Deum Ferrum
“Pinch me.”
The tone in the voice of the Iron Warrior was one of derision, even outright amusement. Rorke barely heard it. The Champion’s head pounded like some infernal drum dragged from the Immaterium, the pressure building inside feeling like it would burst free and consume him at any moment. As the blood roared in his ears, Rorke’s vision swam with a haze of red; warping tendrils played in the corner of his eyes, whilst guttural whispers danced on the edge of hearing. Something deep inside told him that what was happening was probably bad, to recite the Unbreakable Litany and remember his duty as an Iron Warrior. He ignored that voice, too.
They had formed a makeshift barricade at the edge of town from the remains of shattered carts, houses, and masonry. It was a shoddy effort, one that would have been universally frowned upon by the Legion, but considering the situation at hand it had been judged more than adequate for task. Four of them were behind it now; Rorke’s three brothers stood with weapons held at rest over their chests, watching the oncoming tide with typical cold dispassion. Rorke was hunched in a feral stoop, tip of the sword trailing on the ground – the energy field crackled as it blackened blades of grass. It was the first time it had truly been still since the attack began. All four seemed to be oblivious to the sounds of chattering bolters, revving chainblades and screaming Xenos emanating from behind them.
“Tanks? Blood of the Gods, they’re actually going to deploy tanks against us?” the second Olympian asked.
“Of a sort.” The third one said. This one sounded the least impressed of all, possibly owing something to the bronze gargoyle-mouthed Lascannon he held at his shoulder. What was left of the rational part of Rorke’s brain tried to remember his brother’s name. He couldn’t. “Though to call them ‘tanks’ may be a compliment. They make the Eldars’ vehicles look ironclad.”
Considering what they had seen of the Xenos’ military capability so far – besides a few guards, nothing – it wasn’t an unimpressive armada arrayed against them. Had he bothered to count, Rorke would have noted at least fifty of the ramshackle wooden vehicles converging on their positions. They made an unmistakeable grating, clanking noise as they drew nearer, great belching torrents of steam coming from the hodgepodge array of chimney’s protruding from the tops of the vehicles. There seemed to be little standardisation in their design. Some, mostly those lagging behind at the back, were outfitted with plates of steel armour, whilst others were not. Some had comically oversized cannons that could not hope to be used efficiently by such a low-tech species bolted to the top, whereas some were devoid of a turret altogether. Many bore names scrawled on the side – Clown Face, Mighty Mare, Fightin’ Filly – yet the results of such primitive construction became apparent when one came to a spluttering halt more than ten metres from the outskirts of Ponyville. Two or three others also slowed down, to help their malfunctioning comrade.
Even after all this time, the Xenos’ predilection towards helping one another was still bemusingly quaint.
“So, which of us gets to be the lucky man that relays this information to Lorkhan?” One asked. His voice sounded distant to Rorke, ringing in his ears. The Champion twitched.
“You think he needs us to tell him?” The Lascannon wielder again.
“Still, I suppose we should call the others.” The last Astartes insisted. “If they’re done engaging unarmed civilians in heroic battle, they might want to turn their attention to the planet’s fearsome military.”
“I lost track of them a while ago.” One of them said. “Where the hell did Varvillon go?”
“Out.”
“Barbus?”
“Not sure.”
“Mordecai?”
“Don’t care.”
Their discussion was interrupted by an almighty roar from the heavens. As one, all four Iron Warriors, Rorke included, turned their blank gazes skyward. A streak of blue, a spectrum of light trailing in its wake, hurtled over their heads. Rainbow Dash paused in mid-air, wings flapping and straining to keep her aloft as she panted hard. She took off again in a burst of noise as the titanic Heldrake barrelled after him, licks of green fire snapping at the Ponies’ tail. A beat of the Engine’s wooden wings sent a gust of wind throughout the town.
They watched her fly, helmet-optics and enhanced senses allowing the Marines to keep her in their site. The Lascannon-toting warrior took a step forward and hefted the weapon skyward, bringing the targeting reticule up to a glowing red eye. The crosshairs lined up over her perfectly, keeping Rainbow firmly in their sites no matter the evasive manoeuvres she tried to escape the Dragon. He exhaled finger tensing on the trigger.
