9 - The Greatest Game (Part 1)
Heated Retort - 21st of Lunar Dusk, 08 EoH
Retort Family Home, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Retort’s eyes stared blankly at his bedroom wall. His desk chair creaked as he shifted his weight absently, a futile attempt to get the sour taste out of his mouth. Ameili’s file sat on his desktop, neatly re-stacked. Just like it had come.
Retort turned to one side and accidentally tapped his left hoof against the desktop. His mind whispered of danger, someone grabbed his hoof!
Retort jumped, almost knocking over his chair. “Shit!”
His eyes flicked around the empty room. Nothing. It was safe. Glad no one had seen him panic, Retort sat back down.
The file caught his attention again. It had taken him a week to read everything. A week of sitting down every night, pretending everything was normal. That everything was fine.
Retort pushed back his desire to remain sequestered in his room. I have to do something. I’m a deputy. It’s my job to ensure public tranquility. I can’t not act.
Retort turned to look out his window at the snow capped trees glittering beneath the setting sun. He ran a hoof through his messy mane and closed his eyes.
These were not accusations to take lightly. Or to act upon before reading everything there is to know about them. But… Now that I have, what do I do?
Ameili’s file went back a long way. Longer than anyone would have expected. The appearance of a biosuited mare who wandered the nation occurred a little over fifteen years ago. Hardly a long time, or unusual. Heavens knew why Detective Glass took interest in Ameili, but if he hadn’t…
Before the biosuit, there had been a mare in thick clothing with a surgical mask who claimed to be suffering from a magically enhanced form of leprosy. She frequented all the same locations the biosuited one had. Ever wandering clockwise around Equestria, seen in a given community perhaps once every fifty years.
That mare went back a hundred years.
Before her, there had been a leper clad in the traditional bandages. Same M.O.. Same path. Of course the sightings from this era were much less documented. Most of them were myths. Yet the core of those myths remained the same, and the odd museum had a few artifacts allegedly attributed to a wandering pyromancer who died a leper.
That mare went back to the beginning of the Solar Era, the time of myths, legends, and heroes. She went back to a mere thirteen years after the fall of the Dark Lord. To the very year Nightmare Moon emerged, and Princess Luna had been lost.
My mom told me stories of the Wandering Flame when I was little, Retort thought as he stood up and walked to his window. How was I supposed to know those were more than folktales? Real things have proof. Statues, monuments, paintings, relics. I don’t need to believe in monsters, I can see them at the zoo. I don’t need to believe in Dark Lords, I live close enough to the north to see the scar one left in the night sky.
They are not inconsistent stories where sometimes the wandering hero is a unicorn, and sometimes they are an alicorn, and sometimes they are a sick Princess Luna searching for the part of her soul the Nightmare stole from her.
“And they never mentioned a fire elemental companion…” Retort murmured into the glass.
The sound of a bench grinder polishing metal reverberated faintly through the glass. Ameili was at work on her armor, as she had been all winter. Retort’s ears flicked, pointing towards the opposite corner of the room, aiming themselves towards her workshop.
“I could confront you,” Retort said quietly. “You’re over there. On my property. You’re many things. One of those things is a liar. Another is a hero.”
The file contained hundreds of accounts of this individual stepping in to stop disasters. Bandits plaguing the roads, monsters lurking in the dark, corrupt nobles, enemy soldiers sacking villages during several wars. All slain with bolts of unnaturally fast-acting flame. All without ever asking for anything in return. Always explained away with the nonsense phrase, “Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis.”
Well, I thought it was a nonsense phrase… Retort turned to look at his door, the fur on the back of his neck standing up.
Upon learning the Wandering Flame was a historical figure, Retort asked Track what it meant. “Thus I always bring death to tyrants.”
Retort closed his eyes again, doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. “It’s her. There’s no doubt about it. She’s not a criminal, she’s so old the Statute of Heroes would apply to any of her deeds… But she’s still a killer. A dangerous one.”
Retort began to pace back and forth, weighing his actions carefully. “You’re not who you claimed to be. You are one of three things: an immortal unicorn, an alicorn, or some type of undead who retained their personality.
“It’s unlikely a unicorn found a path to immortality. If one had, there would be many others. That secret couldn’t be kept. It would be tortured out of them, stolen, or replicated independently.
“If you are undead, you must be a lich. You can talk, you have a mind of your own… It’s impossible for you to be something a necromancer animated. Besides, you have a lot of control over fire. More than anypony I know. And I know plenty of mages.
“But that could mean you’re an alicorn with a link to fire too. Your suit is bulky enough to hide wings. Heavy enough to keep them from moving too. But I don’t know why you would hide being a goddess… And you are pretty short for an Alicorn, if that’s the case. Though I hear Princess Twilight is short.”
Retort sighed and turned to his bedroom door. There was either a friendly lich or a reclusive alicorn in his yard. It was time to confront them.
