> EAW - Chronicles of Equus
>  by Mr Unidentified
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Under One Flag
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


It has been roughly 50 years since Queen Chrysalis rose to power in the Hives. 


At that time, she was lucky to rise above other Changeling queens with her dominant hive.


And soon, through the right of conquest and with strategic alliances,


Chrysalis became the one true queen of the now united Changeling Queendom.


Yet her ambitions did not cease.



Although several political intrigues demanded her attention, 


Such as the border conflicts with Olenia and rumors of dissent amongts drones, 


Chrysalis plotted a daring coup to secure an endless supply of love from the Equestrians during a wedding,


Simultaneously declaring herself the master of all Equus if she succeeded. 


And succeed she almost did.



With her shapeshifting, she managed to infiltrate Canterlot with the form of Princess Cadence.


The Royal Wedding was crashed, and a large swarm assaulted the city.


Ponies tried to defend the city, but it was an exercise in futility. Casualties mounted.


Everything was falling into place. She was so close to victory.


Yet she failed.



In a last-minute intervention from the Elements of Harmony,


In tandem with the overwhelming love from the engaged couple,


The Changelings were repelled, and the invasion was an absolute failure.


It was the first time in her reign that Chrysalis was decisively defeated.


Soon, voices whispered of her failure from within.



Now, nearly five years after her failed coup, those voices are becoming louder than ever.


Yet even still, her iron grip is still clutching the nation tighter than a taut cable.


Only her sheer willpower was keeping the hives together at that point.


As time passes, whispers disputing the queen’s legitimacy begin to surface.


If she wishes to move forward, she must secure her reign with an Iron Hoof first.



—


A leather-clad Trimmel is currently flying above the outskirts of Vesalipolis, his destination being the great glass and concrete tower in the center that stretched up above the city. It was still under construction, so only the base of the tower was formed thus far. There was no sense of urgency or worry for Trimmel, only contemplation. Questions rang out in his mind, but no answer came to be.

He had been visiting Vesalipolis on a diplomatic mission. Trimmel was, by all means, a level-headed and intelligent Changeling. Compared to his brethren, he was exceptionally more intuitive. But even so, he could not for the life of him figure out what it was exactly as to why he was here.

He had been called by the High Queen herself, in a confidential piece of writing that only he had the privilege of reading. The letter was hoof-delivered by a dedicated courier from the hives. Why the queen couldn’t use a telegram to call for Trimmel instead of relying on some courier was still lost on him.

He questioned it but he dared not disobey. If the queen was giving specific instructions, the last thing one should do in that predicament is to question her objectivity. It was a surefire way of being exiled or worse in her Queendom.

The tower zoomed closer as he flew towards it. He made his way to land at the base of the structure to the bottom. There laid the grand entrance that revealed the original hive spire inside, transmogrifying and ever changing throughout the exterior walls of the original spire. The interior walls remained the same as the exterior; Only the subtle difference of the walls being carved on the inside gave any hint of contrast. 

Trotting inside through the main entrance, he was greeted with a large chasm, almost like an atrium. There were Queen’s Guards buzzing around the room, doing their patrols of the Tower Grounds. Two of them were standing near the entrance of this chasm and immediately made their way toward Trimmel weapons ready.

“Who are you?” One of them asked, more indignant than bored. 

“An expected guest. I come with a letter from the Queen.” Trimmel answers honestly as he holds aloft the sealed letter he received, with the seal of the hive visible to see. The guards immediately acknowledged his legitimacy and offered a salute of a hoof, of which Trimmel returned the gesture.

“We shall escort you. The queen is currently in the throne room.” the other guard declares, to which Trimmel nods. In the minutes that followed, Trimmel followed behind the Changelings that knew this particular hive better than him as they weaved through the tight corridors ascending ever higher. Soon, they were greeted by a very large Chasm that stretched very high up into the ceiling, with dozens upon dozens of eggs scattered about. So many were they that Trimmel assumed that it took up a least a quarter of the square area of the floor at least.

Each of them harboring larvae. A new drone. 

And surrounded by these eggs stood a spire that hosted a throne one could say looked otherworldly. Its material made up of a stronger and reinforced hive musk, carved expertly to resemble a seat to host any creature; a metaphor to their innate way of life. 

But Chrysalis was not found.

“We are here.” one of the guards announces bluntly, before saluting to Trimmel one last time. As the latter returned the gesture, the guards left without another word. Trimmel turned and still found nobody.

Now he was confused. He began to trot forward, looking around the room cautiously. He was not daft and unaware of the current political turmoil that had bedraggled the hives and the leadership, thus he immediately sensed that he was either being tested or led into a trap. He approached the throne very slowly, darting his eyes around for anything out of the ordinary. 

But still, nobody was there. Trimmel was entirely alone.

“And here you are.” a reverberating, almost sultry like voice instantaneously conflicted his assumptions. 

Trimmel looked above him to see who called out. Chrysalis was hugging a very large looking cocoon attached to the ceiling, tending to whoever was inside. She was not donning any formal attire, and only her endoskeleton was shown. Trimmel was curious as to why she was up there, but more importantly—who was contained? 

“My queen?” Trimmel innocently asked, hinting no more other than that he was confused.

Chrysalis took that with astute perception and immediately answered to him. “Just tending to one of my recently captured traitors among my council. I found him attempting to steal one of my eggs.”

Trimmel cringed. She sounded eerily nonchalant about the encounter. Almost like it was nothing. 

“Shouldn’t someling come and pick him up for detainment?” He asked benignly.

“It has been many moons since I had cocooned a victim, Changeling or not. I was seeking Catharsis.” 

Trimmel could somewhat understand that, relenting his questions.

“You are here.” She digressed, making full eye contact with him. Her glowing irises pierced through him.

“That I am.” He replied evenly. 

“I assume you have followed my instructions to the letter?”

“Indeed, my queen.” 

Chrysalis’s lips gave a subtle twitch as she floated down from the cocoon. Trimmel, however, did not take his eyes off the ceiling. 

“May I ask?” he simply pointed up, voicing his request. 

Chrysalis contemplated, double-taking the pod and Trimmel.

“Of what?”

“Who exactly?” Trimmel asked. He did not say any more than that. Short and sweet.

“Like I said, someone from my council.” Chrysalis dismissed. Trimmel knew it was futile to try any more than that.

Trimmel turned to see the Queen trotting onto a balcony. It overlooked much of the city, scaffolding for the placements of glass panes in her new tower still hugging the exterior below her. There were smaller hives dotted around the city limits, but many were buildings constructed that resemble a mimicked style of architecture from Olenians, Griffons, and Ponies alike to better suit the Changelings. It provided a little bit of a jarring view, but it was almost poetic. A race of Changelings adopting the architecture styles of their race and others. 

Trimmel followed behind but not closely. He maintained a good distance from her as they both slowed to a halt. 

“... Questions cloud my mind every single day,” Trimmel could hear Chrysalis murmur. 

“Every time I look at my advisors, my generals, my scientists, my guards, my drones, my new larvae, I am plagued with indecision. Not a day goes by where I don’t have a premonition of others undermining my authority. It seems like those I think I can call worthy are nothing more than cowards.”

“Um.” Trimmel quietly hummed.

“I am living on borrowed time. Every day is drawing closer to a boiling point within our nation. I wish to yank the roots of treachery out of our garden… and yet, I cannot.”

The queen’s head hung low, and she was uncharacteristically silent.

“My Queen?”

“... Not with these loveless, INCOMPETENT, BACKSTABBING TRAITORS!”

The queen’s horn glowed violently, increasing tenfold with each scolding word before finally reaching a boiling point. A large, sickly green orb of magic was forming at her horn, resonating with vicious contempt. Trimmel backed away a couple of steps fearing for the worse. But as he was about to flinch back, the light began to wither. And soon there was calm once again.

A deafening, apprehensive silence encompassed the space between the two. Trimmel could hear Chrysalis taking a breath as she turned around. Her acrid stare pierced his soul. 

Yet Trimmel did not react. He remained as still as a statue. He swallowed the excessive saliva he had that was tightening his jaw, ever so slowly to not show weakness.

“You are Loyal, Hivesmarschal.” Chrysalis began with a contemptuous grimace. “You are Competent. You are efficient. You are diligent to my demands to the letter in every task I have given you.

“You have proven your use to me again, and again. And even with your newfound promotion, you’ve sought not to abuse it.” Chrysalis began with a lighthearted commemoration, locking eye contact with him. Yet even still, he did not react. No movement of the face, no twitch of the muscles; no hint of fear.

"In Stalliongrad, you were proven to be adept in personal combat with your first trial by fire, and it was partially because of you that the infiltration was a large success."

Still no reply. It began to chip the queen’s nerve.

"You were critical with the infiltration operations in Canterlot years ago. If it weren't for the miserable subjects that had failed me—and for that incompetent fool Vaspier—you would have been hailed as a hero for your involvance."

Yet again, no response. Trimmel patiently waited for her to finish, sensing that he assumed what a test of some kind. Finally, his assumptions were confirmed.

“... Do you expect me to trust you more?”

Trimmel was motionless. He opened his mouth to answer, then ceased to contemplate. In his eyes, Chrysalis was expecting a definitive yes or no answer. Whether it would add fuel to the queen’s burning Ire or not caused polarizing voices to debate in his mind. 

He knew better than to show weakness, however. He inhaled sharply after a brief pause.

“No.” he uttered, with great effort to sound even and objective.

Now the Queen was still. If Chrysalis was angry, she made a great effort to conceal it.

