Chapter 20
He was on his own again. That had been the most dangerous part of their new assignments. Dawn had protested it, initially, but for all of his agreement with her logic, he’d seen the captain’s side of it as well. As had Dawn, though she’d made her disapproval known.
But we’re Dusk Guard, Sabra thought, the lines mirroring Dawn’s own words. We are at the forefront.
He crept along the side of the street, hooves almost silent against the crystal stones. Overhead, the storm still raged outside the city shield, distant flashes of lightning lighting the dark night sky and providing brief glimpses of the city skyline. Occasionally one would be loud enough that the faint rumble was audible even through the shield, but for the most part the flashes passed in relative silence.
Silence. The city was full of it at the moment. With the setting of the sun, everything seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the next outbreak of violence to occur. Sabra paused as he reached another intersection, noting the dark interiors of the nearby homes and storefronts. Every so often there would be a faint glimmer of light from one of them, a candle or lantern providing subdued illumination to its owners, but more often than not even those were kept dim, blankets over windows or even just lights so dull he half expected that the candle itself couldn’t have been much larger than one used on a birthday cake.
He took a slow look down the connecting streets, checking for shadows that didn’t fit or strange clumps of hurried figures. He’d encountered two so far on his journey across the city, both of which had turned out to be crystal ponies moving from one point to another. For what purpose he hadn’t been able to say, and he’d avoided both groups. Collaborators, after all, were a real thing, and the next part of their operation was to be silent.
Satisfied that nothing was moving for the moment that he needed to be worried about, he moved quickly across the intersection. Ahead of him, still a good kilometer or more away, one of the few sources of open light left in the city pulsed like a beacon, marking one of the Order watchtowers that was still standing. It was a simple light, likely little more than a lantern or magic glow placed in an array of mirrors, but the message it sent was clear enough.
The Order stands here.
He paused on the other side of the intersection, sliding his body up against a low, crystal wall and sinking into the shadows. He waited, counting off the seconds, ears straining for the slightest bit of noise that could suggest that someone had spotted him. The seconds ticked by—literally, as he could hear the faint ticking of the pocketwatch Steel had given him to keep track of time, gears clicking away in his saddlebags.
But nothing else. Not even the faint muffled rumble that could denote someone using a silencing spell to conceal their hoofsteps. He was still alone.
Good. He rose from his hiding place and began moving forward once more, making sure to move out gradually, and not with a sudden shift. Nova had taught him that. Sudden movements and sounds were easier to catch than gradual, simple changes, at least as far as indirect observation went.
The city around him was changing as he walked down the street. Already there were less homes and more closed and shuttered business fronts. Some of them looked as though they hadn’t been open in years, windows boarded up or insides empty. Others looked even worse, the windows broken and insides bare save for debris. One he passed was even worse: The door had been smashed, along with all the windows, and painted red words adorned the front. A flash of lightning let him make them out, though the language was archaic compared to modern Equestrian.
“Traitors and Betrayers.” It was the third building he’d seen so far to bear the adornment. It likely wouldn’t be the last. Some were old, some were recent, but they all gaped like open wounds, a reminder of what sort of rule the city had been under.
We will stop them, he thought as he reached another intersection. Things were beginning to look more industrial now. He could see the long, low shape of warehouses ahead, mixed with what were probably factories, workshops, or whatever it was that the Crystal Empire needed to manufacture for its economy. Probably crystal, he thought, crossing the intersection. As everything here seems to rely on it in one way or another.
If so, I wonder if that will be beneficial or detrimental to Sky’s own creations? His eyes slid down to the angular pieces of crystal armor. Our armor costs a fortune. Would this place create a massive demand? Or would it in turn bring prices down? Economics, he knew, was not his strongest area of knowledge, but he knew the basics.
Later, he thought, bringing his gaze back to the distant light of the watchtower. As of now it is not important. Your duty is important. Focus on your duty.
Captain Song had explained it carefully to both him and Dawn back on the other side of the city. One thing the captain had been able to learn from their prisoner was that the Order didn’t have any idea how many of them there actually were, but based on the effectiveness of their attacks so far, seemed to be operating under the assumption that there had to be far more of them out there, and that the members they’d seen thus far were simply a cover.
Of course, Steel had been quick to point out that the Order’s own propaganda was likely playing a part in the assumption. After all, the Order held themselves very highly, and though they’d suffered losses taking out the remnants of the Guard who’d been part of the assault against the city before it had been lost to time, they’d still managed to bring them down. The prisoner in particular seemed to think that there were at least a hundred of them, aided by “treacherous rabble” in the city itself.
She had also claimed, much to the team’s dismay, that there had been no survivors of the invading Guard force. While there was a chance that her claims were as much a lie as anything else she could spout, Captain Song had admitted that there was a chance she was telling the truth. A Guard left alive, however, likely wouldn’t be held in one of the local watchtowers but back in the central palace.
Between the knowledge of how many forces they faced, as well as what their foe assumed they faced in turn, the captain had come up with a plan.
“We know what they’re expecting,” he’d pointed out. “Better yet, they have bad intel. So we use that against them. We prey on their fears and use it to maneuver them into a position that’s advantageous to us.”
The watchtower was closer now, and he slowed before ducking off the street, into a small space between a fence around what looked like an old carriage-yard and a warehouse. Time? The pocketwatch slid out of his saddlebags with ease, the faint ticking growing louder to his ears as he stared down at the dark face, waiting.
He didn’t have to wait long. A flash of light made it through the shield, lightning splitting the sky far above, and he caught a brief glimpse of the numbers. Ten-thirteen. Not quite time yet.
The plan was simple, if dangerous. Their foe was expecting a large, hidden force. Possibly overwhelming numbers. Numbers that the watchtowers couldn’t possibly hold back.
All they had to do was deliver on that illusion. Of the numbers, he’d clarified, not the illusion. Which was why they had split, each of them heading to a separate collection of watchtowers. Each of them had taken a pocketwatch from the station, carefully wound and set to a staggered time. Each of them had their instructions. Take the towers, silently and quietly, from the inside, leaving the pony at the peak for last. Then, at a predetermined time, create the illusion of a sudden, powerful strike—noise, yells, and other signs of general panic Steel had suggested. Then, within half-a-minute, disable the pony at the peak of the tower and snuff the light out.
Each of them had two targets. Once the first had been dealt with, they would move to the second and repeat the process on a tighter timetable. If the team acted in unison—or close to it, Steel had staggered the numbers slightly for each of their watches for a reason—the appearance from the central tower would be that a large force had simply swept in under the cover of darkness and taken a whole swath of the city at once.
At which point the best option available to the leadership elements in the tower would be to recall all of their scattered forces across the city to defend the tower. Local resistance could simply take the abandoned watchtowers.
