A Rather Large Adventure

by BradyBunch

Chapter Thirty: The Pony of a Thousand Scars, Part 1

“Th-that isn’t right! Y-you’re not supposed to be real! You’re supposed to be dead! You’re an impossibility! An anomaly!”

Discord’s face was the color of old oatmeal. The sight of Discord’s fear only fueled the girl’s insatiable curiosity about the whipped, scarred, and beaten mystery now staring Discord down.

He stepped forward, and Discord flinched. “You’re the god of chaos, and you ask about an impossibility?” He sounded both enraged and depressed at the same time.

Twilight wiped a tear from her eye, drawn by the sight of his mutilated appearance. “But F-freedom! There’s still so much you’re not telling us about yourself!”

Freedom Fighter’s rough-hewn head whipped to face her, and Twilight recoiled. His red eyes burned with outraged sorrow and cold anger. “What more do you want from me?” he demanded. “Is what I’m doing for you not enough?” And then his voice dropped into a colder, more malevolent tone. “Oh, she asked for it, Freedom. She asked you so, so hard. And now you will make her know.”

“Wh-what’re you talking about?” Rainbow defiantly asked.

“You all wanted me to do this!” he suddenly roared, slamming his metal hoof on the ground. “You all pressed me to do this for you, and now you tell me you want more? You knew that I didn’t like this! I hated it, but you didn’t care, did you? You all just backed me into this corner. And then all of a sudden, this happens to you and you want more! Oh, I know you care about my well-being, don’t you? You care SO MUCH, don’t you?!”

“But... but there needs to be something more to what you show to the world!” Starlight Glimmer protested. “There are things you’re keeping from us! Friends need to know things about their friends, don’t they?”

“Spare me that manure,” he spat in his colder, darker voice. He stalked forward oppressively, and Starlight hurriedly backed away. “You didn’t want to form a bond! Not with somepony like me, that you recognize in the corner and think, ‘Aww, look at the poor little guy!’ and you ignore for the rest of the time you’re in his presence! All you wanted out of me was to see this!” He furiously indicated his scarred yellow body with his mechanical left hoof. “And it looks like you got more than you bargained for, didn’t you? You didn’t see what you thought you wanted to see, is that it? So now that you know at least this about me, I might as well open up to all of you and show you everything. Whether you want to or not.”

Starlight, visibly abased, fell silent.

Freedom Fighter then fixed a baleful, burning eye on the girls, Spike, and Discord. Noble Blade and Firestorm had moved off to the side and were looking unusually somber. “You all wanted to see,” he said, a deep crease in his forehead and a thin snarl on his lips. “And so you shall. I don’t care how many tears you shed on my behalf. You will see it all.”

“B-but... but I thought you were so happy, and peppy, and eager to face the world!” Pinkie trembled, her eyes wetting.

“That’s a lie,” Freedom Fighter snapped, looking at the ground. “How you perceive me is but a reflection of what I want you to see about me. I showed you an enthusiastic side of me because I don’t want you to stick your filthy noses into my past. There’s not much to be enthusiastic about there.”

“But you can find happiness in anything if you try hard enough!” Pinkie cried, inching closer. “There’s always happiness in anypony! You just have to find it! We can help you find it--together!” Her voice turned soft. “I want you to be happy. If you’re sad, I’m sad. And I don’t want to be sad seeing you sad!” She drew closer to him, but was careful not to touch him. Her head was now directly in front of his own. “Please, Freedom. Let me make you happy.”

Freedom Fighter’s only response was a cold stare. “You want to find something happy.”

“Of course!” Pinkie said, her ears straightening.

Freedom Fighter pointed his flesh arm at the draconequus that had managed to get to his feet. “Discord,” he growled.

Discord pointed at himself. “M-me?”

“Can you delve into other’s memories? Make them experience it like they were really there?”

“I--I am the lord of chaos! I can do anything I want!” he asserted, trying to sound powerful.

“Then I want you to showcase my memories. It’s how I can best explain myself.”

Discord swallowed. “B-but the Unforgiven--from the legends--I saw what had happened to you and to the Rada, and I thought you had died--”

“You’re mistaken, then,” Freedom Fighter cut him off. “And so was everyone else that knew about the legends, as well.”

“I can’t show them what happened to you!”

“You must,” Freedom Fighter insisted, emphasizing his words with a tap on the ground with his metal hoof. “They. Must. Know.”

“A minute ago, you said you didn’t want to talk about this,” Twilight pointed out. She outstretched a hoof. “And honestly, if it makes you this uncomfortable, I’m actually okay with not pushing you--”

“MAKE UP YOUR MIND!” he screamed at her. “What do you want out of me? Do you want to hear it, or do you not? Do you want to push me or do you not? Because of your indecision, you get no further say in this; now that I’m exposed to you, I’ll show you. I’ll show you exactly what happens when you force me to talk about darkness.” He glared at Discord. “Show my memories. Now.”

Discord didn’t say anything. He just tapped his fingers nervously.

“NOW!” He reached his metal arm out to the side, twisted the bands on his arm of metal in a certain way, and out of three nozzles on the bottom sprouted three long blades that glowed as yellow as the sun. Down the grooves of his arm ran yellow twisting rivers of enchanted power, strengthening his arm to an unnatural level. “DO IT NOW OR I SWEAR TO FAUST I WILL RIP THE FLESH OFF OF YOUR BACK!”

Discord was a nigh-immortal and all-powerful being, but he actually took the Unforgiven’s threat seriously. He straightened his stance and beckoned to the girls, suddenly wearing heels, earrings, and a long dress. “Well now, class, gather ‘round. We’re going on a field trip today to focus on his younger days. Let’s hurry now, class. We don’t want to be late.”

Curiosity and guilt burning in all of them, the seven mares, Spike, and the Guardians of the Sun went to Discord. Freedom Fighter shot the blades back into his mechanical arm and stood in the center of the circle of ponies, and everyone else kept their distance from him. Discord gave a reluctant snap of his fingers, and the world disappeared.

---

Darkness. Nothing but darkness surrounded their view. They were standing on something, but none of them were sure what it was.

None of them could tell which way was up or down, which way was forward or backward. But after only a few minutes of nauseating vertigo, they all were able to regain their footing on an invisible plane as the mind twisted color into the background and created a semblance of a setting.

The scene gradually formed around the twelve of them. They were in a tribal ground of native settlers. The houses were stick-and-mud huts scattered across the brown land for as long as they could see, much like a farmer would scatter seed in his massive field. Behind the huts were green, prosperous gardens, and in the distance were roving sheep and cattle in tall green fields.