“I imagine that those who have a better opportunity to destroy your Crown Authority are the ones that are closest to you. In light of that, no; I don’t expect you to trust me.” Trimmel blinked, then gazed to the floor with his eyes. “At least not until I have proven myself truly worthy of it in your light.” 

Chrysalis was silent for a long while. She scanned Trimmel head to hoof for what felt like years--in the span of a few seconds. Not a word was uttered between the two. Trimmel’s head hung low in reverence; no movement was made from either of them.

It was Chrysalis first that broke the stillness with a twist of her body. The Cerise Evening sky casted golden rays from the western horizon, illuminating a portion of the throne room beyond the arching walkway.

No exchange was made for a solid minute or so. Trimmel was understandably dazed by this sudden silence. Chrysalis then slowly trotted all the way towards the edge, basking in what little view she had. Upon slouching her hooves along the railing, she turned her head ever so slightly and peered back at him from the corner of her eye. Her expression was unreadable.

“I am under threat, Trimmel. From within more than from without. You are correct in assuming that I do not want someone I can trust. But right now, I need someone I can depend on.”

Trimmel was caught off guard. She had never used his birth name before in any conversation, this was extraordinary for him. She turned her whole body around, her back towards the balcony.

“I’d say there is a fine line between trusting someone and depending on someone, wouldn’t you agree?” her lips twitched to a subtle grin. 

Trimmel felt a heaviness in his chest, but if he was feeling anxious he made no show of it. “I do, my queen.”

“You say that now, but five years from now? Would you be loyal then?”

“What of the future, my Queen?” Trimmel boldly asked. “You are our pathfinder in these trying times. If there is anyone who has a clear sight of the future, it is you.”

The Changeling knelt before his Queen immediately after his gracious words, fueling more of the Queen’s ego enough to see past her own contempt. 

“And if you see me in the foreseeable future that me or those under my command are disloyal to you, please let me ease your worry by having me swear to you utmost loyalty; from me and my subordinates; here and everywhere; now and for all time, until our demise.”

Trimmel kept his head hung low for the longest time, not daring to move out of his stance. Chrysalis too remained still, Trimmel’s words clearing sending a shock to her.

She felt something surge within Trimmel’s magic, something faint… yet it was permanent. She didn’t know how long this energy within him was contained, but she knew it was there to stay. Some kind of… devotion, perhaps? 

But something about it was… familiar. It had a scent… a taste. Upon realizing that it had both she figured it out. “There is love inside of you.” she idly remarked, no hint of anger or hostility; no wry ridicule of any kind. 

Trimmel felt something jolt inside him, but he didn’t quite understand what.

“I can taste it almost; it’s radiant…”

Chrysalis scanned Trimmel top to bottom after her comment and felt satisfied. She trotted closer towards Trimmel, as non-threatening as a changeling queen physically can. 

“But I can also sense that you have ulterior goals to fulfil. And I demand to know what exactly that is.”

Her tone bordering Goading and Coaxing, Chrysalis confronted Trimmel by standing merely a hoof’s length away. Trimmel was getting mixed signals from her. What he can make out from this conversation is a sort of test of some kind from the Queen. A test of loyalty, perhaps, but something told him it was more complicated than that.

What he knew for certain was that she was expecting an honest answer. And thus far, Trimmel had been able to oblige… But was Queen Chrysalis really looking for honesty, or just blind reassurance? 

“I do have motives, your majesty, though I would debate whether or not they are ulterior.” 

“Then enlighten me.” She sneered. 

Trimmel looked down to the floor for a few seconds, before steeling himself with a deep inhale through his nostrils.

“I wish to help better suit the nation—your queendom—as a whole. However, you will be my Queen and only you. Be it through military or upper echelon management, I will be loyal and will serve my purpose to the end.

“I wish to aid you in your advancements of the Changeling Race, be it through the right of conquest or in diplomacy—however possible—and to help sustain our people for generations to come.

“I wish to live in an era where we are finally respected and not shunned by every other race in the world like we are just monsters when we are just as complex as they are. In an era where there is nobody left but us to be the masters of this continent.

“And I do believe, in full respect to your authority, that I am serving my purposes by serving you. As long as I am serving you, I am serving myself. And as long as I am serving myself, I am serving you.”

The queen was stunned, but she could not deny herself that she was also impressed by his savviness. Chrysalis was only a few meters away from him as both locked eye contact. Neither of them wavered or flinched.

“You’ve proven your fealty.” Chrysalis commemorated. “But I see potential for improvement.”

The Changeling Queen circled around Trimmel idly. 

“In what exactly, my Queen?” he asked, still facing forward.

“Your military knowledge and strategic prowess have not gone unnoticed by high command, and myself. And with your recent promotion as Hivesmarschal, I am sure you wish to showcase your talents even further, do you not?”

“I am willing to serve whenever possible.”

Chrysalis gave a smirk, as she rounded back in front of him again. “If what you say about yourself is the truth then, how would you like to assist me even further?”

Trimmel bowed. “What is your bidding?” He asked with diligence. 

Her horn flashed for a quick moment. Moments later, there was an overwhelming aura surrounding her. The green flames encompassed her for a few seconds, then faded. Chrysalis was revealed afterward to be fully dressed now, in her Snow-White military attire. Her jacket bore the crown emblem of the hive, and so did her cap. After the transformation, she proceeded to trot behind Trimmel; towards the throne.

“I make no effort in hiding my hatred for traitors, Kommandant. I abhor them.” she practically snarled at the word. “If they expect me to succeed, they must have faith in their queen. How can they expect me to move this greater hive forward if they are rivaling me from within?”

“You cannot, my queen.” Trimmel answered for her while slowly following behind.

“And why is that?”

“Because to kill the weeds, you must nip them by the roots before they sprout.” 

Chrysalis could not help but smile deviously. “Precisely.”

The Queen proceeded to float gracefully towards the sickly throne, sitting in it regally on her haunches. 

“The filthy Harmonists have infested our ranks and have reared their ugly heads in various Hives already. From what Vaspier informs of me, they plan on snuffing us out soon with their final rebellion. Because of this, I am launching Operation: Disharmonisierung.”

“It has already begun?” he asked with a hint of disbelief.

“All you need to know is that I will require your aid soon. The Thoraxian Terrorists will see their end within the coming months.” Chrysalis paused and gave a reverent smirk. “In other news, I have finalized your transfer of command as Hivesmarschal. When the time comes, you will have full authority to command in the Heeresgruppe .”

Whatever shock or bewilderment that could’ve been caused from that statement was not apparent on his visage. But he otherwise heeded her orders and replied with a solemn bow. “As you wish, my queen.”

“You will be relocated to Lyctidia in the west for your next assignment, along with your office. Should you be called into action, you will answer to me immediately. When duty calls, I will place you under command of the Heeresgruppe. The proper paperwork to fulfill these responsibilities will be waiting for you in your new office I have assigned to you in Lyctidia, as I previously mentioned. They should be filled out and mailed to Vesalipolis immediately upon arrival.”

Trimmel felt a jolt of electricity in his stomach at those words. The most advanced army the continent has to offer… right in his hooves. He was not expecting such developments to manifest so suddenly for him, let alone at his benefit.

“But… my previous belongings are still-”

“Your possessions are already being transferred by a detachment of my personal guards as we speak. They are moving them to the new location now. They should be organized for you as you arrive. If not, feel free to assist them.”

Trimmel’s mind was flooded with questions. But he knew better than to object a direct order from the Queen herself.

“Do you find this suitable?” She asked, seeking not confirmation but obedience. 

Trimmel could only oblige. “Yes, my queen.”

“Then begone.” 

Trimmel couldn’t think of a rational response. His mind was drawing a blank, something he was not acclimated to whatsoever. What he could do was nod and bow, before making his way out through the entrance he came from.

As trimmel descended down the tower, his mind swam. He left his office and home in Gardis with a lot of questions. He assumed many things could happen. His promotion was not that much of a surprise, but the fact that she was so quick to give him such a prominent position of power so soon after a lecture of trust and dependency was more than a little off-putting for him.

He knew what to do. But for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know how it would pan out. He had hoped answers would come swiftly from this meeting. Instead, he had more uncertainties plaguing his mind.


—


An Olenian-mimicked hotel in Vraks sits on a busy intersection outside, a single Changeling was making an effort to fake a limp on one of their hooves while trudging towards the selection of doors standing before him.

The Hotel hosted a rather unusual group of tenets. Discreetly renting a room for themselves, a group of 3 Changelings was huddling together in the two-bedded room around a small end table in between the beds. They were very important and powerful changelings, despite their naked and off-putting appearances.

These specific ‘lings were cell leaders, responsible for the materialistic efforts of supplying the Thoraxian uprising through any means—including raiding, laundering, kidnapping, smuggling, bribing, and plain murder. But as of late, their uprising has been going through hard times.

When the Changeling outside gave a secret knock, the 3 others inside nodded to one another and telekinetically unlocked the door. All four changelings were inside now, huddling together in a circle. They were secretly armed but made an effort to conceal their firearms inside the hotel room prior to the meeting just in case. They planned to meet a week later, but time was of the essence. And as such, they hastily rented a room to converse in private without any eavesdroppers.

“So is it true then?” the fourth visitor asked aloud, breaking the silence between them all.

“Yes, the Soryth cell has gone silent. We can only assume the worst from this, and move ahead.”

“How can we move ahead from that? Soryth’s lack of military was the only reason we were able to smuggle those weapons so efficiently. Why and how are they gone anyway?”

“I don’t know… but it’s not hard to see the bigger picture here; Chrysalis is cracking down on us. If we are to survive and go forth with the uprising, we must decide a plan of action here and now. Otherwise, we will not see the light of day again.”