“Leave it.” One of his brothers said, placing a hand on the barrel and lowering the fun. “It’s not worth the effort. Besides, let the Burdened have its fun.”
“Besides,” The last Iron Warrior chuckled. “Isn’t she Rorke’s girlfrie-“
From his deceptively still position, Rorke rounded on him with lightning speed, spittle flying from his helmet grille as he brought a knee crashing into the Iron Warrior’s midsection. The other two managed to hook their arms round his and drag him back before he could plunge his blade into his brother’s face.
“Later.” One hissed. Rorke slavered like an animal in their hold, but began to calm, though the sound of drums and baying hounds still echoed through his mind. Something occurred to him even in his fevered state. From the way they tensed, it seemed to occur to his brothers too.
“Has anybody noticed,” One of them began. “That that clanking noise has stopped?”
The fusillade started a moment later. Cannonballs, smaller proto-bullets and bursts of magic of every colour hurtled towards the Iron Warriors; individually, they could not hope to even momentarily bother an armoured Space Marine, but a concentrated barrage of magical energy seemed more potent than any would have thought. The Iron Warrior that Rorke had assaulted barely got back to his feet before being slammed into to floor once more, the variety of shots buffeting him and leaving dents in his ceramite plate.
“Friendship should be nerfed.” The heavy-weapon baring Iron Warrior growled, stepping out from his makeshift cover into the street and lining up another shot. This time he fired without hesitation. The lance of crimson light blasted from the mouth of the gun, spearing through the air and slamming straight into the prow of an approaching vehicle. One of the ponies managed to jump free before the craft was engulfed in an explosive fireball. It did him no good, a cartwheeling splinter of burning wood impaling him through the neck seconds later.
Rorke was already moving, judgement and reason lost to a miasma of red rage. He pulled himself up the side of one of the nearby houses that remained more or less intact, gauntleted hands easily penetrating the wooden walls. He reached the roof, screaming and howling like a World Eater as he sprinted towards the edge. Every step left a hole in the tiles. He reached the lip in little time, and with another frenzied cry hurled himself off towards the field of tanks below.
It was luck rather than planning that saved him. Several of the Equestrian vehicles joined their companion as flaming wrecks as the second Heldrake unleashed a torrent of baleflame, swooping low over the battlefield. Rorke grabbed onto one of its talons as he fell, left hand cracking the wood as it tightened. It was a precarious hold at best, and more than once even the Space Marine was threatened to be dislodged as the Daemon Engine banked and swooped. He used his sword as a scythe, decapitating any unlucky Pony who deigned to pop their head out a turret’s cupola.
Eventually, something told him to let go, and he dropped through the roof of a lightly-armoured vehicle feet first. One of the Xenos was crushed instantly by his weight. Another fell to a slicing chop from the power sword. The last, a grey-maned creature, seemed to succumb to whimpering terror as the red eyed monster that set about him reached slowly towards his neck with an outstretched hand. A quick grip on the bone snapped it, soon silencing that problem.
Rorke stayed just long enough to plant the grenade before bursting from the side of the construct, not even slowing as it detonated behind him. One of the others was turning, cannon on top bringing the Space Marine into its sights. It fired a weighty ball of metal that clipped off his pauldron, staggering him for a fraction of a second. Rorke let loose a blood-curdling cry, throwing his sword end over end without slowing his pace. He vaulted atop the tank, then back off it as the blade sliced straight through and came to rest on the ground. He knelt to retrieve it, turning this time to admire his handiwork. The wooden beast ground to a halt, and was promptly wrenched from the ground and tossed away like some child’s toy by a pass from the Heldrake.