And we can focus on getting rid of the rest of the Order in a single strike, Sabra thought, sliding back out of the gap and proceeding down the side of the street again, careful to stick to the shadows. Still problematic, but doable. And, as Steel had pointed out, far more convenient.
“The advantage of a siege is that you know where all your foes are,” he’d said, quoting another ancient commander. A griffon, Sabra thought, though he wasn’t fully sure. The sentiment had been said in various ways by a few other leaders over the centuries. Sometimes from both sides of such a strategy.
Still, the advantage in knowing that our foe has retreated to one central location will be enormous. The light ahead was getting brighter, the watchtower growing closer as his steady trot ate up the distance. But that is in the future. For now, he reminded himself, keep your thoughts on the present. Such as not being seen.
Staying unseen was vital. Not an hour earlier the massive, illusionary unicorn head had again appeared, reminding the inhabitants of the city that a curfew was in effect, and that all ponies seen out of their homes after dark would be considered “allies of our most hated foe.”
In other words, if one of us is spotted, the illusion of our attack could be broken. The watchtower would signal the central tower, and while it wouldn’t diminish their assault, it would make it much more difficult and possibly throw off their timing.
The timing was key. Captain Song had stressed it several times. Their attack had to look like a synchronized wave. If it broke, there was a higher chance of someone either seeing through the deception or believing that the “assault” wasn’t as capable as they wanted it to appear.
He slid into another gap, this time between two warehouses and wide enough for a small carriage to pass through. Again he checked the watch. Ten-twenty-seven. Closer still. He’d need to reach the watchtower soon, and then …
Sabra frowned. Then I must discover a way in and subdue its inhabitants both quickly and quietly. It is a shame Nova went with the lieutenant. His experience would be most welcome here.
But there was no sense in wishing for wells were there were none. It is what it is, he thought, moving back onto the side of the street. I will simply have to make do.
There was, thankfully, at least one major advantage held by the team. According to the crystal ponies, when the city had been cast into the void, it had been late in the evening—almost midnight. They had been held in that void for a number of hours, and then returned to the real world shortly before noon by their own clocks. Which meant that for many of them, not just the years had changed, but the time of day as well.
So by now, many of the Order will have been without proper rest for nearly a full day. Sabra came to a stop, eyeing the open street ahead and then the distant tower before choosing to change course, sliding down the side of what appeared to be … actually, he wasn’t quite sure. Stone-work maybe? There were a large number of crystalline pieces sitting around, as well as tools. And damage, he noted, spying a hole in a roof.
He passed it by, stopping at the next street down and following it closer to the watchtower. But still, they’ll be tired. Exhausted. They might even be sleeping in shifts.
Again, something that seemed better suited to Nova than his own skills, but … Wishing for wells again.
A shadow moved across the base of the watchtower light and he slid to one side, coming to a stop as soon as he was sure he was as far out of view as possible and waiting, ears straining.
Nothing. Wait!
A faint, long intake of breath, followed by a squeak.
A yawn. Their watch is tired. Good.
He waited a few seconds longer, until the shadow had moved again, heading for a different side of the tower, then began moving forward again. More quickly this time. As long as you stay quiet, you can move fast. Thankfully the hard, rubber-like substance covering the hooves of his suit did a good job muffling his movements. Soon the only thing between him and the wall of the Order Station was an open, empty street. He waited for a moment, eyeing the tower and listening carefully for any sounds of hushed breath, then moved across the street as quickly as he dared.
He hit the wall of the station a bit harder than he’d meant to, a faint thump echoing across the street, and he sucked in his breath, ears standing on end. Don’t move. Don’t even breathe. If you have to, just slowly let a breath out, nice and quietly, then inhale the same way.
Above him, he could hear hoofsteps, making their way around the tower slowly but surely, until they stopped just above him. Don’t … Move. Focus on those slow, quiet breaths. Another hoofstep from above, then a rattle, as if someone had kicked something.
A minute passed. Why didn’t I get into a more comfortable position? The guard was still right above him, so there was no chance of shifting without drawing attention, but … This is not comfortable. Please move. Go watch somewhere else. Go. Go, go, go—
Hoofsteps echoed from the watchtower once more, the guard moving on, back away to the other side, and Sabra let his position slip with a silent cry of relief. There are some positions one is simply not meant to stay in for long, he thought, rolling his shoulder and taking quick glances up and down the length of the wall.
It’s a warehouse. Or, at least, it had been. Before being turned into another Order Station. But warehouses have more than one entrance. He eyed the front of the station, facing the street, and then pulled his focus back toward the other end of the structure. Side doors, back entrances, offices. Something. Likely they would have walled it off, but with a little creativity …
He found it in the far corner of the structure, a single, simple doorway, an exit into the alley between the buildings. And as he had expected, it was walled off.
But how securely? He pressed his hooves against the crystal, probing for seams.
None. The doorway had been sealed. Likely magically.
But that can’t be every entrance, can it? He moved back toward the front, eyeing the base of the wall.
Nothing. No windows. No entrance to lower levels. Just crystalline wall.
What about above? He turned his gaze upward, eyeing the rooftop. Wouldn’t there be—wait!
There, interspaced along the side just under the overhang, were small, horizontal indents. Windows! Of course. For ventilation! And with a little extra kick …
The lip was thin but enough, and he pulled himself up slowly, wary of what he might find on the other side. With his back hooves bracing himself, and his muscles tight, he was able to hold himself at enough of an angle to try and look through the glass.
Nothing. Something had been placed in front of the window on the inside. But … It’s a start.
He dropped back down the ground, bending his legs to absorb as much of the impact as he could and moving back toward the rear of the structure, where he’d first found the door. It was still there, sealed, but above and around it …
What I need, he thought, jumping and bracing himself again. The glass was clear, if dusty, the space behind it unblocked. He pushed his head forward, shoving his muzzle against the glass and—
It didn’t budge. It was latched from the inside. Worse, he could see the hinges above him. It opens outward.
But … it would not stop Nova. Therefore, it will not stop me. I just need to know how.
Smashing the panes was out of the question. As quiet as the city was, it would be far too noticeable to create such a din. He dropped back down to ground level, eyes narrowing. There has to be a way … There is always a way. Perhaps if I removed the pins from the hinges, and then forced the latch …
No, then the window would fall inward, shattering inside. Unless … He peered back at his saddlebags. Unless …
It took him a minute to find what he was looking for, buried at the bottom of the bags. Tape. High-quality, sturdy silver tape that Sky swore by in her workshop. She’d insisted that it be a part of their standard kit. And now …
And now it looks like she was right.
Getting the tape onto one of the glass panes proved to be a more difficult challenge than he’d expected, but after one missed attempt and one near-fall arrested only by a single hoof catching against the sill, he was able to cover one of the panes completely in the sticky, tough substance and press it down as firmly as he could manage.
