The War in Heaven

by voroshilov

XIV. Together

“Emperor Nicholas understood the importance of love. Loyalty was one thing, loyalties could be turned, replaced, broken, but love weathered even the most brutal of punishments. He understood that he did not need the loyalty of his subjects, he needed their love. In his own words: ‘loyalty will make a person fight for you, love will make them die for you.’”

- The Emperor as our Father by Michael Herus -

"Listen, AJ," Twilight twiddled her hooves - if she had a collar, she'd have tugged it - "I've got something I have to tell you."

Applejack, well known throughout Equestria for her apple farming, was - shockingly - apple farming. Twilight heard a tree be bucked, followed by the dropping of apples, and finally a shout from Applejack, "what? Twi, ah can't hear ya!" Applejack emerged from behind a throng of trees, absolutely soaked in sweat and the hottest thing on Equestria that wasn't on fire - quite literally steaming. She, to her credit, handled the heat and strain of work incredibly well, planting a calm hoof on Twi's shoulder. "Thar we are, what'dya need, Twi?"

Twilight chuckled nervously. Applejack - and just about everypony else - knew she wasn't socially adept, so her mumbling and fidgeting and lack of eye contact wasn't something most ponies picked up on. "Well," she said, straining to get the word out, then allowing herself a short time to breathe before continuing, "I was wondering." Another rest. "If you would like to." Another rest, this one twice the length of the previous. "Erm.” Another rest, seems the last part really took it out of her. "Go get lunch together, later, today, soon." Twilight Sparkle, the social butterfly, gave her best, winning smile, which made her look a bit mad.

Penumbra stayed close to Applejack. The Fusiliers who were escorting them to Doctor Estilius' facility were far less courteous than the ones aboard the Hand of Fate. They'd practically pushed her onto the transport, not saying a word to her. They had been led by a Heavy, with an enormous suit of power armour, far bigger than she had seen before, they'd just grunted at her and pointed to a pair of seats, where she and Applejack were expected to sit. Emperor Nicholas had told her that Cuspoir held a massive genetic research facility, though he had not specified why she would be travelling there. Penumbra, however, did not ask, she was already on Nicholas' bad side, no need to make it worse.

The landing pad was wide, open and mostly empty, save their transport and a contingent of Fusiliers marching out of the facility's unnecessarily enormous gates. In their midst walked three scientists, easily identified by their white lab coats. As rain and wind whipped the pad's occupants, one of the scientists, a female Valkyrie by her rugged bone structure, with a Fusilier holding an umbrella over her, stepped forwards. "You are Sunless-Halo-of-Penumbra, correct?" At Penumbra's nod, she continued, "excellent, I am Doctor Amanda Estilius, Emperor Nicholas told me you would be coming. Come, let us get in out of the storm."

The facility's entrance was a large atrium, like the atrium to an office block in Manehattan. The reception desk, rather than being staffed by a well dressed pony, was staffed by a pair of security guards - not Fusiliers - clothed in navy blue uniforms. They looked cleaned, disciplined and smart, but not like soldiers.

Doctor Estilius walked up to one of them. "Doctor Amanda Estilius," she said, "please inform Doctor Giraud that I am coming down to him, with the guests."

The guard nodded, tapping something out onto his console, "elevator two is ready for you, ma'am."

"We will be riding down to the labs." Estilius said as they entered the roomy elevator. "You are not to touch anything. You may be here with the Emperor's will, but I outrank you in my facility, am I clear."

"Yes, ma'am," Applejack replied.

"Good." Estilius straightened her tie. "Stick close to me and don't speak to anyone, there is important work going on in this facility."

The important work Estilius mentioned would soon be revealed, by a cheery concierge screen the moment the elevator doors opened. "Welcome," it said, "to Cuspoir Genetic Development Labs, the home of Imperial Xeno research."

Doctor Giraud was a rather short man, about half a metre taller than Applejack. He was talking to a security guard and what looked like an engineer, the engineer nodded at something he said, then left down a dark hallway. Doctor Giraud noticed Estilius and the group's approach, hobbling away from the guard to speak with them.

"Doctor Estilius," he said, shaking her hand, "what would you like to see?"

"The guests," she said, putting enough strain on it to give Giraud a message, "would like to visit the control hub, get a feel for the general gist of our research here."

Giraud nodded. "Very well, follow me." He hobbled off, the guard standing alongside him, towards a door at the end of the room, which led into a large rotunda, with walls covered in screens showing various pieces of data or camera feeds. Crucially, one area was blank on the cameras, displaying only a large "ERROR," message in white text.

"Why's that camera not fixed?" He asked one of the camera operators, who shrugged and continued with their work.

"We were having some problem with the lighting in containment-17 yesterday," the guard said, "I reported it to maintenance, might just be electrical troubles."

