Our new Friends, Our new Enemies

by The Potato Guy

Chapter 45: Moving the goalposts

His legs, even prior to the coming battle, had been near exhausted. Not so much a shame to Solar Virtue, who saw little failure in the sheer velocity they had taken him upon leaving Twilight’s castle.

Straight away, after learning of the approaching Guards from Canterlot, urgency had become him in the most understated way. As true as gravity caused the rock to fall, so did Solar rush towards the house in which had now become his home away from home, his sanctuary that would become a mockery of the word without Luna.

So much did he slam his hoof reputedly upon that door which only contained rot and dirt, that it almost equalised the steps taken to his position.

“Neon!” he cried, being granted no response.

“Open the damn door! You are needed!” His order was a miracle in that it was not heard by the invading Guards themselves, let alone Ponyville’s residents. Yet apparent his voice had to be raised as such, for no answer came, and no door opened. For whatever reason, it seemed that Neon Edgy was not in, despite her comment earlier regarding the work she wished to fulfil in turning this wreck of a building into a place suitable for its new occupants.

Perhaps she had left to procure renovation supplies, like she was some common construction worker. A realistic enough possibility, were it not for one concerning matter, one which would prove such an issue, when the Guards arrived.

By now, morning had broken, and with it a bright sun that basked Ponyville in a gentle warmth that it surely wasn’t in deserving of, when blood was so liberally about to flow. The day was in full swing, and darkness of the world was far off. Neon Edgy was a Bat Pony, a Thestral that like many of her kin, was not best suited in the heat and glare of noon. Of course she would not melt like some fairy tale creature who feared day with sound reasoning. Eye protection could and had been used to help Neon adapt in this brighter time of the planets cycle. However, this protection had never proved to be exactly discreet, and Solar thought it extremely ill-advised for Neon to venture out for an interior decorator, not least of all because of her health.

This begged the question then. If not out shopping, then where was she? Surely not asleep, not with powerful hooves slammed against the door as if it had insulted its visitor. Neon was out, and that much was obvious. A regrettable development, for Solar cursed her name with fierce and cruel language, and was left an ally down. A fellow commander and leader nowhere to be found, just when Solar needed her most.

He could not wait for her return, nor ponder further about her failure to report for duty. Time was simply not a luxury he had, for ever passing minute was one more offered to the advantage of the approaching forces of the Day. Solar had to leave the house, either to fight this battle himself, or resort to more unpredictable and even unwise methods.

That undesirable lack of wisdom was now in front of him, after another short burst through the increasingly bustling streets of Ponyville. The contrast of the gloomy Everfree Forest to the light and lively town behind him could not be understated, particularly because that contrast was born of the differences in activity. Solar was under no illusion that this infamous forest was abandoned by all but shadows, but Ponyville was very much a part of the world, and not hidden from it as was the wilds that lay under the constricting trees that he now looked upon. If something occurred to the knowledge of Ponyville’s citizens, then for good or bad, that would be news well spread. Where’s in the Everfree Forest, a place so unexplored and so ominous, that even its more adept neighbours, in terms of knowledge and experience, did not fully understand what occurred within perpetual dusk of the wood.

Baiting these approaching Guards, Ponies who should fear not only the forest, but the town they so eagerly wished to bully and subjugate, was not unwise. Their despotic desires, undoubtedly trickled down from their domineering mistress, had to be crushed and overcome, this much was obvious. But where that triumph occurred was key. More than important even, for the vicious spin that Celestia was weaving had already consumed Canterlot in a bleak chaotic pestilence, and had most likely began to turn brother against brother, and good Pony against their better selves. Ponyville was a special place, and one Celestia would doubtless wish to consume with her lies and poison. The death of the Guards would, naturally, have to happen from prying eyes, and any slope that could force the action to descend into rumour and falsehoods. A hive that Celestia’s spies and agents would find homely all too easily.

Where wisdom began to decline however, even to the point of threat and uncertainty, was who exactly, now that Neon was nowhere to be found, going to help him remove the enemies Ponyville would hopefully never come to know of. For that was why he was here, standing on the edge of the dark forest, with many concerns within his mind. The Disciples of the Night, loyal to only Luna herself, were on paper, his allies, and his best chance at finding victory. Solar did not doubt their bloodlust, and fear over whether or not they would accept his offer of battle was preposterous. In fact, he wagered that they needn’t even be offered any explanation. The chance of a fight with forces of the Day was baked into their blood, so in many respects, the battle was already won, for a small squad of Guards could not possibly hope to beat back a horde of ravenous moon worshippers.

The Disciples were technically aligned with him and his NG, and indeed they had saved his and his warriors lives, but that, he feared, was merely out of convenience, and most likely a lot of pleading from Neon.

Would their blood thirst be quenched from the death of just a few Guards, a mere taste of what was to come? Their stability within the confines of Solar’s wishes would prove to be very shaky should they feel insulted from Celestia’s orders. In such worse case scenarios, could their violent tendencies be reined in? Their leader, Speck, had not given any impression of being tame or capable of following orders given by anypony else than Luna, who still remained in Canterlot, unknowing of her once terrifying death squads having returned.

All very real concerns, born of a situation so delicate, that it could decide the entire fate of the war.

Any other Pony could be forgiven for deciding this all to be too risky. But war was risk by definition, and however much a loose cannon they were, the Disciples wished for the same thing he did, however different in tone it seemed. If Celestia seriously thought her tyranny would spread beyond Canterlot’s walls, then when she rose, atop her tall mountain, she would look upon fields of blood. Writing on the wall that spelt a most dire warning to her, and a hint of what was to come.

