19: Sky's Falling, World's Ending
Notice: Due to the uncertain nature of warfare, the previous formatting of location/ date-time/ location will be foregone in favor of simple location, sometimes followed by the time elapsed since the previous scene. For Instance:
* * * * * * *
Ponyville Armory
The rush of activity the sirens had started had long since given way to tense preparation. Ponies murmured in groups, trading everything from witty banter to tearful confessions as they suited up and filed out, and despite an effort to keep friends together for “unit cohesion,” the streets outside were clogged with goodbyes that nopony had the heart to break up. Even the most heartfelt of moments couldn’t last forever, however, and soon the armory stood empty of all except bare racks and a close circle of six ponies.
Applejack shuffled under the weight of her heavy plating and machine gun, and her iconic ponytail squeezed out the base of her helmet as she and Rainbow Dash contested who would show their fear first. While the athletes both wore harnessed weapons, the cowpony looked awkwardly burdened compared to the pegasus’s lighter armor and streamlined missile pods.
Fluttershy and Rarity had little in the way of protection, instead hefting packs of equipment. Fluttershy’s bags clanked with canisters of biofoam and bulged with gauze and other medical gear, and the timid pegasus seemed ready to withdraw into it like a tortoise at the slightest threat. Rarity’s rustled with metallic tinks every time she moved but otherwise betrayed no sign of the delicate instruments inside, though her thoughts were not so concealed by her misty eyes.
Pinkie Pie wore no armor, having instead donned the black catsuit she had worn to accompany Twilight as they “infiltrated” the Canterlot library. This was augmented by a set of green-lensed, gold-rimmed goggles of undetermined purpose, a set of clawed hoof-straps based off of an old Night Guard design, and a liberal coating of peculiar-smelling green slime. Of the six of them, only she seemed unaffected by the prospect of combat as she hummed a catchy tune.
Twilight Sparkle was encased in a more average set of combat gear, though she lacked the “hoof-cannon” normally given to standard infantry. Also distinguishing her from the lineponies were the radiopack straddling her back and the lavender runes carved across every inch of her suit. With a weak smile, she gazed across her best friends one last time, memorizing every feature as if she would never see it again. They each noticed, and looked back at her expectantly.
“Well,” she started with a sniffle, “This is it. The toughest challenge we’ve ever faced. We’ll be scattered all over town, with millions of super-advanced alien warriors all clamoring for our blood. Are you all ready?”
Fluttershy squeaked out a “No,” as she emerged from her artificial cave. “But if you’re all going to be out there getting hurt, then I can’t just stay behind.”
“Don’cha worry, ’Shy. If them alien varmints wanna get to ya, they’ll hafta go through me!” Applejack thumped her armor, and the steely clang added what little emphasis her confident voice didn’t.
“And I shall be by your side whenever I can,” Rarity added, draping a hoof over her delicate friend. “What about you, Rainbow Dash? Are you prepared for this whole, ghastly affair?”
“Hey!” Rainbow snorted, seemingly affronted by the idea that she wasn’t ready for anything. “Who the heck do ya think I am?”
“You’re Rainbow Dash!” Pinkie Pie chirped, “Fastest flyer in all of Equestria!”
The athletic pegasus paused for a moment, having clearly not expected an answer to her rhetorical question, but she put on a cocksure grin and went with it. “Ya got that right! If those space-bozos want a piece of me, they’ll have to catch me first. How about you, Pinks?”
“Oh, I’m not actually going to fight.”
Her friends let loose a synchronized chorus of “what?!” in a variety of tones and attitudes before dissolving into a confused tirade. When it became clear that none of them could be heard over the others, Twilight let out a shrill whistle to garner silence. “What do you mean you’re not fighting?” she demanded with a glare.
“I just don’t have the stomach for all of this war and killing and stuff,” the slime-covered pony clarified. “Not like chocolate or cupcakes or, ooh, mousse! If we were going to mousse instead of war, I’d be right behind you! Maybe even in front of you!”
Pinkie suddenly let out a sigh that seemed to carry all of the joy out of her. “But we’re not. We’re going out there to fight and hurt and kill, and I just can’t do that. I… I don’t like the pony I’d be if I did.”
