Part Seventeen
The Rariad
By Tundara
17: Gaea
Now, sing to us, o’ Muses, of the final day of the Athenians.
Of the bravery held in so many hearts, and the sacrifices made. Of the heroes who strode as tall as the gull flies, and of the gods who sit in judgement. Of mighty deeds and mightier ponies. And of the blood soaked streets of Delos.
Great was the anxiety that clasped tight to the breasts of the ponies along Beauty’s Bastion, that glimmering wall of crystal god-forged to protect the trembling souls within the ruins.
Among the host of Achaeans that had gathered Ares alighted, and whispered blessings to his chosen. Ajax the Lesser and Ajax the Greater, Nestor, and Abantes, Diores, Diomed, and Euryalus, Penelos, Ascolaphus, and Agapenor; these names all passed his lips, for great was his power that day and many were the blessings he bestowed. They joined Agethemus and Dapoletta, who had long been blessed by Ares.
So gifted, these captains of the Achaeans took to the forefront of their armies, and stood among the ranks of anticipatory stallions.
“Stallions of the Argives,” spoke Agethemus, “slacken not one whit in your onslaught, for father Zeus will give no aid to liars and cowards. The Athenians have long been servants of traitors, unwilling to cast aside their ancient oaths to Athena, and for this they had some measure of respect, even as we punished them for their obstinence. Now they have turned her aside and taken into their hearts a viper. They follow this Rarity, who may be godly in nature, but is not of Gaea nor of holy Olympus, and has seen fit to spurn the gods who gave her shelter and comfort, seeking to turn the ponies of Gaea against their rightful protectors. Who sent assassins to kill a king and steal away a hostage given by lord Ares. Therefore, they shall be devoured by vultures; hearts, livers, and all, as we take these ruins in which they hide, and carry off their wives and daughters in our ships. Leave no stallion nor colt of Athens alive. Be strong and show no fear, for we are under Ares’ gaze.”
Presently, Agethemus and the other captains went about their stallions, and were greeted by fierce grins and unyielding determination in those eyes that met their own.
On the walls, Hypocemia rallied the loyal sons and daughters of Athens. “Give no quarter,” said she, “for there shall be none we receive on this day. Look there and see the faces of those who have long held us in contempt. For generations we held true to the namesake of our city, living by Athena’s noble teachings, for she was wisest among all the gods, her council often sought by even Zeus before the great schism that led to the gods warring among themselves with such dire consequences. They mean to slaughter us, to break us, to take every little thing we have left from us, when all we have left is each other. Nay, I say! Lady Rarity, who has journeyed far to our once fair city, watches us now, and has offered us a place in her home. We are castaways and the reviled of Gaea, and our old home is lost to us. You are the last of a dying breed! The last Athenians! For, no matter the outcome, the ponies who follow will not be of Athens. Have hope that they will be of a new, more glorious place. For the future of our foals, we must ensure they have a new home, and to that end, as our ancestors have done in ages past, we take up arms. For those you love! For those you cherish! For life itself! Until death! Until death, and the eternal rest!”
Along the wall the ponies of Athens took up the chant, “Until death! Until death!” and so steeled their hearts for what was to come.
Ares took back to the sky, and this was seen as the signal to attack.
Panic, Rout, and Strife whose fury never tires, servants and friends of murderous Ares, who, though being slight of stature at the onset grow till their heads brush heaven though their hooves still touch the earth. They went about among the thronging mortals and flung them down to the great waxing of many sorrows with an even touch between them so neither side was left unscarred.
From the walls came spell upon spell of basic aetheric bolts among a swelling swarm of arrows. Thickly they fell upon the shields of magic and wood as an answering barrage was sent towards the crystalline heights on which the defenders huddled. Prismatic light flashed bright in the early morning light, reflected on the frosty dew trampled underhoof. The great multitudes marched closer, urged onward by their captains, and the great god Ares, who sept over the battlefield on broad wings the colour of freshly spilled blood.
No greater defender stood on the walls that day than Hypocemia herself. Heavy with her foal, she stood as tall as a dozen stallions, the surge of magic about her flying as a swarm of hornets about their hive when angered.
“Come, Pathira, fall upon your natural prey and feast!” Hypocemia shouted as she directed her magic to take form.
Coalescing into a massive, spectral panther, her magic surged forward to slam into the front lines of the Euboeans. With a sweep of sickle-like claws she tore open the throat of Brontes, son of Iason the ferrier, who’d hoped to win glory for his family and so lift them from poverty on the outskirts of the city. Next was felled Zephyros, and then Ioios, spectral claws passing through their armour as if it were made of smoke, but cutting through the flesh beneath. Hoarfrost spread from the wounds, the ponies frozen bodies thudding into the ground like statues toppled from their plinths.