More were coming. Some tanks kept on with their tasking, to be met by and destroyed upon the guns of his Iron Warrior brothers. Others pivoted to face the threat in their midst. Good. Let them come. Rorke slew indiscriminately, without thought or care. He was only vaguely aware of the blood that ran like a river at his feet and stained the ground red, genetically-engineered mind teetering on the edge of a precipice. The sword rose and fell, rose and fell, again and again. On the killing fields of Equestria, the tribute Rorke had offered –willingly or not – was realised in a furious roar erupting from his lips.
“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!”
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“I say, would you care to join me for a sport of tea?”
“Be silent.” Lorkhan growled, eyes still firmly fixed on the Rhino’s tactical display. Mordecai shrugged off the Warsmith’s abrasive tone with a typically stiff upper lip, taking another sip from his enamel-white cup. He tried his best to keep the noise to a minimum, in order to resist inflaming his Lord’s temper further. It didn’t seem to work.
“Can you truly not do that anywhere else?” The Warsmith snapped, finally rounding on his brother. They were both now safely seated inside the Growler’s confines, armour appearing almost crimson in the red-tinted light. The Mechatendrils coming from Lorkhan’s armour were huddled close around him, snapping and hissing like impatient children. The sorcerer did not seem to take offence from his chastisement, though as he levitated his helmet back over his head, his face was nonetheless a picture of concern.
“Let us be reasonable, old friend.” He began in a level tone. Lorkhan growled at the word ‘friend’, but didn’t interrupt. “I know you well by now. It is apparent that something is bothering you. Come, I would not have you suffer in silence.”
Lorkhan was silent, eventually returning his attention to the glowing lights of the screens before him. Mordecai’s response was an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. “I would wager it would be an improvement on just sitting here and doing nothing, sir.”
It was true. After its initial rampage through the hordes of Ponyfolk, the Growler had been pulled into a secluded location and now just…waited. The engines still hummed their usual throaty noise, but they did not move even with the onset of Equestria’s tanks. From what could be readily ascertained, Lorkhan was watching Canterlot; Mordecai hadn’t questioned this, trusting his lord to know what he was doing. Even his patience was proving to have its limits, however.
“We just need to wait for the shield to fall.” The Warsmith said. He sounded distracted, like he wasn’t really talking to Mordecai. “Something will drop it, eventually. Then we can make our move.”
“And all these explosive chemicals you have stashed back here?” The Psyker went on. That was something else they hadn’t discussed; most of the Growler’s troop compartment was filled with barrels of promethium, gunpowder, and whatever other volatile substance Lorkhan seemed able to have got his hands on.
“It’s part of the plan.” Lorkhan assured him. He made an indecipherable noise, though the first impression was one of irritation. “Where the bloody hell is Zuko? His helmet rune’s blank, and every attempt to raise him on the vox has ended with less than sterling success.” Perhaps it was his own imagination being over-active, but Mordecai could swear the eyes of Lorkhan’s helmet grew more suspicious as they narrowed on him.
“A technological malfunction would seem the most likely cause of the calamity, sir.” He lied. “No doubt he will join us for the final attack. One must consider that the final purge will take a considerable amount of ti-“
“’Final Purge’?” Lorkhan asked, sounding somewhere between disinterested and derisive. “What in the Primarch’s name is that meant to mean?”
It actually took Mordecai a moment to respond. “Forgive me, my lord, but it stands to reason that the Warp will not be able to fully envelop this world if we do not provide it with a sufficient amount of sacrifice-“
“The Warp isn’t going to envelop this world, Mordecai.” Now Lorkhan’s voice could be described as a growl. “I have no intention of turning this place into some Daemonspawn’s playground, or feeding the souls of virgin innocents or whatever to your Gods. We are not staying to witness more of our blasphemy. What we are going to do is this; we are going to storm that castle, I am going to cut Celestia’s head from her shoulders, and then we are going to find a way home and go back to the fights that matter. Do I make myself clear?”