Thus the first steps into the Everfree Forest were not ones of fear. Intertwined with his persistent determination was strands of optimism, hope not this time of the makeup of the new world, but the pleasures still to be found in the old. A strained and unusual relationship it may prove, but he and the Disciples, attracted to each other through shared interest, would be all too glad to relish the dying world they now Inhabit, just to see it bleed and die, like a lion did after with a successful hunt.

“Very brave of you Commander, to come alone…” The voice could not be pinpointed to its location. Seemingly one emitting all around him, Solar did not dare give in to natural instinct, and frantically look around him as if to find the source with nothing but his ordinary eyes. That would seem panicked, like he was indeed the prey instead. In this dark and mystical landscape, vegetation wild as its inhabitants, a place where even the mentally ill would find no safe place of exile, Solar was not at home. He was in fact, in somepony else’s home, and from past experience, believing one’s self to understand their new surroundings like they had lived there for years, was a grave error.

“…Or foolish. We have yet to decide…”

Solar now stopped in his tracks, long after all vestiges of daylight had been extinguished, and analogy he very much hoped to be approaching destiny. He needn’t have been surprised at this sudden interaction, for it the one he was preciously searching for. Still, descending from the canopies like a spider did lowering from their web, nothing could be done to escape that feeling of seeming like he indeed was the invader, the soon to be prey, and the error personified that he so wished to avoid.

“It doesn’t take bravery to do what you were meant for, nor to ask what has already been agreed. As for being foolish, I guess we will see by the time the day has come to an end.” All while saying this, the question kept ringing in his head. Was he being a fool in going this far? Why not join this fanatical cult that he now interacted with once more.

“Ugh, not a fan of arrogance.” Came the voice again, this time clearly originating from behind him. “Foolish you might be then, Commander…”

The voice, like the ambience created through the sound of it slowly approaching, seemed nothing less than a stalking menace to him, should he not play his cards right.

Appearing into his vision from the right, came a voracious form that seemed to be hoof crafted by the uncharted and perilous nature of the forest itself. Solar had quickly become accustomed to the sight of a Thestral, regardless of their unnatural qualities. Still, watching Speck come into view, as if her predatory persona was a hint of his fate within the next few moments, nothing could stop that targeted sense morphing into one of pure dread, like he was staring death in the face, which from the appearance of the particularly depredatory looking slit eyes, was not too far from the truth.

“Tell me why you are here now?” Speck’s question instilled no confidence of an alliance in action. Her tone was instructed as if Solar had come here uncalled for and unwished for. This much did appear to be predictable somewhat, for the Disciples were true to their own, but it did further solidify that one part of his mind, that being that the opposition to Celestia was nothing more than a loosely joined association, a united front that surely would not last.

Yet increasingly that school of thinking was one Solar felt to be dropping out of. The new way of thinking, the new reality he hoped, was not some temporary pact, but a union of all those who searched for a land without the Day, and a blade, whether it be withdrawn or not, soaked in the blood of their enemies.

For fighting this war, so far from Luna, who was nothing if not imprisoned by the totalitarianism of Celestia, was one waged to see her free, and like Celestia would witness later today, all to see the land fully and totally purged.

So if this audience seemed audacious, and his request an apparent insult, then Solar would accept the title of fool with fond openness, such was the utter importance of toppling the rotten powers that may be, with equally audacious prejudice.

“To fight. If you do not know who, considering your numbers and skills, then maybe you’re the fool really”. Prey did not look into the eyes of a predator with this sort of resilience, obstinacy even.

The look he was offered in return, judgmental to the ends of the worlds, and downright animalistic in its vigilance, was not so quick to disarm in the face of this determined ally, but it did betray, whether intended or not, that Solar was right, and indeed the Disciples were already aware of the approaching Guard.

“You do not think yourself to be impulsive?” Speck then asked, judging still as those demonic eyes did not relent. “Or maybe too hungry for a taste you are not acquired with?”

This all could very much just be an evaluation of Solar’s plan. A questioning of its wisdom. That much would be expected. On the other hoof however, this dangerously unpredictable Bat Pony could simply be playing with him, committing herself to predatory instinct. She obviously did not fully trust the northerners of this world on intrigue. Hers was a simple society, and almost equal to all the animal metaphors Solar thought for her.

These Disciples were simple folk, and it had enabled them to survive and overcome every obstacle that faced them for a thousand years, for if they had failed, they wouldn’t still be here, following a violent tradition that instructed them to blot of the sun, no matter the variables that seemed stacked up against them.

“I don’t care.” Then came the answer she surely didn’t expect. Solar’s face was uncompromising, resolute in its cause. He barely even gave her any returned gaze, despite his eyes staring directly at hers. His mind, his very self-right now, was focused only on victory, and the complete destruction of the enemy.

This completed the analogy of nature that had been crafted, even since he entered the forest. Like a predator hunting its prey, nothing else mattered but the kill. The physical environment may throw challenge, the prey itself may seem out of reach, but the hunt was on now, and why stop, if the predator was to remain on top?

Speck smiled, if only just. For all his differences, and for all the extensive differences that would forever separate their two worlds, Solar, when he needed to be, was the predator, from the very same pack as the Disciples. Their prey was the same, and now, this fickle coalition evolved into the bonds of kindship that Solar had begun to share with all those that served the Night.

“Follow me, Commander Solar Virtue. We wouldn’t want you to get lost here. The creatures that dwell have not tasted ambition for a long time…”

Speck then took off, trusting her newfound kindred spirit to follow post haste. This assumption would prove true, as with barely even a thought given to his most recent moral realignment, Solar let himself be led, trusting the expertise of a true Pony of the wild, so he may lead that very alignment to victory, and the domination over the Day. Speck guided him through an assortment of strange and wonderful fauna, all with the soundtrack of equally unique lifeforms, but now was not the time spent to study. In this brief time he had, Solar readied himself, not just for battle, but for his own guidance.