At Abantes’ direction the Euboeans threw all their spells and spears upon the spectral panther. With supernatural speed it darted aside, crouched low, and then pounced into the middle of the Euboeans’ ranks where its claws were put to most savage use. Many were the widows made in the next few moments as Pathira wreaked havoc. Behind the spectre came a giant phoenix as Hypocemia without break called forth a second spirit. Beneath its wings the frozen grass flash-burned into ash and ponies were sent screaming as their fur ignited and armour melted into flesh. Haros attempted to halt the great bird with a spear hurled at the curve of the spirit’s jaw where it could sink into the throat, but his spear disappeared in a puff of flames, that soon after he joined.
His own magic gathered, from about Abantes’ hoof several chains burst from the hardened ground. Wrapping about the phoenix’s neck, wings, and legs, the chains dragged the mighty beast from the skies with a boom that shook the battlefield. Croaking pathetically it attempted to regain itself, but Abantes would not let it. Tighter he made the chains until with a strained screech, the phoenix exploded in a wave of flames that knocked everypony within a dozen yards off their hooves. Melted globs of metal splattered across the fields where they continue to glow white-hot.
Sweating profusely and smiling in his triumph, Abantes turned his attention to Pathira just as Hypocemia mentally directed the spirit to slay the champion of the Euboeans. His magical shields were far greater than those created by the rest of the Euboeans, but Pathira passed through them as if they were made of silk. Abantes did not fall to the first stroke of the spirit’s mighty claws, but was garishly wounded across face and jaw. Blood pouring from his horrific wounds and blinded in one eye by a flap of skin falling over his face where it became frozen stuck. Abantes did not retreat, but instead hurled himself at his enemy. His chains again burst from the ground, but Hypocemia was wise to his trick now and directed Pathira to leap aside. Opening it’s maw wide, Pathira drew in a deep breath, and expelled a blast of wind colder than the north winds in the deepest winter nights.
Pounding hoof into the dirt at the same moment, Abantes forced a wall of iron to burst between the spirit and the Euboeans. Even huddled behind it they felt the chill deep in their bones, with their teeth chattering and lips blue as the sky. Over Abantes’ shoulder crackled a bolt of lightning, striking Pathira upon its wide brow. The spirit let out a deep roar that put the fear of death in many a breast. Electricity arced between it and the ground. Limbs twitching Pathira stumbled and fell. Smiling broadly Abantes summoned a single, last chain that flew like a spear hurled by heavenly Zeus himself into Pathira’s throat. Growly deep in its chest, the spirit yet struggled, glowing white eyes fixated on Abantes. His endurance at its limits, Abantes dug deeper still within himself, and summoned another spear, and then another, and another, until Pathira was pierced through belly, chest, and leg, suspended over the awed Euboeans. As the spirit dissipated into smoke, Abantes’ good eye rolled into the back of his head. Gathering up their captain, an honour guard of the Euboeans carried him from the battlefield to the healers for his wounds to be tended, though they all felt keenly that even the greatest of healers would be unable to save him.
High up on the wall, Hypocemia frowned deeply. With ice she coated her heart to avoid the pang of guilt as she looked on the many dozens of ponies she’d killed.
It was for the sake of her foal she reminded herself, touching her large belly.
Tears ran thick down her cheeks, but resolute in her duty she continued to weave her magics and hurl spell and spear down on the teeming masses of the Acheaens.
For a short time the battle stalled, spears and spells hurled back and forth, the Athenians secure on their walls, the great host of the Achaeans pressing onwards. Here the battle could have lasted days, months, or even years, with little give or take until such time as the Acheans could bring up siege engines or starve the Athenians out, were it not for the strength of Ajax the Greater.
In a thunderous clap, Ajax the Greater slammed his hooves together and then into the ground as he cried, “See now the true strength of a god-chosen! No wall will stand in my way! To victory, brothers!” His horn glowed ruby-bright like a torch in a cave newly found and deprived of light since the first dawn. The ruby glow crackled down his thick neck and steely hewed legs into the earth and then across the battlefield, snaking around bodies and holes as if with a will of its own. To the base of the wall it went and then burrowed into the crystal, that with a whine, shattered in a storm of shards.
Athenians were hurled aside or plummeted into the gap as with a cheer the Achaeans surged forward. Emulating Ajax, Diomed and Agapenor too called upon their god-blessed powers and struck the wall open with all the might they could channel.
Muscles bunching, Telephos dropped into the gap, a pair of glowing ethereal hammers floating on either side. His first blow caved in the helm of Adaskus, the smile of youth ending as his head snapped sharply to the side. A second hammer shaped construct slammed into the already dead youth’s chest and sent his body careening through the close packed Argonians seeking to surge through the gap.
“Come!” Roared Telephos in challenge, “And meet a beauteous death! None shall pass whilst I stand!”
Hooves planted he struck left and right as the Athenians rallied behind him. As the mountain stands tall against the north winds that blow so fiercely with ice and sleet, he didn’t waver. Next to fall was Feastus, son of Cession, a hammer of glittering silvery-blue shattering his shield as a stone shatters a pane of glass, continuing on until it connected with his shoulder, and there shattering joints with as much ease. With an almighty thoom he brought the other hammer down between Dardenius, son of Carnusus, and Autolus, son of Porous. Both were scattered as flour from a torn sack, nothing remaining of either so that their parents had to mourn over empty graves. Praising Rarity, Telephos waded into the thronging mass about him. Behind him Athenians attempted to repair the gap, but it was too wide, and the Argonians gave them no time to do more than throw up a hasty barricade.