Directly in front of the girls was a fire ring lined with stones that was at least eight feet in diameter. And behind the fire ring was a great building that stretched dozens of feet above the earth, made of squared-off blocks of stone and thick wooden logs. Smoke billowed from the chimney at the back, and ponies in colorful feathers and skins and decorative elements rushed back and forth, crying aloud and declaring, “He is come! He is come! He is come!” Cries of pain and of strained anguish came forth out of the open doorway.

Freedom Fighter looked all around him, drinking in the scene with an upraised head. As he stretched his neck, the scars on his neck and face rippled and became wider. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I only know about this because my parents told me about it. Everypony was so excited for my arrival into the world.”

Starlight Glimmer came next to him. “Where are we? What’s happening?”

“This is my home,” Freedom Fighter explained, walking forward to tap a hoof on the stones of the fire ring, but his hoof passed right through the stone. “This is called the Rada tribe, called after Rada, the first great chief to rule these natives. We are on the extreme southern border of Saddle Arabia, on the continent across from Equestria. Surrounding us, trying at every opportunity to invade and slay us, are the Noxxa, in a tribe of their own.”

“You came from a tribe?” Applejack asked in confusion. “That’s the last place Ah thought ya’d come from.”

“Good.” Freedom Fighter grew a thin-lipped smile, rippling the scars going through his mouth. “I hid it well.”

“Noxxa... the name sounds familiar,” Starlight Glimmer said to him. “I remember hearing it from Twilight’s rescue. Are these the very same?”

“The very same,” Freedom Fighter confirmed with a curt nod.

Twilight’s memories returned to her in dizzying clarity. The image of a Nox, black and six-legged and fanged, the dark sands marking the Noxxa territory, the hideous clicking they made as they moved. They were in a tribe as well? What had happened so that they could go from a wandering tribe to a nation that could construct a massive tower in which they had imprisoned her?

“Nopony knows how the Noxxa first appeared,” Freedom Fighter was saying. “But the Rada say that they came from the eternal depths of Tartarus itself. They had dug and dug and dug from the depths of Tartarus out of the ground and the tall spires of rock many, many years ago, and were led by a pale abomination called Malice, whom they appointed their supreme marshal and commander. From their holes, they wandered northward and came to our lands during the rule of Rada, the first great chief.

"Our land was fertile. The lands they had could not sustain either crops or animals. And the Noxxa are predatory and vicious and slothful, and desire not to work for their gain. So they came to us and made attempts to rob us of our riches and our herds and our sustenance.”

Freedom Fighter turned his head, taking in more of the tribal buildings. “We fought back as well as we could, but it continued. For over three hundred years, there was only stalemate between us.” He then finally turned to talk to the girls. “But Rada issued a prophecy, possessed by the influence of Faust herself on his deathbed, saying there would be one born in the future, brought forth from his loins, to destroy the Noxxa permanently. This pony would have a Cutie Mark of an eagle feather and a war axe atop the shining sun. He would have a mane as black as Noxxa ash, a body the color of the sun’s rays of life and heat, a white mark in his forehead to represent the sun, and eyes the color of pony blood.” He indicated his appropriate features as he spoke. “This pony would be uplifted by his tribe to hunt down and destroy the devils and send their leader, Marshal Malice, to Tartarus.”

“But...you didn’t,” Rarity guessed, her voice flat. Behind her, Twilight, Spike, and everypony else except Noble Blade and Firestorm were listening closely and absorbing information. All of them were processing with firm minds the revelatory story.

“Yes, Rarity,” Freedom Fighter thought aloud patiently and slowly. He was frowning, creating even more lines on his face. “I didn’t. But you will see why soon enough.”

“And did they really believe you could do this?” Twilight asked curiously, observing the constructed huts and tents with an astute observer’s eye. “Did they believe you could hold them off?”

“For many years, it was a prophecy. As time went on, it went from prophecy to myth. From myth to legend. And then one day, the Medicine Mare looked inside of my mother’s womb, as was the tradition with every chief’s wife before they gave birth. And when she saw me inside of her, she fainted promptly on the spot, my mother told me. The entire tribe went into collective apoplexy.” He marched forward through the nonexistent fire pit and into the large stone-and-log home. “Follow me.”

They reluctantly followed him inside and cast their gazes around. Buttresses graced the ceiling like they were birds, as nimble as toothpicks and as strong as steel beams. Off to the side were bunks and chairs, and racks for holding weapons of bows and stone axes rested between bunks. In the center of the room was a circular platform where a mare sat down, panting and breathing heavily as she clutched something close to her chest. Surrounding her were many other tribal leaders, dressed in long-plumed feathers from every color of the rainbow and with animal bones and teeth on necklaces around their necks.

As Twilight came near, she heard an old female voice say, “I... I simply cannot believe it! Is it... really him? From the legends?”

“Everything is there, all right,” another male voice responded, low and gruff. “From the legends. Black mane, yellow body, red eyes--and there’s a mark in his forehead.”

“But what about the Cutie Mark?” another voice came forth. “Is it a feather and an axe?”

“It’s too early to tell,” the gruff voice responded. “But if there’s anypony that’s supposed to have it, it’s him.”

An old grey pony came next to his wife on the circular birthing platform and squeezed her shoulders lovingly. “He’s so precious,” he quivered with a smile. “Thank you, honey.”

The brown mare sniffled and smiled back. She held up the yellow wet mass she had in her hooves. “What shall we call him?”

“We wait until he gains his Cutie Mark,” the grey father said. “We don’t want him to end up with a misleading name for the rest of his life.”

“Mil-Anadash-Ror is wise.” The statement passed throughout the room, echoed from the mouths of everyone there. The yellow mass in his mother’s arms twisted to the side and opened its weary eyes to reveal a pair of solid-red eyes, normal for all foals when they were young. He yawned, showing his tongue, then snuggled next to his mother.

“So if you weren’t given a name before, what did they call you growing up?” Rainbow Dash asked him.

“They simply called me “Sa-Rada”, or son of the chief,” Freedom Fighter explained. “Every chief adopts the name Rada to honor the one that first organized our tribe, regardless of their original name. Mil-Anadash-Ror means “Strength of a thousand stones,” but Rada means “Preserve.” For me, my method of naming went against tradition, because instead of being given a name at birth and adopting the name Rada later, I had no name at all until I gained my Cutie Mark.”

The scene suddenly dissolved in front of Twilight, and a series of scenes passed in front of her and the others at a brisk pace. A yellow colt learning to take his first steps, then a scene where he first held a butter knife in his hooves at the age of three. Then a scene where, as an older colt, he could be seen throwing a tomahawk with his teeth at an archery range, then astounding everyone there by rising on his hind legs and hurling one with his hooves as well. He would move to a bow and arrow station and instead of having the tip of one end set in the ground, he would pick up the whole bow, on his hind legs, and fire it with extreme accuracy at a target. Cheers followed him, and he was applauded and clapped on the back.

