PonyHammer 40k: Legions At War

by Ozone31

Entry IV: The Arc Phantom

ENTRY BEGINS. Date Unknown

---

By the time recorded on the targeting auspex it had been four Terran Standard months since that fateful day. Four months of confusion, seventeen weeks of fear, one-hundred and twenty-two days of silently begging for the Emperor's forgiveness. The terrible day that Primarch Raigon Calypsus had fallen from the Emperor's holy light into the dark and foul grasp of the daemonic ones.

Private Gunner Kira Estell, a junior gun operator aboard the Apocaliptian Hunter-class Destoyer; Arc Phantom, sat hunched and shaking in a far corner of gun deck twelve. The human turned unicorn mare was terrified beyond all reason, her sand yellow coat and pale violet mane were sticky and matted with sweat, tears and blood causing her tattered Imperial Army uniform to stick to her lithe form. The young mare had developed a rudimentary control of her new psyker abilities and was using them to levitate the massive Crusade Pattern Astartes Boltgun before her, its sights aligned with the sealed blast door separating her from the rest of the ship. Even it was shaking.

The chattering rattle of the thirteen .75 calibre rounds rattling around in the bolter's clip was one of only three sounds that punctuated the crushing silence that occupied the wide space that housed defence gun 12. The other two sounds were a pair of separate breathing rhythms, one frantic and ever constant, the other; rasping and irregular. The fresh gunner was trying her best to quieten her hyperventilation, but she failed miserably as the memories and the voices crashed around inside her mind like like a pack of terrible beasts - trying desperately to tear her resolve asunder. It was only because she was focusing solely on holding the titanic weapon that she'd kept her sanity this long.

"My aim shall not falter. My aim shall not falter. My aim shall not falter. My aim sha-" she was broken from her maddened murmurings by a wet, raspy chuckle from the glazed black hulk that was propped up next to her. The sound was harsh, forced out of a cracked ceremite helm by a struggling vox speaker - garbling it with static and mechanical warbling. The Apocalyptian astartes' voice was harsher still, a gruff bark of an accent mixed with bloody coughs as his shredded lungs struggled to keep him alive.

"You know, I can't quite tell if you've completely lost your sanity or if you're still desperately clinging onto the pitifully few remaining shreds of it." Fire Captain Anthius Karl, an immense auburn-furred unicorn stallion, said with the broken rasp of a nail gargler. His words were followed by a succession of grisly coughs as his lungs emptied their gory contents into his helmet rebreather. Kira shuffled closer to him as he hacked and spluttered into his helm, placing her hoof gently against his shoulder plate in a purely ceremonial attempt to support him - she new she could never hope to hold even a fraction of his and his armour's weight.

"Please lord. You must endeavour to conserve your strength." she whispered, looking into the glaring red eye lenses of her saviour's skull mask. He gently pushed her hoof away and lightly laughed again, the exhaustion he clearly felt echoing hollowly within the sound.

"You say that as if you believe I will survive this. I first betrayed the Lord Emperor and now I have betrayed my own primarch as well, in two completely separate acts. I do not deserve to live through this ordeal. Those things I used to call brothers will break through those doors eventually and even if they don't kill us, The Swords surely will. They are a vengeful bunch and we were damn foolish enough to incite their wrath." his words were then quickly followed by a fresh bout of bloody retching which finished with a irritated grunt of pain. "And even before attempting to survive all that... I have to get past this..."

The gunner sighed as she followed his turned gaze to his flanks or, at least, what was left of them. His right leg, flank and lower abdomen had been reduced to an ugly patch of grisly scar tissue - the entire section of his body having been removed by a frag grenade, tossed into the room moments before he'd been able to seal the blast door. She'd tended to it as best she could and his astartes physiology meant that the wound had been quickly closed by scar tissue mere minutes after it had been blown open, but he was still clearly suffering from it. She had to try and divert the topic of conversation, to get his mind focused on anything except the pain.

"When you spoke of The Scarred Swords just now." she began, bringing the warrior's attention back to her. "You had a tone of... familiarity. You have met a Swordsman?" she was not only driven by a want to lessen Anthius' pain, at least superficially, she was also genuinely curious having never met a Scarred Swords space marine before. "What are they like? I have yet to meet one, although I still wish to."