“The Queen has eyes and ears everywhere. Every Changeling that isn’t part of our cause is potentially a spy or an agent of some kind. It seems like not a day has passed when the Queen hasn’t implemented some new agency or secret police to track us down.”

“We still have Ditrysium. Should the worst-case scenario come to be, we will make our exodus to Greneclyf there.”

“But what of the other hive cities? What of Lyctidia? Have we heard any word from them since the last incursion?”

“No, they are silent as well. They’re gone for good, from what we can gather—and we are not risking valuable agents’ lives to confirm something we already know.”

Apprehensive silence grasped on the occupants of the room. Only the sound of their breathing could be heard.

“We can still take down this Tyrant.” One of them broke first. “We just need a little luck, and-”

A deafening crash of the windows shattering the conversation to be had. In an instant, Changelings clad in military attire stormed the room with bayoneted rifles hanging on their torsos. 

The four occupants sprung into action, reaching for their small weapons. One of them was gunned down by a rifle shot on the far bed by an infiltrator before he could even react. The other three violently lunged at the attackers, only to be fended off easily. Using magic and physical prowess, the rebels scuffled with the infiltrators in an exchange of blows, before being beaten back and disarmed by the attackers. 

And just like that, the altercation was over. The three remaining occupants were shot without remorse quickly after being disarmed. 

“Clear!” one of the infiltrators roared, aiming at the bathroom door that remained closed off the far side of the room.

Stacking on both sides, they breached the bathroom to find nobody inside. 

“Room secured!”

“Alright, we’re done here. Bag the bodies and let’s go before we get visitors.”

For the rest of the afternoon, the infiltrators cleaned and erased any hint of a struggle in the room. The 4 changelings inside simply ceased to be. As if they never existed.


—


Driving upon a freshly paved path in the snow, a convoy of large transport trucks strode by in single file. Much of the snow around them muffled the sounds of their engines. The path was dimly lit. It was snowing, but visibility wasn't particularly bad.

A lone changeling scout was floating high above the forest canopy as he saw the series of lights through the treeline approaching closer and closer towards him, following the path perfectly as he had hoped would happen. At first sight of the convoy itself, he hightailed it down into the trees discreetly. Landing clumsily on his hooves, he stumbled back behind a tree. Another changeling hiding beneath the snow looked in anticipation.

“They’re coming.” the scout whispered. The Changeling to his side nodded, before twisting his body right side to give a series of gestures with his hooves. Although he couldn’t see them very well, he knew that a lot of Changelings had been given the signal; the convoy was approaching fast.

“The eggs have tumbled out of the nest now.” The scout whispered to himself, readying his rifle that had been slumped on his torso.

Aiming ahead between a gap of trees, the road was perfectly perpendicular to him—a tight turn twisting past him at a slanted angle provided a perfect opportunity for a crossfire. There, he waited.

He didn’t have to for long though, as his ears perked at the sounds of engines approaching fast. With a quick inhale he held his breath. A pair of headlights illuminated the darkness ahead of the treeline. 

The trucks began to slow their acceleration with the series of tight turns that were in this portion of the path. As the lead truck came in front of the scout’s rifle through the gap of trees, he lowered his head ever so slowly towards the snow beneath him. The light from the truck glazed over his still body as it turned towards him; the same for nearly a hundred other Thoraxian rebels—lying in wait for the signal to ambush. 

There were 8 trucks in total; the rear end of the convoy could be seen from the scout’s position as the third truck made its slow turn towards him. There, he lifted his head up and gripped the rifle tightly. With a slow exhale, he waited.

And waited.

And waited...

… Nothing happened. 

As the fifth truck slowly made its turn, the scout turned his head to the left to see the rest of the convoy speeding off without hindrance. There were supposed to be explosive charges planted on the side of the road for manual detonation, a signal to start the ambush. But they never came. 

Then a horrifying epiphany struck.

“Could this be a setup?” he whispered to himself.

“Yes.” a whispered voice behind him acknowledged.

Before fear could strike his heart, the scout found himself gagged and neutralized; a telekinetically gripped rag gagging the scout’s mouth while slitting his throat with a hoof-held knife. An infiltrator for the hives killed him in total silence. When the body fell limp, he watched silently as the last truck made its turn—all of them unharmed. 

With a sigh, he turned behind him to see a dozen more infiltrators dragging bodies, some of them still making quick work of a few stragglers that are hiding about. One of them trotted up towards him.

“Took care of them sir. It went off without a hitch.”

“Excellent work, soldat.” 

As they resumed their work, a few gunshots could be heard from the convoy as a few stragglers realized what was going on. But they were aware of the ambush, and its neutralization. 

The hunters were now easy prey.


—


“You have to leave.”

“I can’t! I will not just leave my people behind to die!” 

“If you die too, we will have all died for nothing.”

In a secluded meeting spot somewhere in a forest, two changelings have a critical debate with one another. One of them being a high ranking officer for the Changeling military, and the other was Thorax… the Harmonious Changeling himself. Together, the two shared a discussion that with the outcome teetering the edge of death itself.

“I’m already compromised. They knew about our operation in Key Lake and will eventually rat me out. If they broke that cell too, then it’s over.”

“Nothing is truly over! I can find a way, I-I can get the ponies to help us, or I can hide the north somewhere, something like that! But I am not leaving my fellow changelings behind!” Thorax stomped a hoof with his final answer.

“If you try to hide here, you will be found eventually. It is suicide. Look, I’ve seen what the VOPS can do okay? They are the best intelligence agency I have ever seen in any department. If Vaspier’s as good as they say—which he is—it is not a matter of fact; it is a matter of time. You have to leave.”

“Where would I go? I don’t recognize a single blade of grass in Equestria! I don’t know the land at all!”

“Yakistown, it has big walls followed by a gate with two giant golems. You can’t miss it, it's a big city. There are Changelings living there who have basic rights, at least. If you don’t wish to hide, then you can blend in there. Should save you from tarnishing your own reputation by allowing you to be you.”

Thorax wanted to argue, but he knew the signs. The VOPS had been cracking down on the harmonic movement like Apex Predators. Nowhere within the last month or so was safe, there were incursions everywhere in all the major hive cities. To attempt to stay any longer would be a suicide mission as he said.

“Look—they will think you are still here and at large if I continue operations near the borders. It should give you all the time you need to make a break for it. I’ll cause a big enough distraction for the queen to keep her eyes off you for a little while, but only for a little while.”

The officer was shrugging off a saddlebag that he had been carrying during their conversation and held it aloft with his magic. “Take this and go, as long as you live our hope lives on with you.”

“B-But…” Thorax stuttered, only to be silenced by a hoof to the snout.

“But nothing. We have failed, Thorax—it’s as simple as that. But it does not mean that we have lost. Just get out of here.” The bag was slung upon Thorax’s back with little effort. “There’s a map in the bag with the plotted route to Yakistown. The yaks will accept you if you state your true intentions, I know how they act; I infiltrated them just half a year ago, and they’re far more docile than the Queen says they are. Once you arrive at Yakistown, go south to the Crystal City, then to Equestria, and you will be home free.”

“And then what?”

“Then you live. You live so that the cause can live." A tired sigh escapes his throat. "Look, unless the queen is dethroned, we cannot make any changes here whatsoever. Therefore it falls onto you to carry on our legacy. Something to give our people hope for. The Queen will most likely hunt you down and fake your death should she fail. Therefore you must leave.”

Thorax was staring at the ground, lost in thought. It was adamantly clear that he did not want to do this, but there was no choice in the matter. It was do-or-die.

“Where will you go now?” Thorax finally spoke after a long silence.

“To Vraks. I will buy you time. I’m a dead bug anyway. If I were to go with you, we would both be dead.”

Though birds twittered away in the distance, insects chirped and buzzed among the trees, and a gentle breeze blew from the canopy, it was much too quiet. It was the silence that ate away at Thorax’s mind, as he was dithering to flee.

“Look, we knew at the time it could have very well gone down like this. We knew the risks and we took them. Now… now you have to run and not look back. So just go.”

The officer did not wait for a definitive answer. He turned away and began to gallop off as fast as he could through an uncharted path in the forest. Thorax could only stand there and watch as his accomplice ran away without another word. 

A heavy sigh escaped his nostrils as tears pricked in his eyes. He would be leaving behind his home… his people. His way of life was now torn away from him, as he was now a fugitive on the run.

With his bag slumped on his back, he made his way southeast. He would stop to peer at the map later. Right now, he was trying to get away from the forest.


—


Vaspier Orn Kladisium was enjoying his quiet morning sorting through papers on his desk at the VOPS headquarters. The silence was not meant to last as he nearly jumped out of his seat upon the heavy doors to his office being swung open with fury—revealing a very irate Chrysalis in her uniform. With a manila folder in her magical grip, she slammed it down onto the desk with rage as its contents spilled out. Dozens of reports and black-and-white photos littered the tabletop. Vaspier flinched but otherwise remained stoic. He had not seen her this angry in a long while.

“He got away.” she hissed.

“My queen, I am working hard to locate him right now—”

“SILENCE!” barked the queen. “You failed Director. I have half a mind to have you shot as a thoraxian yourself before I realized you’re just that incompetent. I thought no one was supposed to be able to escape your watch?” 

Vaspier could do nothing but hang his head in defeat. “Forgive my failure.” he refused to justify his shortcomings lest he wished to be deemed yet another traitor. “We were mounting an operation to capture Thorax, but it appears someling in the VOPS tipped him off; he has allies inside the organization as well, it would seem. I am in the middle of reviewing my agents now to ensure this never happens again.”