“Growing up,” Freedom Fighter continued, “I was given high expectations. Not only the son of the chief, but also the product of a legend, emphasis was given to my training in the art of war. I wielded every tribal weapon I was given with expertise. A staff. A spear. A bow. An axe, a knife, a scimitar. All of them I handled like I was born with the instinct to use them. I was a true-born warrior. It was in my blood to fight.”

More scenes flashed in front of Twilight’s face. In the midst of faint battle sounds, a young yellow colt with an empty flank was pleading with his father to go outside to help fight, but the father refused with a firm shake of his head.

“But I was seen as too precious to the tribe to be seen in battle, where I could be taken down by a stray arrow or a spear. And so it was that I was kept inside during the Noxxa raids until my fifteenth birthday, when I was declared truly ready to fight against the Noxxa. And only a few days later, the Noxxa made another raid into our encampment.” He thinned his mouth as the scene around them changed to a war zone in the middle of the tribal grounds. “Today is the day I prove my destiny.”

The tribal grounds were filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and the sights of flying arrows and spears stuck in the ground. Here and there lay a brown earth pony, knocked unconscious or fainting with the loss of blood, and the fertile soil was interspersed with the fine black powder of slain Noxxa. Applejack hurriedly stepped out of a thick pool of fresh scarlet blood on the ground, then examined her hoof and found no blood on it.

And there came a bursting sound next to them and a hut collapsed as two Noxxa were thrown through a solid wall of hardened mud and its walls fell down all around them. As the rubble was cleared away, the girls could see a tall yellow colt standing uneasily on his hind legs and holding a long double-bladed spear in both of his hooves. A bow and a quiver full of arrows was slung behind his back, and on his waist, chest, and arms was thick leather armor. A brown leather hood and mask obscuring most of his face was on him, and his uncut, flowing black mane fell behind him in an extravagant braid.

The young and as-yet-unnamed Freedom Fighter pounced atop the two downed Noxxa and quickly dispatched them with downward swipes of his spear blades. Another six-legged black insect scuttled from behind his peripheral vision, and he turned around and grasped its snapping claws before they could close on his skull. He wrestled with the monster for only a few seconds before pulling both of his arms apart and ripping the claws out of his body. The Nox shrieked in pain, and the unnamed warrior thrusted with his spear. It emerged from his back, and he quickly dissolved atop his blade.

And there came another massive crash from in front of him, and into the girl’s view came a massive, twelve-foot high, armored Nox. Its yellow eyes burned with barbaric fury inside of its sunken eye sockets, and with his two front claws he held two massive battle axes, with blades the size of Freedom Fighter himself curved into alien shapes. Five Rada warriors were trying to keep it at bay, but the Rada were close to being overrun by the berzerker.

“Oh, not you again,” the unnamed warrior muttered darkly, impaling the ground with his principal weapon so he could reach across his back to access his bow and arrows.

“Hey, you can talk now!” Spike observed.

“Shut up,” Freedom Fighter ordered.

The berzerker picked his head up and spotted him. Freedom Fighter didn’t let that bother him as he cooly drew his bow off of his shoulder and nocked an arrow. The Berzerker, ignoring his attackers below him, hurled himself forward, intent on destroying the unnamed warrior. But the yellow colt let loose his arrow. It soared forth and sank into his unprotected eye socket. One great eye went dim, and he stumbled, dropping his axes. He fell atop one of the blades, and it crunched through his armor into his stomach. He fell to his knees, his head hitting the ground, and fine Noxxa ash poured through the chinks in his armor onto the ground, leaving the shape of the Nox himself in the form of his armor.

The unnamed warrior ran to his inert armor, remaining in the shape of the form that was no longer inside it, and scrambled up the top of it. Reaching the top of his flank which stuck up high in the air, the young yellow colt raised his bow high in the air and let loose an ear-splitting roar that tore through the air of battle. Everywhere, Rada paused and directed their gaze to him, atop the metal shell of a fallen enemy.

“My people!” the unnamed warrior cried, his long braided mane swaying in the wind and his eyes ablaze with burning glory. He took off his war mask to reveal a young, beautiful face unmarred by scar or age. Unlike the rest of his tribe members, he had on no war paint. “Come to me and form a defense! I, the offspring of the first great chief, spit in the face of our enemies! Come to me, and we shall drive them off! Fight with me, my brothers! My friends, rally to me! We shall make a stand here, and we shall make our stand forever more!”

It was short but effective. From all over, evading the Noxxa they were fighting, Rada warriors assembled around the fallen Noxxa armor and formed a barricade with their spears and their bows that progressively got larger as more and more of them joined Freedom Fighter’s plea. After enough of them had encompassed the statue of armor, the Noxxa were looking up at the solitary figure atop the armor with a wary apprehension.

And all of a sudden, high above the skies, the darkened clouds parted and the bright blue sky could be seen, accompanied by an echoing, solid boom that made the earth tremble. A circular rainbow suddenly appeared in the open space in the sky, and the unnamed yellow colt’s flank began to glow brighter than the rays of sunshine that were now pouring down upon the battlefield. He rose into the air, surrounded by a bright twisting aura that made his body into a silhouette. When he finally settled down to the ground, the rainbow in the uncovered sky had disappeared, and so had the aura surrounding the yellow colt, but on his uncovered flank was now the image of a ceremonial war axe over that of a long red feather.

The colt gaped in surprise and shock at the image, his mouth open and his eyes wide. All around him, the Rada tribe members he had gathered together gazed in admiration and reverence at the mark of power. And the Noxxa that were lining up for an assault on their position faltered in their steps. They were afraid all of a sudden.

The yellow colt turned back to the line of black insects with a fresh determination etched in the lines of his face and raised his bow. And those Rada that had gathered around him formed a spearhead and rushed forward in a slanting triangle. It came forth quickly and pierced through the Noxxa like an arrow. The Noxxa splintered, faltered, and fled. The whole scene dissolved into black drips and dissolved in front of their faces, and they were once more in the large, empty black expanse they were in before.

“We earned our victory that day,” Freedom Fighter shortly explained. His voice was tight and small.

“Okay, that’s the second-most awesome way to earn a cutie mark,” Rainbow Dash admitted. “Next to mine, of course.”

“It’s... strange, to see you so young and... strikingly handsome,” Rarity said. “You were quite a looker, I must admit.”

Spike let out a derisive grumble of disapproval.

“It’s strange to see me handsome?” Freedom Fighter asked. His eyes narrowed, and his mechanical hoof curled so hard it creaked against itself. “Does my face really disappoint you so?”

Rarity saw her mistake. “No, no, no, darling! I simply, ah... meant to say that you’ve changed so much!”