The astartes before her cocked his armoured head slightly, as if confused by the question and following statement. "'Have yet'? You wish to gaze upon a hostile Swordsman with your own eyes? You are aware that would mean swift, no, immediate death?" that was no question, but a statement of simple truth. The Swords didn't understand mercy. The order of hunter-knights in which they were raised and trained didn't teach it nor require it. But in response Kira only smiled forlornly at her saviour and shrugged.

"It would be a finer way to die than at the hands of the beasts that now walk the halls of my home." as she spoke, Estell swore she saw the astartes flinch, ever so slightly, but it was so infinitesimal she couldn't be sure that he did. He was silent for a brief time, quietly mulling over her words in his head, before chuckling once again. He raised his head and took a gravelly breath to speak;

But found himself interrupted by the low whine of the ship's alert siren, it's dull blare then being promptly drowned out by a growing roar and the shaking of the Phantom's steel bones. Both occupants cast their gazes towards the nearest sighting port and caught sight of a disturbingly unfamiliar, and yet easily recognisable, orange glow.

"Looks like my story will have to wait lass." the Fire Captain growled, his tone turning sour as he watched the glow intensify and felt the ship rock only harder. "We are setting out to planetary war..."

---

Sixth Captain Dragoon sighed as he stepped out of the Equestrian war tent, after approximately two hours of cultural exchange and rule setting, mentally drained by the attritional process that was diplomacy. He made no attempt to hide his loathing for the act, openly admitting that it wasn't his favourite method of resolving conflict at almost every opportunity he could.

"Then why is it I always get picked to accompany Lord Qrow on these missions of peace?" he grumbled to himself, letting out an exasperated sigh as he sat back against one of the tent's external support beams. He sat there silently for a few seconds, his mind wandering aimlessly, until he finally grew sick of the taste of recycled air and reached up to the base of his helm. After a few brief moments of blind fumbling, he found the pressure lock release with his new hooves and pressed it, he then applied a quick twist which was followed by the sharp hiss of atmospheric escape.

Succeeding in that rapid, yet fumbling, ritual he removed his helm and mag-hooked it to his belt. He took in a deep, drawn-out breath as the armour piece left his head, exposing his silver-grey fur to the gentle breeze. As the air passed by his teeth and brushed over his tounge, he could taste each and every individual element of the planet's atmosphere.

"Nitrogen; approximately seventy-eight percent by volume. Oxygen; twenty-one percent by volume. Argon; nought-point-nine-eight percent. Carbon; nought-point-nought-four percent. Trace concentrations of neon, helium, methane, krypton and hydrogen." he listed aloud to himself as he exhaled, pondering the implications of such proportions. "Terran proportions. Perfect for human life, although, it's not Gaia." he concluded quietly. He took another, quicker breath before opening his eyes to look upon the world with them, for the first time. A world appeared different when viewed through the harsh red optical lenses of an astartes war-helm. So, to truly appreciate a planet's natural glory, one must look upon it without the clutter of vital readings and targeting displays.

Like his primarch, whose gene-seed had created him, Ozonus' eyes were far from normal in appearance or function. Formed from Tri-pointed pupils, shining-emerald irises and ash-grey sclera, like Qrow's they possessed a fantastical quality seen in very few places throughout humanity's territories. However, they weren't a purely an ornamental trait. Every Scarred Swords space marine could observe the world in additional wavelengths of the Electromagnetic Spectrum, including Infra Red, Ultra Violet and, in some rare cases, even X-rays, granting them a form of natural heat vision. Not only that, but they also perceived the world at a higher rate of 'frames per second' as the legion's apothecaries often put it to the initiates. His vision was also honed to a far finer point than that of most creatures, able enough to determine the width and length of an Ork's nose hairs from approximately two kilometres away with an almost negligible margin of error. Of course, several of these visual functions were granted to the other astartes legions via artificial optical implants and retinal replacements, but the Swords and their Primarch were the only known beings in the Imperium to possess such sight naturally.

But there was one particular feature of his ultra-enhanced optics that was especially useful at this point it time. Enhanced pupil dilation. While the scorching, early-morning sun above was blinding most of the Equestrians with its rays, his eyes had almost instantly adjusted to the light levels to allow him to see perfectly.

However, there was unfortunately nothing too spectacular to observe here. Just a grassy plain, occupied by milling soldiers and hulking warriors of green, red and white. A common sight for the high-ranking astartes. What was slightly less common, was an inviting aroma wafted into his nostrils by the wind and the rather curious argument that was carried with it.