Giraud grunted, turning to the group behind him. "Anyways," he said, "here's the control room, this is where all the data feeds of the whole facility comes through. Here, we have master level access to the whole facility, as well as direct links to the planetary garrison and administration."

"Well," Applejack said, looking about at all of the runes and graphs she didn't understand, "sure is a lot of stuff."

Giraud rolled his eyes, though Applejack was too busy looking at a rapidly changing graph to see. "Indeed," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "everything from experimental data to atmospheric readings comes through here," he said, this time aiming at Penumbra, "we get the weather report a day early."

The graph Applejack was observing was labelled in a series of runes she didn't understand, with whatever data it carried completely lost on her. Whilst Giraud spoke to Penumbra, it began to shift colour from blue, to light purple, to red. Applejack, still unable to recognise what that change meant, mused aloud, "what does that red mean?"

Giraud turned to her, slowly, barely masking the contempt he had for her, before he froze in shock upon seeing the graph. His lip quivered for a moment, before he yelled at a subordinate, "contact the meteorological office, I want a global atmospheric scan, right now."

A few moments later, the subordinate returned a result. "Silence," he said, followed by tapping his console a few times, "I'm getting nothing from the met. Should I switch to outboard cameras?" At Giraud's frantic nod, he tapped his console a few more times, before staring intently on something, closing into his viewscreen. "What the?" He paused. "Looks like something's burning in the city."

All the lights in the facility suddenly switched off, being replaced promptly by low, red lamps. The intercom system crackled to life, a deep, robotic voice coming across it, silencing the friendly tone of the concierge system, "red alert, red alert, containment facility in sector 17 breached, red alert, red alert, all personnel are to report to safe zones immediately. Red alert, red alert..."

Weapons discharge echoed from somewhere outside the control room, followed by frantic shouting from a security guard, then further discharge. The guard who had come with Giraud headed for the door, it opened automatically and he peeked his head out, looking as far down the attached corridors as he could in a few seconds. He pulled his pistol from its holster and stepped back in, pressing something on the door's control panel, which gave a click. He marched back up to the group, a disconcerted look on his face. "Whoever should be out there, isn't. It doesn't look good."

"What's going on?" Penumbra asked, becoming visibly worried.

Giraud looked as though he was going to answer, before he trailed off and walked back to a computer screen. His guard answered instead, "containment breach," he said, "I don't know what's in sector 17, but it can't be anything good."

The weapons discharge outside suddenly went silent, with the guard stepping forwards to aim his weapon towards the door. Everything was silent for a few seconds, Penumbra able to hear the heart beats of her companions, before something made a long scratch along the outside of the door. Penumbra felt a shiver run down her spine, with the guard tensing up and clutching his weapon tighter.

"Containment 17," Doctor Giraud said, voice seemingly consigned to fate, "housed an experimental, self-replicating bio weapon. It's essentially an aerosolised version of the Hollow plague, with some modifications, it has a latency period of exactly a day, so it must have been released yesterday."

"Wait." The guard looked over. "That means..."

"We're all infected."

The guard stood up and walked over to an empty console, he inputted a series of credentials into it, before lifting a microphone. "This is Cuspoir Genetic Development Labs, Atlas City, Cuspoir Sector, we are experiencing a category 6 aerial biological event, advise all on planet elements to quarantine themselves or evacuate, if they have not intaken any planetary air since 11 o'clock yesterday morning. Advise all off planet elements to quarantine planet surface. Message repeats."

He turned and walked over to Penumbra. "Take my IntraSAT," he handed her a small data pad, with a glowing blue screen showing a zoomed out image of the planet, which she stuffed into her saddle bag. "Try and get off the planet, you're not fully turned yet, and I doubt you'd be compromised anyway - call it a hunch. I'll try and clear you a way, keep away from populated centres, the IntraSAT should guide you to an evacuation point."

"Wait," Giraud interrupted, "what about the rest of us?"

The guard turned, raised his pistol, and shot the researcher clean through the forehead. Giraud collapsed backwards, unable to comprehend his own death in the microsecond he had before his thoughts ceased. The guard sighed, before turning back. "The rest of us will stay in the facility. We'll clear you a path out, then stay out of your way. If we turn, don't hesitate to kill us."

Penumbra nodded. "Where should we head?"

The guard had walked over to the door, preparing to unlock it, whilst Doctor Estilius and the three other control room workers armed themselves. "Try and head to Morrigan, north of here. Atlas will be overrun, but Morrigan should be mostly free.” A click came from the panel, the guard nodding and readying his pistol. "Get behind us. We'll clear a path, once you're in the open, run."

Penumbra pulled Applejack close, the farmer pony definitely not ready for whatever was beyond the door. It opened very slowly, in near total silence, revealing a pair of grey skinned guards, who seemed to stare blankly at each other. When enough space was revealed for those in the control room to escape, the guard shot both of them in the head. Their heads, apparently weakened, blew open and their bodies collapsed into heaps, releasing a thin blue mist into the air.