Freedom Fighter shook his head, looking at the ground. “Truth be told, Rarity... you’re right. I’ve changed so much.”

The next scene slowly formed. The skies, instead of being overcast or blue or grey, were instead a dull red. The sounds of snapping, crackling flames reached their ears. Fluttershy let out a small noise and held all the more tightly to Noble Blade, making him almost collapse.

“But the Noxxa now knew of my existence, for they also knew our tribe’s legends. They knew that there would be one born to destroy them all and kill Marshal Malice. They knew it was me. And so they didn’t wait. Before my elders could finally pronounce upon me a name worthy of my feats in battle, the Noxxa attacked again without warning, and with a much larger and stronger army than before.”

The red-tinted scene appeared with dizzying clarity. It was the same tribal grounds as before, with the same houses and gardens as before--and they were all burning.

Above them, far away and circling the skies, was Bloodlust the dragon, Marshal Malice’s personal mount. Pale and layered with bloody maroon-colored armor, it spouted great gouts of flame from its mouth and nostrils upon the fair land below. It set ablaze an entire row of rice off in the distance, and the tall tendrils of flame were as tall in stature as the tallest pine trees.

Filling the air and descending on homes and buildings were Noxxa with dragon wings holding long, ugly spears in their front two claws. On the ground were Noxxa without wings that ran Rada out of their huts before razing them to the ground. Screams of panic filled the air. Babies were torn from the grip of pleading mothers. Stallions were beaten into the ground before being roughly yanked up and forced to walk. The Noxxa seemed to be leading them to the central plaza, where the great firepit was.

“Oh!” Rarity stepped back as a mother was hurled to the ground where she was standing. “Oh my goodness! How--how can I help?”

“You can’t.” Freedom Fighter held out a hoof. “This all happened a long time ago, far, far away. Nothing can be done about it now.”

The entire Rada tribe had by now been packed into a large circle. Noxxa on the perimeter kept them there with a bristling edge of wickedly-hooked spears. The massive white dragon floated over to a clear spot near the circle, and it descended with a tremendous thud on the earth. Down came a pale, monstrous creature that looked like a centipede, but with only ten legs and a dragon head. Standing on his back six legs, he was as tall as Discord was, and he clutched a claymore in two of his insect claws. This was Marshal Malice.

“How unnecessary,” Marshal Malice said in his high, cold, clear voice. He tested the edge of his monstrous sword with a claw, ignoring the masses of huddling prisoners. “It’s pointless to resist our demands. The Noxxa always find what they search for... with or without your cooperation.”

The Noxxa encompassing the prisoners grew tighter, like a noose.

“All I ask is your best warrior--the one spoken of in the legends--to step forth. Step forth... and yield to us. If he does, then I swear, with a holy oath to Faust, that we shall let you go free. You are entertaining rivals, after all, and I do not wish to lose a healthy source of food production. If he does not... If you choose to hide the coward behind your back... then we will fall upon you. We will inflict the wounds of death in your bodies until you become extinct, or until he surrenders.”

Two burly Noxxa waded out of the mass of prisoners and hurled an old, wizened pony to Marshal Malice’s feet. He had on a red cloak and a ceremonial headdress, and he kept his head down.

“And we will start with your chief. Starting now.” Marshal Malice raised his sword high in the air. “Your reign is over, Mil-Anadash-Ror.”

It seemed intentional that he had called him by his real name and not the ceremonial name of Rada. The chief weakly looked up at him. The skin on his grey-colored face sagged. “He will never surrender to you.”

“That’s for him to decide,” Marshal Malice declared. “But without a chief, you will fall no matter what.”

“Wait!” A voice pierced the still air, and the crowd of ponies parted like clouds. A single yellow pony, distinguished from the skin colors of tan or black or brown prevalent in everyone else’s coat color, came forth slowly, carrying weapons on his back and his side. Mutterings and whispers were raised as he marched bleakly forward, a pained expression on the colt’s face as he looked around one last time at the faces of his friends and his neighbors.

“Ah.” Malice smiled, showing all of his sickening teeth. “He steps forward at last. Where were you when we were burning your homes to the ground, filth?”

The yellow colt didn’t answer. Instead, he addressed everyone around him. “I’m the one he wants. I cannot risk any of you to die for me when I’m the one that can save you by surrendering.” He softened his voice. “That’s what the legend meant. When they said I was to save you all, it meant that I must sacrifice myself. To give myself up for the greater good.”

“Sa-Rada is wise,” somepony muttered. The phrase was repeated throughout the crowd. The hundreds of floating Noxxa scowled but did nothing else.

“I do wish to fight, but this is all I can do for you and still have you live.” The unnamed yellow colt finally came out of the crowd of Rada with anxious glances on him from every angle. He unslung the weapons from his back and laid them at Marshal Malice’s feet. He then kneeled beside the chief. “By making this sacrifice, I save my people.” He whispered under his breath. “A sacrifice to save them, Marshal. You have what you want. Now prove it by letting my people go. You swore to Faust herself.”

Malice pondered that. For a fifteen-second count, he did nothing but stand with his claymore hanging from one white insect claw, its tip grazing the ground.

Then, with a massive swing of his sword, he beheaded the chief. His head sailed away, and blood flooded out of the stump of his neck as he fell backwards.

“NO!” The yellow colt ran to the chief’s headless corpse and clutched him tightly, shaking it in disbelief and covering himself in his father’s blood. “FATHER! FATHER, NO! NO, PLEASE!”

Marshal Malice callously flicked some blood off his claymore. “Slay them all,” he commanded to his generals. They barked out orders, and the Noxxa noose tightened. They rushed in and impaled multiple Rada on their spears as they tightened their circle. In the air, winged Noxxa swarmed down and slit throats at random. Blood watered the ground until it expanded in a puddle beyond the Noxxa line. Pony after pony was butchered with careless efficiency. Screams rent the air, screams from the old and young, male and female alike. Screams of terror, screams of pain.

And only a few minutes later, no more screams could be heard.

The yellow colt was still clutching on to his father’s blood-soaked body like it was the only thing that was real in the world. Tears were running freely down his face, and his mouth was open in grief. Awful, despairing sounds tore from his mouth.

Marshal Malice didn’t care. He pried the teenager from his father’s headless corpse and threw him by the scruff of his neck to his bodyguards, who held on to him by both arms. “Get him moving,” Marshal Malice ordered them. “It’s a long way back.” The red skies threw Marshal Malice’s face into a long, dark shadow.

“YOU PROMISED!” the teenager bellowed at him as the bodyguards restrained him further. “YOU SWORE TO FAUST! YOU BROKE THE HOLY OATH!”