“There shouldn’t BE any Thoraxian spies in MY Spy Agency in the first place!” she yelled back. “That doesn’t give me any hope that you know what you are doing.”

Chrysalis plants her forehooves on the desk, leering toward Vaspier in a threatening gesture.

"I want this done right, Vaspier. Listen. Very. Carefully.

Vaspier nodded wordlessly as the queen paused for a breath. “He will flee to a harmonic nation, so send out spies that we have into Equestria, the Crystal Empire, and Yakyakistan. Disregard any political fallout; they will not go to war over apprehending an internal traitor anyway. I want them all to find any leads regarding Thorax, and where he might be going.”

Vaspier was afraid to ask, but he mustered the courage to speak. “... All of them, my Queen?”

“ALL OF THEM!” she roared. “I want him found NOW!”

Vaspier humbly bowed his head. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll give the order.”

Satisfied, Chrysalis turned to leave. She glanced over her shoulder, and a hint of a vicious smile crept onto her snout. “One more thing, Vaspier.”

He looked up cautiously.

“I want him alive.”

“... As you say, your majesty.”


—


A swift hoof strikes a face with violent fury, followed by the victim groaning in misery. Underneath a strong floodlight, one very unfortunate Changeling rebel found himself being interrogated.

“Jogging your memory yet?” Quipped the Interrogator. Several more punches to the body and face were made. The victim was restrained in the chair, his hooves stretched backward uncomfortably behind the metal chair he was seated in. The victim could do nothing but endure and talk. And it would not cease anytime soon.

“Let’s go back in time. Soryth, Early March; Your accomplices were caught red-hoofed attempting to smuggle shipments of a few hundred kilograms of Steel originating from Key Lake. Your accomplices failed, were killed and captured, and one of them pointed the hoof to you. You called the shots but were only in command of a small detachment and nothing more. We know you were ordered to conduct these raids by Thorax shortly before he fled. Who ordered you and where did he go?”

The victim spat green blood in the interrogator’s features, eliciting a series of jabs to his abdomen that knocked the wind out of his lungs. He struggled to breathe for a solid ten seconds, before gasping loudly for oxygen. Everywhere he felt was a fiery tendril of pain licking his body. A few teeth were missing, his nose bleeding profusely, and one eye was black and shut.

“I have all week, I can do whatever the fuck I want to you. Nobody is going to save you. I can make your life a living nightmare, or we could just call it a day and you could give us what we want.”

“I’m a dead bug anyway.” The victim snarled back. No violent reaction this time, only a glare. “I can only tell you what I know is for certain. Not everyone tells us the truth. I can only know so much.”

“Feigning ignorance will not help you.” The interrogator barked back, before landing another hard hook to the cheek. More blood spat out. 

“Then kill me.”

“Believe me, I’ve been pondering on that for days now. But my employers are seeking tangible answers, and they want them now. And I have officially run out of patience.”

The interrogating Changeling circled his victim, like a predator toying with his meal before kicking the chair down onto the floor. A hard thud followed by a loud groan echoed in the small chamber. 

He walked behind the fallen victim, his horn glowing. The victim could not see, but only felt a slight tug on his wings. Then a forceful pull. The force was unrelenting and soon became agonizing. Groaning transitioned into screaming, until a sickly series of rips was heard--wet and squelchy.

“AGRAGAAAAH” The victim could only scream incoherently in agony.

“Tell me. Where the fuck. Did he go!” The interrogator ripped off several more wings with each sentence he uttered. More screams filled the room. 

“FUCK FUCK FUCKING FUUUCK!”

“TELL ME!”

“STOP, PLEASE!”

“TELL ME!”

As it was reaching a boiling point, the torture session was abruptly halted by a series of loud knocks upon the metal door leading outside. The changeling’s horn ceased to glow upon hearing it as he gazed at the door handle turning and the frame swinging open. A Jäger Drone was peering through the doorway, grimacing at the scene before him with the tattered wings and blood.

“What?” The interrogator belligerently asked. The Jäger simply motioned him to come outside, earning a frustrated sigh from the former. The victim was left on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. 

The door shut close, leaving the victim to himself. The other two stood outside and conversed beyond the closed door.

“We have a new one for you if you’re done with him.”

This causes the interrogator to raise an eyebrow. “Making progress already?”

“Didn’t you hear at all earlier today? The Lyctidia Cell is fully eradicated now. Ditrysium is all that’s left, plus whatever we can get from him. In other news, Thorax is rumored to be in Equestria by now.”

“So… he’s redundant now?” He pointed an idle hoof at the door.

“Not necessarily. He’s served his purpose, but we could get more out of him. Toy with him a little longer, then dispose of him. The Queen doesn’t care as long as she gets results on Thorax.” He shook his head. “Anyway… when you’re done with him, rendezvous in facility 11 for your next victim. Vaspier’s orders.”

With that, the Jäger turned to leave. The interrogator didn’t bother to reply, simply staring down at the floor thinking for a long while. His eyes wandered back to the door.

“... ‘doesn’t care', huh?”

He scoffed and turned back inside the room. Another terrorist snuffed out.


—


Half-buried in the deep snow of Northern Equestria, a Changeling infiltrator clad in Arctic Gear is lying prone beneath a withered tree. The frozen pastures seemed to stretch to nigh infinite, with the only obstruction on the horizon being a small farm town standing peacefully among the plains. This was the third hour in a row he had been lying here, and his limbs were shaking violently at this point. Hour after hour, peek after peek; Binoculars in grip, the Infiltrator was tasked to recon the town to find a lead on Thorax.

The Town’s name was Hope Hollow, a quaint little village just beyond the Dragon Mountains’ mighty face. There were questionable sightings of the Harmonic Changeling spotted traveling south through this way but the recon was having none of it. Going through the motions at this point, he kept glancing at his pocket watch for the end of his shift. To his dismay, it had ended a minute ago, and he had been free to move for some time now.

With a disgruntled sigh, he slowly crawled backward. Icy daggers of cold penetrated his clothing with each subtle motion that was made. When the village was out of sight, he stood up and shook the snow off of him. The walk back to the rally point would be arduous.

For about a week now, the trail for Thorax had gone cold once he traveled to Equestria. A steady stream of misinformation was slowing down the effort to find Thorax tremendously, ranging from contradictory to just outright false claims. There were reports that Thorax had been hiding in Canterlot, Las Pegasus, Baltimare, Hjortland, Stalliongrad, and even Vesalipolis as well. Hysterical as these claims were, they were extremely effective at paralyzing the mission to find him.

Now, it seemed likely that Thorax would remain out of Chrysalis’s reach for a considerable amount of time. And the longer the Changelings stayed in Equestria, the more they were at risk of creating political outrage amongst the Diarchy—especially after the failed snatch-n-grab operation in the Crystal City.

After about an hour of slow and cold walking—relying on a few sips of some bottled love reservoir—the Infiltrator could see a small smokestack billowing upward. The camp was close ahead, sitting beneath a small patch of forest in the middle of nowhere; the perfect hideout.

Flying the rest of the distance to save time, the Changelings around the camp saw the recon flying towards them. Some waved, others simply went about with their business. One of them—an officer—was trotting towards the recon as he landed. They gave each other a salute.

“Sir, no sightings of any pony or changeling.”

The officer sighed.

“I thought so.” he replied with a chin scratch. “Vaspier and Chrysalis aren't going to be pleased either way if we choose to delay or if we call it off now. And I doubt we will find him at this point.”

The officer found himself staring freely in the distance, to nothing in particular other than the endless horizon. His team was assigned to this town with no hopes of reassignment. If he were to move out, there would be severe consequences.

“Permission to speak freely sir?” the recon asked carefully, standing tall and resolute.

“Granted.” the officer cocked an eye.

“I would find it very much preferable to be in familiar territory rather than staying here.” the recon looked away, to no direction in particular. “The terrain is way too foreign for me. The hills are soft and bumpy, winter is colder here somehow, and I can’t believe I’m saying this but I actually miss the forests back home. At least it beats… all this.” 

He raised a hoof, gesturing to the vast amounts of emptiness that accompanied many of the Equestrian plains. A certain sense of total Isolation could be felt here if one were to bask and linger in the silence. 

“It's not my decision to make either way,” the officer juxtaposed with a sigh. “If it were, we would be long gone by now believe me. But it will take a few weeks more before the Queen herself is convinced.”

“So… what now?”

“For now, we lay low and don’t get caught. We don’t need to get sloppy because Thorax isn’t giving us anything. And to be honest, I don’t think he’s gonna rear his ugly head anytime soon.”

“So we’re just… idling?”

A weary and long sigh escaped the officer’s lips.

“I’m personally following my orders. ‘Observe for any abnormal behaviors amongst the towns, and search for more leads.’ And sending you out there for three hours is doing just that. And we’re going to keep doing that until the queen finally realizes just how much of an exercise in futility this whole debacle really is.”

The recon eyed the snowy ground lost in thought. He couldn’t care either way whether Thorax was captured or not. He just wanted to get as far away from pony civilization as physically possible.

A hoof suddenly was planted onto the recon’s right whither. The officer smiled empathetically.

“Try not to kill any ponies out of boredom for me?”

The recon couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at that, despite terrible humor. “I’ll do my best.”


—


She could hear them outside. The sound of cheering. It was midday, and everyling had been gathered around from all across the Changeling Lands. The City of Vesalipolis had never seen such a crowd in all of its history.

And yet she couldn’t bother. The noise outside was blocked out as the two stared firmly locked eye contact with one another, neither of them wavering. A contentious frown formed on Chrysalis, sneering back towards her potential enemy.