"I'm tellin' ya, adding this to them would make them unbelievably delicious, it's proven!"

"And Ah'm tellin' ya'll, these soldiers don' need calories like that in their diets!"

With his curiosity now peaked at the thought of obtaining information on the Equestrian diet, Dragoon rose to his armoured hooves and wandered around the main tent and towards a secondary one that was adorned with a chimney.

---

"No, Pinkie Pie." Applejack repeated, sternly, for the eighth time.

"But whyyyyyyyyyy?" the party-planner whined in response, putting on her best foal pout in an attempt to sway the apple farmer's decision.

"Ah will not compromise the soldiers of Equestria at such a important time, by lettin' ya put caramel on the apples Ah'm gonna serve 'em."

"But caramel apples are good! It's a proven fact! Plus we do need sugars ya know."

"Sure, they're good. But they ain' exactly good for ya. These ponies need healthy food, not 'good' food."

"I feel complied to agree with the orange one under these circumstances." a third, incredibly deep voice interjected as the tent entrance was pushed aside. When both mares turned to behold this newcomer they found themselves staring at a towering, green-armoured hulk trudging into the cooking area. His unannounced entrance, and appearance in general, caused Applejack to almost jump clean out of her fur.

What the hay is one o' them doin' here?

---

The bridge of The Excalibur was quiet, as per usual, when First Captain Dranzer stepped onto it from the turbo-lift. The darkened, broad, tiered command deck was an exemplary space when it came to representing military discipline at its finest. Midshipmen and Lieutenants milled about amongst the consoles in practised silence, quietly reciting orders and requests between each other and their superiors. The more experienced Commanders sat at the control stations, actively rerouting power and resources around the ship, engaged in the on-going effort to restore the mighty vessel to acceptable working order. Four Captains watched over the bridge, each presiding over his or her own quarter of the management deck, comparable to sentinel statues at a city's gates - observing every ebb and flow of information that entered and left their borrowed domain.

Overseeing this entire, infallible, mechanism was Lord Admiral Achilles Fyndral. It was clear the man-turned-pony was back in his groove, which Dranzer had to admit was rather impressive - very few mortals would have been able to pull themselves together mentally after such a change, let alone completely overcome it in a matter of hours. He was orchestrating every last movement aboard the bridge with an efficiency only a true veteran could possess, barely raising his voice above a whisper and yet every soul on the deck heard him loud and clear, as if he were standing right next to them.

Zerith had initially been wary of the idea of a non-astartes officer having command over The Excalibur in the primarch's absence, but he had to admit; Fyndral was a damn good military director, a born leader.

"How go the repairs, Achilles?" the astartes droned in his mechanical voice, circling around the Master's Table, towards the bridge's rear, and drawing alongside the smaller stallion to join him in looking down upon the wide stage of an administrative play. Alone, a mortal man was frail, weak-minded and ultimately incompetent. But together, as a single part of a larger mechanism, they were strong, unyielding and capable of accomplishing anything. This was what the Scarred Swords were constantly striving to protect; the unity of mankind, the pillar on which the Imperium stood.

"Slow going I am afraid." the Admiral replied grimly, a sour sneer creasing the ghostly features of his equine face. "The Long Range Augar Arrays are still offline, although the exact reason why that is remains unknown... We have servitor teams looking into it. Vox communications throughout the ship are patchy at best and nonexistent at worst, we still have yet to receive anything from engineering at all. "

"What of the hull integrity?"

"Relatively minor damage so far, nothing that cannot be mended in a short time."

"Crew losses?" Dranzer didn't, as such, fear the answer to his question, for a single or even hundreds of lost human lives meant very little in the grand scheme of things. But he couldn't help but feel somewhat sorrowful, these had been living, breathing beings after all - beings he'd sworn to protect...

"The Excalibur lost a total two-hundred and forty-three crewmen and women in the, short, battle over Raigon and the following crash landing, however; that figure is likely to rise as we re-establish communications with the rest of the ship." Fyndral quickly summarised, not wishing to dwell on the subject for too long under current conditions. They would mourn later, for now they had to remain focused on restoring the ship.

"Very good." the astartes' reply was blunt and impassive, although it was near impossible to ever detect any hint of emotion in the words that came from the artificial vox larynx. The mortal stallion often theorised on how the first captain lost his original throat, but whenever he asked the soldier he was always given the response; "It was before your time admiral, do not trouble yourself over it." His own way of saying "Don't ask or I will break you like a twig."