“You are lucidity itself, my Lord.” Mordecai’s helmet was scant centimetres from Lorkhan’s as he replied, and for once there was the faintest touch of frost in his voice. Several items that were not strapped down inside the tank quivered, as telekinetic energy leaked forth from the Sorcerer’s frame. Lorkhan appeared – or pretended – not to notice, instead focusing back on the view before him. Canterlot still stood tall and proud on the side of a nearby mountain, the glowing purple shield surrounding it on all sides. It reminded Mordecai of when they had first come here, imprisoned and at Celestia’s mercy – and then how they had accidentally defended the city and won a chance at life. It was only a few short months past, yet even to Mordecai the world seemed a very different place.
Any further reply was forestalled by a new, curious sensation. The ground reverberated audibly, each shockwave sending shivers up his armoured spine. The brown liquid in his mug shook and rippled with each rumble. He looked up, usually calm and placid features creased in a perplexed frown. Lorkhan wrenched the top hatch open, allowing the two Space Marines to pop their heads out and get a better look.
“You asked what we were waiting for,” The Warsmith said with more than a hint of smugness. Mordecai could only stare as he pointed. “That ought to do it.”
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“The rain is falling up.”
Varvillon’s observation drew the attention of his brothers as he approached. The group of four Iron Warriors stood in a small town square, flanked on all sides by burning buildings and the crushed remains of fountains and market stalls. They carried an eclectic mix of weapons – meltaguns, power mauls, a missile launcher – yet Varvillon approached armed with a classic bolter and chainsword combination, a sniper rifle slung leisurely over his back. His undefiled Mk 7 helmet scanned them in turn as he joined them, red eyes unblinking. They stared back.
He was not incorrect. The rain was falling upwards. What had begun as an impromptu, curious storm had now evolved into something far more sinister; the sky was stained red and rumbled with something they all chose to believe was thunder, whilst the rain had begun to emerge from the ground and flow upwards back into the heavens from where it should have come. Shadows danced and twisted at the edge of perception, whilst sounds that should not be there echoed if one did not block his mind against them. There was a general understanding of why this was, not that any dared speak it. In his heart, each Iron Warrior knew he carried with him the taint of the Warp. To introduce that to a land that had never before been exposed to such malevolence was like a virus from another planet – no immunity, no resistance…
No chance.
“I see your powers of observation have not diminished.” One of them growled as Varvillon reached the squad. “Where in Perturabo’s name have you been?”
“Tying up a loose end.” He replied, bionic jaw making his chuckle distinctly mechanical. “You’ll love it, I promise.”
“I don’t care what kind of rare orchid or whatever you’ve found.” One of them muttered. “You missed most of this…I won’t even call it a battle, that’s far too generous.” A general chorus of laughter emerged from their vox grilles. Varvillon remained stoic until they were done.
“Are one of you injured, brothers?” he asked. They looked at one another, not understanding. It took a gesture with his chainsword to make realisation dawn. “I only ask because you appear to be congregating outside the hospital. I thought one of you may have scraped his knee or something.”
Ponyville hospital looked more like some mansion than a medical station, but the red cross on the board outside betrayed its function. Curiously, it had so far been untouched by the fighting, though the Iron Warriors had maintained a keen vigil to stop any refugees from seeking sanctuary within. “It’s their last stronghold.” One of them explained. “We’ve been sent to eliminate it.”
“Then our thoughts are aligned.” Varvillon retorted, this time devoid of humour. “I have a commemorative plaque to deliver.” Again, they seemed bemused but he was in no mood to educate them. “Where’s Vortun?” He asked, looking around. “We could use him.”
The answer came when the charred remains of one of the Xenos exploded through a nearby wall, crumpling to the ground without grace. Vortun stalked through in his traditional stoop, the Lascannon sprouting from his arm still smoking. A maddened look twisted the Obliterator’s fluid features. It was no surprise; the Heldrakes notwithstanding, the two remaining blessed warriors had easily racked up the highest kill count in the slaughter so far.
“Vat do you vant, you tardy shithead?” He asked, after he had calmed slightly. Varvillon didn’t rise to the bait, already walking.