Queen Chrysalis was standing face-to-face with Queen Chrysalis.

Clad in her snow-white Military Uniform, the Queen inspected herself bitterly; a full-length mirror in her personal chambers hosted her reflection. She inspected herself for any hint of weakness or hesitation and was bitterly disappointed with herself. It wasn’t necessarily a closely guarded secret that the glut of the queen's ego was her weakness.

But this was a first, even for the Queen of Changelings. She stood tall in front of her reflection, scolding her relentlessly. Within every hint of her body language, she could sense weakness and hesitation. And she loathed her, almost as much as the pathetic Ponies in Equestria. Almost. 

How could you be so weak up until now?—She internally bickered with herself. 

Of all the hardships you have been through, you do not deserve to be feeling the way you are!

Her heart felt like it was about to explode, her breathing rising in tandem. She twisted away from the mirror in disgust but found herself now seething with anger. 

And with a swift movement, a black insectoid hoof struck the mirror with brutal efficiency. Shards and shivs of glass discombobulated away. She bellowed a shrill scream as she did so.

The deafening sound of the mirror being eviscerated echoed mightily across the room. Almost as loud as the cheering outside. The queen hung her head low, her hoof never moving from the mirror.

Drip Drip Drip.

Green liquid seeped out of the hoof that struck the mirror. Looking towards the ground, she saw the sight of her blood. And immediately felt the pain of her mistake as she did so.

Wincing intensely, clutching her hoof, and on the verge of tears from pain; the Queen of Changelings quickly performed a spell to mend the open wound in the bottom of her hoof. And fortunately for her, it healed perfectly. When the pain subsided, she finally took a moment to breathe deeply.

Her heart slowed just ever so slightly from the ordeal, and she felt herself calm down. Gazing towards the mirror, there was nothing left of value. All the glass was either stuck to the frame cracked and dislocated or shattered into tiny shards all over the floor.

In a strange way… she felt better after that. It was as if she had literally destroyed a personal demon of hers; self-doubt, perhaps? But what was she doubting?

She had no reason to doubt the might of the Changeling nation now. Their militaries were at full readiness and ready to strike; their industry at full capacity; their soldiers loyal and capable; their vehicles and weapons finer; their aircraft faster and more nimble.

She stood up and trotted towards the window feeling much better about herself. She allowed a smile to stretch across her face. Outside, tens of thousands of Changelings cheered for their beloved queen.

The smile morphed into a sinister grin.

This day is going to be perfect.
> Fløyel
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Dark clouds billow over the Ancient Kingdom of the Deerfolk.


In late 1006, King Aldar II had a secured succession in line for his daughter, Princess Velvet. 


The young Doe was sent out on a diplomatic mission to Equestria to improve relations.


By all accounts, everything was going smoothly for the Royal Family. 


But for the spare son—Johan “The Devil” Djavulen—he had other plans.



Under unknown and suspicious circumstances, King Aldar II had passed away after Velvet left.


She was in Canterlot when she heard the news of his death, and mourned for her father.


Simultaneously—Johan argues that with his sister’s absence in Canterlot for the whole week,


That only he was fit to take on the role of the king and will steer the nation into order.


The crown now rests uneasily on his head.



With loyal support from stock owners, religious fanatics, and persuaded nobles,


He secured a steady grip on the throne despite his illegitimacy. And the nation is in shock.


Using his power for corruption, general debauchery, carnalism, and financial pursuits, 


The crown rests in a hopelessly unobtainable position from the inside. 


So velvet seeks help from the outside.



Velvet negotiates with Equestria to the south; yet further east, the Changelings are mobilizing.


Queen Chrysalis sets her eyes on the weak and spoiled nation of the Deerfolk with anticipation.


Securing Olenian industries and natural resources was paramount for the Queen’s ambitions.


Battle plans were drawn up, political maneuverings were engaged, Infiltrators were sent.


The stage was set.



Not oblivious to the situation, Johan spends his days hidden away in his isolated keep;


Growing old of being repressed by their king’s lack of leadership, the Deerfolk grow anxious;


Ravenous for resources and power, Chrysalis prepares herself for the inevitable invasion;


Desperate for positive change, Velvet grows restless in the face of inevitability;


Fate will not be kind to Olenia.



—



March 1st—1008—14:29


Keep calm. Inhale, count to four, exhale.

Velvet trotted in tandem with a quaternion of Royal Guards escorting her. In front of her were a pair of gargantuan and over-encumbering doors, the throne room laying beyond. She had lost count of how many times she went through this same song and dance—meeting with the royalty of Equestria. But it was something that must be done, for the good of her people’s kingdom. 

To have her people spend another year under Johan’s reign would be cruel in every sense of the word. It must be done. And it had to be her.

Another pair of guards standing a few meters apart, guarding both sides of the throne room’s entrance. They gave a solemn nod to Princess Velvet directly, before illuminating their horns to open the doors inward.

Although Velvet had seen this very same hallway time and time again in the countless times she presented herself as an audience to Celestia, she still couldn’t help but become lost in its illustrious beauty. Finely carved marble pillars with golden tinted metal bolted around the base in an ornate fashion. The stained glass windows reveal a picturesque but brief history of the land of Equestria, and its rulers. From the formation of the three tribes and the banishing of the Windigoes to the Coronation of Twilight Sparkle—the fourth Alicorn Princess. 

Sitting at the far end of this grand hallway lay the golden and midnight blue thrones of the Equestrian Royalty; only Celestia sat in her throne ostentatiously, waiting for Velvet. Although she could give an educated guess as to why Velvet decided to meet with them once again, (how many times she has met with Velvet is lost to her at this point) she patiently allowed for her esteemed guest to approach at her own pace. 

Velvet wasn’t necessarily dragging her hooves on the floor, but she wasn’t speed trotting either. 

Celestia greeted Velvet with a warm smile, the kind that would melt your worries and fears of violating social prejudice. If it weren’t for the fact that she had seen that same smile for who knows how many times they’ve met, Velvet would’ve felt at ease there and then.

“Princess Celestia; I present to you Princess Velvet from the Kingdom of Olenia.” One of the Royal Guards bellowed, bowing in the presence of their supposed Alicorn Deities. 

“Thank you. You may be excused.” Celestia replied. A curt nod and a salute of a wing later, and the four guards left Velvet’s presence. All that remained were the Solar Guards, standing vigilantly around the pair of thrones.

It was only then, when Velvet was left alone, did she finally bow to the Alicorn Princess.

“Celestia,” Velvet simply acknowledged.

“Velvet,” Celestia replied. Her voice was like thick honey sliding down a canvas. “It is wonderful to make your acquaintance once again.”

“As to you, Princess.” The doe raised her head, making eye contact with her alicorn counterpart. “I… I am sure you are aware of the nature of my visit?”

Celestia’s smile dissipated, but not exclusively at velvet. A subtle residue of a warm smirk still remained. Not quite condescending, but… something. Velvet couldn’t quite figure out what.

“I had… a sneaking premonition of your visit, yes.” She paused between words as if biding her time to pick them. “Would you like to discuss this matter in private?”

Velvet sighed as she rubbed her eyes with a free hoof, head sagging. “Forgive me Celestia, but I am quite drained from my journey to Canterlot. I didn't sleep well last night.” She took a minute to compose herself. “I would rather discuss it here and now, if you do not mind.” 

“Hmm.” Celestia hummed. “Very well. What did you wish to discuss?”

Velvet simply gazed at Celestia. She didn’t immediately make an effort to state her intentions. She was momentarily content with just staring at Celestia.

‘What do you wish to discuss?’ Is that supposed to be a joke?

It took whatever Iota of self-restraint not to lash back with some sneering quip at the apparent naivety of Celestia. She maintained an even stare at the Alicorn.

“I would like to think you’re already aware of the nature of my visit.” Velvet subtly sneered. 

“Well considering you haven’t asked me for any Chamomile Tea, I assume your visit is strictly a matter of business.”

“Not Business; Diplomacy.”

Celestia swayed her head slightly to her left, Scanning velvet up and down. 

“You are referring to Olenia,” Celestia slowly spoke, her words more a statement rather than a question.

“What else could I possibly be here for.” It wasn’t a question.

If there ever existed a chance of saving her kingdom, it falls on catering to Celestia Vehemently. whether she liked it or not. That being said, she was not willing to throw her people’s hopes, liberties, and way of life to the fire just to suckle on an Alicorns’ teats… So to speak.

When Celestia did not interject to Velvet’s inquiry, she relented further. 

“You know Johan is an illegitimate ruler; you know he has ascended to power through means that are morally unsound, or just downright cruel; you know that I do not find the passing of my father to be just a coincidence when it comes to great benefit of only Johan and his lackeys!”

Velvet caught herself raising her voice and promptly ceased before it got out of control. She had a hard time containing her temper as of late with how deadlocked negotiations had been so far. She was hoping a little assertiveness would get the message across, but what good would it be if Celestia turned her away for simply raising her voice? She was still grossly unfamiliar with Equestrian Feudal Traditions, so ceasing the verbal assault was no doubt wise on her part.

“You are correct,” Celestia began, her tone neutral and even. “Johan is indeed a corrupt leader. And Johan is a cause for concern for the people of Olenia. And yes; Johan has indeed risen to power through unjust methods.” She then sighed. “Velvet, please tell me this isn't about—”

“Of course it is!” Velvet practically yelled. “You said so yourself that this isn’t right! How could you just stand idly by and watch my country be picked apart from the inside like that? When I have a chance to stop it?!”