“I have nothing to fear from Faust,” Marshal Malice darkly spoke. “I care not for her. Not since the war in heaven.” He came forward, staring down the colt. “Not since I was cast out of heaven with the rest of my brothers and sisters because we chose to follow the true king of the universe.” He made a small growling noise in the back of his throat, then turned away to scuttle on his six legs back to his dragon mount. “Krasrax is miles away. We’re going home with spoils of war.”

The scene dripped away, and it was gone in a few seconds, leaving them stranded on the large, empty plane.

“Oh...oh, holy Celestia! That was awful!” Rainbow Dash clutched her stomach, trying valiantly to not get sick.

“How kind of you to notice,” Freedom Fighter observed laconically, not looking at her directly.

“That’s just sick,” Starlight Glimmer murmured, aghast at the unprovoked slaughter. “He’s not mad, or-or even cruel... he’s sick!”

“Ah...Ah don’t even know what ta say about this. Ah... didn’t know ya had it so tough. Ah swear, Ah didn’t know…”

Noble Blade and Firestorm remained respectfully silent. They knew better than to say anything.

“The Rada nation was wiped from off the face of the earth,” Freedom Fighter thought aloud, still not moving his mouth or even turning around. His voice grew tighter and more strained, even though it was only being thought aloud in his head. “Purged from existence. Along with it... went my friends. My family. My leaders, my teachers, my believers. Everyone who depended on me to live up to my destiny. They were all slaughtered.” He took a few deep breaths. “Slaughtered on a f-false promise. Time after time, I think back on that d-day. I think of what I could have done differently. What if I had fought? What if we all stayed stoic in hiding me from the grasp of those monsters? What if I had not gotten stuck in the circle with everypony else, and I had escaped? Or if I had attacked the Noxxa from outside? If only, if only, if only. But nothing can be done.”

“What if you hadn’t given yourself up?” Twilight asked, looking sick to her stomach. “What if the Noxxa had slaughtered everyone else to get to you? Then you’d feel even more guilty that you used your friends as a shield to protect yourself! You have no need to look back on that day that you had no control over!”

“Maybe.” Freedom Fighter turned around at last, and Twilight recoiled once more at his deeply indented face. “Maybe maybe maybe. Maybe I would feel guilty. Maybe they would have done it without hesitation, without instruction. Maybe they would have surrendered me. You’re right. I would feel guilty if everyone else died for me. But what can be done now? They’re gone. It’s only me left now.”

“What happened after you were captured?” Fluttershy asked, trembling while holding on to Noble Blade.

“I was dragged back to the Noxxa capital,” Freedom Fighter explained, pressing his mouth together all the tighter. “That place had a lot more industrialization going on than in the Rada tribe. We were a people of tradition and tolerance. They were an adaptive force that constantly sought an advantage in labor and hard work. I remember there was a lot of smoke in the place from the forges. I was... well... shamed in public.”

“Shamed?” Pinkie asked. “What do you mean, shamed?”

Freedom Fighter fondled the ends of his stringy black hair that hung down either side of his head. “They scalped me.”

Rarity gasped, making a small squeaking sound. “Oh, darling! I can’t believe it! I would be ashamed as well, if I lost a mane like you had!”

Freedom Fighter made a small twitch with his left mechanical hoof, and he avoided casting his angry gaze at Rarity.

“Was it something I said?” Rarity asked, pushing her head back warily.

Surprisingly, it was Twilight who spoke up, though she spoke emotionlessly and only looked at the floor. “Tribal tradition included wearing your mane long and free, never cutting it unless it was because you did some shameful act. You kept the scalps of your enemies as a trophy. Claiming it in battle is one thing, but to do it while being kept prisoner... that’s distasteful and shameful.”

“How do you know so much about this?” Firestorm asked her. It was the first time he had spoken since they had begun the memory visit.

“She reads a lot of books,” Spike supplied with a negligent shrug.

“What happened after that?” Applejack asked.

“After the scalping, they kept me captive in the capital’s dungeons,” Freedom Fighter continued. His voice was terse and melancholy now, rather than cold and angry. “They even went so far as to give me the honor of solitary confinement in a specially-made cell, all the way at the bottom of the building’s foundations.”

“How was it down there?” Pinkie Pie asked.

The scene around them began to build from wisps of nothing. They were in a circular room with a raised stone dais in the exact center. Torches burned a bright, fiery orange on the walls, and four barred doors led in and out of the room. On the dais was the fifteen-year old, chained by his hooves to hooks far above him. He was on his hind legs, spread cross-eagle, and his arms were above his head. His mane, once long and flowy and free, was now roughly cut down to the roots.

The yellow colt looked bruised and battered, and day-old wounds were bandaged up and cleaned. A chattering noise interrupted the still air, and one of the doors opened to show a single Nox come in holding a first-aid kit and a bucket of water. He came to the dais, opened the first-aid kit, and started to clean off his wounds.

“I still don’t... understand... why you take the trouble... to heal me,” the bald yellow pony commented weakly.

“Because we want a healthy specimen who can endure prolonged torture,” the Nox snapped. “Trust me, I take no pleasure in helping you revive yourself.”

“The sentiment... is returned.”

The Nox finished disinfecting his open wounds and stepped back. “I think you’ll like what we have in store for you today,” he said sinisterly. Behind the pony came in two other Noxxa holding a long pole with a strange symbol on the end of it. They thrust the pole into a glowing forge next to the wall, and it begun to heat up.

“Another good beating, I hope?” the young pony asked.

The Nox laughed nastily. “You wish!” Then he used his sharpened claw to draw in the dirt in front of him. When he was finished, he allowed the pony an opportunity to see it. “Do you know what this symbol means?” he asked him.

“No,” Discord muttered slowly, unknown to the presence of the Noxxa and the young warrior. “No, not this part…”

“I can’t say I do,” the young yellow pony muttered. The white birthmark in his forehead was marred by creases in his brow.

“This is a rune in our ancient tongue,” the Nox explained smugly. “This symbol, roughly translated, means “Unforgiven.” It is what you shall be known from this time forth.”

The young Freedom Fighter looked confused. “All right, then,” he wearily accepted, and appeared disinterested in it.

That was not the response the Nox was looking for. He became enraged and used his sharp claw to grasp the young Freedom Fighter’s neck. “You do not comprehend the severity of such an ignominious sentence!”

“I barely comprehend anything anymore,” he responded. “Not since you committed genocide.”

The Nox smacked him, leaving a bruise over his eye. He gave a small groan and took heavy breaths.

“Did you think we would let your mere existence slide while you grew powerful enough to destroy us? Did you think that we would be tolerant of you and the acts of terror you could have committed?”

“The pot calls the kettle black,” Rainbow Dash observed, to the girl’s instant and fierce agreement.