All right. He pulled his hoof back. Here goes.
A soft crack echoed out from under the overhang as he snapped his hoof into the covered pane. A crack … but nothing else.
It worked! Barabara! He poked the pane with one hoof, faint pops echoing back at him as the tape gave inward. Well, part of it worked. There was only one thing left to do. The first and longest bit of tape he had run right down the center, all the other pieces crossing over it, just as Nova had mentioned to do, with one end hanging free. He grabbed it with his hoof and began to peel the mass of tape back.
Amazing. He smiled as the mass of tape came free, carrying with it most of the glass that had been in the pane. It works. The few pieces still stuck in the pane would be sharp, but not a match for his armor. He peeled half of the window back, slowly and carefully, stopping to apply tape on the other side whenever it looked like a piece was threatening to fall free, and then simply reached in and undid the latch with a quiet click. The window swung upward with a faint creak, and with a quick look around inside, he slithered over the sill and dropped down inside.
Storage, he thought as the window swung shut with a faint thump behind him. It’s just … empty storage. Or perhaps simply a walled-off part of the warehouse the station hadn’t needed.
A flash of distant thunder gave him a brief moment of light—albeit dim—and he saw that he was correct. Dusty shelving and random boxes filled the small space, clearly tossed about without any effort. The labels were faded, unreadable even in the brief glimpse he’d been given, so there was no way of knowing what was in them.
Which was fine. The crates didn’t matter. What did was the door on the far end of the room. It was clearly unfinished—barely even a door. A slab of crystal that happened to have hinges seemed more accurate.
And a lock, he noted, eyeing the latch. It was … crude, but probably effective. At least, for the other side of the door.
Amazing, he thought, stepping up to it and eyeing the exposed innards. There’s cheap work, and then there is lazy, cheap work. The innards of the lock were open. From the other side, the inside, the lock likely appeared complete. But from the side that was clearly never intended to be looked at …
Simply amazing. He would have to tell Sky later, simply so she could marvel at the shameful craftwork. He paused.
Unless … the crystal ponies did it, and weren’t feeling too enthralled with their new rulers. The explanation also fit. Why bother doing a good job if you know they aren’t going to check? He examined the locking mechanism for a few moments, and then reached out and pulled a thin rod back. With a faint clunk, the lock retracted.
He waited a moment more, then two, his mind going back to what Nova had taught him about sneaking around and repeating it. Give it a moment. Don’t just open the door or hatch immediately. Somepony might have heard the sound, and come looking. Give them time to either make themselves known if they come to look for it, or to decide it was “just noise.” Then open carefully, in case of traps.
He took a slow breath, counting back from ten. How long had it been since he’d last checked his watch. Was he still on time? There was no way to check, but it didn’t stop a thread of worry from winding its way through his gut.
Still there was no sound from the other side of the door. He pressed one ear up against the wood.
Murmurs, indecipherable but nothing more. No low, resonant, metered impacts that would signify hoofsteps. And no sudden shifts of volume that indicated cries of alarm.
So far then, he thought, pulling his head away. So good. He took a step back and made a last-second check of his saddlebags. He had six horn-locks at the ready. All the team had been able to spare. If there were more than five ponies inside—and there likely would be—he’d just have to get creative.
Then again, that was what his Fimbo was for. Well, among other things, including the task he was now pulling it from his back for. He kept it compressed rather than letting it extend out, and reached for the door’s lock. He was forced to move a step closer to get the angle right, but then his gentle pull was rewarded with resistance, and the door began to swing open. He sucked in a breath.
Nothing. No shriek of alarm spells. No sudden surge of electricity coursing down the staff and through his limbs. Not even a flash of blinding light designed to both alert authority and stun a would-be trespasser.
I’m impressed by their lack of attention, he thought as the door opened wider. I would guess Nova would be as well. Reddish light spilled through the doorway, illuminating the storage area. In front of him, through the door, was another set of prison cells much like the one they’d found in the other watchtowers.
But not identical. There were more cells, for one, at least a dozen stretching down the length of the hall before him. The hall was wider as well, which he suspected had to do with both the building it had been built in … but also the large, shackle-laden table dominating the center of the room. Something that looked like rust flaked the chains. A shudder ran down his back.
Torture, he thought, eyes slipping to the metal grate beneath the table. For information, or just for intimidation. And out in the open where everyone in the cells would both see and hear it.
His gaze continued on, a hard pit taking up residence in his gut. He didn’t tremble, didn’t snort, but he could feel the cold knot of anger pushing him to move forward, to do something.
Especially now that he had a target. At the far end of the hall, a single desk jutted out from the wall, facing the cells. Behind it sat an Order unicorn, gaze fixed on his desk, and behind him, a door that likely led to the other half of the station.
Sabra’s eyes narrowed. A guard over their prisoners. One so bored that they hadn’t even noticed the opening of the door at the far end of the hall. At some point, however, he would.
Sabra slipped out of the door, moving across the crystal floor as quietly as he could, sticking to the far corner from the desk and keeping himself mostly behind the horrible-looking table. In the corners of his visor he could see the cells as he passed by them. A few were empty.
Most were not, and the hard knot in his stomach clenched. Some of the ponies were wasted by hunger. Others bore scars, or even open wounds.
One turned as he moved by and looked at him, eyes going wide as they saw what was outside of their cell. Carefully, slowly, not taking his eyes from the unicorn at the other end of the hall, Sabra raised one hoof to his muzzle, making the universal sign for silence. The crystal pony didn’t respond, but he could hardly blame her. Welts covered her back, sides, and forelegs, thick and purple against her coat.
They did this to her, he thought, continuing forward, gently setting one hoof in front of the other. He was only three dozen feet away now, past the torture assembly. He could see other eyes on him as well, but none belonging to the unicorn behind the desk. Sabra brought a front hoof back, reaching for his Fimbo. The distance shrank. Two dozen feet. A quarter less.
He was almost fifteen feet away when the guard suddenly looked up, eyes going wide as he saw Sabra’s armored figure. His mouth opened wide, preparing to yell and … the tip of Sabra’s Fimbo struck him right in the throat.
The staff fell to the ground with a clang, barely covering the strangled gurgle the unicorn made as they pitched back, both forehooves going to their throat. Sabra caught the unicorn before they could hit the ground, vaulting across the desk and putting his hooves under them just before impact. The unicorn looked up at him with wide, panicked eyes, horn sending out sparks of magic as he tried but failed to cast through the pain.
The eyes went wider still as Sabra pulled one hoof back and slammed it into the pony’s forehead. The panicked, gurgling gasps for breath slowed as he slumped back, stunned.