Seeing Telephos dispatch wide eyed Odessex with a back-swing, Diomed took the front of his troops. His spear flashed towards Telephos’ breast, and the larger stallion did not flinch as there was a ring like a bell and the haft of the spear broke. Snatching up the spears of Dardenius and Autolus, Diomed beat them in a flurry about Telephos’ head and shoulders. Protective wards flew away in chips, as stone would beneath a sculptor's chisel be flaked off bit by bit. Telephos responded with another heavy swing of his hammer, but Diomed was crafty and anticipated the blow. Rolling beneath the hammer’s arc, Diomed brought his spears into Telephos’ unprotected belly. Thick blood spilled onto the ground, and Telephos staggered back, mortally wounded by still fighting.
Channeling his magic into a final swing, he cried, “The Sons of Athens will never yield!” A shockwave cast aside several ranks of the Argonians, but not so their captain. Strength depleted, Telephos’ eyes rolled into the back of his skull and he fell into death, joining the dozens he had sent ahead of him.
With a cheer, the Argonians surged forward and the walls were breached.
All along their length similar displays of defiance were overwhelmed by the might and sheer numbers arrayed against them. In swift disarray, the Athenians pulled back from the walls, abandoning them along with their many dead. Still, they made it costly for the Achaeans. Mounting the rubble, Thalpius was struck in the throat by one of Alametea’s arrows as she leapt from the wall to a rooftop as a hare would bound across a field. With a cry of blood bubbling over his lips he fell, his body dragged back by his fellows who wept most pitiably for their fallen captain.
On the part of the wall closest to the gods watching over the battle, Algremetus dashed forward with speed enough to make Hermes take note. His spear snapped out, and was intercepted by Ajax the Lesser, so called as he was neither as fleet nor as adept in the ways of war as his more powerful, yet diminutive cousin. Ajax the Lesser had done all he could to shake his namesake’s long shadow, and all his efforts came to naught as Algremetus performed a quick series of jabs, bronze spear sparking against an aetheric shield until both broke. In the spray of dissipating shards Algremetus slid across the ground as he drew two curved blades. One took off Ajax the Lesser’s right foreleg at the knee, sending him howling to the ground. The other slid betwixt his ribs, and a hot fountain of blood poured from the terrible wound where it tore apart his heart, silencing his scream. Channeling his magic, Algremetus sent a shockwave through the howling Salamisians enraged by the sight of their captain being cut down and scattered them long enough that the Athenians could retreat in good order.
And all through the heavy fighting there was the omnipresent ring of Hephaestus’ chisel as he carved the final runes.
Noon arrived to find the Athenians fighting in tight knots, attempting to hold the streets in bottlenecks and tie down the thronging masses of the Achaeans. The sun beat down on the bloody streets in thin shafts through gathering clouds. Heavy breaths puffing in the wintery air neither side relented. Snow began to fall, alighting on bodies left to grow stiff in the gutters.
And then there was a final ringing thoom that silenced all other noise, like one of Zeus’ thunderbolts hurled in the dead of night heralding the coming of a tempest, as Hephaestus completed the Gate. Within its base it began to spin, the ground quaking and lightning sparking from the aurichalcum ring. One after another the main glyphs etched into the Gate hissed and began to glow hot orange-red. Faster and faster the ring spun. The ground shook with even greater ferocity. Everypony in the city was knocked off their hooves, and many of the ruins crumbled and fell. Ponies grabbed at their ears as a shrill, piercing scream emanated from within the ring. Runes blazed brighter still, their essence crackling as they burrowed through reality, seeking a destination point far across the vast gulf of space, tethered to the place Rarity called home.
Rarity felt the tug of the runes in her chest, and the image of Ponyville filled her eyes. She could see the town so clearly! The ponies outside for an afternoon stroll. Sol’s dazzling rays reflected off snowy dunes. Frosted treetops stretching far and wide. There! The distinct roof of Sugarcube Corner! Her own Carousel Boutique! The town hall! And the many sloped tops of the town!
She smiled wide and turned to the Muses, “He’s done it.”
Her smile then was wiped away by a flash of hot emotion hit her and all the other gods as, over the city, appeared Gaea, the goddess titanic in her awakened fury.
“Hephaestus! What have you done? Why have you forged another of these Gates?” She demanded as she circled overhead, and even the other gods held their breaths or shied away from her gaze.
“I owe you no explanations, great mother of this world and all other worlds, who created the myriad discs and nurtured the giant space faring turtles on which they were placed.” Answered Hephaestus.
Next to the God of the Forge the ring came to a sharp stop, and in a roar a plume of quicksilver filled the space within.