The group surged forwards, with the control room's staff providing cover on the flanks. The already turned infected only noticed when about a dozen of their fellows collapsed dead before their lightless eyes. A pair of infected stood by the elevator doors, only to quickly be splashed against it, then scraped along the door frames as the elevator's doors opened, revealing a single, confused looking infected, who quickly became a thin cloud of blue mist and was replaced by a crumpled corpse and the evacuating Imperials.

As the elevator rode up, the guard turned to Penumbra and Applejack. His face was crossed with a frown of sad acceptance, though his eyes seemed to glint. "There'll be a water skid waiting at the dock, take it and head to the east of the lake, as far from Atlas city as you can get. Then, take the mountain path north, to Morrigan. The IntraSAT should be able to communicate when you're higher up."

"What about you?" Penumbra asked, though she feared she already knew the answer.

The guard nodded, solemnly. "We'll cover your escape, then try and blow the base. Whatever ends up happening, I'm not becoming one of those things." He looked down to the corpse on the floor, greyed, atrophying and clad in an engineer's uniform, complete with hard hat, which lay where his head should have been.

Penumbra sighed. "Thank you," she said.

The elevator door opened, with the reception only containing a pair of infected, both of whom stood confused. Penumbra assumed one of them, wearing a navy blue guard uniform, was one of those manning the reception when she came in. The other, wearing a dark grey uniform, was clearly professional military, complete with holstered pistol on his belt and peaked cap, silver badge glinting from the sun as he slowly turned in one place.

The guard shot them both without any sort of hesitation, shaking his head and muttering as he shot the uniformed militaryman, "shit, shit, shit," he swore, drawing Penumbra's attention as they jogged to the exit.

"What?" She asked, "did you recognise them?"

The guard shook his head. "No," he said, "but they're probably from Traynor Station. They probably aren't even in uniform, they'll have been overrun."

They reached a shallow skiff at the port's edge, with enough room for eight or so men, more than enough for Applejack and Penumbra. As the two ponies loaded themselves in, the guard and another of the control staff began untying the moorings.

"Remember," he said, "east of the lake, then head north."

Penumbra saw the ideal landing point in the distance: a thin beach at the foot of a large mountain range, with what was clearly a thin dirt path leading up into it. It contrasted starkly to the metal and glass of the city, with its thin plumes of smoke rising from the few minutes of chaos that had turned the entire planet. Though she had barely the time to think, Penumbra considered the view pleasant, almost enjoyable - had the looming threat of death not been hanging over her.

A set of shots rang out, with Penumbra snapping from her momentary trance. She had been staring at the mountains for just too long, with the infected now closing in on their little edge of the dock. There were about twenty in all, well spread out, all clad in various uniforms. She had no doubt they were from the base, though the reaction of the guard told her she need not care.

"Go," he shouted, "gun it for the edge, we'll cover."

Penumbra nodded, turning to the boat's console with an air of knowledge and authority. To the outside observers, she skilfully kicked the boat into high gear, then expertly executed a jump start, propelling the boat forwards at a rapid pace, clearing the dock in a second. In reality, however, she hit a button by accident then panicked and pushed forwards another lever - also by accident - which sent the boat flying forwards and its two occupants backwards, clinging to their seats and to the hull for their lives.

It took only about a minute to reach the shore, whereupon the boat crashed and became embedded in the sand, with Penumbra evacuating it as fast as her freakishly long legs could carry her. Applejack followed shortly after, pale and slow. Her shell-shocked expression would have made Penumbra laugh in another circumstance.

"Where," Applejack started, before stopping to take in a great gulp of air, "where are we now?"

Penumbra looked up at the mountain behind her, very conveniently the one she had been aiming for - making all of the previous minute a calculated action she could be praised for, rather than an accident that could potentially have cost them their lives.

"Right where we need to be," she replied, before realisation dawned on her, "well, right below where we need to be."

With tremendous effort, they hauled themselves up the silvery, trodden path up the mountain. When they emerged from the thin mist that had formed about half way up, even Applejack was beginning to tire - something Penumbra had originally thought was against the laws of the universe. Their trek, however, quickly became worth it; as, with aching legs and sullen brows, they sat at the summit of the mountain and looked out over Morrigan: whose rolling moors and freckles of woodland reminded her of home, though with a more wild, energised nature to it. The sight lifted the pressure from her legs and back, and she was filled with an almost overwhelming feeling of determination.

They sat together, Applejack and Penumbra, at the summit of the mountain, for an hour or so, contemplating the wonder and beauty of this new world - and how far they had come since they last saw Equestria. As dusk was rolling in over the distant horizon, something crackled, which startled both of them.

"Wha?" Applejack questioned, though who exactly she was questioning was unknown.