Every guard in the throne room tensed up at velvet’s outburst. Only Celestia maintained her steel-trap resolve. 

“There are many reasons velvet—reasons that as a fellow ruler yourself I am sure you would understand—to better comprehend our hesitation.”

“Such as?” Velvet stepped forward. The Solar Guards closed the gap between each other, just by a little.

“My ponies have lived for more than a thousand years of peace and Harmony, Velvet. While we are not… unfamiliar with combat, we have always strived for avoiding violent altercations altogether—Whether by means of Diplomacy, or...”

Celestia paused for a moment, her gaze fixed upon the Lunar Monarch’s empty throne. Bad memories began to surface.

“... or by magic. Either way, we do not strive for violence; all it achieves is begetting more violence.”

“I am not asking you to directly intervene, Your Majesty,” Velvet replied tersely. “I am not asking you to throw pony lives away. You know that I value peace just as much as any good Equus loving soul here should. But what about my people?” She heavily emphasized each word with a hoof to her chest.

“My people are suffering under Johan’s lack of leadership; having the first-class ruling and taking over everything from the good, hard-working deerfolk who, surely, do not deserve such a punishment. They are living in a stratified economy, Celestia; People go to work hungry, only to find their jobs to be barely sufficient to pay for rent, and nothing more. They are given strict rations all throughout the year, with people dying from Malnourishment and Dysentery. They are forced to watch as the well-off and the downright wealthy live in Glut Excess! They are suffering, Celestia!”

Velvet’s voice began to quiver under the weight of her words. A lump formed in her throat, and she did her best to swallow it and bury such negative thoughts. Celestia, however, remained adamantly silent.

Velvet paused. Inhale, count to four, exhale.

“... I am not asking for Pony lives, Celestia. I am asking for material support, something to help us fight this oppression on our own terms; something to aid us in the upcoming storm for my people; something—anything—to stop this… this Madness!”

The throne room’s walls rang in the silence. In the next blink, Velvet composed herself with a sharp inhale through her nostrils and a quick exhale through the lips. She sat hard on her haunches, head sagging and ears drooping.

“I haven’t even glossed over the Changeling threat yet. I’m just…”

Slowly, gears began to turn in Velvet’s brain. For the first time since she first started to make the trips into Canterlot, Velvet felt hopeless.

This had to be about the ninth consecutive week that she met with Celestia to talk about the Kingdom of Olenia’s line of succession. 

She had doubts that it would immediately resolve the issue at hoof, but she still had hope. A small glimmer of it maybe and perhaps fleeting, but it was still there. As days turned into weeks, however—and weeks turned into months—she began to lose patience. 

She hardly slept in her accommodated suites in Luna Nova and often thought of home. How miserable it often was for her to think of her people’s longevity, only to repeatedly charge into a mental brick wall.

Velvet was frowning now as if the floor she was gawking at had somehow deeply offended her. For what felt like years, she contemplated in silence.

“You never asked why,” Celestia broke the stillness, adjusting her posture on her throne.

Velvet looked up. “... Huh?”

“Out of all the times I had declined—” She paused to find the right words. “... Your requests, I assumed you would ask me why. Yet you never did. You always left graciously and returned for the next week.

“Every time, your request was a little bit different. ‘Send a large shipment of weapons.’ ‘Have an audience with Johan himself.’ ‘Evacuate refugees.’ I never wished to deny you any of those requests, Velvet.

“But did you ever stop to wonder why I did?”

“Is the sky blue? Is grass green? Is water wet? Of Course I have wondered!” Velvet barked, only for her to tense up in reflex at her outburst. “I just... never prodded.”

Celestia gave a forced exhale through her nostrils. “Did you hear of what happened in Manehattan last year?”

Velvet pondered. She was obviously referring to an event related to Equestria at that time. Bear in mind, that her knowledge of Equestrian holidays and current events was always limited even with her good relations with Celestia. The last year or so had seen her busier than ever before in her life.

She tried to remember. Something about Nightmare Night, and…

“The… Manehattan explosion, you mean?”

“Precisely.” The Solar Monarch spoke with a quick shift of tone. Her voice was now frosty; cold and calculating.

“My sister…” Celestia glanced away to wrangle her emotions, eyes on her sister’s throne. “... For the better part of the last year, Princess Luna had conducted a series of political campaigns across the Eastern Seaboard. For five months, she worked tirelessly to give many speeches and rallies to all the ponies in Equestria. But those speeches were directed towards Thestral Populace specifically. She promised equity and fair reforms, no more abuse from other tribes, and to be formally recognized as the fourth tribe.

“Many of my ponies were… cautious, at best. They were reluctant throughout the campaign to welcome the Thestrals openly. And as time went on and more promises were made, both Ponies and Thestrals alike were growing more and more inauspicious towards one another.”

Velvet felt queasy for a moment. She didn’t like where this story was going. Celestia looked… sad? No not quite, but some form of amalgamation of guilt and regret.

“My sister did the best she could… She tried everything in her power to keep everything civil. From what I heard, she had help from Rarity, one of the Element Bearers. I’m sure you know her.”

“I’m familiar with her.” Velvet answered.

“She assisted Luna throughout the entire campaign from beginning to end. Made proper arrangements with nobles and aristocrats alike to keep things in order.”

Celestia intentionally paused. She stared at the empty throne beside her for the longest time. Velvet was caught gazing at her quizzically when Celestia turned back, and rightfully so. Velvet had no knowledge of Luna being—

“I want to make something clear, Velvet.” Celestia interrupted her thoughts blatantly, her voice level. “I have no regrets for what Luna’s intentions were prior to that event. She was acting with extreme prejudice on behalf of a forgotten people, trying so desperately to win their approval and the three tribes’ approval as well. Perhaps if I had intervened beforehoof Luna would not have had to tackle this problem head on.”

Celestia took a deep breath. “It does not entirely matter anymore what could have been done. Luna has not spoken a word to me on what exactly happened to her and rarity on the night of the explosion. And I trust her judgement on the matter that it is resolved. But the point at hoof is that the bombing of Manehattan could have been prevented had I acted on Equestria’s best interests as a true Diarchy in all but name—rather than our own interests.”

Velvet felt the pieces in her head clicking together. In her previous meetings, she always met during Day Court discussing the future for Olenia. A couple of times Luna was present alongside Celestia discussing the matter with her, and she was just as adamant (if not capricious) as her sister was. In all those times Luna was alongside Equestria, she remained stubbornly cautious. Never wanting to say anything she never dared intend to say; tactful and prudent. 

Yet even with her savviness, she showed overcautiousness to Velvet’s precarious situation with Olenia. Luna had admitted before that it was indeed Velvet’s place to take the throne after her father, and that Johan’s reign was, De Jure, unruly and illegitimate. Something Velvet was told countless times before by Celestia, so the words held no leverage. 

Both individually conferred the same argument though, saying that it was not in Equestria’s best interests to intervene with Olenia. And when Luna was given her final opinion on it weeks ago, she adamantly refused. And it left Velvet with only Celestia to cater to all this time, even though it felt like it was going nowhere.

Though Velvet had thought Celestia held more gravitas and political power; hearing the words come from Celestia’s mouth—why they both had seemingly chosen to sit back and watch the kingdom wallow in their own misery without compromise.

It finally dawned on her. Her meetings with Celestia were just an exercise in futility.

“After the explosion, everypony in Equestria was frightened. Although Luna did not get seriously hurt afterward, several other ponies did. Some had even perished. How much different do you think it would have been if Luna had not intervened after the explosion?”

“How does that excuse you to just stand by and do nothing?!” 

Velvet could not abide any longer. A solemn and gratuitous guest of the Diarchy so many times; unrelenting patience, persistence, and grit had gotten her this far and she kept going despite the time limit. 

And after so many steps forward, it felt like she had been kicked from the very Precipice she toiled to climb. 

“Celestia, my people are being subjugated by insidious threats. Some of those threats come from outside my borders, the rest from within. Your country has the power to stop whatever is coming. You mean to tell me you are just going to stand by and watch as my country is being torn apart?!”

The guards surrounding the throne tensed up slightly at Velvet’s outburst, stiff as marble. Only Celestia seemed unfazed by this outburst. 

Celestia—leaning forward, her acrid frowny piercing through Velvet’s resolve—spoke with a venomous tone that was most unwonted for Velvet’s ears.

“I want you to imagine a scenario, if you will. Do you know what would’ve happened had the thestrals never backed down after the explosion? It would be Catastrophe. The thestrals would have assumed their princess was assassinated—their best hope for an amicable reformation dying alongside their beloved leader. 

“All of their promises shattered, their supposed friends turning their backs on them. Civil strife would no doubt follow. Violent protests. Armed insurrections. Civil order would be unable to contain the outrage that would no doubt engulf the country into the flames of rebellion, much like how Manehattan was nearly engulfed that fateful night.

“It would turn into yet another December Revolution. If it would not devolve into an open conflict, then partisans would most definitely combat us for years to come. But if it is the former, then it would be a war unlike any we had seen in millenia.”

Celestia was dithered on further explaining the analogy for Velvet, but her slack jawed gawk gave her all the confirmation she needed.

“Ponies are reluctant now. They are scared. The incident is still fresh on their minds, and yet by some miracle some good came out of it. If we were to push forward on ending your brother’s illegitimate reign, there is no telling how ponies will react.

“Johan’s illegitimate reign is indeed a problem, Velvet; if it were entirely up to us we would have intervened already, but it isn’t. It is instead up to the tens of millions of ponies that decide whether or not they are willing to support such an effort.”


—



April 21st—1008—18:23


Luxurious. Sumptuous. Opulent. Marvelous.