The Athenians cheered, and urged on by Hypocemea, the first of the Athenians dashed towards the glowing portal.
Landing before them, Gaea halted their departure. Fearfully they fell to their knees, looking between her, Hephaestus, and the tower where Rarity observed.
“I warned you when the first trees were but saplings and the mortal races lived lives of bliss among the open fields, with no care nor wants for the complications you create, that these gates are wounds in reality. My skin crawls in its presence. It is unnatural. An abomination, as is all that falls like so much poison from your mind. Look about you at what you have wrought. All this bloodshed and warring done by your tools, for it was you who gave ponies spears and armour.”
“This argument was old when those saplings you yammer on about were but seeds. My creations are as natural as the forests and oceans, as normal as the birds in the sky or the fish in a lake.” Hephaestus dismissed Gaea with a flick of his wing. “It is my nature to create, and so I have.”
“Yes, but this is an old creation reforged, not something newly sprung of your imagination.” Gaea’s lip curled and she raised a wing to smite the gate.
Muses at her side, Rarity flew forth from her tower, leaving Aphrodite and Hera to continue their observations in silence, fearful of the elder goddess. Landing between Hephaestus and Gaea, Rarity pleaded, “Please, Gaea, it is because of me he has made this gate. It leads to my home. To Ioka.”
Gaea’s brow was raised and she let out a snort. “What do I care for where it leads or for whom? Does the river care for the lands that it floods when gutted with runoff? Or the storm for the village it thrashes with wind and rain thick enough to wash away the houses into the sea? Or the mountain when it’s sides slough off and bury the valley below? If this is your way home then go on and take it. Leave my disc and soon as you are gone I will remove this blemish. Thus is the limit of my patience.”
Rarity shook her head slowly. “Darling, I would love to, believe me. The only thing keeping me here a moment longer are these ponies. I promised to look after them and find them a new place to call home, as they have been dreadfully treated by their neighbors and gave me shelter and kindness. I can’t abandon them. It simply wouldn’t be right.”
Gaea tsked and took to the sky. “You have until the dusk, then I will have Poseidon sweep these ruins and that gate into the sea, along with all who remain, and this land will be cleansed.” Wheeling about, Gaea flew to the north, to where Poseidon resides so that she could rouse him to action.
Turning to Hypocemea, Rarity breathed a sigh of relief, and said, “Hurry up. You need to go first and lead your little ponies. And, if you see Celestia, repeat what I say, exactly.” Rarity leaned down and whispered to Hypocemea in the tongue of Equestria, “Rarity sends her greetings, and asks you to help us. Protect her little ponies.”
Repeating the words, Hypocemea set her shoulders, and entered the gate.
The other Athenians waited with bated breath a space of heartbeats, until Rarity looked to them and said, “Well, what are you waiting for? Hurry up!”
Rarity then turned to thank Hephaestus, but the God of the Forge was already trotting away to join his wife. Wishing she could stay in the square with the Athenians, Rarity felt the eyes of the gods on the hill on her back, and knew that she had to return to the tower with Hera and Aphrodite.
As Rarity and the Muses landed next to her, Aphrodite gave a cry that rang like a crystalline bell over the battlefield. For a brief moment there was another reprieve in the fighting as both sides turned to gaze at the tower, such was the enchanting nature of her voice.
Aphrodite looked to the north, out across the bay, a keen smile on her face, and called to Rarity, “They have arrived at long last!”
Emerging from a fogbank like a ghostly apparition, sails spread in a wide cloud to catch every scrap of the faint breeze, the Benevolence of Beauty glided towards the ruined docks. At her bowsprite stood Chryseis, the oracle shouting orders over her shoulder whispered to her in secret by Apollo. Through the bay clogged with debris and sunken galleys the ship sped until it reached a dock that was only partially damaged.
No sooner had the Benevolence of Beauty come to a stop, touching the dock as lightly as a mare caresses the face of her beloved, than the Benevolencians leapt from her sides with a whooping cry. On the furthest edge of the harbour from where the Gate was erected, the Benevolencians were still cut-off from the Athenians. With single-minded ferocity they began to dash through the streets, cutting their way towards the heart of the ruins. Behind them the Benevolence of Beauty pushed off, some of the survivors of the Lotus Eater having no desire to join the others in leaving Gaea, and instead set sail for their homes. They lined the rails and cheered on the ponies that had become dear friends to them, and so the ship set back out into the sea.
From the tower Rarity had a clear view of the city streets as the Benevolencians made their long charge.
Argentes and Chryseis were at the front flanked by Mystalicus and Trixie.
The mighty Benevolencians fought like ten stallions each, Rarity’s blessing empowering their magic and spells thick as the dead leaves deposited by autumn about their hooves.
Glistening shields cast by Alfe reflected the magics of the Acheans back on their origins. A thick hewed crystal blade conjured by Leandros smashed through the tightly pressed ranks about them. Young Retrievor, a son of Sparta, darted in with his spear aimed at Chryseis’ exposed flank, only to be caught by the reaping winds summoned by Deletos, the earth pony minstrel strumming her harp, and by this she controlled where the winds went like a master directing a pack of hounds. The winds scythed through young Retrievor, and his head fell from his body.