Aemiliana Tarquinius Cyprianas - 21st of Lunar Dusk, 08 EoH
Retort Family Home, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Ameili’s workshop had become quite cluttered over the winter. The initial state of piled materials had been her system of organization, as incredulous as that seemed to her friends. Wizards have no need to physically reach things to retrieve them, making piles on a grid into one of the best storage systems available.
Those piles were long gone. Ameili’s armor had consumed them. Not in its construction, but in the chaos of its construction. The hulking silver plates hid months of ugly rapid-prototyping, amateurly fashioned devices, and pieces of clockwork which made Ameili glad her mentor and friend wasn’t alive to see.
Despite looking ugly beneath the beautiful, and quite effective plate armor, each system functioned. At least, they functioned independently. Ameili had yet to take the finished suit off its engine hoist and power it up in full. There was need of one last finishing touch, particularly since the plates could be reused even if the clock or steamworks needed a bit of work.
The plates were Ameili’s pride and joy. She had studied very hard to make armor suited for modern combat. Every plate curved to deflect bullets and give the armor more effective thickness. Each joint was fully covered and retained the full range of motion permitted by the substructure. Best of all, the split along the back to get into the armor was nearly invisible. The only thing the plates were missing was some paint and a little embellishment.
Ameili hummed happily to herself as she burnished her freshly inlaid pauldron. Since Trac knew her secret, Ameili had felt there would be no harm in putting her family crest on her armor. It’s not as if the common pony knew what an Aquila was, let alone the significance of one resting atop a wreath of olive leaves.
Vulcan rested atop Ameili’s forge, enjoying its warmth and several lumps of coal. “You do know Trac only knows where you are from, and not who you are from, right?”
Ameili snorted. “He thought our gladiators fought to the death. This will look like a military emblem to him. It’s not like our soldiers didn’t have a version of it on their shields.”
“Fair enough,” Vulcan yawned. “What if he knows?”
Ameili giggled and switched off her bench grinder. “Then he fanboys again.”
Vulcan nodded, seemingly content. “So long as you don’t mind I— Wait, someone is coming. I feel their warmth.”
Ameili frowned behind her mask. “Retort?”
“I expect so.”
“I hope we’re not making too much noise.”
Ameili spared a glance at her now gleaming family crest. She levitated the pauldron into place, nodding as it locked in place with a loud click. Ameili turned her attention to the door. “Hey, Re! Vulcan heard you coming. Come on in. Nothing dangerous is in the way.”
The door creaked open as Retort pulled on the handle. The stallion wasn’t dressed in his usual winter clothing, despite the chill in the night air. Instead, he wore his uniform: beige shirt with rank stripes, olive green pants, brown faux-wool lined jacket, brown ranger’s hat with brass badge, and a gun belt.
With all the tools of the law enforcement trade. Including the standard issue HC Mercy bolt-pistol.
Ameili conjured a pair of flaming eyebrows, raising them as her friend stepped through the doorway. “Uh, did I break the law? Some kind of noise ordinance? Oh! Is there a permit required for the possession of certain grades of armor?”
Retort paused, and shook his head. “No… I felt I might need protection. And a way to show you I’m serious.”
Vulcan repositioned himself, subtly moving in a way which would make it easier for him to pounce. If the situation called for it.
Ameili nodded once. “You found out… Good. I’ve been worrying about this. Let’s get it over with.”
Retort’s shoulders tightened, his left hoof pulled back, instinctively reached towards his pistol before he stopped himself. “I— I don’t know exactly what you are, but you’re not who you claim to be. I know you’ve been around for a thousand years. There are three options. Which one are you?”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Retort. Not if you don’t hurt me first. Relax. We can talk about this like civilized people. Remember my first night here? You used a truth spell on me? I said I was no threat to you.”
Retort laughed nervously. “I use those for work. I know how much wiggle room there is in them. If you meant you wouldn’t hurt me then, it would come back valid. If you meant ‘I won't hurt you, because my weapon isn’t me’, it would come back valid. Yeah, you said ‘I mean you no harm’. That’s pretty solid. But you could change your mind.”
Ameili sighed. “With how nervous you are, one of your three conclusions must be that I am undead. What are the other two?”
Retort took a deep breath and focused his eyes on Ameili’s helmet, doing his best to put on an intimidating air. “Why not just tell me the truth, right now?”
Ameili slowly pointed to a pile of oil-soaked rags which had accumulated over the winter near her workbench. “I can. I would rather understand what you’re so worried about me being, so I can help calm you down and you don’t fire your weapon into a shed full of volatile chemicals.”
Retort’s eyes widened. He shifted to one side, turning his shoulders away from the rags, but keeping his eyes on Ameili. “You’re either a unicorn who made herself immortal in a way nopony can replicate, an undead someone bound a soul too, perhaps a Lich, or an alicorn. I can’t imagine a spell of immortality would stay hidden for a thousand years. The department classes on fighting necromancers tell me it’s believed to be impossible to make an intelligent undead.