The same something then beeped, then beeped again, then beeped a third time before Penumbra realised what it was: the IntraSAT uplink the guard had given her. She took it from her saddle bag, then tapped its screen twice.

"Establishing data uplink, standby."

They waited for about three seconds, before the voice spoke again, "IntraSAT systems online."

Penumbra, remembering how several Fusiliers had used similar pads, held it close to her mouth and then spoke, "where is the nearest evacuation point?"

The pad was silent for a moment, with Penumbra about to try again before it suddenly began speaking again, "the ship-breaking yard at Cemaes, the only remaining off-planet evacuation point." The pad's world map had zoomed in, highlighting both their current position and the large complex beyond the horizon. The small runes that ringed it told her the distance was about 50 kilometres, a long way to walk, for sure. "All non-compromised Imperial forces are to converge on the site at once, in preparation for planetary evacuation."

Applejack nodded to herself. "Alright." She took another glance at the map, her eyes darting back and forth to memorise it. "Let's get movin'." Without another word, she began trotting off down the mountain, away from the lake. Penumbra scrambled to follow, impressed at her stamina and surprising speed.

All those years hauling apple carts must have helped her, she mused, as she finally caught up with the farmpony, whose steely gaze was set on the misty horizon.

They walked for 12 straight hours before Applejack began to sag. Penumbra guided her to the side of the dirt track they had been following, into a thin run off ditch partially covered by trees. There, the farmpony collapsed onto her haunches, her eyelids heavy and practically closed. Similarly, though she didn't show it, Penumbra was tired also: even with all her superpony abilities, the humble farmpony had almost outlasted her. Had she not known better, she would have been impressed by Applejack's tenacity, instead, she simply felt pride in her friend.

Applejack was asleep as soon as she touched earth, only her gentle breathing and thin heartbeat indicating she was still alive. Penumbra, meanwhile, just slumped back. She had remembered what Nicholas had taught her about wilderness survival - specifically about taking turns to watch - and thus scanned back and forth along the track and neighbouring moors.

The moors were empty, the track similarly so, stretching out for miles forwards and back. In the light of a summer's mid-afternoon, it was possible to simply bask and forget everything that troubled her: her guard eventually turning into an appreciation of nature.

Her guard, however, quickly returned, when a barely audible groan drifted from the trees behind her. Within half a second she was on her feet and staring intently to where she believed the sound had come from. The trees themselves were sparse enough to let in the light, but dense enough that she could not see much further than a few dozen metres in any single direction. She considered waking Applejack, but reckoned she could take on the small number of opponents who could possibly have snuck up on them.

"Come out," she said, not yelling to keep the still passed out Applejack asleep, "don't make me uproot the entire forest to find you."

A glimpse of white wrenched her gaze a few metres to the left. What appeared to be a hand held to the side of a grey tree, which quickly revealed an arm, then a torso, then a full body. It was a Fusilier, clad in full armour, with a rifle slung along their shoulder. However, the armoured plate on their abdomen had been pierced by something on the left side, leaving the thermal body glove and gel layer beneath vulnerable to attack. Sure enough, a large gash had been torn though the relatively flimsy material, and the Fusilier's flesh itself. They clutched to the wound as best they could with their right hand, whilst their left was held up in an attempt at surrender.

"Friend," the wounded Fusilier said, "you're not infected. Or, at least, you don't seem to be."

Penumbra relaxed. "No," she said, "and you don't seem to be either."

The wounded Fusilier tapped their helmet with their free hand, "most of my platoon was compromised, but my squad and I were on patrol duty in full armour, so we were spared the infection." They sighed. "Though we weren't protected from the infected, as you can see."

They came closer, allowing Penumbra a view at their wounds, which cut surprisingly deep. A chunk of flesh about the size of their fist had been ripped out, with the torn blood vessels having been cauterised with something; Penumbra thought she caught a glimpse of some of their internal organs, though hoped that she was just imagining that.

"I'm pretty banged up," they said, "but my aim's still good."

They slung the rifle off of their shoulder, giving Penumbra a mock up of aiming with only one hand. Satisfied she knew what they meant, the wounded Fusilier slung their rifle again. "You headed to Cemaes too?"

"Yeah," she said, "apparently it's the only spot left."

The wounded Fusilier nodded. "I figured as much. It's one of the only places transport ships can land on the continent. I imagined everywhere else would've been overrun by now."

Penumbra nodded gravely. "I tried contacting them, but the communicator I've got is only short range. Don't know why it didn't pick you up though."

The wounded Fusilier laughed. "I've been wandering a while, plus I had to ditch most of my equipment when I ran: I only had a short range comm myself and the battery's dead. So I've been wandering in the general direction of Cemaes for a while. How's your friend doing?"