An imposing bulwark, spear flashing, body rolling and then leaping high, Argentes fell with a heavy boom amongst several Boeotians, scattering them wide. He was met by Lekos, the brute burning with hatred for the humiliation heaped on his withers in Sparta. Shoving the Boeotians aside, Lekos declared, “None may fight this one but me!”
“That I had the time!” Argentes answered with a laugh as he turned and dashed off, now at the rear of the Benevolencians.
Lekos’ eyes bulged as he gave chase. “Have you no honour? Is there naught but cowardice to you?”
Over his shoulder Argentes answered thusly, “Fighting you is pointless, as you are all muscle with nothing else of note. It was but a spur of the moment to kidnap a hapless mare that you were blessed, while I received mine to protect the love of a hundred lifetimes. Leaving you alive wounds you more than a spear could ever.”
Rage foaming from his mouth, Lekos sheathed himself in pure bloodlust and lept high as the eagle flies among the mountains. Crashing down in the middle of the Benevolencians, he sent them scattering for a moment. Rocking onto his back hooves, he raised a hoof covered in bright red flames and threw a punch straight at Argentes’ jaw. Sliding along the ground, Argentes drew from beneath his tunic a long bladed knife made from one Techatallicus’ fangs, and slashed Lekos from breast to tail.
Lekos’ eyes went wide as his entrails fell with a pitiable splat onto the blood choked streets, and he went down to Hades’ city.
Now at the forefront of the group ,Trixie made illusions dance in a swarm to distract and confound the ponies seeking to ensnare the surrounded heroes. Nopony did she kill that day, making her the greatest of heroes, for it would have been all too easy for her to lay low and send to Tartarus stallions by the hundreds with her Cascade of a Thousand Stars. Indeed, fear of this spell was such that even the blood hazed ponies struggling in the ruins gave Trixie wide berth or fled when her tightened eyes turned in their direction, such was the legend formed by her actions in Sparta. Tossing down their spears and wooden shields they turned and fled, galloping as fast as their hooves could carry them.
Only Agethemus, King of Sparta, withstood her daunting power, pushing aside her illusions as he would the flap of his tent. He fell upon Trixie with cunning thrusts of his spear and sword, both floating easily in his steady aura along with shields of iron and aether.
At the same moment, Mystalicus found his way blocked by Dapoletta with fifty fresh Spartans to block the Benevolencians. With years of rage and indignation built they charged each other. From Dapoletta crackled lightning, pale imitation of the true bolts hurled by heavenly Zeus, that was blocked by a bronze shield, and answered by a hurled spear. Never one to fall to the same attack twice, Dapoletta slapped the spear from the air. Hate spurred both ponies forward to their final confrontation.
Here the final Battle of Delos reached its greatest pitch. Heroes sung and unsung hurling themselves into the bloody maws of death. The ruins were alight with the flashes of spells, with the thunderous reports of explosions, with the din of bronze spears clashings, and of hundreds of ponies dying.
Battles great and small swelled, reached a crescendo, and then went silent.
In a boxy nook on the east side of the square, Alametea battled Ajax the Greater, her sight pitted against his indomitable might. Alametea, slender crystalline bow floating at her side, dashed and slid as she fired arrow after arrow, her quiver refilling of its own accord. The ground shook under the hammering blows of Ajax’s hooves, and his thick hide shrugged off her innumerable strikes that fell on him like a heavy rain in the spring.
“It is a pity,” spoke Ajax as in a flash he was behind her, “Potential such as yours is wasted on the Athenians.”
A cold certainty of death almost froze Alametea to the spot. She could sense the spear plunging towards the curve of her spine. Newly heightened reflexes threw her to the side, the bottom of her bow brought around to deflect the killing blow. In the same motion she drew a black hafted arrow. It hummed with aether as it was brought to bowstring and drawn.
“Nothing is ever wasted if it is to protect your foals,” she spat back.
The arrow tip was only the span of a single ponylength from Ajax’s unarmoured breast. At such a range nopony could miss lest a god intervened.
Experience won out, years of fighting showing him a flaw in her attacks which he exploited with a vicious rebuke that sent her flying with a spray of blood from her mouth. Coughing blood Alametea regained her shaking hooves, seeing death close now, but unafraid. She took up the discarded spears that littered the ground and aimed them at Ajax.
Across the square of thinning defenders was Algremetus. A blur of raw speed, colours leaking into the air, equal to the fastest ponies to live, he fought crafty Nestor. The Knight of Gerene waisted no movement or thrust, his long years of battle a match for youthful energy. With a stamp of his hoof Nestor cast the loose stones around him up and caught Algremetus in the chin and knee. Algremetus bounced and thudded as he fell until brought to a jarring halt by a solid wall. He stood and faced death, leg broken so that his phenomenal speed was gone.