He would guide the Night, Luna herself, into a better future.

The plan was simple. In theory.

A small number of Ponies, eight in total, loyal only to Luna and each other, had left the northern fringes of the Everfree Forest and would here lay their trap. While that great impenetrable forest provided possibly the best defence that could ask for, any sally forthwith to ambush approaching forces would alas, prove tricky.

Massive as it may be, and should one find themselves lost within it, eternal to the ends of the world, the Everfree Forest did not extend forever. Primarily, it was situated due south of Ponyville, straddling it somewhat both east and west. In more northerly directions however, the contrast could not be more evident. Rolling plains, clear and devoid of woodland or any other ambush points. Not to mention the general business of the land between Ponyville and Canterlot, a road well-travelled, it could be said. Frustratingly for Solar and his comrades, this was, presumingly, the route that would be taken by forces directly from Canterlot. It was a direct and easy journey between the two inhabitations, and considering the haste required by Celestia, should she wish to win over Ponyville before Solar, undoubtedly, he and Speck’s chosen Disciples had, at the very least, predicted the place of battle.

Beyond that, the odds were not so entirely in their favour, hence the doubling in numbers over the Guards. While cover was not totally extinct here, for small, thoroughly managed, woods were to be found east of the road, all the way north until they could reach the base of Canterlot mountain, the amount of open area that separated them and the road was still great. Bouncing from cover to cover in the forms of these miniature forests, a decision had to be made of not only how to reach the Guards unseen or unsuspected, but to make them vanish away from prying eyes.

As was already established, and an advantage seldom given to the Night, numbers were not in the favour of the Guard’s. Using that upper hoof indeed, was crucial. After all, rushing in with a hoard of foreign Thestrals would not win the battle, even with the death of the enemy.

No, the secret to today’s victory was to use their numbers wisely, and their differences even more so. The sight of a Thestral was, tragically, one worthy of panicked attention in today’s world. That failure of society, the marginalisation on that race, would today however, finally become its reckoning. A couple of Thestrals had already ventured further towards Ponyville, as Solar awaited his victims. They would stalk the town, just enough to stay hidden somewhat, but crucially, not enough to go fully unnoticed.

Ponyville was to be the jewel in the crown on the Nights domination across the land, but the blind leader was the foolish leader. Solar was under no illusion that even according to his most optimistic estimates, that the town did not hide spies or supporters of Celestia’s. Be they peaceful or not, the sight of a couple sneaky Thestrals, all after the news of the conflict in Canterlot, would cause unfortunate natural alarm. This would lead them to inform what local authority they put their faith in, and undoubtedly, ensure the town enter a state of lockdown. Nopony would come in, and no pony would come out.

This was the predictability of today’s world. A panicked, soft society that frightened at the mere hint of danger, despite having faced it one too many times. Exploiting this, until it may be remodelled, ensured the road would remain practically cordoned off until some order may be established.

Little did most Ponies know, that the order Ponyville would be returned to would be a thoroughly new one. A graceful safety that would not allow any Celestial infection to step past the first sign that read “Ponyville”.

All that remained was to wait for the guests of this handover.

“Ugh, the one time the Guard decided to be unpunctual…” Solar moaned, his back aching from all this crouched hiding within the few trees and bushes.

Next to him, and contrary to his grumbling persona, Speck attended to her more primal predatory instincts with patient steadiness. Solar did not fully know of the life these once Lunar Guardians lived down in the jungles of the south, but if appearances were anything to go by, then it was a life lived plain. Not in any way beneficial to the individual however, for contrast with the relative luxury of the north could not be greater. It was surely kill or be killed down there, and ambushes like this was almost certainly just another day for her.

With perhaps much juicer prey however.

“You are too impatient, Commander.” She replied in a tone that could piece through even the strongest Ponies resolve. “We will wait as we always have, until our teeth can finally taste its ruby reward. Until then, alleviate your eagerness.”

Alas, that cultural barrier that had been established a millennium ago with Speck’s ancestors having been driven away, could not so easily crumble. Solar begrudgingly understood, knowing kinship and the bonds of cause still developed under that so foreign façade. And foreign it was. Solar wasn’t exactly awaiting with eagerness the fact that Speck and the rest of the Disciples were treating this ambush as a hunt that could also fill their bellies.

If her cold bloodthirsty tone hadn’t rocked a Pony to his core, then this upcoming banquet would.

“I can’t be as peckish as you then. I’ll let you…drink…my share.” A disturbing enough sentence, one he had never anticipated in saying.

Of course he did not judge, not least of all because he needed them.

But after all her still patience, Speck now finally did turn her head, allowing herself become distracted from the ambush. Her slit demonic eyes, still somehow terrifying in the daylight, were not clearly meant for diplomacy. Almost as soon as he said it, Solar feared for the worse, and cursed his reply as somehow insulting, like it spat upon her culture with uncaring prejudice. That was a best case scenario, for the deathly gaze she stabbed into him could all too easily be one born of her fanaticism for the cause, one that had been passed down from generation to generation. Far from insulting her people, had Solar just spat on his faith?

“You’re funny. I like that.” No smile came, nor warmth that could have put worried nerves at ease. In fact, one could be forgiven for thinking that this was mere sarcasm, a prelude before it was Solar’s blood that would flow first. But Thestrals, with these ones in particular, were nothing if not unpredictable. When Solar had first met Speck, she had come across as a wild individual, even more so then Neon. But that high spirit had swiftly switched over to a dark and threatening image, one that liberally came with a free warning for Solar. Never to wrong her.