Her friends’ eyes softened at the sight of her melancholy. They pulled her into a tight embrace, not even flinching at the gooey squelch of her oozy coating. “We understand, Pinkie,” Twilight whispered from the middle of the group hug. “It’s a terrible thing for all of us, and if there were any better options we’d take them in a heartbeat, but there aren’t. The Covenant will kill everypony unless we stop them, and the only way to do that is to kill them first.
“What I don’t understand,” she finished, breaking the hug apart, “is why you’re dressed like that if you aren’t going to fight.”
Pinkie looked herself over in confusion for a moment, then giggled at some joke nopony else seemed to get. “This isn’t for me, silly! It’s for Icy!”
“The Windigo?”
“Yep! I’m gonna let him take over for the battle since fighting is one of the only things he remembers from his old life. That’s why I brought him to training all the time. Oh IIIIcyyy!”
The call brought with it an unnatural chill. Frost settled on any exposed metal or glass as misting breath turned to a freezing fog that gathered at the ponies’ hooves with lightning speed. Two wintery orbs sparked to life amid the shifting banks, which suddenly surged into a vaguely equine form around them. Finally, as if to complete the infiltration of cold, an icy presence pressed against the minds of the six ponies in a manner just short of invasive.
You are prepared, Pink One? The Windigo intoned without sound, like a low, howling wind in the mind.
“I sure a-Wait!” The Windigo halted in its path and watched Pinkie turn back to her friends. “Can I have my gak back now, girls?”
It was the others’ turn to look at themselves, though it was time in disgust at the snot-like residue of their heartwarming contact. In moments the mucus was gathered in a purple aura and splattered across Pinkie’s waiting face.
As her enigmatic friend re-slathered herself in gunk, Twilight turned to the spirit. “So… Your name’s Icy? I thought you couldn’t remember your old life.”
That is true. I do not recall whatever name I used in life and as a mindless wraith I had no use for titles, but upon regaining myself I needed some form of identity or risk losing my sanity again. I chose Icingdeath, a more fitting moniker to my new form. The Pink One could not memorize it and preferred to call me Icy, but I would prefer it if you used my full name.
“Oh, uh, okay. Sorry for bringing it up.”
Despite her best efforts, Icingdeath could feel the dark thoughts swirling to the front of the librarians mind and could not help but conclude itself as their source. It bothers you still, does it not? it probed, and she reluctantly nodded. It shouldn’t. Do not concern yourself with dust and echoes. It moves me that you would mourn those forgotten, but save your tears for the living; they will need them soon enough. As for myself…
The ghost paused in thought, and though it remained as impassive as ever its voice now carried a note of regret. Whoever I once was is dead, my land and people are gone, and a thirst for vengeance is all that now sustains me. You and your friends have my thanks for giving me the clarity and means to take it, but there exists only one harmony for a revenant like me: to balance the scales, life for life.
Again, only Pinkie Pie appeared oblivious to the edge on the Windigo’s words. As her living friends shuddered in more than mere chill, she finished re-coating herself in slime and gave off an odd, low-key hum for several seconds. “Okey-dokey!” she finally said. “Ready to go!”
“Wait!” Fluttershy called, letting out a small eep at becoming the center of attention. “This won’t hurt her,” she eventually squeaked out, “Will it?”
Icingdeath regarded the quivering pegasus for a moment as it contemplated how best to answer. No, it replied at length. It will be akin to seeing through another’s eyes. I will command her movements and utilize her senses and she will consider herself no more than a passenger in her own body, its actions and sensations distanced.
“A-and you’ll let her go as soon as everything’s over?”
I could certainly not hold her against her will. Few and dark are those who could best a soul in its own home.
“Besides,” Pinkie piped in, “Icy’s my friend! He’d never do anything to hurt me. Now let’s get this party started!”
As you wish. The Windigo gathered around its host-to-be, who did not flinch as she was engulfed in frigid fog.
The hour is near at hoof…
She gasped as freezing mist funneled into her mouth and nose, instantly numbing them with cold.
When bitter winds shall blow…
The chill soon spread across her face and advanced through her entire body.
