with us. Most of our corner of the galaxy is so afraid of the Confederacy’s wrath, they would comply with any demand of theirs, no matter how outlandish or downright evil. We had been isolated on purpose.

Bunch of fucking cowards

“Captain Garrida’s orders were to take out every alien son of a bitch in Dodge,” I said. “Some aliens went that-a-way, and we’re going to neutralize them, too. They’re going to use Clover as bait. Try and pull us into an ambush. We’re not going to take the bait.” I levitated up one of the fallen damarkinds’ combat knives; the damn thing weighed a couple pounds and had a spine over a quarter-inch thick, like it was made for hunting bears.

A knife? The thing is more of a heavy great sword compared to a pony

“First, I have to like you, and I don’t like you,” Garrida said. “Second, it helps if you’re a griffon. The whole manual of arms and everything needs fingers. Unless you’re a unicorn, which means you can cheat.” She looked around to make sure no one else was looking, and then she smiled and plucked my helmet off my head momentarily to ruffle my mane. “I saw what you did. That was very brave of you. And stupid. Don’t do it again, you understand?”

Eh she's a bitch but a likable bitch

“Yes, it was. You passed. See? You may be a volunteer Charger pilot, but you’re not the monster you think you are. You’re still just a pony. Don’t be so quick to throw that away.”

Nevermind I take it back. She's a fucking bitch

There was a painting on the easel. Not one of her usual landscapes. It was the three of us. Me and my sisters. Smiling and thriving in spite of the ruins all around us. At some point, the background trailed off, and she’d scrawled the words We miss you, Stormy in calligraphic script.

😭😭😭
This is making me cry

I don’t know what’s going on. The satyrs are marching down each block. Kicking in doors. Dear Celestia, they’re taking everypony. I saw heavily armed mercenaries accompanying them. It’s just me and Windy up here. We don’t have any weapons. Nothing to defend ourselves. Just me and my paintbrushes. Please, someone, anyone, help us. I’m so scared!

TIME TO MAKE A MOTHERFUCKER SUFFER!!!!

I slipped out into the back alley, still strewn with trash and standing water as always. Surprisingly enough, my 650cc parallel-twin Stampeder with the big-bore kit, big carb and rephased crank was still where I’d left it.

I'm even more surprised the thing wasn't gutted for parts.

I pulled the trigger on my weapon, the staccato racket of our machine guns filling the air as we released short, controlled bursts of fire into the enemy. Three of them were struck immediately and fell dead on the spot. The rest scattered with unbelievable quickness, disappearing into cover. That was when we started taking accurate fire.

For fat pigs they move surprisingly fast

He was too scared to speak, his whole jaw shaking. I ended his jaw problems personally when I liberated it from the rest of his face with a point-blank beamcaster blast.

You idiot!!! You could have gotten valuable information!!!

He stamped his feet angrily. “Pony coward! Flee! Flee for your worthless little life!” He turned and swept his weapon over the balcony. “There you are!”

Running away is a very great strategy

I was surprised. He’d actually deigned to use the formal name of our species, in our own language. Not the Ardun Ekkestreuni . He’d actually said tonnanen . That was a sign of either grudging respect or fear, and damarkinds rarely felt either one of those things.

I'd say probably both

He tossed her aside like a sack of potatoes, leaving her to gasp and choke on the floor. “My brother—” she gasped and wheezed. “They buried him—in rubble!”

What's the point? You've slaughtered hundreds of ponies. You ain't getting any of my sympathy

It would be the last mistake of their lives. I wheeled on them, my teeth bared with rage. I ripped the knife out of my sister’s chest, cloaking both it and myself with invisibility, breaking into a full gallop straight at their position, stumbling and half-crawling a few steps. My movements had been rendered bestial with raw anger, like I’d been possessed by the soul of a lion. With a roar, I punched the blade into the side of one damarkind’s knee, and he fell. Then, I punctured his neck. Right in the carotid. He collapsed hard, blood fountaining from his wounds.

Kill the bastards!!!😡😭

“Now, if you’ll excuse me.” There was a rush of wind, and suddenly, he had his injured son slung over his shoulders. “I have a ship to catch out of this pathetic backwater.” He offered a mocking little wave goodbye. “Have fun with your crusade, Charger-Girl. May we meet again under better circumstances.”

Damn that's scary fast 😱

Bellwether was sitting in the chair across from me, hoofing through a magazine, like he usually did when I was laid up. I was his asset. He was always watching me like a hawk. Making sure his little make-work project didn’t go dying on him, at which point he wouldn’t have anything to justify his participation in all this.

At least he cares somewhat..

This was a very heavy filled chapter.. so much despair and sadness 😭