They pointed to Applejack, who appeared to be beginning to stir. Slowly, her eyes opened and she sat upright, though, from the blank expression on them, she either couldn't properly see, or was too groggy to fully understand.

"She's just tired," Penumbra said, "we've been walking a while now."

The wounded Fusilier chuckled. "I don't blame her. By the looks of your feet, you've come a hell of a long way.” They pointed to her claws, which had been visibly worn down, recently too by their colouration and thin coating of greyish dust. "I reckon you're from Atlas way, aren't you? Yeah, you're from the Gene Labs, I reckon."

"And how do you know that?"

"Well it looks to me like you and your friend are the same species. Though, you appear to be more...evolved, yeah, that's the right word," they paused for a moment, before nodding to themself and coming closer, "anyway, your friend's nearly up. Time to get going, the sooner we get to Cemaes, the better."

As the wounded Fusilier marched off up the road, Penumbra first wondered how they knew where they were going, then how she would explain everything to Applejack. She hauled the farmpony to her hooves, then began her overly long-winded explanation, practically dragging Applejack behind her.

---

The ship breaking yard came into view the moment they crested the hill. Compared to the pleasant greenery of the moors, it was like a horrific, burned stain. There was no greenery, or any sort of plants to speak of, just cracked brown stone and tides of dust. The broken down carcasses or skeletons of immense starships littered the ground like broken egg shells, their key components sorted and piled around them. Several small structures dotted the yard, most little more than break posts for the workers, with several broken down, recently damaged.

In the distance, sat on a large hill, loomed a landing platform, far bigger than any structure Penumbra had ever seen up close. However, from what she had read and from what the wounded Fusilier had told her, it was tiny. On it stood only one ship, anchored in place by enormous metal arms, a frigate class if she wasn't mistaken. A well beaten track led up to it, choked up to the first guard post - with its closed boom barrier - with vehicles, then almost entirely empty save for debris and the odd body. The track passed through the skeleton of a corvette, with most of its armour plating removed, save a small canopy acting as a roof.

To the east, beyond the enormous open field of ship skeletons, a wall of grey, black and purple cloud stood menacingly. Arcs of lightning tens of miles in length lit up along its edge, with the cracks of thunder still faintly audible so far away. Penumbra wouldn't have been worried, if it were not for the low rumble of the storm slowly, but surely, coming closer.

"Come on," the wounded Fusilier said, "there's a storm coming, we wanna get to the pad before it hits."

Without need for verbal agreement, the two ponies followed, the wounded Fusilier scanning back and forth with their rifle as the group moved forwards. As they quickly found out, by the shrivelled and battered corpses that lined the road and filled the guard post, there was little need to be on guard. The soldiers defending the facility had at the very least made a fighting withdrawal, keeping the gates closed and apparently bombing the guard house as they did so.

The road beyond the barrier was marked with a trail of dark blue blood, which started off thick but gradually trailed off, until it stopped entirely. The wounded Fusilier stopped at the edge of the trail, before turning and taking a look over the edge of the road, where it tapered off into a drainage ditch. Sure enough, covered partially with dust, was the body of a fully armoured Fusilier, dark blue blood stains covering their still visible right arm. They were curled up in a fetal position, visibly concealing the obvious larger wounds that lay near their abdomen and thorax, but most definitely dead. "Well," the wounded Fusilier mumbled, "at least they only got one."

The space between the track and the cliff edge gradually narrowed, to the point where Penumbra suddenly and loudly exclaimed, "woah! A cliff?" To which both Applejack and the wounded Fusilier both nodded sagely then advised her to move away from.

"Ah know mah cliffs, Pen," Applejack said, regarding the cliff edge with a look of scorn, "and that cliff ain't gonna see tomorrah."

Sure enough, the cliff was already beginning to crumble, with small chunks of the track having been weathered away. Penumbra stepped on a lump of dirt that gave way and tumbled the half mile or so down about seven times before they reached the next guard post, where the space between cliff and track opened out a lot more and the track became more solid.

Just like the last post, the boom gate was closed, though the guard post itself was in far better condition. The inside, however, was a disaster, like a grenade had gone off inside - in hindsight, it probably had. Two Fusiliers and about a dozen infected had been scattered around the post, with the Fusiliers coming off relatively lightly by only losing a few limbs. Both the soldiers were, obviously, very dead, with the concrete ground stained blue with blood. The infected, meanwhile, were more gaseous than dead, with only a badly battered torso or limb remaining intact for each. The group quickly evacuated, though not before the wounded Fusilier grabbed themself another communicator from the surviving rack.

The area beyond the guard post opened out into a large plateau, with a series of ramps cut into the rock of a cliff leading down to the next area. Penumbra stopped to take a look at their target, with the group sitting behind her as she did so. The distant cracks of thunder and ominous roar of the storm had grown louder, obscuring whatever sounds may have been occurring beyond the corvette, but she could still see the pad well enough to discern how to get to it. The track terminated before a series of buildings, possibly control centres or the like, which seemed to lead onto the pad, there they would have to find a way onto the frigate, which didn't appear to be connected to the ground beyond the metal arms that held it aloft.