Rarity watched these and a hundred other fights, small pockets in the tumult that formed the greater battle. The locked shields of the Athenians, shrinking, shrinking in number as they continued to fall back. The last pocket of their fellows who remained to stem the flood pouring through the breaches in the walls were overwhelmed and tossed to the ground around Telephos’ broken body, a dozen spears stuck into his skewered corpse, and twice as many Spartans heaped around him.
Surrounded by so many enemies there was nowhere for the Athenians cut off from the square to go. Some few managed to break through and reach the shrinking shield wall around the Gate. One by one the pockets of resistance faded, and died, until only the Benevolencians charge remained.
“It is time for you to go,” Rarity said to the Muses, and they looked up at her with questioning eyes. “Go through the gate to Ioka, and don’t look back.”
“But—” Aoide began to protest, but Rarity shushed her with the tip of a wing.
“Oh, my sweethearts, I can’t go yet. Not until Trixie and everypony else is safe. I have the feeling that Ares will attempt to stop us soon, and if you don’t go now, you’ll lose your chance. Please. Go.”
Nodding to each other the Muses flew from the tower back to the ring, and with only a brief look back, departed Gaea.
Sighing in relief, Rarity turned to Hera, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. “What about you? Do you want to come with me to Ioka?”
“What a fucking dumb question,” Hephaestus snorted at once. “This is our home, and so we will remain.”
“My husband is right, though he could be a little less vulgar,” Aphrodite spoke softly, pressing her flank to his.
Slower to answer, Hera in the end shook her head. “A queen doesn’t abandon her duty, or her ponies. I have to make amends for the mistakes I’ve made to the ponies here.”
“But, Ares—”
“Won’t touch me. He may gloat for a while, but your escape will make any victory he claims mute.”
Leaning over to give Hera a pat on the head, Rarity said, “I’m actually going to miss you and all our games, you know.”
Beaming and chest puffed out, Hera let out her imperious laugh. “Mwa-huh-huh! Of course! After you play with the queen of the gods, games with anypony else will seem bland in comparison!”
In the brief moments in which the gods spoke, the mortals had continued the bloodshed unabated.
Tears welling in her eyes, Rarity’s heart broke, and she took wing to circle over the city.
The battle was hideous to behold, but the heroism so inspiring. These were ponies who’d live forever in legends told through the many ages to come. Storied figures that poets and playwrights, painters and sculptures would struggle to capture the moments of their greatest triumphs as with iron hewed grips they clung to the faintest hope that they could save another life by giving their own to slow their enemy for just a moment longer.
Rarity could no longer remain a bystander.
Still, she knew setting hoof on the battlefield would doom those she sought to aid.
Torn, Rarity demanded of the cold heavens, who judge all with a merciless gaze all the winter long, “What would Celestia do?”
As if in answer, an image of Celestia crept into Rarity’s mind. It was a painting she’d seen many years ago, when just a little filly, in one of the many art galleries. Almost all depictions of Celestia showed her as kind, wise, or motherly, but not so this one. Larger than life, within bold colours was Celestia with a mane of roiling flames in armour of golden hue and a fiery greatsword raised high. Here she was as an avenging guardian descending upon one of ponykind’s ancient foes, smiting it with righteous wrath. Yet, there’d also been sadness about Celestia’s eyes, the painter capturing that moment where Celestia knew that all chances of peace had been exhausted, and so she surrendered herself to the only remaining choice.
Rarity recalled as a foal thinking that the painting was… beautiful.
Taking that beauty into herself, turning herself into that moment manifested, Rarity swept from the sky.
Aphrodite and Hera called out to her as Rarity, the Goddess of Beauty, landed at the pivotal point in the Athenian’s lines. Gate behind her, wings tight at her side, Rarity surged into the thronging mass.
Lost in the haze of battle, Olious only registered a new pony in front of him and thrust his spear. Sharpened bronze slid along pristine white fur and found itself unable to cut her gleaming hide. He blinked in shock and only then realised that it was a goddess he’d attempted to skewer. With a simple gesture Rarity lifted up and flung back an entire rank of pressing bodies. She gestured again and two hundred more were sent flying from the square.
“Hurry! Ioka is just beyond that gate! GO!” She commanded the weary Athenians in a voice that echoed with power that no mortal could deny. “I will keep these brutes away.”
Twin bolts of magic flew from Rarity towards her beleaguered champions. Both were struck in the moments before a killing blow could find their vital parts, and both vanished and reappeared next to their goddess. Heeding the steel in Rarity’s eyes, Alametea tossed Algremetus over her withers, and they were among the last Athenians through the Gate.
Rarity watched them go, and breathed a sigh of relief. Only the Benevolencians remained to rescue.
They had reached the edge of the square, but there they had been bogged down by the heavy press of bodies and the thickest fighting in all the city. Still, not a single Benevolencian had fallen in the charge, and the flames of defiance burned bright in their eyes though reaching the gate seemed almost impossible.