“A great detective one said ‘When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ You’re either a lich, or an alicorn. Either way, you’re very, very dangerous, and clearly don’t want to be found out. But— But I have to do something! I’m an officer of the law. I protect people. I need to know what you are and if you’re really safe and you lied to me!”
Ameili nodded, her ears drooping back. “Yes. I did. I am sorry, but I have to lie. I’m not a normal unicorn. People attack me on sight if I don’t lie.”
Retort nodded, his forehead wrinkling as he went through the options once more. “Then we’re down to two options, and I can’t think of why an Alicorn would hide for a millenia. Unless I am missing something, and I probably am, you’re a lich.”
Retort bit his lip and reached for his pistol for a second time. “So… Where does this go now?”
Ameili snorted and waved a hoof in dismissal. “I’m not a lich. Besides, if I was, do you really think your gun would pierce my wards?”
Retort nodded, an air of confidence surrounding him as his hoof gripped his sidearm’s cherry handle. “I do. It’s loaded with disrupt— Not?” Retort’s eyes shrank to pinpricks.
He blinked several times and shook his head “But— Then you’re— Who the hay would attack an alicorn on sight? That’s how you get your soul stuck deep into a pit in Tartarus!”
Ameili looked at the babbling stallion and facehooved. “O caritas est— Retort, first off, Alicorns are not deities. They may be absurdly powerful, and have command over an element of nature, but they do not have any dominion over our souls. Well, unless there’s an Alicorn of Death… There’s been a LOT of different alicorns over the years. Maybe one had that power. But they still wouldn’t be a god.”
Retort flinched as he realized he was still holding his gun and let go of the weapon. “Uh, well… P— Princess Celestia literally moves the sun. If she decided to, she could wipe out all life in the world either by freezing or burning us all. That’s god-like, at the very least. She’s also wiser than anyone else. Smarter too. Physically better than anyone else in every respect, including looks… That sure feels supernatural.”
Ameili nodded. “Yes. But she was not there when the world was forged from Sol’s placenta. She did not witness the birth of life, nor take part in it. Celestia is a mortal who became something more, just as many have before her and just as many will after her… Assuming something manages to kill her. After all, so far, every alicorn has died eventually.”
“E— Every?” Retort shuffled his hooves. “So uh… I know there are four, now that Princess Twilight ascended. How many have there been?”
Ameili levitated a wooden stool over to her and sat on it. “A few hundred. All of them now long dead.”
Retort’s jaw dropped. “H— Hundred?”
Ameili nodded. “Yes. The royal line of Roam was mostly Alicorns. We wouldn’t let someone sit upon the throne if they had not ascended.”
Retort slumped forwards and shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You’re stalling for time. Probably so Vulcan can disable me while you run away.”
Ameili threw back her head and laughed. “Oh, Retort. If I wanted to get away I wouldn’t need his help. I’m not stalling. I’m telling you about my homeland, a place nopony remembers. Roam. We too were ruled by Alicorns. Or at least—”
Retort pursed his lips. “You’re Romane? As in, the civilization Sombra erased?”
Ameili nodded quietly. “Yes.”
“You had hundreds of Alicorns, and you lost to him…”
Ameili shook her head firmly. “No, we had two by the time he came to power and one of those two was busy dying from poisoned wine. Amazingly it wasn’t assassination that time, it was an accident. The others… They were not accidents. Infighting. Monsters. A ‘stray’ javelin. Curses. None of ours lived for more than three hundred years.”
Retort frowned. “But if Alicorns can die like anypony else, how have the Princesses lived for so long? Princes Celestia is thousands of years old, Princes Luna is her twin, Princes Cadence is five hundred, and Princes Twilight is… Um, thirty one? I think.”
“Ours were... Different,” Ameili said hesitantly. “It’s possible that of all those to ascend, Celestia and Luna were the first to do so properly. See, Equestrian culture is— No, No, I have to start with us. Our entire culture was centered around instilling the correct virtues within us, so we might one day ascend. Most did not. The Royal Family was not by blood, it was by the adoption of those who ascended. Every last one of us spent their entire lives trying to become the next heir.
“There may have been hundreds of us, but well… That’s hundreds from over a thousand years of an entire culture trying to ascend. It’s clear that not everyone can do it, and of those who do, the power gained by it varies wildly. Some of them could fly, others wings were useless. Some gained an incredible boost in magical power, others did not. Though they all had a bond to some element of nature, usually it was something simple. The wind. The rain. Corn. Water. Fire. Nothing like the sun, love, the moon, or you know, magic!”
“Are you saying Romane alicorns were… Prototypes?”
Ameili shrugged. “I can’t say for certain. I’m not a wizard. But I suspect the term “pseudo-Alicorns” would fit better. Even if it hurts my national pride to say it.