It was rather frustrating to say the least, especially for a soul as naturally curious as Achilles Fyndral.

"Lord Admiral." he was broken from his thoughts by the call of one of the deck captains, calling from her position on the base tier - behind a central console. He knew what she was going to say before she spoke another word, he knew the exact nature of her station's role on the bridge, a hopeful anticipation filling his chest for the first time since long before this fateful crusade. But, he maintained proper military restraint and control, offering the officer the appropriate response to her request for his attention.

"Yes, what is it captain?" he asked, expertly hiding the emotional buzz he was feeling behind his face of office.

"We have mid-range augar, sir." came the stoic response from the grizzled veteran captain and for brief second Fyndral, genuinely, felt like smiling, before quickly noting that she'd taken another breath to continue. But, at first, she didn't. She just stood there, mouth slightly agape, her stoic features creased and lined with indecision.

"Finish your report, captain." he spoke his order slowly, being calculative in his words, almost fearing the answer he was about to receive. The captain swallowed, almost unwilling to comply.

"We're picking up a return signal, from within the planet's atmosphere, sir. It's an Apocalyptian escort ship, sir..." her eventual reply was slow and cautious and all activity on the bridge, apart from the mindless actions of the servitors, stopped to take it in.

"Current coordinates and heading?" Fyndral inquired, his tone even and unreadable, even to Dranzer (or some might argue, especially to Dranzer).

"Descending through the lower atmosphere on the opposite edge of the main continent, entering ground assault altitudes. But as of yet, only vertical movement - it's not advancing on us, sir." the captain concluded, her tone slightly dour despite the, overall, satisfying news. The lord admiral picked up on this and quickly honed in on it.

"You are not done, are you captain?" the honoured mare nodded and proceeded with the final piece of intelligence that the, freshly activated, augar had given them.

"We have detected a dense population of bio-signatures beneath the craft, sir." she did not need to elaborate on that.

"A city." Dranzer finally rasped, the organic sections of his face and muzzle set in a fierce grimace. The bridge was dead silent now, even the servitors having halted in their labours at the behest of the senior deck crew. All equine faces were turned towards the first captain and the lord admiral - expecting, almost begging, for orders. In turn, Fyndral turned to Dranzer, eyeing the most senior officer currently on the entire ship with an impassive stare.

For a moment, First Captian Alatreon Zerith was gripped with indecision. Do I contact Lord Qrow and request orders? Or do I just act? This is not our world... if we just strike against the Apocalyptians now, even if we do so in the defence of the locals, we will most likely be branded as aggressors against these people, er, ponies. The backlash could... No. He took a rasping, filtered breath to clear his mind, resetting himself to war mode.

"We have no time to waste. Contact Commissar General Node, he is to mobilise three battalions of the Imperial Army to strike against this craft." a vox officer saluted and spun back to his console, equipping his headset as he began tuning the vox to the required channels. Dranzer continued as the entire room came to life, its occupants finally realising that they were back at war.

"There is no point in marshalling additional astartes forces for battle, when we already have elements of two companies just idling outside the ship... Can we contact Lord Qrow?"

"Negative lord, Lord Qrow is still under radio silence for the negotiations. We are getting no vox returns from him, Driger or Sister-Commander Rodrias." called another voxman from the same division as the one who was now clearly, indicated by the intense volumes of speech from the other end of the channel, in communications with Node. Dranzer picked up on a key missing name in the serf's report.

"THEN PATCH ME IN WITH DRAGOON!" he roared, swiftness of action now of the utmost importance...

---

For one say that Lord Of Blades; Furious Storm-Qrow seemed surprised as the fleet of Valkyrie gunships and Devourer dropships flew, at full combat speeds, over the top of the Equestrian camp, would have been a blasphemy of the highest order - to suggest aloud that a primarch had any flaws at all was to effectively take out a pistol and press it to one's own temple.