As darkness moves aloof…
Pinkie did not shiver even as her slime froze, entombing her in a crystalline shell.
To reap what it has sown…
She was now completely devoid of feeling, only vaguely aware that her limbs had stopped answering her thoughts.
Earth will quake and heave…
The room’s icy atmosphere seemed to collapse in on the pink ponysicle, covering her in an aura of winter but allowing everything else to thaw.
Fire and steel will clash…
The ice-coated figure rippled, her fur turning blue and her mane a snowy white.
And before the battle’s leave…
The rigid body suddenly shifted, the solid ooze somehow never melting as it bent and flexed with its wearer.
I will take my peace at last!
Finally, the goggles lit up with arctic-blue light from the eyes behind them. The form that once belonged to the Element of Laughter straightened into a stance more disciplined and confident than its hyperactive mind could ever achieve, and said with a deep, echoing thunder that had no place in a mare.
“Assuming direct control.”
* * * * * * *
Reverence-class supercruiser Honor in Death
Despite the glorious conquest within sight, the bridge of the Jiralhanae clan-flagship was as still and silent as stone. Atop the central platform, High-Chieftain Darrinus stood tense beneath the smooth crimson plates of his battle armor, his knuckles white around the haft of the ancestral battlehammer Wulfgar’s Blow. He could feel the massed gaze of his retinue, a dozen pack-chieftains with their crested armors and heavy weapons, all watching for any hint of weakness. They drilled into him their anticipation, support, even distain, but none would hesitate to challenge him should he prove unable to fulfill his duties. He knew they wouldn’t, because that was the Jiralhanae way.
Still, he hesitated. This task was vital to the clan’s honor, but the mere thought of confronting Arga and that smoky fiend shuddered his hide. It was not the rumors of dark crafts taught in private or the lethal sight of the Fleetmaster’s new form, though they alone were enough to merit pause. It was something in their eyes, their voices; some unnatural edge that supplanted reason and courage with a cloying fear. Their very existence brought forth screams from the basest of instincts, “Flee! Flee for your life, lest it end here!” How could he possibly confront that?
Darrinus was startled by a sudden weight on his shoulder. Cursing his own distraction and praying his jump had gone unnoticed he glanced back to see the unique silver armor of the clan elder. Its lack of ornamentation was more reminiscent of a medieval knight than the animalistic frills of standard Jiralhanae fashions, yet even the high-chieftain held nothing but respect for the sagely eyes that now held his gaze, and the strength within them that outclassed the might and guile of any beast: control.
He drew on that control now, used it to still his fears, and commanded, “Connect me to Fleetmast Arga Quramee, and prepare an order for all ships of the clan, to be given on my signal: They are to break off from the attack on this planet until and unless honorable combat is permitted or it proves itself capable of engaging the fleet in a worthy fashion.”
Almost instantly the main display flickered to show the bridge of the Crucible, where Arga and his pet abomination waited with looks of amused expectation. Darrinus acknowledged the fleetmaster with a stiff nod and a muttered greeting, but stalwartly refused to look at the disembodied face that hovered in the background; his confidence had waned enough as it was without gazing into the abyss.
“Ah, Darrinus,” the ascended Sangheili returned. “I assume you are here to make a request on your clan’s behalf?”
The chieftain glanced back at the sterling-clad figure of the clan elder and visibly steeled his nerves. “Only a statement: my kinsmen and I shall take no part in the glassing of this planet. Send the order!” he shouted to one side.
“What?” Arga shouted, his wings flaring in shock. “Explain your cowardice at once!”
All of the Jiralhanae stiffened at the accusation, none more so than their leader. “Cowardice?” he growled. “Cowardice is refusing to meet foes on whatever field they present. Cowardice is denying their warriors the opportunity to die honorably in battle. Slaughtering enemies from an unreachable station shows as much cowardice as fleeing from them, if not more.”
The fleetmaster reared in indignation and roared, “What do you know of honor? Your kind would endanger holy relics with your bloodlust if the High Prophets themselves were not holding your leash!”