“Our approach to ascension was… Flawed. In my opinion. We balanced the Elements within our hearts, understood the bonds of friendship to their fullest extent, and invoked the deep magic within those things to become something more than we once were. But we did it for the power.
“Celestia and Luna are the strongest alicorns I know of. My grandmother, a priestess, taught them the virtues, spells, and the rituals for the ascension. No one believed they could, as we trained from childhood to do it, but they were grown mares. They did it. Within four months.
“When they emerged from the temple, it’s said the sun went dark, and the moon rose in front of it as if bowing to their masters. Their power was incredible, and nothing like this had ever been seen before. They ascended for the sake of others and got a much greater reward. It’s clear intent matters. There may even be such a thing as pseudo-Alicorns. I don’t know. Perhaps there’s some truth to the old legend and all but the current four failed.”
“Legend?” Retort tilted his head to the side. “What legend?”
Ameili shrugged. “Oh you know the one. Old Pony’s tale. In the ancient times before ponykind learned to forge tools of bronze, it is said there was once an entire nation of Alicorns. They went to war with one another until all but six were slain. The bloodbath was so terrible the gods formed modern ponies from the blood soaked earth, giving each tainted soul a chance to redeem itself by regaining its original form. Or so the legends say.”
Retort nodded and sat down on the shed’s floor. “So… You’re an alicorn. Or at least, something close to one.”
“I never said that,” Ameili said.
“You didn’t deny it, and you know a lot about Alicorns, apparently.”
Ameili smiled behind her mask nodded. “True. I do. Would you like to know the full story of your Princesses ascension? It happened long before my time, but my grandmother helped them achieve their current forms, so they could stop Discord.”
Retort slammed his hoof on the floor. “Don’t distract me! Are you, or are you not an alicorn?”
“You do know there’s more options for what I could be than the three you gave, right?” Ameili asked as she conjured a fiery smirk which flickered unsteadily.
Retort’s lips pursed. “Like what?”
“I could be a construct, or a ghost, or a monster shaped like a pony. I could be a changeling Queen, they too live until an external force kills them. Or I could be a unicorn who is immortal due to a potion which can no longer be produced as its key ingredient is no more.
“I could also be a combination of things. I could be an undead alicorn, or a lich who was in life an alicorn. It’s possible that I am a construct created to mimic the appearance and personality of a long dead wizard’s life which is so convincingly realistic that I am best thought of as a unicorn. Or, I might be something even more bizarre.
“But whatever I am, I am your friend and I wish you no harm.”
Retort’s voice was like iron. “Then stop dancing around the bush and tell me what you are!”
Ameili paused and turned to look Retort in the eye. “If I do, will you promise me one thing?”
Retort hesitated, his lips sliding across one another. “What?”
Ameili tipped her head forwards to put herself on Retort’s eye level. “Promise me it will change nothing between us. I’ve been in near-isolation for a thousand years, Retort. I am tired of it. It hurts. The last few months have been the happiest times I can remember for the majority of my days. I wish to remain here with you.”
“I—” Retort closed his mouth tightly and took a deep breath. “You… You’ve had all the time in the world to hurt Trac and I. You have not… Okay. I promise. UNLESS, what you are carries a clear and present danger to those around you!”
Ameili nodded. “I do not.”
“Then what are you?”
Ameili stood up and to Retort’s surprise, took a bow. “I am Aemiliana Tarquinius Cyprianas Regis Filia; the younger daughter of Lucius Tarquinius Priscus Rex, he who was appointed Steward of Roam by Our Undying Lord, Cold Iron, upon pridie Mensis Martius one thousand seven hundred and tenth since the founding.”
Retort stood up, his face burning red as he glared into Ameilie’s goggle covered eyes. “You said the royal family was made of anyone who ascended. You’re an Alicorn! You gave me that entire horseapples speech when you’re a bucking—”
Ameili cleared her throat. “First, the adoption rule was true before we became very rare. The Crown Princess is an Earth pony. The Crown Prince is a pegasus. My family line no longer necessitates having both wings and a horn.”
“You said ‘we’!” Retort insisted. “Why do you dance around the issue so much?! Afraid people will worship you?”
Ameili’s left eye twitched. “No! I’m not an alicorn. Not any more.”
The mare’s ears collapsed. She slumped down on her stool.
Retort stared on in silence.
After a long moment, Ameili began to speak. “I am an undead clockwork hybrid which was very briefly an Alicorn. Or maybe a Winged Unicorn… I don’t know! It’s complicated!”
Retort stared blankly for a few moments. “You can… Uh, how did you revert?”
Ameili stared down at the floor.
Vulcan shifted atop the forge. “Sombra captured her, and cut her wings from her body. He also reverted her magic to its previous state. All to enhance himself further. He failed.”