“Do you think that your existence is forgiven? Will we let your existence pass unpunished?” The Nox smiled--or at least, smirked. “No, Unforgiven. Never. You will be remembered forever as the Unforgiven. Unforgiven by us because of your destiny. And unforgiven by your tribe for your failure to fulfill it.” He laughed nastily.

The Unforgiven lunged forward, but he was restrained by the chains. “You dare speak for the noble Rada? How dare you assume they think less of me!” He struggled in vain some more.

The Nox in front of him only smirked some more and let out a sinister chuckle. “Give it up, Unforgiven. You’ve failed. Your tribe is not liberated, but instead lies in heaps upon the face of the earth. You tried to sacrifice yourself, but you were so much of a fool that you led your tribe’s own destruction! You only quickened their sticky end. It was useless. Your actions were worthless.” He started to whisper in his ear. “You are worthless. You have done nothing to help your tribe.”

A tear slid down Freedom Fighter’s cheek. “No…”

“You were incapable of living up to your destiny. You have failed. You have brought shame upon the Rada.” He leaned in closer. “Shame upon yourself.”

“NO!” the Unforgiven roared at him, a second tear on his other cheek.

“You... are... nothing... now,” he breathed menacingly. “Nothing but a coward that could not live up to his alleged fame. So, in that light, you must be... re-marked.”

By this time, the long pole in the forge had been taken out, and the mark of the Unforgiven rune was smoking and glowing white with heat. Two Noxxa came up behind him, holding the long brand.

“I can’t stand to see that repulsive image on your butt,” the Nox in front of him said. “Scrape it off.”

In accordance, one of them unsheathed a knife from his side and set it vertical to his flank. He swiped it along his flank, peeling off his skin, and the Unforgiven let out a heartbreaking scream of agony.

Fluttershy buried herself in Noble’s chest, trying not to look, and Noble looked down in sorrow. Pinkie Pie hid behind Rainbow Dash, who in turn covered up Spike’s eyes. The rest of them forced themselves to look as the Nox scraped away the skin on Freedom Fighter’s flank with quick strokes. With each stroke of the knife atop layer after layer of skin, the screams got louder and louder, and were filled with more and more torment. Blood ran down his leg and collected at the ground, painting his leg a crimson color. Discord winced with every stroke.

Finally, the mark on his flank was completely shorn off, and the hunk of meat on his flank was gone. No Cutie Mark was now on his right flank, which was now bleeding copiously. The Nox with the knife licked the blood off and sheathed it at his side. The Unforgiven’s mouth was screaming awfully, his face wet with tears.

Fluttershy’s face was wet with tears as well, and she buried herself even deeper into Noble Blade’s chest, soaking it with her despair and losing herself in him.

“Do it,” the Nox in front of him commanded. The Nox holding the brand nodded, and, giggling maniacally, pressed the brand into his body as hard as possible. A hoarse scream echoed around everypony’s ears as the scene dissolved into blackness.

“Okay, that right there was not awesome,” Rainbow Dash said distantly.

“Not fun! Not fun at all!” Pinkie sobbed, blowing her nose on Rainbow Dash’s tail. Rainbow Dash, seeing her tail be used as a tissue, hurriedly yanked her tail away from Pinkie’s face.

“That was the most barbaric thing I’ve ever seen in my life.” Rarity just stood still, shell-shocked.

“Oh, that’s just the warm-up,” Freedom Fighter said without any interest in his voice.

“Why didn’t they just kill you?” Twilight asked. “They clearly hated you.”

“I was of no worth to them dead,” Freedom Fighter answered. He paced back and forth, his metal hoof clinking every now and then. “Supposing they had killed me. What would that have proved? That they could kill defenseless prisoners? No, Twilight, they wanted me as a living trophy; a prize to be shown off; a sign to all that the Noxxa could rewrite fate as spelled by the stars and detain the one destined to destroy them.”

He flicked his mechanical hoof. “Besides, if you want to kill a pony, you don’t take them prisoner. I wasn’t taken prisoner only to be killed off anyway. While chained up, you are shamed, you are mutilated, you are brought lower than you ever thought possible. But not killed. Their permanent branding of me as the Unforgiven was only the beginning.”

A new scene began to unfold. It was still in the same underground room, but something different was happening. Freedom Fighter’s arms were out to the sides instead of over his head, and a Nox was behind him, holding a bucket of steaming water. He poured it down his back, sizzling on contact with the skin, and his back turned red instantly. The Unforgiven let out a terrible noise as the water made his skin raw.

“I can’t watch this,” Starlight trembled out loud.

“You must,” Freedom Fighter hissed. “You asked for this.”

The Nox picked up a thin, twisted whip from behind him and raised it above his head.

Starlight Glimmer forced herself to watch as he brought it down on the Unforgiven’s raw back with a nastily wet smack. A tortured scream echoed forth from the Unforgiven’s mouth. It was hoarse and high and full of despair.

“This happened every day,” Freedom Fighter explained. “Every day, boiling water down my back. Every day, fifty lashes from the whip. Every day, after the lashes, they would leave me be to feel the stinging. And later on, after more than an hour alone with my pain, they’d come back to patch me up so I wouldn’t die. And every day came a new scar.” He pointed at his own torso. “You see all of these? One of them appeared every day. One of them was given the opportunity to go in and see how close to the brink of death they could bring me.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Rarity gasped. “Every day?”

“Every day.”

“How are you still alive, then? Not everypony can endure that forever, you know.”

Freedom Fighter’s eyes seemed to flash a shade brighter than before. “I am no ordinary pony, Rarity. I am the Unforgiven. I was destined to stay alive, though for what purpose, I did not know. Their healing potions and herbal injections may have boosted my immune system and my ability to stay alive, but the scars remain. The wounds heal, but the scars always remain. Even over time, nothing can be done.”

“I thought tissue regenerated itself,” Twilight thought aloud. “I remember reading a medical textbook saying that old skin will repair itself no matter what.”

Freedom Fighter only laughed again--not with his vocal cords, thankfully. It was a monotonous, almost mechanical sound. “The Noxxa are too cruel for that. Pay attention to the next scene and tell me what you see.”

Twilight focused as a new scene built itself before her eyes. It was Freedom Fighter after being bandaged for his whipping, and a Nox was standing on four of its six legs, using one claw to steady his inert body--he had evidently passed out--and using the other to hold a knife that had its tip in his hip, tracing a few squiggly marks just for fun alongside other wounds that had appeared on his torso in between the events Twilight had seen. What Twilight noticed about the knife was that its blade was as black as pitch and resonated an unnatural quality.

“Do you see what the knife is made of?” Freedom Fighter asked her, with all life and energy drained out of his voice.

“It’s black,” Twilight observed.

Freedom Fighter nodded. “A Black Blade is forged from Tartarus’s obsidian volcanoes. It’s rare and prized to come by.”