"Hmm," the wounded Fusilier mused behind her, "communicator's down."

Penumbra turned. "Huh?"

They held out the little pad. "I grabbed a communicator from the last guard post. It's batteries are full and it's definitely working but I'm not getting signals from anywhere, just a massive blob of interference."

"Could be the storm," Penumbra suggested, not quite sure what kind of storm could blot out all signals on a communicator.

The wounded Fusilier shrugged with their one available arm. "Probably. I can't raise the frigate from here though, let's just hope they don't leave without us."

Penumbra gave a snort. "Yeah, let's hope not. We best get moving."

She rose and followed the winding path down, with Applejack and the wounded Fusilier scrambling to follow, the Fusilier managing to lift themself with only their legs, which created an interesting and uncomfortable looking scene to any onlookers. The winding path, then the track towards the corvette skeleton, was empty save the odd dead shrub or rock.

The next guard post was in bad shape: burnt out, with one of the corners collapsed in and filled with bodies, Fusilier and otherwise. Most of the infected were in pieces, though most didn't appear to have been exploded, rather having putrefied and simply fallen apart over the presumably short course of their death. The Fusiliers, seven of them in all, were far less worse for wear: most only had a number of wounds on their abdomens and were otherwise in one piece.

The wounded Fusilier stepped into the guard post through the collapsed corner, scanning around with their rifle, looking for something. They paused for a moment next to a console, before reaching down to the Fusilier body below it and grabbing its arm, which made a noise of dislocating.

"What is it?" Penumbra asked.

The wounded Fusilier stared at the arm intently, before letting it go and turning back. "Nothing," they said, "thought there was something in here."

They began to make their way out, before their leg became stuck on something. Penumbra had turned to view the storm, which was proceeding surprisingly quickly considering the almost complete lack of wind, attempting to work out how long it would be before they were in the middle of it. Applejack, meanwhile, was sat on the dusty ground, taking in the view of the industry beyond the cliff, attempting to comprehend it's size in comparison to Equestria's.

The wounded Fusilier gave their leg a shake, which seemed to dislodge whatever it was stuck on. They paused for a moment, contemplating an idea, before shaking their head at how nonsensical it was. They didn't take more than another step before their leg became lodged again, this time by a grey, fleshy fist. "There's a live one!" They shouted, before opening fire wildly in the direction of the hand's arm. The fist let go, sinking back into the sea of bodies, before another dozen rose up all around the room. The wounded Fusilier didn't take a second longer to decide what to do, practically leaping from the room in one go, before turning back and firing indiscriminately into it.

"What's going on?" Penumbra shouted, readying her magic.

The wounded Fusilier continued firing, slowly shuffling backwards. "They're not all dead, we gotta move."

Penumbra nodded, lifting Applejack with a magical aura. The farmpony only took half a second to realise what was happening, and was beginning to run towards the corvette, Penumbra close behind. At their running pace, which even Penumbra was surprised by, they were only a minute or two from the corvette's outer edge, which would mark the start of the home stretch, as it were.

A pair of loose shots caused Penumbra to turn around, then she saw the wounded Fusilier, on the ground, pushing away as fast as their right leg could go. Penumbra's enhanced vision noticed a large gash on their left leg - one of the arms must have caught them on the way out of the guard post, and they hadn't noticed. Penumbra turned 180 and sprinted back to them, firing off bolts of magic into the gradually enlarging crowd of infected. Every shot of their proton rifle, and every bolt of magic, managed to take out three or four infected - on closer inspection, the infecteds' skin had begun to calcify, greatly reducing the penetrative power of their weapons.

The wounded Fusilier turned their head up to view Penumbra, who was still some distance away. "Back up," they yelled, still firing blindly into the crowd, "head to the corvette, get off this damn planet."

Penumbra began to slow. "Turn back," the wounded Fusilier yelled again, "there'll be troops at the landing pad, get to them!"

They threw their rifle into the crowd, creating a momentary blockage as the infected wildly slashed out - thinking it was something alive. "Get going," the wounded Fusilier shouted again, before pulling a grenade from their belt. Penumbra began to walk back, though she still refused to take her eyes off the scene - that or her eyes were stuck - as the wounded Fusilier primed the grenade and held it out, a foot or so from their face. Time seemed to slow as the fuse ticked down, Penumbra's ears hanging on every click - part of her futilely praying that the grenade wouldn't detonate.