But, and although he would never admit it in present company, his eyebrows did raise considerably as the twenty-eight strong imperial navy transport group rumbled over head - heading due East with all the haste that their mighty promethium engines could muster. Out of the edges of his peripherals, he could see Equestrian soldiers quivering in their armour, or falling flat on their rumps, or - in Celestia's case - whipping around to demand answers from the towering stallion. I swear to His Majesty, I'm going to find Node an-

"My Lord!" however, both Celestia's words and Qrow's thoughts were cut off by an approaching, fully armoured, Captain Dragoon. He had two of the Equestrian heroes in tow, as he strode towards the command groups from the catering tent. Curiously, he seemed to be marked by blotches of pastry batter and other food mixtures, but stained war-plate was the last thing on anypony's mind at that exact point in time. When the sixth captain reached the group, it was Driger to first approach and greet him with the question that was occupying all minds at that time.

"The hell is going on brother?! Why and WHO deployed the Imperial Army?" Dragoon didn't stop in front of his twin and, instead, stood at attention before his commander - choosing to relay to him directly.

"Sire, Apocalyptian vessel detected in the planet's lower atmosphere." he reported directly, his plain statement causing almost every Imperial in earshot to flinch and inspiring everything from; hushed whispers of trepidation to outright screams of terror from the Equestrians. But he wasn't done. "It has anchored above a population centre, almost directly East of here. We're picking up Warp breaches."

"East of here..." Cadence pondered aloud, before almost instantly coming to the horrible realisation that had already struck her husband and both of her aunties. "Manehatten!"

"Yes..." Princess Celestia agreed grimly.

"How do we know this isn't your doing?!" Luna didn't miss a beat in making her accusation, quickly turning on the Swords and the Sisters of Silence. However, the Imperials seemed to ignore her completely and continued their deliberations.

"Is this intelligence reliable?" Qrow inquired, not wanting to make such an immense diplomatic faux pas based on augar noise or off the word of a certain bullheaded Imperial Army officer.

"Came in straight from Dranzer and Fyndral on the bridge. Astartes transports are being prepped for launch as we speak and I've already ordered sixth company's equipment to be loaded up, at least those of the group present here and now." Dragoon replied, now looking off towards The Excalibur as, even at this distance, the upper launch doors of the Astartes Launch Bay could be seen slowly sliding open.

"Just sixth company and only the ones here?" Driger exclaimed, storming up to his blood kin's side. "We should be deploying your entire damn house!"

"At this time, The Excalibur can only deploy four Thunderhawk gunships and two Thunderhawk transporters. Only enough for one-hundred astartes as well as armoured support." Dragoon sighed, obviously unhappy with the restriction but fully aware that he would have to make do. But only being able to deploy one hundred astartes from a company of five thousand was a very aggravating statistic. Driger snarled, replacing his helm to hide his bestial fury behind layers of adamantium and ceremite.

"What are you deploying with you?" the primarch cut in at this point, returning the sixth captain's attention to him. He had no time for Driger's, unusually, agitated attitude at the moment.

"Two Castraferrum Pattern Dreadnoughts, in the forward bays of two of the gunships - brothers Margam and Celius. Two Predator Destructors and a Hellblade."

"Are the crews capable of piloting their tanks?" Qrow was more than aware of the restrictions that their new forms could threaten to put on the forces of the Imperium and was in no mood to lose elite astartes and precious war machines to a lack of fingers. "Our Hellblades are a valuable commodity and do not exist in large numbers, as you know. Losing one as a result of unfamiliarity to our equine forms would be beyond tragic."

"The tank crews have assured me that they have spent every moment since our arrival training themselves to use their vehicles with their new forms." Dragoon replied, eyeing the first of the airborne Thunderhawks as it approached them.

It's matte-green fuselage and wings had been heavily loaded up with additional, anti-armour rocket pods and although it would be somewhat slowed by the added weight, he knew that they would be more than necessary in a battle with an astartes destroyer. The nearby Equestrian soldiers scattered as the craft came in to land, impacting the ground with a dull thud and a hiss as the landing skids touched the soil.

"First, second and third squads load up and prepare for combat, we're off to slay monsters and traitors. Other squads, board the other 'Hawks, when they arrive, in accordance to squad number." Dragoon barked into the vox, glad to finally be back in an environment that he was familiar and comfortable with - battlefield command. "However, while their word is the only proof of ability that they've been able to give me, it is also all I need." he finished off his thought from earlier, his confident smile almost visible from beneath his helm.

"And it's more than enough for me as well." the primarch agreed, whilst watching a second gunship and the first of the transporters coming in, the former moving in to land while the latter took up a holding pattern - a massive, heavy-battle tank already slung below its body by powerful grav-hooks. He approached Dragoon and placed a hoof on his shoulder, in a fatherly fashion, smiling down on the veteran captain. "Fight well, my son, may The Emperor grant you a swift and decisive victory."