But exaggerations were just that. Indeed, Solar’s increasing alignment was not just a hunch. From being accused of not being serious enough, to having his grim jokes entertained, the speed of which he had established connections within the night was nothing if not surprising.

But did it even matter if he had rushed matters, when he was clearly right in all this?

“And you’re really not bothered about the sun?” proceeded to ask Solar, bringing the conversation back on topic. It was a good question, given the genetic qualities of his comrades. As had been established, Thestrals could perform during the day if required, but this was a serious matter, and any mistakes could simply not be warranted.

“My people wouldn’t have made it far if we let that disgusting thing distract us from our destiny”. Speck replied plainly, much to Solar’s satisfactory relief. Though perhaps his question reminded his Thestral comrade of something, for as soon as she had finished, Solar caught, in the corner of his eye, curious items now being placed upon the faces of Speck and the other Disciples.

These objects, masks upon their faces, were clearly tribal in nature, and obviously a veil saved only for times of war. Their appearance all but confirmed this, for the very nature of what now faced him would do nothing but instil fear into his enemies. Akin to a skull missing its lower jaw, these wraithlike masks clad the wearers face as if all flesh had been peeled away, leaving only slit pupils to contrast with the bone like material of the mask itself. In fact, were it dark, then all Solar would surely see was demonic eyes in a sea of black that the masks shadowed.

“Don’t grow envious, Commander. Accustom yourself with our culture, and you may too receive one eventually”. A joke returned from Speck, who now upon speaking, revealed that her own lower jaw was not covered, ensuring her dagger like teeth could freely be used in combat. Wishful thinking, Solar thought, who could easily estimate that any Guard, upon seeing these ethereal like custodians of death approaching them with naught but devilish eyes and a face that ended towards predatory teeth, but not before rows of sharply crafted, vertical razors that looked to be made of some form of metallic bone.

Little wonder, with this early use of psychological warfare, that rumours and stories regarding the Disciples read as little over than horror.

“To help you with the sunlight, right?” Was this an actual question Solar wanted answered? Of course it helped knowing that adversity to the sun would be negated somewhat, but harking back to the heaps of hearsay regarding the beasts that once served Nightmare Moon, the Ponies that sacrificed their very souls to the darkness, this disguise in the form of a question now seemingly wished to blanket over the truth that such stories were indeed true.

And then Speck smiled, a new and disturbing sight on that horrid appearance that told Solar all he wanted to know about those tales told to young colts to keep them in line.

“They are coming”. Came a voice of one of the Disciples, thankfully ripping Solar from whatever his imagination could so gruesomely envisage. Fear of his allies, to the point of furthering cultural divides between Ponies that could and possibly wish to craft the new world with him, was neither wise nor warranted. Solar did wish the Night’s fate to be of that chaotic nature, and now, with the enemy on the horizon, and his forces ready to do bloody battle in mere seconds, his mind drifted contrary to that fear.

As he had demonstrated in the Everfree Forest, when the chips were down, and when it came to it, Solar did not so conservatively align himself within the moderate school of thought. For the glory of the Night, for victory over corruption and the destruction of the Day, physical or mental limitations would not be allowed and as easy and natural as it seemed, Solar would do whatever it took, be whoever he needed to be, to achieve those goals.

His shared blood may only be metaphorical in nature with the Disciples and the Shadows, but his faith was as strong as could be, and his bloodlust now, as unquenchable as even the most savage Disciple, aiming directly to the pumping enticement of a Guards jugular. He had no mask of his own, but he needn’t require one, for the vengeance he would unleash on those golden clad abominations would be nothing less than monstrous.

His victims were in range now. Four of them, as had been anticipated. They stuck to the empty road, a visible haste gifted to their hooves as the bait had been taken, and their earlier, seemingly normal mission had now turned into something far more pressing.

Solar then noted the makeup of the targets. Two Earth Ponies, strong and surely built to intimate innocent townsfolk. A Unicorn, obviously here to spread some inherent social superiority made worse only be serving Celestia. There too was a single Pegasus, who, for whatever foolish reason, stuck to the ground, and ignored those natural advantages known as wings.

In conclusion, these four Ponies would not complete their task, and every step they now took, was one closer to those who would be the last sight they ever saw.

“I’ll take the Unicorn.” Solar commanded forcibly, only just giving enough thought to tactics in the face of his erupting greed for violence. “Pluck that Pegasus from the sky.” It surely made decent sense for Solar to focus on the ground targets, with some secondary backup so that he may out muscle the Earth Ponies, but Speck, even behind that war mask of hers, was not so interested in this momentary sensibility.

“You still have much to learn about us, Commander. Come and see. It’s a dark day really.” Solar could have shivered, if he were a Pony of less fortitude. Everywhere this Disciple went, and whatever she said, a drowning sense of portentousness followed her, like a stalking pestilence. Her words carried ominous meaning, and despite being on the same side of hers, the feeling of threat never seemed far away.

It really was a nice day, naught but an autumn breeze being a changing factor. It would be surely been a normal, possibly easy going day for many Ponies, but not these Guards. They may be well armoured, decently trained and most likely picked because of their induvials skill and belief in finding success today, but in reality, the sky was fully clouded over. Darkness was reigning, and despite appearances, today would be a black one.

And then, it started.