Sure enough, after five seconds - five successive ticks - the grenade detonated, releasing its volatile plasma in an immense burst of light and heat. The energy of the blast blinded Penumbra for a moment and when her vision returned nothing of the wounded Fusilier, or half of the infected assaulting them, remained. The rest of the infected had been rendered in various states of annihilation, scattered around a two metre radius scorched circle on the ground. Penumbra did not even have to check the infected were dead.

The two ponies, now bereft of their short term companion, marched grimly forwards. The storm, its black and purple clouds swirling in powerful winds, was within a dozen miles of them, so much so that the dust at their feet was beginning to kick up. Undeterred, they pushed ahead, passing under the skeleton of the corvette, surrounded by the small amounts of machinery that were too heavy to transport away. There were a few infected bodies, which Penumbra would tear apart with her magic as she passed them, with Applejack throwing the odd flesh-melting gaze.

Eventually, they reached the path up to the landing pad's command centre, which was little more than a dirt track then a climb up a large staircase. The path was wide enough for them to stand two abreast, both scanning back and forth to look for either infected or survivors.

The door to the command centre was closed, though, curiously, not locked. Penumbra turned the handle, then stepped back and pushed the door open with her magic, preempting the ambush of an infected.

Sure enough, they were ambushed, but not by who they expected.

"Freeze!"

A pair of Fusiliers were crouched behind a crate, their rifles drawing beads on the door. Fortunately for the two ponies (or, more likely, the Fusiliers) they did not fire, hesitating just long enough for Penumbra to get a word in.

"We're friendly," she said, "I'm Sunless-Halo-of-Penumbra, this is Applejack, we're trying to get off planet."

The Fusiliers stared in silence for a moment, before one rose up. "That's fortunate for you," they said, lowering their rifle, "we were just about to head to the platform."

Their fellow rose as well, recognising safety. "There's infected between here and the ship," they said, "platoon or so of Fusiliers too. Come on, let's get going."

As they moved, Penumbra pulled out her IntraSAT, she tried a few buttons with her magic, before falling upon a communication line, "hello," she said, tentatively, "this is Penumbra, does anybody read?"

There was a pause of a second, before a voice crackled over - the interference of the storm was having less of an effect the closer they got to the ship - "this is Captain Dawes, of the Vigilance IX, I read you, over."

"Captain." Penumbra sighed with relief. "We need you to hold your take off, there's soldiers still down here."

Another pause, "I'm afraid I can't, Penumbra," the Captain said, "launch control is offline, my countdown has no abort. Get to the pad and I'll have dropships bring you all aboard. Dawes, out."

The sound of gunfire up ahead made the group break out into a sprint. They had come across what appeared to be some sort of engineering room, though it had been almost completely emptied save the metal grate walkways that crisscrossed the roof. On one end, a squad of Fusiliers held what appeared to be the door to the next room; on their end, three Fusiliers were holding out against a few individual infected; in the centre of the room, however, was a large, shambling swarm. Though, apparently, only a few individuals seemed to know where to go: the ones closest to the squad at the other side, who charged at them wildly; their fellows simply seemed to follow the leader, until they too were close enough to suicidally charge the gunline.

One of the three Fusiliers closest, a Sergeant by their green shoulder cape, turned their head to the group. "Any of you brought heavy weapons?"

"I've still got a grenade left," one of the Fusiliers said, taking it from their belt and tossing it to the waiting Sergeant, who primed it and lobbed it into the crowd, which quickly halved the number of infected in the room.

"What about you?" The Sergeant pointed to Penumbra, "you look tough, mind helping us out."

Penumbra nodded, lighting her horn and creating a corona of magic all around it. She stepped into the room, sending forwards a wave of magic along the ground, which tore at the concrete and ripped apart most of the infecteds' legs. When the remaining infected turned, sensing her magic, she created a magical storm of bolts, surgically eviscerating the survivors of her previous attack.

The Sergeant stared at her, then looked back and forth between the pile of corpses and Penumbra. "Damn," they said, "I'm impressed."
Penumbra nodded, half grinning, before the group pushed on, pulling the remaining Fusiliers along with them. There was another Sergeant with the squad defending the opposing door, along with a Leftenant, who all fell behind regardless of rank.

"I'll admit," the Leftenant said, "I'm not completely sure who you are, but I trust you."

"Thanks," Penumbra replied, with just enough sarcasm to drive the Leftenant to continue speaking.

"You're not an Imperial," the Leftenant continued, "but I know when someone's on our side, the good side, that is. I reckon you're important somehow, you certainly look it."

"I'm not sure I follow."
The Leftenant chortled, "look at you, you're the tallest one here, massive wings and a horn, got powers I've never seen before and you're purple." They laughed again. "You're definitely important somehow. All us grunts look and sound the same, you're the only different one. You and your friend over there."

Come to think of it, what they were saying was exactly correct. Penumbra, still not wholly used to her new appearance, rarely considered herself particularly different looking to the ponies of Equestria. In reality, she was like a wholly different species - or some terrifying occult fiction novel's rendition of some dark god. She also realised she'd read far too much from the fiction section in her library and on the Hand of Fate.