"And let us hope that we are not too late." he replied, briefly placing his own, smaller, hoof atop his leader's - before stepping back and beginning his move towards the waiting Thunderhawk. However, he was quickly halted by a sudden and somewhat violent cry of:

"WAIT!"

All heads, near and far, promptly turned towards the furious Princess of the Night, as she stood by her elder sister - catching her breath after utilising the Royal Canterlot Voice so quickly and at such elevated volumes. She, along with all of the Equestrian leadership, was completely in the dark as to what was happening at that exact moment. All she could completely pick up on was that Manehatten was in some serious trouble and that she couldn't help but feel that there were somethings that their 'guests' weren't revealing about the situation. She wasn't about to let them go flying about the Equestrian kingdom, doing whatever they pleased - at least not without her there to watch them.

"Do you honestly believe that I'm just going to let you fly off and wage war on our soil, just like that?!"

"Given the current situation, would that not be a prudent thing to do?" Dragoon asked as he turned back around to address the Princess of the Night, refusing to give up any ground as she rapidly approached him. His voice was cold and he was straight to the point with his argument, however, he spoke without any condescension or arrogance whatsoever. "With respect, you are completely incapable of effectively combating the threat your nation now faces. As the most advanced, numerous and experienced military party now in existence on your world, this threat should be left to us."

"You underestimate our might and overstretch your authority under these circumstances" Luna snarled, her own voice a direct contrast to the honoured captain's - hot and seething with emotion.

Qrow sighed. He'd seen this exact scene play out before, albeit in somewhat different situations, many times. It was like watching an exchange between Lorgar and Guilliman or between Leman Russ and Rogal Dorn - one side a fiery wave of intense, emotional opinion, the other an icy wall of infallible fact. Having been on all sides of these kinds of debates he knew how to resolve the dispute, but he was unsure of whether or not he should.

The princess had played the card that he'd been dreading, the one that declared a single, simple truth. This was not their world. He knew that when in a position like the one he currently found himself in, the most fitting decision would be to ignore the Equestrian's grievances and order the sixth company to go to war with all haste - most of his brothers would have given the command without a second thought. Ultimately, they would be thankful after the fact, would they not?

"I may be." Dragoon admitted simply, still standing completely unmoved before the wrathful alicorn."However, I've seen the might of the Ruinous Powers and, no matter how much I may have underestimated you, I know for a fact that you cannot even muster enough power to equal even the most minute fraction of that might."

"That being said." it was at this point that Celestia returned to the conversation, stepping up to Qrow and staring straight into his prismatic eyes. "We still have no guarantee that this is not some plot, a plan you've concocted to try and conquer us. What assurance can you give me and my citizens, here and now, that you mean Equestria no harm?"

"Honestly?" the Lord of Blades asked, pushing back feelings of amusement at the idea that they would even need an elaborate plot to defeat these beings. "I can offer none, other than my word of course."

"Words mean very little at this juncture."

"T-then why don't you let us show you?" a quiet, yet assured voice spoke up from the right of Qrow. All attention turned to its source as two mares stepped into the circle of discussion, coming out from around the primarch's hulking form and standing side-by-side before the rest of the group. Sister Commander Rodrias and her interpreter, Sister-in-Waiting Tolm, had remained silent throughout most of the diplomacy discussions and this entire confrontation, so their sudden appearance was as if out of thin air to many - excepting Qrow, who had been well aware of their scheming presence.

"Show us, how?" Celestia probed cautiously, slightly perturbed by the appearance of the unsettling pair. Of all the offworlders that she'd seen so far, this Sister Commander was by far the most disconcerting of them all. Her mismatched eyes and slightly hunched gait gave the mare the visage of a predatory beast, stalking confidently in plain sight. Her constant silence only helped to cement this image in her mind, her golden plate seldom making even the slightest chink or grind as the mare moved.