It wouldn’t last, but he didn’t need it to. One of the nearby cells was unoccupied, and he tossed the wheezing unicorn into it. They hit the ground with a heavy thump and rolled into the back of the cell. They were still trying to draw breath when he closed the cell on them. Maybe his blow to the throat had been too forceful, and he never would.
At the moment, he didn’t feel too ill at the thought.
He collected his Fimbo from the ground, placing it across his back once more, and with a final glance at the cells around him—many of which, he noted, had occupants watching him with curious eyes—moved toward the far door.
Move fast, he thought, sticking an ear to the door. They can’t get any sign of— His ear twitched. He recognized the sound emanating from the rest of the station, a deep, steady rumble that rose up and down in cadence and speed with each passing moment.
Snores. Several of them, all cascading over one another as they went. He waited a moment longer. Five … No! Six sleepers. There would likely still be guards posted, or at least a guard, but … My mission may be that much easier if I can take some of them while they rest.
The door was held shut by a simple latch, and he slid it up and out of place, allowing the door to open inward. He let it do so slowly, peering around the gap.
A sleeping area. The lights had been dimmed, the reddish light from the cells pouring through the crack, and he eased the door almost shut, heedful of how out of place it appeared.
Not that it seemed to matter to the six sleeping ponies resting atop cots across the room, or in one case, a couch. Not a sleeping area. A makeshift one. An open doorway at the other side of the room was illuminated, and through it he could see part of the rest of the station.
He swallowed. Steel’s instructions and training had been thorough. He knew what he had to do. Each of the sleeping ponies in the room before him was a potentially deadly foe. The fewer of them could react to his efforts, the better off he would be.
He swallowed again, his breath coming in shallow jerks for a few moments. You have practiced this, he told himself. Practiced it again and again.
But the thought of doing it to a living, breathing pony, even an enemy, still filled him with dread.
Then his mind slipped back to the battered, wounded bodies in the cells behind him, drained of magic and hope, and the dread faded. Not entirely, but enough that his breathing became more regular, the knot in his gut easing and burning with a faint fire, and he eased the door open again, slipping into the room as quietly as he could manage. He closed it carefully, going for a gradual shift in lighting instead of a quick one. One of the bodies on the cots tensed, mumbling something, and he froze, but then they rolled over, the sound of their breathing steadying.
Sabra slipped a hoof into his saddlebags, pulling out one of the horn-locks and stepping over to the closest pony. Like the others she was asleep, still in her barding. A thin red band was painted around the base of her horn, clashing with her green coat.
She was so tired she didn’t even noticed when he slipped the horn-lock into place, tightening it and cutting off her access to her magic. He waited for a moment, heart pounding, but her breathing stayed the same, steady pace, with no outer signs that she’d been disturbed.
One hoof hung at the edge of the cot, the joint perfectly balanced on the wooden dowel that made up the side. He slipped a zip-tie through a gap in the cloth and around the hoof, tightening it down with a faint cascade of quiet clicks.
Laughter echoed through the door at the far side of the room, and he jerked slightly, the zip-tie letting out a brief, more characteristic noise for its name. The laughter quieted quickly, faint voices striking up in its wake, though the tone didn’t sound as jovial as the laughter had suggested it might be.
The zip-tie began to meet resistance, and he slowed its progress, applying a little more tension before letting go and leaving the tail end sticking out into the air. The mare’s hoof was now firmly pinned to the side of the cot. It wouldn’t completely immobilize her … but it would make moving difficult if she woke.
And that was enough. He moved to the next unicorn, a stallion face down in a pillow. The horn-lock slipped down around his horn, but there wasn’t any way Sabra could see to quickly restrain him … At least until he noticed how the unicorn’s blankets hung over the side of the bed and all the way to the floor.
Knots, Sabra thought, scowling slightly. Despite all of Nova’s coaching, anything to do with rope or knots was still his weakest area of expertise. On the other hoof, however, he thought as he gently lowered himself to his belly, gently taking two hanging ends of the blanket and bringing them together. A knot you don’t have to untie—a tangle, as Sky and Nova both put it—is easier to make than one you do plan to untie. Over and over he wrapped the ends of the blanket,eyeing the stallion atop the cot to make sure he didn’t react the gradually tightening cloth. He looped the blanket ends through the struts of the cot as well, making sure it was well and truly tight before rising and moving on.
The next two cots he dealt with in similar manners, slipping horn-locks into place and then carefully incapacitating the inhabitants so that if they did awake, they’d spend the first few moments struggling just to move or react to what was going on. The voices from the front continued to mumble on in low tones, oblivious to his presence. So far, so good.
The sixth and final pony stirred and woke up as he was sliding the horn-lock into place, blurry eyes opening and staring up at him. “Wuz—”
Training took over. Sabra snapped his foreleg down into the pony’s throat, cutting off their shout and eliciting a faint gurgle as the unicorn’s body went rigid. Sparks began to roll off of the horn, fighting against the partially-attached horn-lock, and Sabra rolled his body forward, putting more weight on the unicorn and locking their head so his free hoof could finish tightening the horn-lock into place.
The unicorn let out a choked cry—not loud, but not quiet either. The murmur of voices from beyond the door slowed, a single phrase cutting across Sabra’s sphere of thought even as the unicorn he was restraining began to kick at the couch cushions.
“Did you hear that?”
There was no time. The horn-lock was in place. Still leaning into the unicorn, Sabra pulled his hoof back and drove it right into the side of the pony’s skull. It let out a dull thunk akin to two pieces of firewood being thrown together, and the struggling beneath him ceased.
“No, but I heard that,” another voice said. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back. “Hang on.”
Move? Or wait? Hoofsteps echoed from the doorway, a shadow sliding to block off the light. Move? Or wait? The hoofsteps drew nearer.
He dove over the back of the couch, rolling and landing on his hooves in the shadowed space between it and the wall. Wait, he thought as the hoofsteps drew closer, the light from the doorway fading as a body blocked its path. Right now, his target was alert and on the lookout. If they didn’t notice what had been done to the ponies in the room …
He waited, but there was no cry of alarm. The hoofsteps sounded again, the guard trotting a few steps further into the room. Then they turned and trotted back out, the light growing again as they left.
“Just one of them rolling over in their sleep,” the departing guard said. “Probably Nayus having a nightmare, the little ninny.”
“Serves him right for sucking up to get a sleep shift when there are Equestrians still around,” the first voice said.
“You are just unhappy about having to keep watch,” the second countered.
“Are you not? And do not dare to tell me you actually believe the rumors. It is a bunch of uppity shiners. Nothing more.”
Shiners? It took Sabra moment to place the term. Crystal ponies.
“Several of the towers have gone dark.”
“The king is away, and the shiners have been crying for a rebellion for some time now. It stands to reason that such wild rumours would spur them to action.” Sabra rose from behind the couch as the faint voices continued to echo. “Perhaps they finally saw some success. It will not last. King Sombra will not stand for it.”