“We’re going to the hospital.” He informed him. “You used to be an Apothecary, you’ll enjoy that.” Vortun bristled at the mention of his past life, but did not argue as he fell into step with the other fourth legionnaires. As they approached, they launched a salvo of grenades – or in Vortun’s case, a plasma cannon blast – through the windows. It had the desired effect, shrieks of fear cut prematurely short by the muffled sounds of explosions and glass being blown out. The Iron Warriors wasted no time in making entrance, kicking down the door with an utter lack of subtlety.
Unlike his brothers, who stayed to slaughter the various doctors and patients trying to flee down the corridors, or Vortun, who began to tear down support beams and set the building ablaze, Varvillon’s path was straight and direct. His boot smashed through the wooden door of the doctor’s office with little grace, the Space Marine forcing entry moments later. Doctor Wellwhinny was halfway through the window, in some desperate bid to escape, as Varvillon caught up to him. He yanked him back roughly, the pony hollering and struggling weakly as he grasped onto the white coat.
“Hello again.” Varvillon said, keeping his tone level. “The donation proved most useful, the Legion thanks you.”
“W-what are you doing?” Wellwhinny stammered as they left, other Iron Warriors and Obliterator falling in behind Varvillon once the slaughter was done and the building collapsing. “Where are you taking me?”
“I promised something to commemorate you.” was Varvillon’s reply. “I intend to keep it.” Wellwhinny did not reply, but groaned in fear as they emerged back into the streets of Ponyville. Behind them, the hospital gave another groan as it fell in on itself.
“There’s something that bothers me.” One of the Astartes said, seemingly to break the quiet as they walked. He took the lack of response as a cue to go on. “In all the stories you here of battles like this, the peace-loving indigenous creatures always seem to have nature on their side.” He inclined his head towards the Everfree forest, looming on the horizon. “Why isn’t the world fighting back against us?”
They had to double back as Varvillon came to an abrupt stop, Vortun giving an irritated rumble. It took them a moment to realise he was chuckling again.
“You’re going to love this.” He promised, a curious intensity filling his voice. Their questions were forestalled by a new sensation – the ground rumbling and shaking beneath their feet at slow, ominous intervals. They turned to the source of the noise, not one able to formulate a response. Even Wellwhinny stopped thrashing and just stared.
The Hydra’s heads erupted from the top of the Everfree’s tree line, hissing and snapping with teeth that even from a distance, looked ferocious. Yet, the monster was dwarfed by its sparring partner. It was a wolf that walked, the midnight black of his armour melted away by the burning pressures of re-entry. Teeth that could never bite glistened in its canine mouth, whilst its body was pock-marked by the scars of a thousand worlds. A single burning spark of red flickered in the centre of its dark eyes.
“That…that’s a Warhound Titan…” One of the Iron Warriors said, completely unnecessarily.
“Ze Lupus Nox, to be precise.” Vortun corrected, sounding only slightly more composed. “Vhere in ze name of ze Gods did you find a Varhound Titan?”
“Apparently, our friend in the Legio Mortis over there managed to survive the fall as the ship broke up when we arrived.” Varvillon explained, eyes not moving from the Titan as it brought a clawed foot smashing down onto the Hydra. The beast roared in pain, heads thrashing wildly as it fell back. “Its crew perished, predictably, but when has that ever stopped us before? Mordecai’s dalliances with the Immaterium seem to have given it the kick it needs.” They took an involuntary step back as the Titan turned its eyes towards the mountains; and Canterlot high upon them. Throwing its head back, the God-Machine’s warhorns let out a deafening blare.
“It’s going to take a while for its guns to make ready, of course.” Varvillon admitted. “But in essence,” He sketched a mocking bow, a feat made more difficult by his power armour and the hostage he carried. “We win.”
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“You’re an ugly beast.” Barbus observed, tilting his head sidewards. The Iron Skull fixed him with its typical penetrating glare, not replying. Then again, it never did.
Putting their own Legion symbol on the front of the Pony’s house was almost comically arrogant, Barbus reflected – but then again, who was he to deny his brothers their little points of pride. Fluttershy had never complained about it in any case, or if she had Lorkhan had never bothered to mention it. It wasn’t like the Warsmith ever talked much about what he did with her, but Barbus wasn’t one to pry. He would never understand what Lorkhan saw in her, but right now he wasn’t here, and there was an unpleasant job to do.