“The other clans are nothing but rabid beasts,” Darrinus raged back, his fear forgotten in the temper his species was known for. “We should have been commanding armadas of our own by the time we joined the Covenant, but instead they abandoned their honor and restraint in pursuit of personal glory and left the rest of us to gnaw bones in the ruins. It is a testament to my ancestor’s strength that this clan survived it all, and I will not be proven his lesser by losing it to frenzy now. We will destroy this world honorably, face-to-face, or not at all.”
The sheer contempt being channeled through the connection seemed set to break it, if neither party did so first. Both were too consumed by resentment or stubbornness to back down, and only a timely, if reluctant interruption broke the contest of authority.
“Fleetmaster, the Vigilant Hymn has entered firing range. Shall it begin the purging, or wait until the rest of the fleet is positioned?”
Arga was hesitant to reply and forfeit the unspoken challenge, but his sense of duty won out and he replied, “There is no need to delay. Order the Hymn to fire at will.” By the time he returned his full attention to the chieftain, he could only spit, “Very well then, keep your tainted honor, but you can be certain that the Hierarchs will hear of this insubordination.”
Just as he made to end the connection, however, an alert sounded that shocked all who heard it. “Surface fire detected. Cruiser Vigilant Hymn lost with all crew.”
* * * * * * *
Stonetalon Foothills, New Griffic Union of Kings
Moments Earlier
Duke Gunther of Crow-Martin had, like many other griffin royals, viewed the ponies’ frantic scrambling these past few months with some amount of bemusement. He had accepted their alliance readily enough — after all, one would have to be a true featherbrain to turn down such amazing advancements as the Equestrians had suddenly come upon — but he had believed Celestia’s fearmongering to be just that: fanciful exaggerations of a lesser threat. Nothing could match the united forces of the Twelve Aeries. Even the mighty necromancer Grogar had failed, his undying legions shattered centuries ago as he fled the continent. How could raging zealots possibly compare to one who could command death itself?
Now the answer drifted in plain view above the Corvidar flatlands, its purple hull glowing faintly in the eclipse it made of the sun. Smooth curves made up the entirety of its mile-long form and bulged noticeably at the ends and middle like some hungry whale, complete with the deep rumble of its call echoing across the mountains. Gunther dared not look away from the crimson sparks that coalesced along its sides, lest his gaze be drawn to the armada still descending and the impossible goliath at its heart. If ever there was an enemy to inspire awe, he concluded, this is it.
The duke was suddenly shaken from his feet, as if to remind him of where he was and why he had come. The bridge of the siege leviathan Indomitable, his personal command, shifted again as its six legs splayed in an awkward squat. Even the two forward arms braced the ground, burrowing into the stony slope with the great drills at their tips. Finally, the Magnetic Accelerator Cannon that replaced the rear battery swung about to target one of the hell-lights like a Scorpio’s stinger ready to strike the eye of an angered Ursa Major.
All around the castle-sized machine, griffins scrambled to prepare for the coming fight. Skirmishers gripped their weapons and took wing to hide in the nearby pine forest as several tank-sized quad-walkers roared to life and climbed down from the undercarriage on hooked feet. Technicians, including a few ponies, double-checked their stations for any fault or glitch that could possibly disrupt the combat systems. No-one slowed or showed their fear of fire and death as they ducked and dodged each other with practiced efficiency.
The defenses were primed, the soldiers deployed, and the last shout faded under the magnetic hum of the charged MAC.
Then, for one startling moment everything seemed to stop. Gunther recognized the sensation, that mocking calm where the world stood tensed for a blow that had not yet landed. In that peculiar instant, the buzz of electricity was replaced by the screech of steam and gears as he faced down not space-going destroyers, but a massed charge of Toucanian Juggernauts. The flashback was over in a blink, and though the present lacked the haze of smoke and acrid stench of grease he saw the same choice echo across the years: give up or go down fighting.
I guess the old saying is true, he mused as the radio crackled out a final order. War never changes.
“Fire!”
The Cannon, joined by a dozen others across the countryside, screeched like a defiant god and spat out a lance of light that speared the cruiser with a luminous lattice. A few shots went wide and wasted their fury on the shields, but more than enough slipped through holes over the vulnerable weapon ports. The alien craft shuddered as its plasma-engorged armaments burst, vaporizing much of the outer structure and flooding the remains with fire. The energy shields now served to hold back the blast, jetting miniature solar flares from the still-open gaps as secondary explosions ripped into the ship’s core.