Fortunate that it is not going to be his call, Sabra thought, sidling up to the doorway and looking through it. What greeted him was a collection of desks, much like the other stations he’d been in. A nearby door to his left led to a small bathroom, while further away and to the right, he could see two unicorns both sitting at a desk, heads pointed away from him and toward the front of the room as they talked. The open stairway behind them then likely ran to the watchtower at the roof.
“Either way, I wish they would answer us as to what happened to the sky,” the one said, turning and looking right in Sabra’s direction. “Why—?” The stallion’s eyes went wide, voice cutting out in shock as he saw Sabra’s helmet.
Sabra moved, darting through the doorway and hurling his Fimbo in one smooth motion. It scythed through the air, leaving a faint hum in its wake, before connecting with the unicorn’s skull just below the horn. The stallion went cross-eyed, slumping back.
His companion hadn’t even begun to turn his head when Sabra slammed into him from behind, driving him out of his seat and into the floor with a heavy thud that shook the room. Sabra rolled with the momentum, tucking his head under and scooping up his Fimbo as passed by it. He came up on his rear hooves, facing the two Order members.
Neither of them rose to meet him. The one he’d slammed into the floor seemed completely non-responsive to the world, while the one he’d hit with his Fimbo was at least awake, but completely dazed. He reached back into his saddlebags … and came up empty hooved.
Right. I used my horn-locks already. His eyes went back to the two lying on the floor in front of him. At least they should be stunned until I can get them into a—
A dull thud from the sleeping area made his ear twitch, and he bolted forward even before the faint strains of “What … What is going on?” began to echo around him. He rounded the door before the mare who had spoken had entirely finished, his hooves skidding on the crystal. The unicorn, who had just put a hoof to the lock around their horn, stared at him in shock.
“You have been arrested,” Sabra said, his voice low. “And restrained.”
“I … What?” Her shout of outrage was enough that the rest of the ponies in the room began to stir. “You dare—?” Her words cut off with an angry yelp as her rear leg, zip-tied to the cot, refused to move with her, and she fell to the floor. Around her the rest of the ponies were starting to wake up as well, letting out sounds of confusion as they each found themselves tied to their cot on in their bedding and their magic unresponsive.
Sharp, strong voice. Like with novices. Sabra snapped his Fimbo to its full length. “Members of the Order of the Red Horn, you are prisoners. Your magic has been restrained, and your station taken. You will proceed quietly to the cells, where you will be incarcerated—”
“Never!” One of the unicorns leapt at him. Or tried to. Partway through, their cot jerked after them, arresting their movement and sending them sprawling to the floor. As they began to rise, Sabra’s staff whipped down, and they hit the floor again, dazed from the blow.
He ran his gaze over the rest of the group. Several of them were staring at him with open mouths, fearful looks on their faces. Another was tugging at the zip-tie binding them to their cot, or were until they saw his visor fall on them. A third was clearly trying to cast spells from their horn with increasing panic.
“Who—?” one of them began, but he cut her off.
“I am Sabra of the Dusk Guard, acting on behalf of the Equestrian Government and its rulers.” The Fimbo snapped around his hoof, ends whistling through the air. The unicorn he’d struck was still lying on the ground, one hoof rubbing their head. “Surrender.”
“Or what?” It was the first mare he’d tied that had spoken, glaring at him from the back of the room. “There is only one of you and six of us. Even without our magic, if you believe that you can—”
The world spun around him as he flipped forward, whipping his staff around him and scoring glancing hits across the back legs and hindquarters of several of the still restrained Order members before bringing it to a stop just to the side of the mare’s jaw.
“You will lose.” He let no bluster taint his words, just cold, hard certainty. From behind him he heard a gasp, and he glanced back to see that the looks of shock on some of the faces had morphed from anger to fear. “Already today I have struck down a number of your forces. Soldiers, not just station guards. You are already beaten. Move for the cells.”
“And if I say no to a filthy dirt-digger?” The question came from the mare in front of him.
Do not back down. “Then I will knock you unconscious and throw you in myself.”
“Fine.” The mare hissed the word through clenched teeth. “And my cot?”
“You will drag it with you.” For a moment the mare seemed to be considering his words, but at long last she turned, dragging her cot by one hoof toward the cell doors.
“You will regret this, mud-pony,” she said as she went. Sabra took a step back as the others began to file past him, two dragging their own cots across the floor. Which left only the unconscious pony lying on the couch. He tossed them over his back and followed the five other order members back to the cells.
Thankfully, the sight of his Fimbo, his armor, and the state of the unconscious unicorn already lying in a cell kept them in-line. He split the group, leaving three in one cell while he removed the horn-locks of the others.
One tried to put up a fight as soon as their horn-lock was removed. The sight of their entire body bouncing off of the back wall of the cell, however, took the fight out of the rest of them, and they submitted with only seething glares and muttered descriptions of what would happen to Sabra once they got out.
They were still seething when he returned a minute later with the two front guards he’d incapacitated, and he added them to the cell with fewer members. Let them aid their own if they care, he thought, though he felt cruel for thinking it.
A few of the prisoners were still watching him, their expressions varied. He made a quick signal for silence and staying put, hoping the gesture was still recognizable across the centuries.
With that, he checked the other rooms, finding only another office much like the ones he’d seen before, its inhabitant absent, and then pulled the pocketwatch from his saddlebags.
It’s almost time. Captain Song would be taking down his watch any minute. And from there, he’d begin running to the next watchtower in line, to take it down with as abrupt a show of force as he could.
And during that time, Sabra would take his own tower, and begin the same.
He popped open his saddlebags, pulling out a ration bar and unwrapping it with a faint crinkle of waxed paper. He had to adjust his helmet slightly to eat it and be at the ready, but the station was silent, only the ticking of the pocketwatch to keep him company.
That actually went better than expected, he thought, chewing on the granola. But the next station will not be so easily taken. Not when all pretense of stealth will be gone.
He paused. Or will it? The Captain hadn’t specified how he took the watchtower down, only that it be done quickly. Nova would still do it silently. Why couldn’t I?
He swallowed, chewing almost mechanically. The front door is already out of the question, unless I can open it without being cooked by their spells. But if the next tower had another entrance as this one had.
Or … I could make one, he thought, glancing at the gauge in the corner of his visor. Come through the wall. It would make the watchtower less effective for whoever used it next, but … Whoever takes it could manage. And it would create an effective amount of chaos.
The pocketwatch ticked on. Not long now. He eyed the stairs at the side of the room, finished the ration bar, and slid his helmet back into position. Not long at all.
He let out a long, slow breath. I wonder what Sky is doing right now? Piloting The Hummingbird? Chasing a shade? He still wasn’t sure what a “shade” was, but then again, the rest of the team didn’t seem to really know either.