Retort winced, his ears sinking with sympathy. “Ow…”
“Then my entire people were cursed with a living undeath, and my best friend made me clockworks to help me get around. That includes wings, but they don’t work. They don’t even look right,” Ameili muttered. “I’m NOT an Alicorn. I know what one is. I know what it feels like to be one, and I am NOT an alicorn. I am an undead unicorn who happens to be about fifty percent clockwork parts, forty percent craft shop supplies, six percent silicone, and three percent bone.”
Vulcan smoldered atop the forge. “The remaining one percent is well-hidden angst.”
Ameili shot Vulcan a glare.
Retort narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “Craft supplies?”
Ameili sighed wearily. “Yes… I’m a skeleton. If something touches me, it feels like I’m still alive. Hit a bone on a table edge, feels like I cut myself to the bone. I found a loophole. I can wear a body made from well, stuff. It keeps me from feeling that pain. It also makes me less frightening to foals… I love foals. They run from me now… Even with my costume. It’s not like I can look lifelike…”
“Craft supplies?” Retort repeated.
Vulcan chuckled. “Take off the suit, dear.”
Ameili’s horn glowed as she unzipped her hood and slipped it off her head. Retort’s eyes widened as he took in Ameili’s latex skin, gemstone eyes, and padded lips.
“Trac’s seen this much,” Ameili said, looking away from Retort at the floor.
Retort blinked, shaking himself to refocus. “Wait, he knew?! Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I asked him not too. Though… He doesn't know what I once was.”
“Because you don’t have wings anymore.”
Ameili’s cheeks burned as she looked even further away. “Well, I do. Useless clockwork ones. When Sombra’s curse took effect the space where they had been was effected just like any of my bones were. I’ve worn the clockwork ones ever since. It’s easy to hide them beneath baggy clothing. I meant I didn’t completely undress for him.”
Ameili’s arcane grip took hold of her suit’s zipper and pulled it the rest of the way down. Her suit slid down her sides, pooling on the ground as she stepped out of it. Her brass limbs glistened in the light of the forge, her wings shimmering as she unfolded the fairly crude appendages for Retort’s inspection. “See?”
Retort stepped forwards and leaned in to examine her wings. He looked them over for five seconds before nodding. “Yeah, you wouldn’t be flying with those. Insufficient range of motion, no channels for mana field creation, and you’re missing feathers. If you want to fly again, get a modern set. Pegasi wing replacements have been functional for thirteen years now.”
Ameili grit her teeth. “You can scream. You don’t need to pretend to be nice.”
Retort raised an eyebrow. “Scream at you? Why? Because you’re undead? I know that now, but I also know who you are. You are correct. If you meant to hurt me, you would have. You didn’t. You’re the person I knew. A friend.”
Ameili stared at Retort blankly.
Retort rolled his eyes. “Also, you’re clearly something different from the Princesses. You don’t feel like they do. I saw Princess Celestia once. You can feel her, in your heart. You know she’s something more… Besides, you don’t look scary. Weird, yeah… And uh… Well, I’m not gonna lie. I’m digging the body suit look.”
Vulcan’s flames blazed brighter. “She’s MINE, mortal!”
Retort held up his hooves defensively. “Woah! Easy! I’ve got a marefriend! I’m just saying she looks nice, but weird.”
Vulcan slid off the forge as a formless mass of fire. He oozes across the floor only to spring up around Ameili as she folded her prosthetic wings tightly against her back. The fire elemental reformed his body, wrapping a leg around Ameili’s shoulders. “Mine!”
Retort cleared his throat, smiled shakily, and nodded. “Yours.”
Ameili shook her head and smiled before nodding to Vulcan. “His.”
Vulcan nodded in satisfaction. “Good.”
Ameili smiled and gently rested her head on Vulcan's cheek. “You just like me because I was once bound to fire.”
“You still are,” Vulcan said. “Your power may be gone, but fire still knows its mistress.”
“I don't feel it, Vulcan. Not like I once did.”
“Your flames are still hot.”
Retort raised an eyebrow. “Temperature, or sexy?”
“Both,” Ameili and Vulcan said in unison.
Retort rolled his eyes. “Whatever… Look, Ameili, your story makes sense. The Sisters had to become Alicorns somehow. They’re on public record as having been born normal ponies… Now that I think about it, they never said how they became Alicorns. Alright, I’ll trust you on this. A Romane helped them, so they themselves don’t know how they became what they are and therefore don’t mention it to the public. That’s not impossible.
“I understand why you’ve hidden in the past. You existed before those materials did. Why are you hiding now? You don't look scary, you could claim to be a burn victim, or even live openly in some communities. The suit is not needed in this day and age. Especially not if you told Princess Celestia what you told me.”
Ameili sighed. “I tried. She didn't remember me, she thought I was lying. Knowledge of my people was erased…”
“Oh, right…” Retort frowned. “But what about, say, Ponyville? All sorts of weird things happen there. No one seems to care about them. I’ve even heard a dragon lives there.”