Both sides watched in disbelief as the oblong star began to fall, slowly at first, but picking up speed as the anti-gravity generators disintegrated. Still, the distance was such that by the time it reached the ground, the plasma had vented away to reveal a twisted, glowing testament to Covenant durability. The impact shattered the strained shields, releasing a wave of pent-up heat that turned the plains into a scorched wasteland and could be felt for miles in all directions. Anything too close to the epicenter was baked by the blast, and even the Indomitable’s crew, distant and sheltered as they were, flinched from the burning wind.
Again the world seemed to pause, this time stunned silent by the feat just performed.
Then the rest of the looming armada doused the burgeoning lights of their own weapons and retreated higher into the sky. A cheer rose up, triumphant with the proof that the mighty leviathans above could be slain, yet at the same time subdued by the fact that their occupants would be more than willing to return the favor personally.
* * * * * * *
CAS Crucible of Fate
“What. Was. That?”
Crewmen recoiled from their superior’s gaze, but Arga was too consumed by outrage to care. A supposedly-primitive planet had just destroyed one of his ships without suffering retaliation. That was akin to having fecal matter thrown in ones face and thanking them! But until the source of the strike was revealed he could not risk any more of his ships to such dishonor.
So he asked again, “What just happened?! Bronze-age barbarians don’t shoot down a cruiser of the Covenant without a weapon! What was it?!”
“Human treachery.” To the Fleetmaster’s surprise, the response had come not from one of his own officers, but from the still-open conference line with the Jiralhanae Chieftain. Turning back to the view screen, he bade the brute to continue. “The planet has been seeded with surface versions of the humans’ devastating coilguns, scores of them if that one volley is any indication. They aren’t as powerful as the space-born models — only a frigate’s shields would be at risk of failing, but if your shields were lowered, in this case to open fire, they could still do significant damage. Add to that catastrophic backfiring on six fully charged plasma cannons, and it’s a wonder anything was left.”
Darrinus was grinning as he spoke, though the Sangheili could not fathom why. When confronted on it, however, he bared his teeth wider and revealed, “I had planned on simply chasing off the lone human ship, but if they can hit us in orbit, then we can attack without fear of dishonor. With your leave, of course.”
Again Arga scowled at the smug savage, but this time he could not help but chuckle as well. “Fine, go claim your bloodbath. Tear down their weapons and clear the way for a proper glassing, and may the stones run black with your blood. Good riddance!” The view screen cut off, hiding the chieftain’s look of disbelief as his contemptuous superior unknowingly spoke the ancient blessing of battle.
With a shrug, Arga switched the screen to show the engagement. Ships spread across the planet, loosing clouds of dropships and support craft, barrages of insertion pods and Scarab walkers. Contact reports streamed in, telling of fierce resistance from strange vehicles and creatures, but that did not worry him. The Jiralhanae would be more than enough to storm the world. It was all they were good for, after all.
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beating your enemy and winning the war are two different things, as the griffons will learn very soon
Obscure? Rise of legends is awesome! Lets see what the covenant can do against something burrowing under them, then popping up with a big-ass drill and fucking up Wraith tanks. Also, cool idea with mounting a MAC on it.
2043709
The digging thing isn't really going to work (I never could figure out how those things could dig with those (relatively) tiny drills).
The punching, on the other hoof...
2043911 !!SCIENCE!!
At what altitude was the Covenant cruiser that got wasted? From my understanding they could glass a planet from orbit and only came in close to look for Forerunner artifacts.
Rise of legends is still awsome and frankly the land leviathan is my favorite unit with the gun flyers coming in at second
I’m pleased that you gave the Griffons time in the stoplight. Perhaps, you can describe the Covenant fighting Minotaur soldiers in the mountains, Saddle Arabian soldiers in the deserts, and Zebra soldiers in the rainforests.
That was a serious level 10 tier of badassery
This remembers me of the start of fallout 4
Mass effect!!! Harbringer!!! I now have goosebumps!!!
God dammit!!! Another gaming reference!!! Fallout series!!!