I wish she were here right now. Even just hearing her voice would be a relief, much less the touch of her hoof on his shoulder. Something to sooth the churning emotions in his chest he’d been ignoring ever since earlier that day.
Part of him wanted to meditate for a moment. Just to try and ease his mind. But there was no time. Nor was the station safe. Not yet, anyway.
Almost time. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and centering his mind, clearing his thoughts. The watch ticked onward, seconds sliding past. Captain Song would be running to the next watchtower now, while Sergeant Triage would be dealing with the inhabitants of her own.
The small hand of the clock shifted to the side, and he stuffed the watch back into his saddlebags, rising from his seat. It was time.
He snapped his Fimbo to one side, smashing it across the nearest desk. It skimmed over the surface, slamming into the nearby wall with a sharp crack that was almost deafening after the silence. He spun on, lashing out at chairs and other furniture. Wood snapped and splintered beneath his hooves, crashing into walls and bouncing off of desks. The din was a tumult of chaos.
And … finish. He tapped into his mod, strength bursting along his limbs, and bucked one of the desks. It crashed through the front doors of the station, ripping them from their hinges and catching fire as several spells went off.
That should be sufficient noise to alert the watch, he thought, galloping up the stairway. And now …
The watch was facing the central tower when he broke through the hatch, wood splintering around him. The unicorn let out a terrified yelp, the signal spell from their horn winking out, and then Sabra’s hoof caught her across the jaw. Her body went limp as it bounced off of the railing, though not unconscious.
“Surrender.” The mare nodded, and though her eyes smoldered with burning heat, she didn’t resist as he slid the horn-lock into place and bound her legs. Getting her down the stairs was another matter, but he wasn’t about to put the mare on his back and carry her. Not with how sharp the tip of her horn looked. Between its point and the rage simmering in her expression, the moment his attention went anywhere but her he was certain she’d attempt to shove it through a gap in his armor.
So down the steps she went, hobbling and mumbling curses. He didn’t even move to help her when she fell, rolling over twice before coming to a stop. She is the enemy, he reminded himself as she glared at him once more, hobbling down the steps. Still, it felt … wrong, to watch her stumble along. I could help her to the cells, he thought. Rather than making her—
His mind flashed to the crystal ponies locked in the cells, and his hesitation vanished, the impassive wall clamping down over him once more like a suffocating but comforting fortress. She played a part in that, he thought as they reached the ground floor. She did that to them.
The mare’s eyes widened as she took in the destruction, and she nearly stumbled again, catching herself as she turned to look at Sabra. “Where … Where is your army?”
He said nothing. He didn’t feel like speaking. Instead, he simply pointed his staff in the direction of the cells. The mare hung her head, eyes still wide, the spark of rage replaced by something else.
Fear, he thought, following her through and into the cell block. The two cells of Order watched them as they walked in, a few calling something, though their voices were low. Insults, though he didn’t know the terms. Sabra trotted up to the group with the lesser numbers and motioned for the mare to get ready.
On the other side of the crystal cell door, the trio of unicorns standing tensed.
Ah. He slid the key into place. Of course. All three of them were leaning forward now, their intent obvious.
Very well. The cell door opened with a click, and as he began to pull it to the side, all three charged, spells lashing out from their horns.
His immediate reaction, judging from their expressions, caught them off guard. He charged into their magic, trusting Sky’s armor to do its job against the weakened-spells. Two of the them, thin due to the draining aura of the cell, bounced from his armor, reflecting off into the walls. The third sputtered out before it even reached him, breaking apart into motes of light that he powered through to meet the unicorns head on. The two in the lead, while shocked, reared up, hooves at the ready in a weak approximation of an offensive stance.
Weak and ill-prepared. He took both of them at once, leaping forward in a sudden rush and ducking under their outstretched hooves to catch both of them in the gut. Both ponies folded as they flew back, the full weight of his rush lifting one of them from the ground and throwing him against the far wall.
The third unicorn dropped to the ground, hooves over his head. “Don’t kill me!”
Sabra froze, almost tripping over his own hooves, blood-stained crystal rushing through his mind. “I—”
Something slammed into his back, throwing him across the cell in a blaze of pain. Reflexes took over, and he tucked his limbs tightly in, twisting so that his hooves hit the wall first, absorbing the impact and kicking off back in the direction he’d come.
It was the mare from the tower. While he’d been distracted, she’d managed to get the horn-lock off. Her fury was back in full force now, and his eyes widened as he saw the black miasma pouring from her eyes.
What under the sun? He threw himself into a slide, ducking under a dark orb of … something … that flew past, crystal plates squealing against the floor. He jumped next, his body spinning as he drew his Fimbo.
A purple wave of energy swept over him, this time bringing no pain, but shoving him to the side enough that the tip of his staff missed the mare’s horn by inches. The spell’s color and look were unfamiliar, but the function wasn’t. Broad-scale magikinesis, he thought as his hooves touched the ground once more. Useful, but limited.
The jagged black bolt of magic that shot past him next however, blowing apart the wall as it struck and leaving a smokey trail behind it, seemed to have a far more focused application. He spun and dropped to the side, ducking another blast as the mare let out a rage-filled cry.
“Stand still!” There was something off in her voice, a humming resonance that made his ears hurt and sent a chill down his spine. Another black bolt arced out of her horn, a scorching burst of lightning that seemed to suck the very light out of the air as it arced past, just missing his side. Behind him crystal shattered and exploded. The miasma was whirling around her now, toxic-looking clumps of purple magic oozing out of her eyes, ears, and nose before fading into smoke.
He whirled around another attack, leaping and twisting as the bolt slashed by beneath him, leaving a scent that churned his stomach. The magic around the mare seemed to be arcing off of her body, bounding back and forth between her and the black smoke.
“I will do what must be done!” the mare cried, her voice growing even more distorted, like she was vibrating at very high speeds. More bolts arced out at him, but her aim was sloppy, each one going wild.
Movement from the open cell caught his eyes. The Order members in it were on their hooves again, moving to join—except when one reached the cell door, he began to try and pull it closed, eyes wide with terror.
Sabra’s eyes darted to the mare once more, now almost completely surrounded by black smoke and writhing, twisting purple energy that spun like a storm. Black bolts etched charred marks across her flesh, scorching her armor. Purple light poured from her eyes, glowing almost as brightly as her horn.
It took only a moment to connect her actions with her words, and he dove forward, strength flooding through him as he pulled at his mod. The mare was too far gone to even move out of the way, her body crackling with energy as it consumed itself. Black bolts licked his armor as he dove into the storm around her, stinging his flesh. Pain coursed through him, iron spikes of agony striking his limbs. He let out a howl as he swung.