Indignation flared in Rarity’s breast, and she almost missed Ares descend like a flaming bolt, his aurichalcum axe raised high. Reacting on instincts long dormant, she jumped aside as she created a multilayered aetheric shield to deflect the blow.
Like the winds howling around a mountain peak, Rarity flowed past Ares, losing herself further into the Beauty of the battle as seen through an observer’s lens. Her time in Equestria, facing the many perils that had beset her home, guided her hooves. Ares’ shock was multiplied as she swept out a leg and brought a hoof up into his jaw, momentarily stunning the God of Slaughter. He reeled back with a grunt and shook his head to clear it.
With no weapon but her wits and hooves, Rarity confronted Ares in a pitched battle. Her magic was unsuited to war, where that was all he knew.
He was War manifested, and at the heart of such a battle, his powers were at their greatest.
And yet she stood as his equal, drawing more and more on the raw field of Beauty, and the awe of everypony who watched them fight, from the last wounded Athenians being ushered to safety beyond the Gate, to the soldiers who paused in their own conflict to observe, to the gods on the hill. The heavenly figures’ eyes widened as the sands of time slowed, the single heartbeat of a mortal equal to a hundred of a god so fast were their movements and thoughts. The world was as if at a standstill except for Rarity and Ares.
A great beak-headed quarterstaff of shining silvery hue manifested beside Rarity, drawn through the flowing aspects of aether from the weave of Beauty itself.
Other than the Benevolencians, only a few dozen Athenians remained on Gaea, Alametea urging them through the mystical portal, and much envy should be given to them as they witnessed two gods battle so close they could feel the heat on their faces and the resonating thuds in their bones from each blow.
As Rarity drew more on her domain, so too Ares feasted on the energies of War. Blow upon blow they traded, Rarity gliding and parrying to the best of her myriad abilities. Such was the force behind each of his strikes that he didn’t need to land a hit to cause terrible damage. Were she not a goddess, Rarity would have been torn apart by the shockwaves of his strikes. Even with all her heavenly strength her body ached, and should he land a direct hit, Rarity doubted that she’d survive. Ares was fast in spite of his thickly hued muscles, and it took every ounce of her wits and luck to keep pace.
The only good thing was that the Spartans didn’t press in on the last Athenian stragglers, too awed by the blurs of motion in the town square to move any closer.
Managing to sweep around Ares, Rarity hammered him hard in the side with a blow from her swan-headed staff. There was a boom like that of a volcano erupting, and a shockwave ripped apart half the square behind Ares, only a small sliver of one wall remaining directly behind him. The God of War himself grunted as he was pushed back two pony lengths, but remained on his hooves. There didn’t seem to be a wound on him, and he moved as if the blow was meaningless.
Wild with fury, the madness of battle thick in his eyes, he tore off his glittering mail and tossed his head. Next to him appeared his axe, the blade stained a permanent gold from the blood of alicorns slain in the last war. It was the weapon that had lain Athena and Serene low, that had broken Astraea, and was known as Gods-Bane.
About the blade of his axe gathered a surge of crimson flames. She had to avoid this attack, but behind her was the gate. If she moved it would be destroyed, along with the ponies trying to escape. Rarity drove her staff into the ground in the same moment he brought down his axe and a wave of consuming flames leapt forth. Everything they touched was burnt to ash in an instant, crackling glass left by their passage where there’d been dirt and stone glowing bright-hot. As waves striking the bow of a ship Ares’ flames parted around Rarity and were funnelled into the ruined buildings on either side of the square where walls were blasted apart as far as the sea. The craggy face of the eastern hill anchoring Rarity’s crystal wall was peeled apart in a great cloud of dust mixed with chunks of rubble.
Panting heavily, Rarity knew she could hold Ares only a few moments longer. Desperately she cast her gaze about for the Benevolencians.
Over searing hot ground that burnt their hooves they galloped, led now by Lertandes and Chryseis. At the rear were Mystallicus and Trixie, both in a fighting retreat, close pressed by Dapoletta and Agethemus.
Back and forth flew spells and spears between them so thick a fly would have been unable to pass through the conflagration unharmed.
An illusionary bear sprang from Trixie horn claws swiping at the Spartan royalty. Its claws had real force behind them, slapping from the air Agethemus’ spear before fangs went for his throat. Dapoletta answered with three beams of light that tore the misty creation appart. Through the dissipating motes of magic Trixie surged and grappled Agethemus
Blood leaked down Trixie’s cheeks from her eyes, and her smile was unsettling. Grappling Agethemus tight she overpowered the far larger stallion, pushing him against a solid wall so he could find no escape. With her teeth she grasped his horn, and with a mighty twist snapped it from his head as she would a rotten branch from a tree. Howling Agethemus fell to his knees. Grabbing his own spear from his sputtering aura, Trixie made to drive it into his gut, but stopped. There was fear etched onto one side of her face, while the other was a mask of madness. Mystalicus had no compunctions of mercy, and threw his own spear. With a wet thunk it sank into Agethemus’ chest. Trixie blinked a couple times as she stared at the spear, then drew her tongue up Agethemus’ cheek, licking the blood that flowed from the wound on his brow as he perished, the light leaving his eyes as his spirit was ushered to Styx’s banks.