This was never going to be a perfect ambush, not one for the textbooks, given the rough ingenuity of it all. There was still some distance between the road and the cover Solar now rushed out from. The Guards would undoubtedly see them coming, and in the case of the Disciples, hear them through their horrifying screeching and native tongue. Numbers and belief, however, were in the Night’s favour, and in no circumstance, could one say that these shocked and fearful guards had as much cause in their hearts, as much conviction in the desire to win, then those dark forces now charging towards them.

Solar was quick. He needed to be. As incompetent and corrupt as they were, it was not just flesh he was charging into. Like with the battle in Canterlot, a strong defence was key, and if these Guards had even a shred of tactical instinct, they would close ranks, rely on their heavy plate armour, and survive this surprise long enough to possibly call for end, or at least flee to survive another day.

Speed, even more than ever, needed to reign the champion of the day because of the, at least on paper, ill thought of reality that he was basically weapon-less. A small crafted blade gifted from Speck, clearly made on the road, so to speak. Barely a shiv it was, and surely not much use at penetrating golden plate, but that was a gift from the heavens, and tool destructive against entire armies, in comparison to the Disciples. In their hooves, were implying nothing. No weapons, no wing blades, but another ominous drift to that age old savagery that gave those scary stories credence. Sharp teeth, fanatical barbarism and animalistic predatory. It was this small horde of beasts that would rattle the resolve of an otherwise cohesive and solid defensive block of guards.

And rattle they did.

Huddling up like a herd of fearful cattle, the prey theme of the day became fully aligned with Solar’s hopes and interests. His was a tactical mind, and Speck’s was one passed on through the ages. Thus these two servants of Luna’s knew instantly how to react to their target, and like a pack of hungry wolves, encircle and pick off the weak.

Weakness, at this early stage of battle, usually took the form of cowardice and a selfish desire to save themselves from their responsibility. Deserters like this offered little thought to their abandoned comrades, which would have explained the shocked looks skywards as the sole Pegasus attempted to make a fly away. While escape was a priority for the group as a whole, fearful fragmentation, without plan or destination, was no good idea at all, and with the tightening of the Night’s grip, and the wolf pack tactics on show, this weakling of a Guard did not get far.

He got what he deserved, and with barely even a nod of approval from Speck, her Disciples set upon the coward like a shark having smelt blood. The Pegasus screamed as his golden form was ripped from the air, only to land outside the group of his allies, and let them watch as two demonic Thestrals ripped him apart, a sight Solar once considered inefficient and unnecessary. Weakness like that however, made doubly worse by bowing to the Princess of weakness, deserved no pity, no moral intervention. His plate was ripped off, and perhaps fortunately for him, his life came to a swift end, before the Disciples sliced his body open, and fed upon rivers of flowing blood.

An irrelevance in the end, for the fight was not yet other, even though in the hearts of the serving Guards, it might as well already had been. Hope was a powerful thing, a beacon of beauty, but also great power. Solar held it abundance, and as that hope for a better future scared Celestia, it surely terrified her underlings. They had no hope of their own, and watching their comrade be devoured by monsters of the likes that they had never before seen, a despair that could only be felt by those soon leaving the world, blanketed the shining group with indiscriminate reach.

“Get that bed wetter out of my way Speck! I’ll take the Unicorn head on!” Despite their gruesome losses, the guards had not fled yet. A cornered animal, as they say, was the most dangerous animal. Panic had taken them yes, but not yet broken them. So it was no accident that Solar so loudly gave his command, with little concern offered to Speck’s name said out loud, or that his wish to fight the Unicorn was now so well known. His audacity and confidence, in the face of obvious victory, was neither cocky or arrogant. It was as much fact as the winds blew, and day would, inevitably, turn to night.

Speck however, was not so versed in this idea.

“Like I said, you know nothing!” Clearly, the idea of her own plan not taking any preference over Solar’s own was apparently beyond the pale. In fact, most curiously, but perhaps annoyingly to Solar, it seemed that as of now, the same Unicorn target was eyed up between them, a tasty morsel that apparently could not be shared.

The Commander of the Shadow’s was not so starved to warrant scraps over scraps. His concern was a selfless one, for once. A care for beasts whose language could not be translated to one of any civility. To the ears of those in metropolitan Equestria, the bloody hunger of the Disciples was not one worthy of listening, but despite any temporary frustrations, Solar had found himself lingual in more than the self-preservation that he had become so fluent in. Different they may be, but more than the attentiveness to one another in battle, he cared for not just himself, but the preservation of the voice that all servants of the Night spoke. This would be the speck told to Celestia, that she now faced a united front, that regardless of its variation, spoke in one loud voice.

Shame that perhaps Solar’s own individual voice wasn’t loud enough to be heard by Speck.

“Speck! You idiot get down!” Alas, the Thestrals agility was not so developed that it could evade the bolt of light that shot out of the Unicorns horn. A beam of destruction found its target in the proclaimed Disciple leader, and in that moment, Solar thought it over. Not for the fight of course, Solar was sure that he and the other Disciples would not permit this foolish Unicorn that mercy of a quick death, but for Speck herself, even she could not hope to survive such a direct hit.

Smoke a dirt filled the air around the body as if the ground itself spat in disgust at the decadence that was magic. Yet this was war, and Solar could not waste time or risk attack by observing the fallen. His eyes set upon one of the remaining two, a particularly gruff looking Earth Pony. He had seen two of his comrades brutally taken down by his enemy, and yet not for one moment did he dare show any hope of survival, much less any depression at his current set of circumstances.

Solar wished it could have been realism that consumed this Pony. The acceptance of death that came with the knowledge that whatever he did, the end was inevitable. A common enough sight in Ponies that were clever enough to understand defeat, but weak enough also to give in to depression.