The blow struck home, the force of his mod behind it. Ribs snapped like kindling as the mare flew through the air, laughing even though her chest had to be half-collapsed … and fell through the opening of the cell, her shoulder clipping the closing door and throwing her into a spin. The unicorn that had been trying to close the door let out a scream and fell back, scrambling back up against the wall of the cell.
The door! The cell was magically shielded, so there was a chance … Sabra jumped forward, ignoring the pain in his forelegs as he wrapped his hooves around the handle and began to pull. One of the other unicorns in the cell let out a cry and threw their body forward, crawling across the ground toward the shrinking gap. One hoof cleared it, and Sabra grabbed it, pulling hard and all but throwing the unicorn out of the cell even as he continued to press the door shut. The mare was cackling more madly now, her voice less a real thing and a magical, resonant hum that seemed to fill the air.
The cell shut with a sudden click, the magic field sealing once more and somewhat muting the sound on the mad mare. The unicorn that had been trying to close the door seemed to have noted it as well, throwing themselves forward with a look of panic and pounding against the crystal. “No! Don’t—”
Sabra threw himself to the side, tucking himself into a ball as the black sphere where the mare had been seemed to shrink … and then a moment later a titanic wave rolled over him, sound and fury born as one exploding through the room. Violet light poured from the cell, ripping the reinforcing from their frames and shattering the crystal.
Then it was over, a strange silence falling in the explosion’s wake. Sabra stood slowly, eyeing first the ceiling to make sure it didn’t appear to be coming down, and then the cell.
It worked, Sabra thought as he caught sight of the shattered crystal lying on the far side of the room. It was charred and broken, the pieces alternating between bright reflections and burnt sections of black. The unicorn he’d thrown free was lying underneath several of them, chest faintly rising and falling, but apparently otherwise unharmed.
The same could not be said of those that had stayed in the cell. Sabra’s stomach flipped as he caught sight of charred bones, still arrayed into the shape of their owners. At the center of the cell, the skull of what he assumed was the mare grinned up at him, a black smile of triumph. The once-pointed horn was charred and partially-melted, as if it had been made of wax and held up to some great heat.
Around it, across the floor, the crystal was shattered and charred. The walls had cracked as well, but held, and he turned his gaze away from the grisly sight, instead peering at the cell next door. The inhabitants were pressed against the far wall, shuddering in fear. The wall on their side had bulged outward and was laced with cracks, but still held.
Good. They’ll be out soon anyway. As long as they’re unharmed.
His heart was still pounding, and he forced himself to relax. The deaths clawed at the edges of his mind, screaming to be acknowledged.
He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a gentle sigh. Later.
The unicorn that he had thrown to the far wall was mostly unharmed when he shifted the crystal off of them. Several smaller fragments had punctured their coat, and there were burns across their hindquarters from the explosion, but neither appeared life-threatening. The smell of the latter made his stomach clench once more, and for a moment he feared he was going to need to yank his helmet off. Then his insides settled, and he began to pull the Order unicorn’s unconscious body across the floor.
The other cell was silent as he opened it, none of the occupants doing anything other than fixing him with horrified stares. It wasn’t until he’d shoved their unconscious fellow in with them and closed the door once more that he bothered to look down at himself.
No wonder they’re scared. He shoved the urge to tremble down once again as he looked at his forelimbs and then the rest of his armor. The gray surface was charred and pitted, dark marks coursing across it. Here and there the angular plates had suffered small chips, or in one case, another hair-thin crack. All in all, it didn’t appear to be that bad.
But it looks terrible, he thought, rising once more and noticing a deep, stinging pain from each place on his body where one of the charred marks had hit. Like part of his limbs had gone to sleep, only more painful. Very painful, now that the adrenaline was fading.
He shook his head. No stopping. You still have a tower to clear. He glanced around the cells, noting how many of the crystal ponies were eyeing him with suspicion or fear.
“Here,” he said, walking up to the cell that seemed to hold the healthiest of them. The cell door let out a faint click as he undid the latch. Against the silence of the room, it might as well have been his Fimbo whipping against the floor. “I apologize for the wait. Take these keys, let everyone else out. Close the front door and wait for help. Or, if you know of someplace close that will be safe, go there.” He tossed the keys to one of the occupants, who missed them and sent them skittering across the floor.
“Wait!” The cry made him pause. “Where are you going? Who are you? Are you with the Princesses?” The questions spilled out in a rush, like spilled water, flowing over and around one another.
“I am a Dusk Guard in the service of Princess Celestia and Luna of Equestria.” He paused. What do I say now? “A lot has happened, even in the last day. As I said, stay here and keep safe. Care for those here who need it. Help will be along shortly.” I hope. “I need to go.”
He all but ran for the front door. Only because you’re already late. The fight in the cell blocks had taken a minute, no more, but it put his part of the operation behind schedule.
And cost the lives of—No! Don’t think about it. The deaths were clawing at his mind again, screaming for attention as he galloped down the street. Ahead of him his target blinked like a frantic beacon against the night.
She blew herself up. Killed herself and several others. And for what? Power? Control? He pushed himself as hard as he could, trying to make up for lost time. Is this what their king’s rule was? Destruction and torture?
He pushed forward harder, the sound of his hoofsteps echoing back off of the buildings around him, bouncing and rebounding until it sounded like he was at the center of his own herd.
He could hear shouting coming from ahead. He was almost at the watchtower somehow. Where had time gone? The voices echoed around him, mixing with the sound of his hoofbeats.
“They’re coming!”
“Grab that—”
“Drop it! We need to get to the tower! Everypony—”
There were almost a dozen of them, most unicorns, as well as several terrified crystal ponies who seemed to have been given heavy wagons to pull. They were all standing in front of the tower, several lighting the area with their horns. Some had already turned to run, ready to abandon their fellows as the rolling cacophony of Sabra’s hooves rushed out of the shadows at them. Several stood their ground, one even pointing a light down the street at him, eyes widening in surprise.
“Wait! It’s just—”
Whatever the mare had been about to say was lost as Sabra leaped into the air, launching himself high above their beams of light, and dropped down in the middle of their pack, Fimbo whirling. Screams and cries filled the night as he lashed out in all directions, mod at full power. The Order fell before him like bambara beans before a thresher, bones breaking, screams echoing through the night. A spell shot past his ear, singing the fur, and he whirled, catching another Order member by the rear legs with his staff and flinging them at the one whose horn was lit. They both went down in a tangle of limbs, some of which were probably broken. He flipped back over another trying to charge him from behind, landing on their hindquarters and shoving them down into the ground. He launched himself back, striking two more as he passed them.
Four were down. Then five. Then seven. A shield blocked his blow, only to shatter as he drew on his mod once more, punching through it and blasting the unicorn at the other side across the street. They went through a window.