“What’s so special about this Black Blade?” Applejack asked.

“A Black Blade causes permanent damage to organic material. If it harms a living being, plant or animal, the damage it does is permanent. Oh, the pain might go away--eventually--and perhaps it could resist infection... but the scar the skin forms will never, ever go away. It’s only thanks to the best medical help the living nations could offer that made me able to survive so much of it.”

“How do you know so much about the Noxxa and what they use?” Spike shrewdly asked, tilting his head.

Freedom Fighter lifted his mechanical hoof and examined the underside. “Do you really need to ask that question?”

The next few scenes passed quickly. In every scene, a Nox used a knife to strike him across the face or across the chest. Every time they saw him, he looked more starved and more injured than before. The scenes were cut together quickly, and left no room for catching breath. Then it settled on one scene in particular. Three Noxxa were in the room, silently judging him as Freedom Fighter struggled to remain upright in his chains.

“We ask again,” the one in front said impatiently. “Will you deny your tribe, and be set free? Or will you hang on to musty old tradition, and suffer further?”

Freedom Fighter directed his gaze upon him. It was weak, but his red eyes and the fresh scars running through his face noticeably unsettled the Noxxa. They shifted backwards uncomfortably.

“I will hear a confession from you first,” Freedom Fighter snarled. “Confess that you are of no worth to Marshal Malice.”

“Marshal Malice is unafraid of you,” one of them spat out suddenly. His yellow eyes grew hard.

“Then why does he need to chain me up?” Freedom Fighter asked, turning his head to indicate the massive chamber he was in. He stopped and winced, however, when it irritated the scars on his face and chest.

“Well, because... you’re a prisoner,” the last one pointed out feebly.

“Marshal Malice is scared of his own prisoners,” Freedom Fighter stated matter-of-factly. “I knew it. The mewling quim who snivels at the throne of Tartarus is scared of a single pony. Tell it to Malice himself: I will never surrender myself to you. I will never bow to that glob of spittle. I am proud of my heritage, and I will defy you to the day you are forced to pry me apart piece by piece. Call me Unforgiven in that, for I repent not of what I know to be true!”

The lead Nox at first didn’t know what to say. He simply stood there, shocked at the ferocity of his defiance. Then he straightened. “I want his tongue,” he commanded in a newfound strength.

In instant compliance, the two of them rushed forward in anticipation and held down the struggling pony, bending his head down to the ground. The one on the left drew out a black-bladed knife and pried the young colt’s jaws open. He was struggling the best he could, bellowing out at them, twisting their grip, yanking himself back and forth. His tongue was thrashing about, trying to evade the jabs of the knife, but the Nox simply held on to his tongue and yanked on it, keeping it out of his mouth.

“I want to hang it up on the wall,” the lead Nox said with satisfaction. “Break this son of a Rada whore.”

The Nox holding the knife then jammed his Black Blade into the underside of his mouth, and a shriek of pain tore from his throat. He started to saw back and forth, and blood poured out of his mouth onto the dirt below, mixed with viscous saliva. It got to the point where there was so much blood in his mouth he started to cough up on it, and the Nox retreated his knife to let him cough out the rest of the blood, with his tongue still half-sawed off and hanging out of his mouth. He then resumed to carve it out of his mouth, and it finally fell limply to the floor.

The screams. The screams from Freedom Fighter’s mouth were so anguished and so painful to listen to. It made the girls squirm and look away, their ears drooping down and their mouths quivering.

Some of them--but not all--noticed the scene change to yet another scene, this time from behind the Unforgiven. From this angle, they were able to see the extent of the damage the Noxxa did when they flogged him. His entire back by now was red and bloody and irreparably ripped apart because of the whips that chewed into his flesh every single day. One of the Noxxa there made him stand upright, spreading his hind legs. The result was that his genitals were put on full display. The Unforgiven squirmed in his chains, trying to scream something from his vocal chords, but they were so damaged from repeated screaming from weeks and weeks that it only came out as a weak gurgle.

The Nox set his knife against the skin in between his legs, hidden from the girl’s view. And he started to carve it off, slowly, slowly, slowly.

The girls looked away in horror. Gagging sounds came from Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie’s cheeks bulged out and turned a shade of green. Applejack held her hat against her chest somberly, and Rarity held a hoof to her mouth. Fluttershy wasn’t even looking. Noble Blade showed anguish on his face, both from Fluttershy pressing her tearful face into his chest and from watching his friend be neutered like a dog.

Finally, something plopped to the ground and splashed in a pool of blood that had appeared between his legs.

“No seed shall come of your lineage now,” one of the Noxxa in the room said. “You are now and forever tamed.” He laughed nastily. “You’re such a good boy! You handled that neutering rather well. Here’s a treat.”

And he tossed a raw turkey leg at his hooves. Any other pony would have rejected the meat meal, with ponies being vegetarians, but Freedom Fighter looked hungrily at it like it was the most delicious thing in the world. Spending week after week in a chamber with no plant material at all had cracked him down to the point of barbarism.

“Reach for it, Unforgiven. Reach for it.”

He tried to lean forward, but the pain in his groin forced him to stay upright.

“He can’t take his treat!” one of them roared in amusement. “Make him eat!”

The Nox behind him forced him to bow his head down, and blood rushed down from his groin and added to the puddle in between his legs.

“Stop it!” Twilight cried, wiping away something in her eye. “S-stop it, Freedom! Stop!”

Freedom Fighter shook his head no.

The Unforgiven at last was able to bend down far enough to sink his teeth into the raw turkey leg and take a bite out of it. Mocking laughter echoed throughout the room as the Noxxa enjoyed their control over their destiny. And on that note, the scene dissolved into shreds and wisps of black smoke.

“When are you going to stop with this?” Rarity pleaded. “We’ve seen enough!”

“You didn’t know about my infertility, did you?” Freedom Fighter demanded, twisting the bands on his mechanical arm and tightening his mouth all the more. He had chosen to ignore Rarity’s pleas. “No, you didn’t. My mark of stallionhood is gone now, and I will never, ever love a mare the way she deserves. That’s a new angle you hadn’t considered before, huh?” Freedom Fighter’s voice, even though it was only in his head, was broken with emotion as he silently considered the ponies he had gotten close to. Twilight Sparkle. Vinyl Scratch, Derpy, and Octavia Melody. The other mares involved that were close to Twilight. Thinking over them, he could not see a clear path for him.

After a little bit of time for reflection, he said, “A few days later, Marshal Malice himself paid a visit to my cell. What happened here... will change my life forever.”