She didn't get the chance to continue the conversation, as they entered what one of the Sergeant's mentioned was the final room before the landing pad. The room contained thirty seven Fusiliers, of various ranks, with an orange caped Commander leading from their vantage point in a control box of some kind, overlooking the relatively empty room. There were several infected filling the door to the landing pad, though they blocked her view further on. Two of the Fusiliers, both in cover behind makeshift barricades, fired pulse guns, which cracked like thunder every time they fired. From their vantage point, the Commander turned and saw the new arrivals, before running down to them, a pair of Sergeants in tow.

"You Penumbra?" They asked, yelling over the roaring gunfire.

Penumbra nodded, unsure as to whether her voice would carry or not. Nevertheless, the Commander seemed satisfied and turned to one of the Sergeants. "Get everyone ready," they yelled, the Sergeant nodding and running between the various pieces of cover to inform the Fusiliers of something. "We're pushing to the pad," the Commander yelled, "but we need to secure the planetary gun up top. Can you help out our guys?"

Penumbra nodded again, which again satisfied the Commander. They turned away and ducked behind a crate, about three metres from the closest infected. The Sergeant they had sent off gave a thumbs up, to which the Commander nodded and rolled a grenade into the front rank of infected. The infected blocking the door were blown apart, revealing the pad which held about two hundred infected, all in various states of calcification.

A squad of Fusiliers ran through the breach, creating an expanding semicircle of clear territory. Another squad soon followed, along with one of the pulse guns, which tore through tens of infected at a time. Eventually, another squad entered, Penumbra following with them, before breaking off left and up a metal grate staircase towards the top of the command centre, where a massive gun emplacement stood.

There was a single, large room before the emplacement, with only a pair of dead infected and a staircase leading further up. The Fusiliers, for good measure, fired several rounds into the corpses, before proceeding ahead. A pair of Fusiliers headed up the front of the squad, with Penumbra close behind. At the top of the staircase, one of the Fusiliers was grabbed on the shoulder and yanked left, with his comrade turning and opening fire. The infected collapsed backwards, its skin, bone white, shattered on the ground.

One of the Fusiliers, a Leftenant, climbed up the ladder on the side of the emplacement and into an open cockpit. They pressed a few buttons and pulled a few levers, with Penumbra ignoring them in favour of viewing the immense storm, that was barely two miles from the platform. After about a minute, the emplacement made a noise of powering down, with its previously red spine slowly fading to black.

"Alright," the Leftenant said, "should be good, let's get to the pad."

The Fusilier platoon had cleared the pad relatively quickly and had formed up around a pair of large open areas, enough space for dropships to land. From the IntraSAT came the voice of Captain Dawes, "I see the pad's clear, I've got transports inbound."

Four dropships emerged from one end of the frigate's hangars, passing overhead and landing one at a time. Most of the platoon loaded onto the first pair to land, which left almost as soon as they arrived. The second wave was more unlucky, as the giant storm had reached the edge of the platform.

The edge of the metal rectangle began to glow red, and the wind picked up massively, badly buffeting the dropships. "Get inside," a Fusilier inside one of the two ships yelled out, "we have to go, now!"

Applejack and a squad of Fusiliers jumped aboard, with Penumbra being blown backwards before she could. Regardless, the dropship lifted off, only to be slowly carried away by the wind, until, with a splutter of its engines, it simply dropped out of the sky.

Penumbra could have used her magic, if she had just noticed a second earlier she could have. Instead, she just let the ship fall, down the chasm that led to the frigate. She just let them crash and burn.
Suddenly, she was on a dropship. At least, she thought she was, something wet had filled her eyes, blocking her vision like a smoke screen. From what little she could hear - with her ears blocked both by the thunderous rumble of the storm and some low, choking sounds from close by - there were Fusiliers with her, taking her to the frigate.

"It's plasma," one of them yelled, though the top of their voice was like a whisper, "the storm isn't natural."

At least, that's what Penumbra thought they said.

They were within the safety of the frigate's hull within a minute, with Captain Dawes giving some message over the tannoy, which Penumbra's ears seemed to refuse to allow her to hear. The hangar doors closed, sealing off Applejack's open grave as the storm which had so cruelly snatched her blanketed the site in darkness.

The frigate rumbled, before Penumbra felt it rise beneath her, followed by a slight turn, then a thunderous clap as the frigate's main propulsion drives engaged, sending it through the planet's atmosphere within seconds. Had Penumbra been on the observation deck, she would have clearly seen the ominous silhouettes of Truth class light cruisers: their plasma lances on full beam, lined up perfectly all along the surface, masked partially by cloud, half of the world behind them burned to ash.

"Bring her to me, Captain."