Nine down. A flash of light from the tower matched one at his side, and he turned as a heavy warhammer, gripped in the magic of the unicorn that had just teleported, slammed into into the side of his helmet. He snapped his head back and rolled with the blow, coming up on his hooves and just ducking a second blow as the unicorn swung again. His head was swimming, but the roll had tempered the impact. He kicked another of the Order unicorns into the warhammer’s path as he fell back again, and its owner hesitated.
It was the only window he needed. He jumped up and over, blocking a frantic swipe of the hammer with his staff and bringing his elbow down atop his attacker’s horn. They let out a cry of pain, the magic field around their hammer winking out. The cry cut out a moment later when the rest of Sabra’s blow came down atop their head.
The door to the station burst open, three more unicorns rushing out. All wearing armor. Two were holding long, bladed halberds in their magic, the last simply lit their horn and sent a barrage of glowing missiles streaking across the street.
Weeks of training with Nova, Sky, Hunter, Dawn, and Steel took over. He threw himself to the side, the missiles zipping past and twisting in the air as they tried to hit him. He let go of his Fimbo at the apex of his spin, the metal staff cutting through the air toward the distant spellcaster. One of the soldiers with a halberd batted it to the side.
They weren’t able to do the same when Sabra kicked one of their compatriots at them. The soldier stepped to the side, juking out of the way—and the body slammed into the spellcaster, who went down with a shot.
Only one of the original Order members on the street was still up, and seeing Sabra without his weapon, they rushed at him, light beaming from their horn as they formed a spell. A telekinetic grip seized at his armor, only to slip away as he shoved through it and slammed a hoof into the unicorn. They went down hard and didn’t get up.
The two soldiers had rushed forward, and he blocked a swipe of one halberd with his armored foreleg before jumping over another. Beyond them, their supporting spellcaster was getting up, and angry sneer on their face and black smoke leaking from their eyes.
Spellcaster. He kicked one of the halberds aside and dodged around its wielder, ducking low as a follow-up swipe cut through the air where his head had just been. The Order unicorn—mage maybe, by the look of them—was on their hooves, horn aglow. A wall of smokey miasma rolled out and over everything. Sabra threw himself to the ground—
Panic swept over him, a cascade of images and terrors flowing through his mind. Then it was gone with the smoke, though he could hear screams behind him. In front of him, the unicorn’s eyes glowed an ominous purple, while behind …
The trio of crystal ponies that had ducked away from him in fear were charging right at him, eyes glowing the same sickly purple. One of them tripped over a body, slamming their nose into the pavement and falling to its side. It continued to run in place, blood streaming down their muzzle.
Dark magic! One of the darkest, no less. Sabra spun back around, sliding on one hoof around a blow from a halberd, making for the mage and—
His rear hoof yanked out from underneath him, throwing him to the ground. He rolled, a second halberd slashing into the ground where his neck had just been. The second warrior tried to hook his hoof with magic again, and he yanked away, back toward the oncoming crystal ponies. The mage was charging another spell, clearly talented enough to keep loose control over the crystal ponies and still cast. The two soldiers were rushing him again, halberds at the ready. His Fimbo was too far away to get to, and cut off by the soldiers in any case.
His hoof bumped something heavy and solid, and the answer came in a flash. He rolled back, grabbing at it and then jumping forward toward the soldiers, dodging a sloppy tackle from one of the controlled ponies. The soldier saw him coming, saw the hoof whipping around for a strike, brought his halberd up to block, and … the wooden shaft shattered as the warhammer Sabra had grabbed crashed through it, splintering the wood without so much as a pause. It’s owner let out a cry of pain, the light of their magic winking out as the feedback rushed across their horn.
He however wasn’t the target. For the second time, Sabra let go of his weapon, the hammer spinning out across the street. Then there was a sharp, brutal crunch of impact … and the mage let out a scream of agony as their horn snapped at the base, loose magic exploding out of them and lighting the night. The controlled crystal ponies slumped to the ground at the same time that their controller did. Hopefully they’d be okay.
He didn’t feel the same about the mage.
A halberd darted down at him, but he rolled forward, wrapping one hoof around his Fimbo once more. He took the wounded soldier first, laying into him with a barrage of rapid blows to the face so powerful that they held the stallion upright until they were over and he could collapse to the ground.
One down, he turned his attention to the second soldier. For a moment the stallion froze, then he threw his halberd to the ground and lowered himself to his belly, forehooves up in surrender.
Sabra’s hoof cracked across his jaw hard enough to twist his head, stunning him. A moment later, he slapped a horn-lock around his horn and looked up and down the street. He was the only one standing. He glanced in the front entrance of the station, checking for any sign of danger, and then, without a word or a sound dropped to his haunches.
Steel and Dawn would meet him here soon. He just had to stay put. For a moment all was still and quiet.
Then his hooves started to shake, followed by his whole body, trembling as everything caught up with him in a rush.
He was still shaking when Dawn arrived some time later.
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Sabra, poor zebra.
He's going to need a lot of mental help after this.
And for all his things, he's becoming something else too, an icon of the guard to these crystal ponies.
Still, yeah, at the point, theres not likely to be many crystal unicorns left alive outside the towers, especially if the ponies are willing to revisit their kindnesses in the jail cell.
Oof! Brutal chapter. Sabra is not simply a monk anymore. He is definitely a warrior, a soldier. The experiences will continue to change him and what he might find on his quest for an answer to his question.
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Pardon me, but Any hints for Emoticon and this with what you've claimed?
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Claimed? With regards to what? I mean, context of Emoticon here.
9828243
The meeting he had, and the little girl he helped calm down during duress and his meeting with a particular practicioner.
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Time will tell.
Shell shock was the term they coined over a hundred years ago to describe the type of mental injury Sabra is beginning to deal with... after being at the detonation point of an earth shattering kaboom and having been surrounded by death along with inflicting death all while dealing with a second concussion on top of a recent one, he has the cards stacked against him right now. He is going to need to exercise that quality meditation of his soon before it all get too much and Dawn will no doubt have words regards the second blow to the bonce.
Poor lad has had almost everything thrown at him so far... one thing could make it even harder and I definitely hope he does not have to deal with that soon.
Magnificent chapter and very awe striking! The madness of Sombras most skilled Ponys is pretty clear. I dont really see any of em get less than lifetime imprisoned.
Duct tape? Useful stuff!
How the hell did he cover a whole window with tape silently?
Loving the story so far, but to me this is one of those little immersion breaking things you talk about in your BaBW posts.
Retaking a city from tyrants is never easy. But damn are the Guard doing it well. Poor Sabra though... Sky needs to get back here and give him a hug.
The combat in this story has been fantastic! This chapter hardly felt like 11,000 words. It's made even better by Sabra's perspective. His grappling with the horrors of combat is outstandingly well-realized. Really wish I hadn't sat on this story for so long!