So why did this Pony have a gleam in his eyes that boarded on excitement? Why, above all, was there, plastered on that antagonising face of his, a smug grin, aimed directly at Solar.

It was clear that there was no despondency in the heart of this Guard. No bleak dejection, exiled from the cherishment of hope. The only reality now on the field was that within Solar, who now understood that this Guard wasn’t so gleeful because he thought he had a chance in all this, but because he had just witnessed the falling of one of Solar’s most valuable allies. Leering in self-righteous spitefulness, this Pony delighted in the suffering of the Night, and wished for this joy to be known by Solar personally.

His was a direct and very deliberate action, designed by no accident as his eyes fixated on the Commander of his mortal enemies. For this was no mere Guard. No golden clad drone ordered towards his death like he was some worthless and replaceable Changeling.

It now made sense. Why would such a small force, even in the knowledge that the Night was on the prow, be sent to Ponyville, only to be ensnared into a trap like they were fish in a barrel?

This “Guard” had survived the fight this far because in fact, he was no mere Guard. Only one of the Children of the Solstice would delight in the death of a member of their oldest enemy. Only one of these degenerate cultists would single Solar out as an officer in command, because unlike some Guard, he was knowledgeable enough to know who he was, but animal enough to psychologically challenge him mid fight, a foolish action, but one easily not beneath a psychopath.

“I’m tired of telling you now, Commander.” These were not the words of a cultist who would have martyred himself for his mistress. That smug face hardly lasted as he too heard the words of a Pony he thought long gone. The dust had settled, and instead of revealing a futile but spiteful retaliation of the Day, there stood up a seemingly unharmed Speck, with naught but a few scratches and burns upon herself, not an eviscerating crater in her body where magic struck. She had somehow survived the Unicorns attack, and was now more pissed than she had been upon entering this fight.

“Huh?!” came Solar’s thankfully short response, an ignorance that would only spare him from the angry bewilderment of the Child of the Solstice, who despite his severe confusion, put his shock into violent reprisal.

Like a battering ram came the attack, the golden armour that underneath hid only a deranged phony. If Solar’s breath had already been taken by the surprise of Speck’s mortal continuity, then now he was nothing but a deflated bag, yet one flowing naturally in accordance to where he may clash with his next enemy. The most current one was a strong Earth Pony, Solar had to grant that. As was the case in the battle in Canterlot, these cultists were strong, savage beings, but they lacked tact, they were devoid of anything but the cruel malice that had made them join that cult in the first place.

“THE SUN NEVER SETS! BURN UNDERNEATH ITS ETERNAL FLARE! BURN IN THE NAME OF-“

Meaningless drivel, straight from the mouth of the indoctrinated. Solar had no time for the official party line, however much it helped him realise just how much better he and the Night would be for the world, without this form of instilled insanity. What really mattered right now was a solid victory, but that seemed all too distant away, especially while that superior numerical advantage he had come in on, now seemed to refuse to assist him.

“What the buck do you think you’re doing?!” He cried out in near betrayal, not so much struggling to fight his foe than to finish this all quickly, so that the real work may continue.

On one hoof, the Disciples were not so idle to warrant such aggression. That foolishly brave Unicorn, who possible thought himself a hero, if only for a brief minute, had reached the end of his luck. Speck, somehow mostly unharmed, was no saint. She was aggressive, violent and utterly without mercy to anypony she thought a threat to her very specific and ancient interpretation of the cause. Solar had personally experienced her danger, if only verbally, so what was going through the mind of that poor Guard, who had directly insulted her with an attack, must have been nothing short of a complete lamentation of his life, and a thousand love letters written in his mind, letters that would never be sent back home.

No other Disciple dared to intervene. Perhaps this was why Solar’s fight was his own. These were primal warriors, consumed by the existence of violence that had all but taken every one of their ancestors, and had been ingrained into their very bones. The fight was their life, and such an intimate one, as opposed to massed conflict like back in Canterlot, was practically sacred.

However, a cults idea of such tradition, their interpretation of hallowed belief, differed from a more civilised Ponies. Solar was fighting to win for sure, and with his own one on one victory, he would rejoice, and curse the very name of his opponent, such was the vile nature of their own belief. Speck, and by extension her entire people, was a fighter worthy of all the blood spilt in centuries gone by, and one of which the enemy was not just a foe in need of killing, but a disgusting insult to their very being.

Something like that, as Solar was beginning to understand, wasn’t even worth the notion of unoffered mercy. To be merciful or not, to be understanding or even cruel, were concepts offered to an ordinary enemy, a Pony. You could spare that foe, or torture him, for they were the tools offered to deal with that recognisable adversary.

Sub filth like the one Speck was about to deal with weren’t even deserving of any of that. No thoughts were offered to that poor Unicorn, no anger or satisfaction in his death. Just a momentary living hell for spawn that emerged from that evil pit, prior to the bloody mess that remained.

In this moment, Solar was thankful he was occupied. He took back his words, and now seemed glad his lack of assistance kept him so busy with his opponent, for if his eyes drifted over to the horrors which Speck inflicted upon the Guard, then surely, regardless of his conviction, mental scarring would forever haunt him, and suffering that he had never before known existing in this mortal plain, would shake even him.

That Guard, perhaps even a diligent and dutiful son or husband, probably didn’t deserve the miserable fate that beheld him. His screams were distracting to say the least, but in the end, Solar was glad that he did not witness something that couldn’t even be described as a brutal death. That was too tame a term, and one offered to a murder that, however bloody, a Pony pushed far enough could inflict.

The end justified the means however, and that, indeed, was the idea behind this very war.