The setting was the same, but the pony chained to the dais had changed significantly from the first time they had seen him. A black, swollen mark on his flank displayed him as the Unforgiven. His chest, hips, and face were covered with scar after scar, line after line splitting his body into several sections of enclosed space. Some of them were black, and some of them were new and red and raw. But the newest thing that they noticed was that his left arm was missing. The stump at his shoulder was covered by layer upon layer of red-soiled bandages.

“Did they…” Applejack asked, indicating the arm. “Ya know…”

“They amputated it for fun, yes,” Freedom Fighter snapped, watching the scene in front of him with interest. “They weren’t sure where to go next, I imagine.”

Marshal Malice was circling around the dais, observing the indistinguishable mass of flesh chained between two pillars. He did it with a reserved fascination, and he held a long, jagged Black Blade in one of his four arms.

“Good morning, Unforgiven,” he addressed him. “How are you feeling today?”

The Unforgiven did not answer. He did not even raise his head.

“You refuse to speak?” he asked mildly. “Why is that, I wonder?”

Still, he did not move.

Marshal Malice moved in front of him, peeling away his lips to reveal his yellowing needle-like teeth. “Ah, now I remember. My servant ordered your voice to be silent. It was a remarkably intuitive choice on his part. He got promoted, as a matter of fact.”

Now the mass of beaten flesh looked up at him. Though his face was swollen and one eye was almost closed, his bright red eyes still felt as hard as ever. Marshal Malice’s two bodyguards instinctively flinched. But Marshal Malice stayed where he was.

“Oh, you have a remarkable fighting spirit, Unforgiven. You would have made an excellent servant. Would if I could make that happen.” He admired the blade in front of him. “But who am I to change fate or destiny?”

The question was ironic, and Twilight knew it perfectly. Of course Marshal Malice knew he could change fate. That was why he had abducted the Unforgiven in the first place.

“How cruel of you to not answer me,” Marshal Malice continued. “Did you enjoy losing an arm?”

The Unforgiven twitched his right arm aggressively.

“At least it wasn’t your good arm, you know. We’re not savages here.” Marshal Malice set the serrated edge against Freedom Fighter’s other arm. “But after the left must come the right, inevitably.”

Just before he could apply pressure to saw into his arm, however, the door burst open in a bang of smoke, and Marshal Malice turned around just as several twangs sang their hymn and the two bodyguards crumpled backwards as crossbow bolts found themselves in their armor with crunches of steel. Their remains turned to ash instantly, and they fell backwards, their shells of armor the only sign of their existence.

From the door came forth a plume of smoke, hiding the pony shapes that were encased within. There were a dozen of the Canterlot Royal Guard that had poured in, but one shape enraptured the attention of all in the room. It was a pony standing on his hind legs, encased in bulky armor and wielding a familiar chrome broadsword in one of his front hooves.

“Noble Blade?!” Twilight gasped, recognizing the sword at once.

“Marshal Malice,” the upraised pony boomed, his figure hidden by the smoke cover. “I finally found you. It took some time, but this should take quick enough that the Noxxa won’t notice our entrance until it’s too late.”

“You’ll never take me alive, Strong Heart!” Marshal Malice swore, twitching all of his insect arms and whirling his Black Blade at an unseen speed.

“It was never my intent, Malice,” Strong Heart replied. “I came here to find the Unforgiven.”

“He is mine!” Marshal Malice shrieked, leveling his blade. “You have no claim to him!”

“Celestia has claim on him now.”

“Not once I take her virtue from her and slit her dirty throat in her own bed!” he retorted.

He stuck the tip of his sword in the ground. “You’ll pay for that.”

Rather than reply to that, Marshal Malice ignited his twin antenna into a grey color and expelled a blast of energy that knocked the slowly advancing Royal Guard to their backs a dozen feet away. He rushed forward to deliver a killing blow to Strong Heart, but the chrome broadsword collided with it, sending a flurry of glowing sparks below.

The ensuing fight was fast and furious, and the blows and strikes were many. Marshal Malice had the advantage of height and strength, but Strong Heart had the edge in raw speed, and his broadsword slashed and bit into Malice’s exoskeleton like a whiplike saber. Before long, Strong Heart had cleaved the hilt of the Black Blade in two, and had slammed his hind leg into Malice’s chest with all the force of a full-grown earth pony. Malice went stumbling, and Strong Heart ignited his horn, lancing out a dark blue color of rippling magic. Malice was encased in a blue aura, and was thrown against the side of the wall hard enough to crack the concrete.

Malice struggled to get up, but a Royal Guard fired his crossbow at him before he could do anything, and it pierced his gut deep enough that the arrowhead had completely disappeared. Malice contorted his face in an expression of pain as the pony known as Strong Heart emerged from the smoke.

“Surrender, offspring of Tartarus,” he commanded, pointing his broadsword an inch away from Malice’s skull. His face was light brown, and his eyes were bright, vivid, and royal blue. His long white mane cascaded down his shoulders, and the trimmed beard on his face was as white as fresh snow. His armor was purple and rimmed with gold, and his helmet was off and under his arm.

In response, Marshal Malice ignited his antenna, and he disappeared in a short pop.

Strong Heart swore and lunged at the space where he was not a second ago, then fell to all fours, sheathed the sword across his back, and directed his attention to the circular dais. “Stabilize his condition NOW!”

“What do we do now, sir?” one of them asked while another one rushed with a kit to the pony’s side. “Sir, should we go after Malice and finish him, or strike out from this miserable place with the Unforgiven in tow?”

“We can’t track Malice and take him on alone,” Strong Heart said, rushing to the dais and putting on his helmet. “Our objective is to rescue him.” He came to the front and waved a hoof at the Unforgiven. “Hello? Can you see me?”

The Unforgiven made no response at all. His body was too freshly damaged to do anything of use at all, and the medic addressing his wounds was trying to hold him stable on his knees.

“If you can hear me, you’re going to be all right. Celestia wants very much to see you back safe and sound. You’re coming with us.” He ignited his horn, and the shackles on his three legs fell off like discarded garments. “Let’s go. The way to the seashore is only a short distance, and there, we’ll sail across the Celestial Sea to Equestria. You’re safe now.”

“Who...is that?” Starlight Glimmer asked in wonder as the Unforgiven was gingerly laid on a stretcher and carried off into the staircases leading to his cell. The black mists returned once more, and the scene was silent.

“My father,” Noble Blade replied.

Comments

[Witchrblizzad]

... well then

i already hated the nox but now? i would say they can go to Tartarus but they are from there, so... im gonna go forth wall on their arse and turn them into worms with a potion.

VERY good chapter

[Super Ponyman]

In all my years of reading I've never been brought to tears by literature...

Well Written Brady...

[A Man Undercover]

Brady,

If I may ask, do me a favor and have the Nox be completely extinct in the end.

Because now I definitely see that they deserve nothing more than to be burning in Hell.