The mare shrugged and turned to face her forge. “Some of it is habit. This body is very new to me. For most of my life, I was obviously a monster and could not possibly pass for a mare in a suit. I sent foals screaming into the night, and often felt arrows pierce my absent flesh.
“But there’s another problem. If I take these wings off, I risk horrible pain. If I keep them on and my clothing off, someone will notice. If the public knew potentially anyone could become an Alicorn, many would try. Almost all of them would fail, but perhaps one in a few million would succeed. That would destabilize the—”
Ameili’s eyes widened as she realized she had just failed to keep a crucial secret.
Retort snorted. “Give me more credit than that. I want to grow old and die. I also understand exactly how much chaos a fresh crop of pseudo-alicorns would cause. I’m a peacekeeper.”
“I… THINK I trust you,” Ameili nodded slowly. “Yes. I trust you. Not a word of this.”
Retort nodded. “Not one word. Although…” The stallion stroked his chin in thought, then nodded. “Yes. It’s for public safety. I can justify it.”
“Justify what?” Ameili asked curiously.
“The department uses medallions of transfiguration for disguise purposes. They can be adjusted to temporarily hide body parts, or create non-functional versions of them. I can get one for you which would hide your wings. Then we simply—”
A sharp crystalline ringing filled the workshop as Retort’s mage gem responded to an urgent call.
Retort yelped and reached into his left breast pocket, fumbling the quartz stone into his hoof. “Deputy Heated Retort speaking.”
A loud crack emanated from the gem, the sound of gunpowder propelling lead. The Sheriff's commanding voice followed it. “Retort! Praise the Moon! Get your plot down here, we’ve got Griffon raiders. I can’t raise the guard, communications are jammed. I didn’t think a signal could reach you way out there. We’re on our own. All hooves on deck, and bring the big gun!”
A mocking laugh cut through the gem’s transmission. “It would seem I didn’t feed enough power to the jammer. I do hope your reinforcements are substantial, prey.”
The gem went dark, like a candle somepony blew out.
The metaphorical fur on the back of Ameili’s neck stood up. Griffons! Hunting ponies for sport no doubt.
Ameili reached for her suit with her telekinetic grip and pulled it onto her body, hastily zipping it up, but leaving the hood down.
Retort stuffed his gem back into his pocket. “Thank Celestia this didn’t happen when Trac was in tow— OH, SISTERS! His train should be pulling into the station now! Stay here! I’ll be back. ”
“Not a chance! He’s my friend too,” Ameili insisted as she hit the lever to release her armor from the engine hoist.
The suit slammed into the floor with a shed-shaking crash. “And I’ve prepared for this day.”
Retort shook his head. “You won’t make it in heavy armor in time. I have to go now!” Retort backed through the open door, unfurled his wings, and with a single jump and flap, took off into the night sky.
Ameili gestured at Vulcan. “Get my sword and shield.”
The fire elemental nodded, and flew up and out of the building, slipping between the gaps between the shed’s boards.
Ameili reached out with her magic and pulled on the internal latches inside her armor. The backplates hissed and creaked as the hinged open, revealing the internal cavity where she would sit.
Ameili climbed up atop the side of her armor to step in. It creaked, groaned, and sank under her weight. The mare shifted, ducking her head into the armor’s neck hole and squirming her way inside.
Ameili’s magic went to work, poking at valves, pulling tiny levers, and igniting the armor’s micro-boiler. Flames excited the magic-infused crystal. Mana raced into water, transforming into a potent fuel. The armor began to hum and vibrate as its systems pressurized. Ameili reached back and closed the armor’s back plates.
A flash of fire filled the doorway as Vulcan returned, gladius and towershield in hoof. “Here you are.”
Ameili smiled behind her helmet. Her goggles lenses made the skull’s empty sockets appear to be dark voids. The warlike visage groaned and creaked as Ameili moved even slightly. Vulcan’s ears drooped back.
“Um, hon? Maybe you—”
Ameili reached out to take her sword. The armor shirked as steam pressure reached critical levels. Ameili yelped and recoiled. The armor had enough. A thunderous roar shook the shed as stressed pipes and tubing ruptured. The armor’s substructure thrashed, shaking Ameili about. Plates fell off. Gears went flying. Clouds of glowing steam filled the air.
As the chaos cleared, Ameili picked herself up, the shreds of her biosuit falling from her slightly ripped body.
“Ow… Ow…. Bucking… Ow…” Ameili whimpered, her head still inside her helmet.
“Why did you think water would play nice with fire?” Vulcan said as he gently took Ameili in his legs, helping her to her hooves.
“Whirling Cog made my legs in a dungeon. From scrap. This was his design. It should have worked.”
“I’m sorry, darling. But you’re not Whirling Cog,” Vulcan sighed. “What do we do now?”