“You’re next…” Ominous and chilling words that Solar found himself instinctively threatening to his cultist enemy, who even as he inhabited his own plain of lunacy and madness, could not but help himself, as little more than a neutralizing blink but a sign of terror it still was. Far more interestingly however was the fact that despite of his wish to avoid watching what heinous art form Speck had painted the grassy canvas with, Solar was not so averse to all of it happening again, to a far more suitable subject. Perhaps even Celestia may receive the completed project as a “gift”.

He may not get his own hooves so dirty, but why would he need to, when he could so easily delegate that opportunity to his friends and allies?

This thought, though perhaps a little more self-centred in its persevering desire, had clearly manifested itself within the Child of the Solstice, that corrupted mouth of his, now firmly shut by the veil of fear.

This was all Solar needed to best his enemy, and finish him off. These cultists had shown themselves to be capable individual warriors, fighters that thrived in the dirt and chaos of battle, but alas, there now seemed plentiful reasons that he and the Disciples had waged war so lightly, and why they were so lacking in comparison to the Guard.

Speed was of the essence, and armour had never performed so well under speedy and agility demanding fights. The cultist was clearly weighed down by that obnoxious gold, yet that alone was no the seal of his tragic fate. Armour existed for a reason. It protected Ponies and ensured a strong defence, and such an advantage could never be understated. This advantage, proven well back in Canterlot, had never been allowed to even sprout in today’s fight. Picking them off one by one, and snatching any opportunity to fall a solid wall, the remaining Daylings had two options., to flee and thus perish, as demonstrated upon the Pegasus, or fight swiftly and alone, relying on skill and strength to trump over the opponent.

This cultist, strong in appearance and vigour, and seemingly capable enough of close combat, could have surely relied upon this final option, were it not for the failings he carried upon his back, a failure in planning that Solar now took easy advantage of.

In wishing to disguise himself as a Guard, the Child of the Solstice had forfeited his only realistic chance at surviving. Heavy plate did not benefit him as breaths became faster and heavier, and twitch like reactions became ever slower, bogged down by fatigue and weight as if he were steadily sinking into quicksand.

His enemy had hoped to infiltrate and further corrupt the Guards even further then they already had, and appear to be a defender to Equestria. Solar’s war was not so conventional, not so predictable. This was a war of constant, unending offensive, be they large or small in scale. Anticipatory tactics, the exact kind Solar had drilled into him during his time in the Guard, would not suffice as the entire country rose up beneath their feet, and toppled those lumbering beasts that only looked up into the blinding sun.

Wars of attrition were long and bloody, this much Solar had accepted fully by now, but judging from today’s result’s, then even unknown enemies, those that surely should have expected this, could have their brains fried by the relentless lack of tact that descended from the sun, from Celestia.

“It’s over…” Solar uttered coldly, his foe now fallen upon the ground, blood flowing freely from between each golden plate. It was a beautiful sight really, a true metaphor of things to come. The falling of his most hated enemy, manifested somehow by something even more insane than his usual foes. Still, victory through manipulation of cumbersome enemies, as seen by the pained clutching of deep lacerations of joints and over exposed pieces of flesh, was just but one. A single defeat of a much larger force that would undoubtedly be angry at yet another provocation by the Night.

To achieve much larger victories, Celestia must commit larger, more consequential manoeuvres. To force that however, Solar was in need of Speck’s version of painting with the colour red.

Looking at her, he saw, however well-hidden it was, a hint of pride. That small amount of acceptance offered in the Everfree forest had been vindicated, and her trust in him proven well placed. This was, like the fight, just a small step, but it was a true step nonetheless, and one seen by those he wished to impress.

Despite this, Speck made no movement towards the fallen cultist. She, along with her own people, just stood there, watching Solar himself, as if they were awaiting something else, the desert of their main course, so to speak. Their skeletal veils of death, had been turned near black with thick blood, of the specific kind that could only be found in the depths of a body. The Guards had been thoroughly disembowelled, so perhaps it was understandable that Solar took a couple moments to realise they were probably awaiting his own chance to join them in that very grisly getup.

Yet a thought, recent in its outlook, and surely timeless in sentiment, could not so easily be escaped. He had not directly witnessed what the Disciples wished of him, but that had been quite enough. What he was now required of was not forgivable by any means, not worthy of remembrance or pride whatsoever. This much Solar had deemed predictable, even now. These Thestrals bore a blood lust very particular to them, both culturally and physically. Solar did not lust for a vain so drained of its contents. That sin, however adjusted he became with it happening, would forever remain all too symbiotic in its savagery, but now, not so much pressured, but expected almost, the urge to commit to perhaps the penultimate form of brutality was all too enticing.

He had surely turned upon himself, his very morals now very much committed to the gallows. In that moment, it was as if Solar had begun to consume himself, with that ever increasing ferocity biting at his very being.

Solar was a violent pony by nature, and had lived within that cruel fates shadow for the entirety of his life, but war was another beast entirely. Not just A single Ponies will, inflicted upon another. War was the world turned upside down, and that was a pestilence Solar had been clear of until now. In order to avoid infection by that disease, that plague that destroyed the world, he needed to fight against it, and not just alone. If violating basic life codes by what he was about to do upon this Child of the Solstice, so that he may fight this war in the company of friends, then so be it.

Shiv in hoof and his intention committed now, Solar had to swallow any immature disgust or unwant and finally give that vile cultist the fate he deserved. That Pony in question knew pain was coming, but just like any predictable indoctrinated fool, fear had been put down and replaced by a stone cold face as he doubled down on that misguided illusion he called a cause. His face was plain, and only offered, most likely, meaningless words.