Stunned by her actions, Trixie released the king’s body and he toppled like a tree to the cold ground. Eyes wide and unseeing she sank to her haunches, forehooves shaking as she brought them up to her face.
Screaming in agonised rage Dapoletta fell upon Trixie, spear aimed at her unguarded throat. Mystalicus took the blow intended for Trixie. The spear found a gap in his mail and pierced his heart, and so the last king of Athens was sent beside his long-time foe into death’s clutches. Mystalicus’ death broke Trixie from her momentary trance, and seeing that only she and Rarity remained on Gaea, all the others having escaped through Hephaestus’ wondrous gate.
She had no energy left to stand, nor did she have the will.
Smiling she looked up at Dapoletta as the Spartan princess took up her father’s spear.
“Do it. Trixie deserves it.” Trixie said, closing her eyes and spreading her hooves wide in invitation.
Fury and loss contorting her face, Dapoletta thrust at Trixie’s bare throat.
Before the blow could land, white wings engulfed Trixie and she was carried aloft by unyielding hooves. Cradling Trixie, Rarity gave a single, solid flap of her wings. Another wave of Ares’ flames gave chase, snapping at the ends of Rarity’s tail. Wrapping wings and legs around Trixie, Rarity shielded her friend as they struck the watery surface of the gate.
The deepest cold slammed into the pair as they were hurled across the vast gulf of space between worlds towards distant Ioka. Everything was a wild rush of noise and light. A mournful scream left them deafened, and unfiltered sunlight forced them to squeeze their eyes tightly shut. Worlds rocketed by as they passed through the heart of a bale of world-turtles swimming in the void. On their backs rested discs with wide oceans teaming with life, continents covered in mountains, forests, and grasslands, and the lights of cities.
In a matter of moments they’d passed a thousand worlds and were beyond the bale.
Still the winds of space roared in their ears.
And then, ahead, grew the light of Sol as the sun orbited Ioka.
Around Rarity’s throat, the Jewels of Helen glowed with a lurid ruby light, and shattered.
Raising her titanic head, Ioka welcomed Rarity with a silent roar.
With a sharp jerk Rarity and Trixie tumbled out of the gate. Side by side they laid on the trampled, muddy ground. In the distance loomed the familiar peak of the Canterhorn, Canterlot visible in the brilliant daylight.
Rarity could hardly believe it.
At long last. After so many trials and dangers.
She was home.
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This was a good chapter and the battle was well written. I wonder what will happen to all the ponies that have now reached Ioka but they are at least safe.
Function, Rarity, Function! You can't just focus so much on Form, that a mere mortal can break down your divine wall! Tsk tsk.
Channeling more than one Divine being, I see
What do you mean by "Taught eyes"?
So about Trixie and her connection to Hell... I think we just saw some of it peek through.
That... can't be good. The jewels that Mr. Lust gave to Rarity? I have a suspicion they might've worked as an... anchor-point, of sorts. Allowing Asmodeus to reach into physical space.
Despite the repetitive nature of the Homer-ized combat, you wove enough visual narrative in, that it was easy, and interesting, to read. So don't feel bad about this chapter, I think it went well
Also nice to see Ares get punched by a "prissy little pony goddess whose only power is being Beautiful" 
His indignation in the end, when he brought out Gods-Bane, was great! Nothing better than seeing holier-than-thou characters fail, and then have it shoved in their face like Rarity did by actually being able to fight him.
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Thank you, but it was just, at best, passably written.
10667609
Blech, just a misspelling of 'taut'. Switched it out to 'tightened'.
Thanks for the praise on the chapter, overall. The Rarity-Ares stuff was the hardest to balance. I needed her to be able to get a hit or two, but not seem like she could actually win, while also not 'Worfing' Ares either. I think I got it pretty much just right.
10667803
I'm inclined to agree. She's sort of able to match him in skill, perhaps at a 40:60 ratio, but even her best hit didn't do much damage to him, and the best she could do vs his (presumably) strongest attack, was to divert its path, and that clearly exhausted her.
Heck of a battle!
I'm reminded that, yes, she has studied some sort of martial art. There is grace and beauty in the motions. :)
I ain't gonna lie, I really enjoyed the Ares-Rarity fight. It's intense and she pulls on her Aspect in ways I'm sure most of Gaeans never considered. Her creative background serves her well.
You did a pretty good job. Lots of names that come and die in ways that would've been considered heroic.
I can hardly wait to read the coming chapters.
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I wanted him to be evil, an antagonist through and through, but also have moments where he seems suave, genuine, and charismatic. Essentially, how I imagine all politicians as being!
For what it's worth, I loved this chapter. The Homeresque storytelling, the descriptions oc the battles, the edge of your seat suspense; very well done!