Ameili closed her eyes, glad tears couldn’t fill them. If I got to town now, everypony will see me for what I am. If I stay here, far more will die than if I remain hidden…
Ameili raised a hoof to her helmet, then hesitated, deciding to leave it on. “Sic semper evello mortem tyrannis.”
Vulcan’s mouth stretched as the elemental smiled. “I knew you’d say that.”
Ameili lashed her shield to her left foreleg and strapped her sword onto her waist. She spread her newly scratched wings wide, then reared up onto her hind legs. “Vulcan, GO!”
The fire elemental shook off its pony form and latched onto Ameili’s non-functional wings, shaping itself into a full set of blazing flight feathers. Ameili jumped with all her might, the residual magic in her soul worked in harmony with her mechanical legs, sending her soaring into the air with Vulcan on her back.
Vulcan gripped Ameili’s wings tightly and focused, burning as hot as the ancient being could burn. His orange flames brightened to a dazzling white. With a quick adjustment, all of that heat was focused away from himself and his mate and the duo shot forwards on wings of fire.
Their sky-blazing couldn’t truly be called flight. They had no control. No form. No lift. They flew as a trebuchet bolder flies.
Up, across, down, land, jump. Ameili and Vulcan raced through the forest in a series of arc, each completed as fast as Vulcan’s thrust and gravity allowed. Each hop taking them closer and closer to West Bloomfield.
Retort screeched and nearly fell out of the sky as a blazing ball of white-hot fire blew past him like he was standing still. Ameili scarcely noticed her terrified friend. Her eyes were focused on the burning town.
Fire engulfed many buildings, blazing infernos reaching up to the sky like death’s teeth. A large airship hovered over the town, looking something like a sick griffon in full armor. She could see griffons in form-fitting plate-armor whizzing about the air around their ship, fighting pegasi, bringing bound captives up to the ship’s hanger, or diving to the ground with fresh supplies in their talons.
Ameili narrowed her eyes, her wings shook in Vulcan’s grip. “Silver Hawks. What pirate can afford their services?”
“An extremely wealthy one,” Vulcan answered.
The ground raced up towards Ameili. She braced herself for the impact. Her hooves hit the ground, a jolt of pain shot through her bones. Ameili didn’t care.
She looked to her left. A pair of griffon sorcerers stood in rune-circles, chanting arcane prayers. The school in front of them burned. The flames slowly oozed through the hallways and into rooms, chasing terrified ponies into corners to hide from their deaths.
Ameili looked to her right. A pair of Silver Hawks swooped down, landing next to a griffon dressed in a dark green hunting jacket. The griffon shouldered a single barreled rifle and fired. His shot missed.
The hunter cursed and snatched the package the Hawk had brought him. “Blast! You, Hawk, have a magus set a wall up four streets down. This mare is a cunning thing.”
The griffon slid his rifle into a strap on his back and began to run down the street. The Hawks took off into the sky without a word.
Ameili felt something in her snap into place. The mind of an ancient world’s warrior had come back to her in full.
This was war. She was a warrior. The enemy was evil. She was good. All actions required to slay the evildoers were therefore just, noble, and demanded of her.
Ameili pointed to the hunter with her sword. “Vulcan. Eat him.”
The flames around her wings launched forwards like a missile. He fell upon the hunter in a flash and sank into his flesh. The hunter screamed as Vulcan cooled himself down to just the perfect temperature to make flesh blister and bubble as it melted.
Ameili turned her attention to the two sorcerer's. She could feel their flames, the magic twisting them into unnatural shapes. She could see their faces, the glee of a predator on a hunt. She knew there were people inside that building.
Ameili’s horn glowed brightly beneath her helmet as she drew upon the full extent of her magic. The golem heart in her chest began to glow until it’s light could be seen beneath her chest. Ameili reached out to the sorcerer's fire.
The flames reached out for Ameili, seeking freedom from their shackles and revenge against the unworthy who had dared seize control of them. Her helmet’s horn sheath began to glow as her magic ignited beneath it. First red, then orange, then white, then molten metal ran down her faceplate as her magic reached is full strength.
Full strength she lent the flames, that they might break free from their shackles.
The griffon sorcerers shirked as their rune circles exploded beneath them, sending fragments of stone slicing into their undersides. The blazing building before them seemed to shudder as their flames rushed back through the halls and fell upon them. A heartbeat later, there was but a small bonfire, the stench of roasting feathers, and a smouldering school.
A pair of Hawks watched the sorcerers burn and dove, drawing a pair of pistols each as they prepared to fire on the—
The Hawk screamed a warning. “Alicorn!”
The Hawks rolled, veering off in different directions to dodge an impending barrage of arcane blasts.
Ameili pointed to the Hawk on her left. “Vulcan!”
Vulcan’s ears manifested and perked at the sound of his love’s voice. Seeing the threat to her, he let go of the wheezing, skinless, sizzling hunter and flew upwards, tackling one of the Hawks from the sky.