He hadn’t wanted to break into a pony’s house the last time he’d been coerced into it, either. That one wasn’t even a IV Legion-built fortress, and Barbus was surprised as he realised that he couldn’t convince himself that this was for a better cause. It wasn’t that he had a particular affection for the yellow Xenos, but it was clear she wasn’t going to fight back, and praying on the weak for the sake of it had never sat well with Barbus. A familiar face, eternally wrapped in iron, flashed through Barbus’ mind. He suppressed it, trying to ignore his own darkening expression.
The most curious thing was that the battle cannon hadn’t fired. He’d actually forgotten about it as he’d approached, swearing and cursing as he dived behind a rock in an effort to not get blown apart. Even when no shot was forthcoming, it had taken him a few moments for him to poke his head over the top. The fortress was outfitted with a fearsome array of Legion weaponry. Not one of them stirred.
What’s up with you, then? The Marine thought as he stood, arms folded across his chest, staring at the dwelling. The skull sigil still glared back. It took a few moments for the answer to form.
You’ve turned it off. He found himself grinning, though he didn’t feel particularly cheerful. You’ve actually turned the system off…well, talk about a Red Herring. Still, it paid to make sure. He set off towards the building at a leisurely place, stepping over the various tank traps and trenches they had dug in Fluttershy’s grounds. He fumbled with his belt as he drew nearer; before the fighting had started, he’d made sure to stock up on a good supply of Melta Bombs. Leaving his precious Autocannon behind had been a challenge, but ammunition for it was painfully low, and he couldn’t bear to see it mistreated. He primed one of the bombs now, hurling it over-arm towards the impressive cannon that sat atop the roof. It detonated with perfect timing, consuming the gun in a fireball and blasting it off its hinges with little effort. He waited for the satisfying crunch of steel hitting the ground before he moved again.
The second bomb had the magnetic clamps enabled, easily latching onto the front of the steel door. Barbus flashed the skull icon a sloppy salute before the thermic charge detonated, blasting a considerable hole in the doors in the small storm of fire. Another Space Marine might have felt some guilt at defiling his Legion’s symbol so, but Barbus felt only the briefest pang of remorse. After all these years, it was hard for it to be soiled any more.
The life signs inside became readily apparent. He cycled through all the different views his helmet could provide –thermal, infrared, targeting – before deciding it did not matter. Sliding the rack on his bolter back with grim intent, Barbus ran straight towards the moat surrounding Fluttershy’s house.
He was inside less than three seconds later.
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“O-okay, I’ll try and deal with that…I know it’s cold little one, please, I’m trying my best…I-I’m sorry, I’ll come and try and help in a second I promise….”
By all rights, Fluttershy should have had a stroke by now. It was hard enough for her being in a social situation with one pony she didn’t know too well; a whole host of them, crowding around her in the confined space, was almost too much. She stepped gingerly through the crowds, wings and ears flattened against her body as the Pegasus tried her best to allay the fears of everypony. So far, she hadn’t met with much success.
There were about thirty of them, all crushed into the steel confines of her dwelling. It wasn’t long after the awful noises had started to ring through the town that they had started to arrive; Fluttershy almost felt a pang of annoyance at how they now expected sanctuary after shunning her for her new home, but it was nowhere near enough to override her protective instincts, and she had let them in without delay. She had been keeping a lookout, but – worryingly – not one of her friends had so far arrived. She chose to believe that they were trying their best to defend the town, or were otherwise safe, but the implications were still frightening to the timid girl.
She didn’t know which one Lorkhan had meant when he had told her they were…were…
“Umm…Ms Fluttershy?” A small voice spoke up from her legs, bringing her from her reverie. Silver Spoon looked up, purple eyes trembling. “A…Are we gonna, like…die?” the filly asked with a shaking voice. The words were like a lance to the Pegasus’ heart, but she forced herself to bottle it up in front of the child. Instead, Fluttershy wrapped a forehoof around her, pulling Silver Spoon into a light embrace.