“She will burn.”

Solar blinked, staying his blade and his bloody desire. He had heard those three words clearly, everypony had. It was with quick realisation, and simple understanding that this was the last stand of not only a coward, but one who could have not have understand the severity of his poison, for now, regardless of Solar’s prior hesitations, the most awful of punishments, the most harrowing of hells would delight in the screams and the breaking of both body and soul.

Luna would never be spoken of like that, and if the Disciples, a cult who had sworn by her Night for a thousand years, stood there with only frowns upon their faces, then it was up to Solar himself to inflict cruellest punishment.

He approached the fallen Pony slowly and methodically. Truthfully, he did not know where to start, yet at the end of the day, there was nothing if not joy in improvising.

“No!”

These were not the words of a suddenly regretful cultist, at least not the one Solar intended death for. He in fact remained as resolute as possible. No, the words came from somewhere that truly did stay Solar’s blade.

Speck did not delight in her words. She appeared to carry a sigh with them, very nearly rolling her eyes were that action far too ordinary for her.

“What?”

A feeling of cold turkey flew over Solar, who suddenly felt lighter as if he had lost a limb or part of himself. There he stood, looming over his victim, almost forgetting just how close he had got to butchering the Pony, and now, with a simple no, the pleasant gentle day felt as if the sun had forever gone and with it, all life had been taken as well. The atmosphere, so strange in feeling, could only be described as empty, and that barren carcass that Solar called his body had been thrown deep into the cold ground.

Nopony could be said to have been satisfied by any measure in that moment. The cultist of Celestia’s looked as if was a continued part of his torture, trying to drive him to the point of crying out for the release of death. It was Speck however, visibly remiss post cry, that looked to be the most uncomfortable.

She pursed her lips, only just managing to halt any teeth grinding that would break those sharp fangs of hers. Steeping forward, partly unwilling as if she had been forced to, but curiously part full of disappointment, she deliberated further on her detoxification of Solar’s need.

“Leave him. We know how to make him squeal.” She forced herself to say, barely even looking Solar in the eye while doing so.

Yet it was Solar who was surely justified in his confusion and discomfort. He looked back down on his foe, who had yet to become the message he needed to convey, seeing not a Pony anymore, but work unfinished, an untidy mess he could not easily defend in being left there like that, alive. Yet Speck, of all Ponies, had called not for a correct form in advocating their violent cause, but indeed a total halt to the work entirely.

About to reply, Solar looked back on Speck as if their respective positions were reversed, and he were the savage killer, and she the torch bearer for a better future.

“Squeal?” He said innocently. “As in…to prolong our vengeance?” A deserved enough fate for any enemy of the Night, Solar was sure of that. So why wasn’t Speck?

“No.” She shot back, again almost unwillingly. “To…learn. Intelligence.”

Almost muttering the final words, Solar could not believe what he was hearing. Now conversing long enough to stand back from the fallen foe, Solar felt his thoughts return, but they offered little more than continued confusion, at least. At most, questions rang in his head regarding Speck’s sudden hesitation to do what needed to be done.

“Learn?” He asked, his question directed disproportionately towards him, and not Speck. Yes, prisoners could be questioned, preciously why Solar wished he could question Luna’s would-be assassin. But this Pony? This mockery of a life form? Was this a cultural barrier of the Disciples he could not understand? A corner that only the efficiency of civilisation could cut off by delivering swift justice?

Speck, clearly unsure about her chosen position in this debate, thought long and hard between her words, a look obviously unbecoming of the terrifying yet useful weapon that she was. Solar however, did not truly hear them. He felt cold, like he had finally emerged from his ice bath. Constantly switching between looking at his victim and his blade, the world around him disappeared into a blur, leaving only him, his thoughts and a deep personal challenge.

What, exactly, was he doing?

Beating his enemies? Sure. Simple enough.

Consolidating his victory through the liberty of choices? Yes, being alive gave him that luxury.

Removing the corruption of the world, the Day, like the filth it was? Well, he was about to?

If only Luna had been here. Her commanding presence, her voice even, would have surely not allow this no Pony’s land of confusion to reign.

“What shall we do with the bodies?” Solar asked suddenly, the words almost automatically flowing from his mouth. It was not the response Speck suspected who, in her own crude way, looked almost offended that whatever she wanted had not been gifted.

She looked at her fellow Disciples, then to the distant Everfree Forest, deliberating what was now surely an easy question to answer of how to hide and dispose of the fallen Guard.

Yet she took her time answering, looking once again at Solar as if she had forgotten who he was, and how he had adapted to her way of living.

Finally, she looked into the distance, and with a sigh, gave her eventual answer.

“Ask your kin.” She uttered, much to Solar’s continued bewilderment.

“My kin?” He asked, just as he turned to face what was meant to be so interesting.

In reality, it was, but not in the most pleasant of ways, for that curiosity had much to answer for.

“Oooo, looks like I missed all the fun.” Neon Edgy chirped, landing with a smile, but only welcomed with idle stares and an atmosphere of bleakness.

“Well you guys go first, what’s up?”

Author's Note:

Important chapter, for, as I hope you've been realising, Solar is changing.

As you can see, Solar is, as the title of the chapter says, moving his personal goalposts. What wasn't right for him before, now suddenly is. He is considering, doing and entertaining ideas that he wouldn't before, because, basically, he's losing himself. He's being consumed by everything, and believes only that he is right, and what he does is just.
All very dangerous of course, especially when the one he loves, Luna, is barely even thought of, let alone treated as she deserves. Solar is starting to think he knows whats best for her, and when he doesnt, he barely even considers her at all.