Whatever words a foreigner could conjure, who had never seen the design of the Royal Palace in Hjortland, would be finding themselves amiss in the grand architecture and lavish decor the palace boasted—both exterior and interior. 

Corinthian Columns stood tall to the ceiling; ornate molding of Deer Heads with Antlers, The Entablature, the Capital, the Base, and the Pillar itself was all carved with such precision that only a perfectionist would possess.

Painted Glass windows of ancient deities from their pantheon were glinting in the evening sunlight on the western side of the hall. Ukko, Pellevero, Vellamo, Touni, and Loviatar were displayed in their righteous glory.

And secluded in dimness on the east side displayed more painted windows, these ones showing off Great Rulers—those who had proven themselves worthy of being immortalized in the grand halls of the palace they’ve sworn to protect and guide throughout the generations. From the first king Harald Fairantlers—to the most recently deceased King Aldar II.

The West Side had less deities than kings compared to the East side, but it made up for it by hosting a picturesque tale of the Olenian Kingdom. From its unification, the raiding against Equestria early on—to the very first piece treaties with the ponies; the industrial revolution.

All of these murals were exceptionally crafted, and well preserved. Any foreigner that would step hoof inside the palace for the very first time would be lost in its grandeur, almost immediately guaranteed. 

But to the Royal Chancellor, this was just another monday morning.

He trotted with as much grace as he could muster without hinting any emotion that something was horribly wrong. Approaching the large centerpiece staircase leading up to the King’s throne, he expected to see Johan sitting in his seat looking bored. Idly eating or reading a novella, perhaps. Yet the Chancellor found nothing but an empty seat.

The seat itself was not as extravagant as the rest of this hall was. The ancient olenian throne was as old as the kingdom itself was. Finely carved out Rosewood, with an ultra-soft velvet cushion for the seat itself. The armrests hosted deer heads hosting antlers, standing tall and resolute as they stare emptily ahead of the throne. The legs of the throne were carved out hooves, their soles flattened out perfectly to support the chair without any hint of leaning to either side. 

The headboard displayed something like a half-mandala—its inner webs weaving between what seem like strings, until they harden and thicken into antlers in the center. 5 heads were staring to the right, each of them with their eyes closed. The web strings morph into antlers for these deer heads.

The Chancellor couldn’t recognize these deer, yet they each had a distinction to them. The middle head was particularly shorter than the rest. He tried, but the Chancellor could—not for the life of him—interpret who they were. Predecessors to the throne, perhaps?

His thoughts were interrupted by a howling of laughter, echoing across the gargantuan halls. Behind the King’s throne lay an Ogee Arch, a small cylindrical roof vault leading to the king’s dining room. Among the guffaws and wheezes that could be heard amidst the cacophony of laughter, the Chancellor could hear Johan alongside them.

He steeled himself with a deep breath before trotting through the doorway, head held high. He could see candlelight flickering gently from many different wicks across the other side, a long and narrow table hosting various nobles and business deer alike. He stopped just underneath the other side of the hall beyond the second Arch.

The table was perpendicular to the Chancellor, with the king sitting in his designated seat. Many other deer were sitting down alongside him sharing a meal together. Some of them the Chancellor could recognize—the local lords of Cervus, Sakara, and Vaverfront were present, sitting as close as they could to johan. Others with over-tacky suits covering their torsos were also present, business deer that the chancellor could not recognize. 

Indistinct chuckling and jovial chatter overpowered each other. The conversations continued like nothing was wrong. As if everything was perfectly fine and that no problems exist to ruin this particular moment. 

If only the world of politics were that simple, the Chancellor thought to himself. 

Johan sitting in the middle finally took heed of his advisor’s presence, standing alone at the dining room entrance. He stood and extended a hoof in hospitality.

“Welcome, Fallion. Sit down, we’re enjoying some foie gras.”

“I’ll stand, your grace.” Fallion answered immediately, wishing that everyone else in this room was gone already. 

Johan took his Chancellor’s Abstemious attitude with mirth rather than concern. “You look tense. Did some peasant try to throw dung at you or something?”

Fallion did not interpret the attempt of the joke with optimism. “I fear we have more pressing matters to attend to other than worrying about peasants throwing dung at one another, your grace.”

“Why so serious? I was only joking.”

Fallion did not reply. He instead gave the king that look.

Now, Johan was familiar with that look. He had seen it from his father many times when he would look at Johan moments before scolding him in his characteristic rants. And sometimes he would get that look from his sister as well, usually in the same context as his father.

Nowadays—with both Velvet and Aldar II being permanently absent—Johan had received that look a lot less often except from only one other Deer in existence; Fallion. And more often than not, the look would summarize what sort of social situation that both parties were in when Fallion would glare at Johan.

It usually involved things that were less than arbitrary in nature. When a real problem would surface and it demanded immediate attention—with Johan either turning a blind eye or just not caring at all—it fell onto Fallion’s look to set the king straight.

And that look Johan was seeing on Fallion’s eyes told him that now was not the time to joke and idle around. Something was seriously wrong.

“Hm.” Johan hummed to himself, his guests blissfully unaware of the staring contest the king and his advisor were sharing.

“Ten Minutes. I’ll be in the council chamber. Meet me there.” Fallion finally responded with a graceful bow, before turning to leave. And Johan was left alone with his thoughts, churning and boiling.


—


Sitting alone in a stiff and uncomfortable seat, Fallion anxiously waited for his liege to arrive. To pass the time, he reread the scroll he was tasked to give to johan for his eyes only. Although it wasn’t technically for him, it was his duty to be the first to check before deciding if it was worth the king’s time—as part of Johan’s new state policy with his inner council.

There was zero doubt in his mind that this was well worth Johan’s time to peer. But what scared him more than the contents of the letter was just how Johan would react to the circumstances. Fallion was all too familiar with the King’s emotional outbursts, and this would no doubt fuel his mood from ire to white hot rage.

Fallion had to find a way to mitigate the damage. Peering into the letter over and over, he tried to find a loophole to exploit—some sort of loose end that can be taken advantage of from Olenia, if there was any. But the Queen, or whoever wrote this letter, was very selective with their choice of words.

Deft hoofsteps interrupted Fallion’s train of thought as Johan trotted inside the sapphire painted room lit by torchlight. The king with his royal attire and crown entered the council chamber alone.

“What is this about, Fallion? Here I was feasting friends from all the major cities when I assumed that my advisors were absolutely certain that there were no more royal duties to attend to. You told me Courting hours were over, so why bother me with something like this now?”

The king spared no effort to vent his annoyance, yet Fallion remained stoic and unfazed.

“Forgive my intrusion, your grace. This letter is of grave importance to you.” he spoke short and sweet, neatly rolling the very scroll he was just reading.

“Is this about my sister again?” Fallion asked with distaste in his tone. 

“No: Worse.”

Johan tightened his jaw upon hearing his tone. It sounded almost… terrified.

“... What is it?” Johan asked cautiously.

“A communique from Queen Chrysalis.”

Johan felt his heart skip a beat.

“Read it and see for yourself, your grace.” Fallion coaxed, gesturing to the rolled-up scroll. Taking a quick breath, Johan unrolled it. His eyes darted furiously across the paper.

Johan felt his heart sink to his stomach. 


“... By the will of our nation’s sovereignty as respectable rulers of our territories,” the king recited aloud. “the Kingdom of Olenia is still recognized to have been ruled by a long standing dynasty worthy of respect and admiration. Due to the unfortunately untimely demise of King Aldar II, your nation’s sovereignty hangs on a knife’s edge King Johan.

“Your Predecessor King Aldar II has amicably recognized that your Kingdom’s succession is at risk, and the populace undermine your authority and zeal. We hereby grant you the opportune choice to help right a wrong created by your father’s passing.

“Therefore, we request revocation of direct ownership of the following states in your kingdom, in exchange for recognizing the Homeland of the Deer as an independent sovereignty De Jure:
Bortbyting Hoglands; Feer Dalar.”


There was more to read, but Johan felt nauseous enough to cease.

“Has she…” Johan’s voice croaked, barely above a whisper. “Has she lost her mind?!”

“Your grace, you must make your choice carefully. Queen Chrysalis will no doubt act aggressively if you were to turn down her request-”

“Request?” Johan practically spat the word. “Explain to me how is this a polite request? This is a show of force!”

Johan then flapped his cape violently, striking a pose with his hind legs.

“Oh look at me, I am queen of the bugs, I hereby request that you give me your land while dealing with economical and political strife, it’s not like the Deerfolk will think you’ve, oh I don’t know, betrayed their trust by giving away territory without a fight!”

Fallion wanted to protest, but Johan was right. The citizens of Olenia would never take the loss of their states sitting down, they would most definitely buck back. But isn’t such a reflexive defense mechanism what the Kingdom really needs right now? To fight back without even thinking ahead of the consequences?

No, it was too much. And yet, what could Johan do? Even If Johan accepted the deal and kept his independence, what would that mean afterward? Would Chrysalis just stop? Would she be satisfied with her territories and resources that she would have to gain, amicably or otherwise?

Fallion knew it was too unlikely. He had no profile on Chrysalis (but then again, nobody outside of their lands would) and whatever he could piece together from her was not a good sign. She was aggressive—if maybe recklessly so—but she learns from her mistakes. 

Being King Aldar II’s long trusted advisor before his passing, Fallion knew that the previous treaty between the two nations was fundamentally flawed in almost every way, accentuated by the unfairness of losing those very states originally belonging to the Changelings in exchange for “Recognized Sovereignty” 

Now she was back with a vengeance. And she wanted those states back, by force or otherwise.