“We will be fine.” She lied. “The Princess won’t let anything bad to happen to us, I promise.” Fluttershy attempted a smile, to exude a confidence she didn’t feel. It seemed to be only marginally effective, and not for the first time today she wished Rainbow Dash was here, if nothing else, she would have kept their spirits up.
The chatter came to an abrupt halt as the ground shook, as if some primeval god had decided to descend to the mortal plain and join the fray…she just managed to stop herself thinking ‘bloodbath’. Fluttershy couldn’t stop herself whimpering quietly as a second quake rocked the earth. The effect was widespread, it appeared – even many of the bigger stallions had begun to tremble, whilst the only voice that pierced the silence was the wailing of a tiny infant. It took Fluttershy a moment to realise everypony was staring at her.
“I…I’ll go and have a look…” She promised, voice was barely above a whisper, before she turned tail and almost ran up the stairs. Fluttershy was the antithesis of violence, she considered it one of her best qualities, but she couldn’t stop herself almost cursing the fact that she’d had to disable her weapon systems. It wasn’t like she’d been presented with much of a choice; the guns were indiscriminate, and would have torn the sheltering ponies apart the moment they entered. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she realised that Lorkhan might have engineered that intentionally.
It had taken her a while, but she had finally managed to convince Lorkhan only days ago to increase the size of the ‘windows’ built into her home. The tiny slits were now more practical, though still a shoddy excuse for home comfort. Now, though, she wished they were back the way before – if only to spare herself from the sight before her. Fluttershy’s mouth hung open as the canine-headed monstrosity loomed out of the Everfree. Its body was covered in scarred, black metal, but she could not deny that it was very much alive. For a moment, she seemed to catch one of its hungry eyes. The Pegasus retreated, trying her best not to succumb to hyperventilation.
Her breath caught as she heard the first clang, on the roof. The noise of a muffled explosion followed swiftly after. Fluttershy couldn’t move, every muscle locked rigidly in place as she stared forwards. Her throat was dry, and it was getting harder and harder to breath. Blackness crept at the edge of her sight, threatening to overcome her.
The second clang hammered into the door.
She couldn’t even scream as the detonation rocked the house, already galloping under the cot-bed she had been given and pulling the covers down to conceal herself. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, almost threatening to go into some kind of arrest. She willed it to stop, willed herself to stop shaking. From the vague impressions she could get of the now-dark world around her, the ponies downstairs had no such restraint. They screamed, crying frantically, desperately trying to get out and save themselves. Something else left heavy footfalls as it walked, reverberating through the fortress; they weren’t as heavy as the devil-machine outside, but somehow they were far more frightening.
A year ago, Fluttershy’s innocence would have been preserved. But now she knew enough to know what gunfire sounded like. She knew the noise of bullets bursting bodies open, of bone shattering, of chainsaws slicing through flesh. The gruesome symphony raged seemingly all around her for ten long, awful seconds. It stopped as quickly as it had come, the last few hungry revs of the chainsaw lingering in the air. There was not a single voice from below, now.
She didn’t even have time to consider poking her head out before the steps started again. It was on the stairs. It…it was coming up the stairs. It was coming to find her.
“I know you’re here.” The deep, gravelly voice said. It sounded almost…bored. “I can see your tiny little heart beating…it’s threatening to shut down.” It was getting closer now, just outside the room. “You are threatening to throw yourself into cardiac arrest…I’ve never realised how useful these helmets are, before.”
Fluttershy bit her bottom lip hard, actually drawing blood as she tried desperately not to break down and cry. If there was any chance of the beast lying, of it not knowing where she was…
It was in her room. Fluttershy stifled a gasp, unable to stop a few tears leaking out as she squeezed her eyes closed and mouthed a silent prayer. She’d thought that in a situation at this, she’d want to see Angel Bunny or one of her friends, but almost to her shame she found she didn’t…right now, Fluttershy would have given anything to see her mum again. The footsteps echoed around her, the small confines of her room making the sound of steel on steel ring in her ears. She heard every minute chatter of her teeth, every sharp breath she inhaled.