"Why not send an envoy with Captain Dragoon's war party, so you may experience a war with Chaos first hand- er hoof." the interpreter explained, her tone quiet and careful - ideal for a diplomat. This second mare was nothing like her superior, to the extent where Celestia actually questioned if she was even a member of the same order. Her posture was was straight and rigid, her head was lowered slightly and her eyes showed a distinct meekness. Yet the strength and calmness in her voice betrayed her physical stance, for it showed no fear, no shyness - it was the voice of a speaker, plain and simple. The contrast between these two mares was as stark as that the one that existed between Luna's personality and Dragoon's. "W-with the permission of L-lord Q-Qrow, o-o-of course." the earth-pony mare stuttered, rounding off her suggestion with a timid glance to the stallion in question. Qrow sighed as all present gazes followed Tolm's and quickly settled on him.

"I would be willing to condone such a mission, if you'd allow my sister to travel with your troops." Princess Celestia agreed, her scrutinising stare fixed back on him again. Her request was clearly a rhetorical one; it was either accept it or leave the city to damnation and give the Apocalyptians a foothold on this world. "What say you, Lord Commander Furious Storm-Qrow?" she asked, her tone almost demanding.

"Dragoon."

"Yes sire?"

"Is there room on your gunship?" he sighed once again as he conceded, feeling the weight on his shoulders grow considerably - the burden of yet more lives pressing down hard on his mind. The captain also let out a sigh before replying, although his seemed more to be born of irritation than Qrow's, which came from the pressures of supreme leadership. Instead of replying directly to the group present, Dragoon activated his vox link and spoke into it:

"First squad, new orders. Postpone your boarding, we will take up standing positions in the Thunderhawk. That is all." his commands given, he turned back to the command parties and gestured a hoof to the waiting aerospace craft. "Ten free jumps seats, for whomever wants them." his announced, completing a sarcastic bow to the moon princess in the process. She returned the sentiment with a sneer and an indignant huff before making an announcement of her own.

"I will gather nine of my best troops!"

"B-better make that seven." Tolm spoke up again, whilst following Rodrias - who was already moving towards the craft. "Lady Rodrias and myself will also be accompanying the sixth company in their crusade." with that said, both Imperial mares accelerated their pace and boarded the Thunderhawk, disappearing into the darkness of its forward hold.

"Sure, be my guest." Dragoon grunted quickly, under his breath. He then turned to address Luna again, fixing his steely glare directly on her - clearly fed up with the situation. "We depart in five minutes, no leeway. For your own safety, you will comply with every order I give you, no 'ifs', 'ors' or 'buts'. If I tell you to duck in cover, you do it. If I tell you to get down, you drop to the floor instantly. If I tell you to run: You will. RUN. Like. Hell. Am I clear?"

"... Crystal." Luna eventually ceded, her tone even and compliant. She knew too well that war was nothing to joke about and she while she didn't like this warrior, she wasn't going to disagree with the experience his armour showed - even with the flour splotches.

The two then exchanged a nod, before they both set off in opposite directions to brief their respective soldiers. Qrow watched them go, throwing his thoughts to the future as he did so - pondering the road their interactions would take them down. Personally, he could see them becoming fast friends.

"What will my sister see when she arrives in Manehatten?" Celestia inquired as she too watched the two as they moved apart, her expression hard set and grim. Qrow could tell that the siblings had seen battle before, it was just something that showed on the face - an indescribable look in the eyes that told a trained onlooker everything - but it was unlikely that they'd ever seen anything like what the younger was going to discover at that city.

"Does your culture have a hell?" his response was flat, almost nonchalant.

"It does..."

"Your sister is going to find a city, that is begging for hell's sweet, peaceful release. She is delving into madness and bloodshed, against visions of horror that defy comprehension and astartes who have fallen under the control of such monstrosities. When she returns, she will be... changed."

Comments

[TheArcticWolf]

My attention is your's.

[Orkus]

Needs more Nurgle.

[warpsmith]

there is sou many times l can call heresy before my throat gets sore, where to even begin with. How can they fight when 100 % of their weaponry is worthless because they cant use without fingers. And how can 3 meter tall space marine turned to one meter xeno could possibly drive or fly because they don't reach pedals nor cant press buttons because they are out of reach.Space marines have ports in their back what they will plug in their transports but if their armor if smaller sou are the ports, switch makes it impossible to work. And if their armor is changed to fit their form then why haven't their whole ship warp twisted, it would be way too selective to do just that. Ork will have a field day butchering meter tall weaker space marine ponies.

[Ozone31]

8960462
Entry V is currently in production and going well in my books (pun unintended ).

I thank everyone for their compliments and encouragement. Criticisms are being taken into account.