Ameili smiled behind her helmet and asked the stones beneath her to politely combusted. The ground erupted into a sea of blue-white fire which slid up Ameili’s legs and across her body, covering her in an ever denser layer of shifting blue flames as she prepared the fire for battle.
We will purge many wicked people from this world tonight, my friends.
Ameili spread her rear hooves out, focused her magic, raised her sword-hoof as if she were throwing a ball, and sent a bolt of flame whizzing through the air. “URO, HAERETICUS!”
The fireball smashed against the other Hawk’s visor and seeped into his armor by the cracks. A smoldering, blackened, suit of armor hit the ground, oozing thick, oily, tar-filled smoke.
Barron Murcrow - 21th of Lunerdusk, 08 EoH
West Bloomfield - Equestria
Barron Murcrow hunched over the kicking and screaming form of a young pegasus stallion who had run directly into one of his snares. The griffon held a rag soaked in chloroform over the struggling ponies mouth, smiling as his prey’s screams and kicks grew more and more feeble as consciousness slipped away.
A Hawk slammed into the ground next to the Barron. “M’Lord, I—”
“Just a moment!” The Barron said chipperly.
The Barron waited for a few more moments until the stallion went limp. He stuffed the rag into an airtight belt pouch, retrieved his hunting knife, and with one swift flick of his blade gelded his catch.
The Barron flicked the blood from his knife and took hold of one of the pegasus’s wings. “There! That will take the fight out of this one. Hold him still as I clip the wings, would you?”
The Hawk winced behind his visor, and did his best to push his disgust aside. It wasn't his place to question the high-born, nor did he have the right to disobey. His ancestors had lost that in battle long ago. “M’Lord! The ponies have deployed a pyromancer. They are either equipped with a flight-pack, or are an alicorn. Given their skill with slinging fire, I’m going to say Alicorn, sir!”
The Barron looked up, a surprised yet delighted look on his face. “An Alicorn you say? And yet our ship remains in the sky. It must be the young one! She will make a fine trophy. Take this one to my chef's butcher block, please.”
The Barron drew his rifle from its holster and opened the breach to check the shells. Two master crafted disruptor rounds glittered within the rifle’s twin barrels. “I’m going to see if I can bag the trophy of a lifetime.”
Stats
Page generated in 0.02 seconds
Total duration
952 users online
205,395 hits today, 2,244,100 yesterday
FIMFiction
My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic Fanfiction
Designed and coded by knighty & Xaquseg - © 2011-2024
Follow & Support Us
Support us
SubStar
Chat!
Discord
Follow us
Twitter
MLP: Friendship is Magic® - © 2024 Hasbro Inc.®
Fimfiction is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Hasbro Inc.®
Didn't this story used to have a sex tag?
Damn you, cliffhanger!!
Amy's going into a battle trance, and those griffons are going to suffer for it. The Hawks may not be as sick bastards as the nobles they're serving, but they knew the risk of death. The Inferno walks among them.
8968948 No.
I wanna hit these douches with baleful polymorph: pony, and then have a dragon loom over them. See if they still think ponies are prey after THAT!
... You know, I really should be more mad about the literal dues ex machina of "Oh, I've actually been an alicorn the whole time, just a demoted one." The problem with that being, of course, I have to be angry enough to dislike the sudden appearance of a fire not-god. Unfortunately, this has not happened as this happening is too awesome to be angry about.
tl;dr: BURN BABY BURN! WOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooo..................
8969129 That was a rather hard comment to understand XD I just thought it would be neat to provide an orgion for the Sisters tied into a lost culture :3
If she keeps acting like a hero for the sake of
others she'llb ascend for real sooner or later. Would such new status help?
Sorry, kinda high on sleep drugs. Commentaries become whole worlds of adventure events.
...
I want that bastard dead.
This should be a fun conversation. At least they have the benefit of the lengthy report pretty thoroughly documenting her long history of personal heroism.
The alicorn of corn is my new favorite alicorn.
Yikes.
Ooooo, that's a useful suggestion.
So she was the alicorn of fire, makes sense.
Oh hey, an opportunity to set some sapient hunting griffons on fire.
Dang.
That was a pretty good start, but the Barron still isn't on fire. He does appear to be volunteering for it, though.
Wow! What a backstory!
Yay heroism
Wow that armor didnt last long all that work meaningless
Yay fire
Comment
8974761 Comment appreciated :3
EEEyikes, things went dark. If that's the first encounter, the war will be a whole ocean of blood.
....or crispy griffon coals.
Given roman gods this makes so much sense. This is really well integrated. I'm actually gushing about how well you made this fit.
Wasn't sure how to feel about Aemilia being an Alicorn, but technically she isn't, also she's awesome, so i don't really care all THAT much.
It's nice to see some mre personality from Vulcan as well.
There's a story you aren't telling, isn't there? What is it?