It…stopped. A low buzz filled the air, setting the girl’s teeth on edge, but the sound of boots methodically pacing the room halted. Fluttershy couldn’t even breath as her eyes snapped open. It…had it…had she…
The bedclothes were ripped from over her, Fluttershy’s eyes immediately locking with the two burning red orbs of the kneeling Iron Warrior.
“Boo.”
She squealed. Forgetting every hurtful playground chant for a moment, the yellow Pegasus flapped her wings harder than she ever had before, hurtling down the stairs in a blur of yellow motion. The dark iron walls of the building around her seemed to close in as she flew, feathered limbs straining to propel her. She only took in the briefest glimpses of the charnel house her home had become, the mangled and indistinguishable bodies lying broken on the floor. The noise of the Space Marine following her down the stairs was only a distant ringing in her ears as she sped, aiming straight for the hole in her door. The sky looked corrupted and bloodshot from what she could see, but it was light and the possibility of freedom, and that was enough.
She was close. So very close, it almost wasn’t fair. The wind tickled Fluttershy’s face as it happened, almost beckoning her arm. The gauntlet clamping around her leg brought her to such an abrupt stop that it practically pulled it clean out the socket; that was to say nothing of the crushing pressure the hand exerted, breaking the bone within in more than one place. She screamed as the agony shot up her spine and lit up the nerves in her head with pain, hooves trailing limply down to the side of one of the interface’s control panels. The Marine exercised only a marginal degree of gentleness as he lifted her, holding the pony at arm’s length like some limp marionette dangling from a string. Through the haze of pain clouding her eyes, Fluttershy tried to focus on him. The horns that curved from the side of his helmet gave him the appearance of some cast-iron bull, but what drew her attention the most was the glinting, wickedly serrated knife – that looked more like a sword – he held in his other hand.
“It’s a shame, Xenos.” He said as he raised the knife to her eye line. “The Warsmith grew fonder of you than any of us should, and he’s enough of an emotional cripple as is…but if you don’t tell him, then I won’t.”
All her life, Fluttershy’s timid urges had made her lean towards flight. For once, something within her mind seemed to decide on fight. With a cry of effort, she stretched out, using the pain as a catalyst. She almost missed, almost threw away her chance, but with one final push her hoof slammed straight into the control panel.
Authorisation granted.
Fluttershy knew the rumours as well as anypony else; that the Iron Warriors knew no fear. But it seems that they did know surprise. Against all odds the Marine relinquished his grip on her leg, spinning and drawing the Boltgun clamped to his leg. She wasted no time capitalising on the opportunity, forcing her wings to give one last push and jettison her through the broken doors and into the outside.
She did not hear Barbus manage to mutter “Oh, sh-“, before the Autocannon shells ripped him apart.
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A deamon possessed warhound scout titan, the only way this could be any more overkill would be if they summoned angron and his jolly band of blodthirsters (with ugly christmas sweaters and santa hats for maximum holiday spirit).
Now give that Titan a plasma blastgun or a vulcan megabolter and an inferno gun that spews massive amounts of warpfire and everything is set for total absolute monumental world ending overkill.
I don't even care that Rarity and whoever else are dead!
So long as Rainbow and Fluttershy are alive, I'm good.
Throw Twilight in there for good measure, but she's apparently been insane fr quite some time.
3642512
The image of an eggnog-hopped up Angron in said Christmas sweater riding a makeshift sleigh pulled by Bloodthirsters, dispensing holiday cheer in the form of Chainaxes falling from the sky, is not one I expected when I woke up this morning.
3642670
Judging by your username, I can only assume that that's a compliment.
3643852
Even I couldn't bring myself to kill Fluttershy like that. We're Iron Warriors, not psychopaths...right? Right?
I'd just like to say these last few chapters have given me great inspiration in wiping filthy Traitors from the face of any and all planets they occupy. In fact my Gigontomachy fanfic shall have an entirely new chapter dedicated to this endeavour.