“Fucking hell…” Johan muttered to himself, pacing back and forth frivolously as Fallion was contemplating. “You did read all of it, right? Didn’t you find any kind of loophole we could exploit? Maybe some other state that she hasn’t recognized we could exchange in return, or something like that?”

Fallion shook his head. “That is impossible. Whoever wrote this letter, they knew what they were doing. Every loose end was taken into account. The way I see it, you have only two choices: surrender or fight.”

“Then we fight. I will not be intimidated and coerced by someone of the likes of her.” He finished with a snarl. Johan felt a fire in his core, ready to explode in white hot rage.

Fallion, however, was far more even tempered. “You cannot possibly expect us to go to war against them, do you?”


“Why not? Is our military not ready?” Johan asked with genuine curiosity.

“Far from it.” Fallion grimly answered. “I only know bits and pieces based on daily logistic reports. Weapon shortages, fuel shortages, vehicle shortages; we seem to have a deficit in all things related to the military.”

Johan didn’t reply. He simply froze in place, shaking in his appendages but otherwise robust in his posture.

“Do we not have any experts to handle the situation?”

“Um…” Fallion hummed, shifting through a small mess of papers scattered on one end of the council table. “We… uh, there is one Deer who can help you with covering the costs better than I can. You signed him into your cabinet in February, remember?”

“Uh…” Johan pondered for a moment. “You mean Markus Aurinkhoof?” 

“Yes, that's him. He can help you cover the costs of whatever is dragging behind our defense budget, and to help get the ball rolling.”

“Contact him, I want him here in my palace today to discuss plans-”

“Johan, I—” Fallion froze. Clearing his throat loudly, he slowed his thoughts before he was ahead of himself. “... Your Grace, I would strongly advise you to really think about this. You are about to steer our country into war, do you realize just how much of herculean effort this will be?”

“Which is why I am moving forward while I am ahead, so that I may—”

“Your Grace,” Fallion interrupted, his voice low and gravelly like sandpaper. “You. Are going. To war.”

Johan couldn't help but stare. In all the time he knew Fallion, he was never like… this. Amd johan could tell, with his pinprick irises, that Fallion was at his wits end.

“I strongly advise that…” he paused, finding the right words. “If you wish to go to war, you must do this carefully and methodically. Do not just throw our troops into the fray. We need a plan of action if we are to survive as a nation.”

“They are Bugs.” Johan spoke the word with vicious contempt, a deep-rooted resentment. “And like the bugs they are, we will squash them. Our defenses will hold one way or another, I am sure of it.”

Fallion looked down ever so slightly. His eyes wandered on the table scattered with documents and reports, most notably the communique from Chrysalis. He felt his soul wilt and quiver for a moment as he finally realized that his king was not to be backed down.

“Listen,” Johan ordered softly, trotting towards Fallion with to plant a hoof on his whither reassuredly. “I will not approach this head on blindly. I will make proper arrangements, and we will see to it that we will stand against the Changeling threat. But right now, I need you to focus on writing a response for Chrysalis’s insane demands, and to tell her that we will refuse such outrageous claims.”

The final nail in the coffin. There was nothing Fallion could do now but watch and obey.

“As you say, your grace.” he finally answered.

“Assemble my cabinet in here tomorrow and we will see if we can come up with a plan of action, then we will write that response. Sound acceptable?”

Fallion pondered, but it was a null thought. “Of course, your grace.”

“Good, see to it then. Is there anything else than that demands my immediate attention?”

“Um…” Fallion hummed in thought. “Well… I had received word that Equestri is adamantly neutral in Olenian affairs, so we can safely assume that we will not deal with both Velvet and Chrysalis at the same time. Only the latter in the near future.”

“Finally, some decent news.” Johan mused to himself.

But to fallion, his worst nightmare came true.


—



June 15th—1008—06:57


Sitting alone in an idle machine gun nest lies a single Olenian Border Guard, idly tapping on his gun with amusement and boredom. The dawn of morning was finally starting to crack on the horizon, revealing a burnt sienna sky gently rising in the morning, but not quite rising above the horizon yet. The morning dew sticks to the blades of grass like adhesive. The air felt perfectly cool, still not heating up as the day hadn’t yet begun. 

Yet despite the pretty scenery around this open field he was tasked to watch hidden behind a small patch of forest, the Olenian soldier could not find himself feeling at peace. An uneasy series of troop movements along the eastrn border had been all that High Command was talking about lately. 

Practically all of the Olenian military was stationed there, waiting for something to happen. 

Everyone can guess as to why they were there. Rumors circulated that an invasion was arriving soon, ready to finally finish them off. Other outrageous claims suggest that peasants were about to take up arms in the cities behind the borders due to the lack of military presence in the area. But these claims were false, as was quickly suggested by various reports.

But if there was an invasion coming to Olenia, it never arrived yet. In fact, the Changelings had practically been invisible to the Olenians. Not a single border crossing sighting was reported, no shots exchanged at all. The only notable event that happened within the last month was a friendly fire incident during drills.

But all was quiet for the whole border. And even with this quietness, it was a tenuous peace at best. And at worst, it was nerve wracking. Many Olenians were on edge as to what exactly was happening. And it certainly didn;t help that the only way to relay messages was to have runners transport letters from HQ to the frontlines. Outdated methods with outdated technology; it gave an inauspicious impression.

But today was just like every other day: Quiet. And it never boded well with anyone.

Snap! 

The deer’s ear snapped at attention. A noise behind. He quickly turned his head but kept his rifle slung off to the side. Rearing around and releasing the MG, he saw another Olenian soldier begrudgedly trot into the wooden makeshift bunker.

“Shift over. Switch.” he simply muttered, not bothering with details.

“Sure.” the previous guard replied, as he quickly made his way outside.

“Hey,” the replacement suddenly quipped, a little more alert this time. “Do… do I know you?”

The guard’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’m a replacement.” he answered quickly, turning around. “If you’re wondering where my predecessor was, he was given a new assignment.”

“Huh.” the other deer muttered, stifling a yawn. “Yeah… thought you looked new. Eh whatever, it’s not like it matters to-”

The replacement suddenly stopped talking, his face frowning. Then he scrunched his nose, giving a forceful sniff. Followed by a recoil.

“Ugh, do you smell that?”

“Smell what?” the guard inquired.

“Come on, you really don’t smell that? Smells like copper and… and rat shit.”

The guard’s stomach churned violently, but not at the smell. The revelation was sending a different panic through him.

“I don’t… smell anything.” he lied. 

“Smells like it's coming from…” he trailed off, sniffing into the direction of the open field beyond the bunker. His back was turned away from the guard.

That’s when the replacement guard looked down, at the sound of flies buzzing.

A decaying corpse of an Olenian with his throat slit was lying in the ground lifeless, his cold dead eyes staring back at the live deer.

“What—”

The deer had no chance to get the words out of his mouth. A burst of magic hear from behind, followed by a charcoal insectoid hoof smothering him from behind. A stab in the jugular later, and the Deer was dead. The Changeling gave a frustrated sigh.

“Scheiße...” 

Dragging the corpse carefully outside the bunker, the infiltrator was careful to not leave behind any damning evidence in plain sight. But it wouldn’t take long before someone realizes that this bunker is empty. He had to move now.

After piling his second kill in the same spot, the changeling unbottled a canteen of liquid love, to rejuvenate his shapeshifting magic. A fews seconds of forceful chugging, and the changeling felt loose and invigorated. 

Shifting back to his olenian disguise, he trotted out through the entrance of the bunker and made his way behind the trench system. Hoping he wouldn’t run into anymore astute Olenians, he had to complete his mission now before the hour struck 8.

Amongst a den of sleeping sheep, the wolf steadies himself for the feast that is to come for him and his brothers.


—



One Hour Later...


“So I got a question for you: Why are we even here?”

Two Olenian soldiers sit idly in the dugout section of the trenchline, sharing cigarettes with one another to help pass the time.

“What do you mean by that?” the second deer asked.

“I mean, why are we still waiting around in this trench system for something to happen when we could just take the fight to them? I mean, it seems like all we are doing is just sitting around doing nothing! And all I hear is just rumors like this; rumors like that. Rumors rumor rumors!”

The second deer didn’t answer right away, but huffed a frustrated sigh.

“I hear ya, I see what you mean. I just… I don’t know just as much as you don’t know.”

“That’s my point! Nobody does! All of high command is playing us like a fiddle right now, and here we are just sitting here doing nothing while we are waiting for what seems like certain conflict.”

“Do… do you want to go after the enemy, is that what you are saying?”

“No no no no, I’m saying we shouldn’t be twiddling our hooves idly while the top brass are just lying to us. I feel like they are just sending us out here as a punishment of some kind, but… punishment for what? What did we do to deserve… this?”

He flayed his hooves at the scenery around him, causing his peer to look around. The wooden duckboards made to walk along were now smothered with dirt, gravel, and mud. Soldiers looked bored and anxious, desperately trying to keep their minds occupied. In some sections of the trench line, bits and pieces of it were incomplete: holes in the revetment, missing sandbags, muddy walkways.

“Yeah… I can see your point.”

The other deer only sighed bitterly. No sense in further complaining about a situation that will not change. He took a long hit followed by another puff of smoke.

“I need to piss something fierce.” one of the soldiers mutters, before getting up and trotting out of the dugout. As he made his way down the south side, other olenian soldiers were shuffling about into various positions and barking orders. 

The soldier took a turn down the communication trench leading further behind the line, bumping into more soldiers along the way. Making his way to the support trench, it sat underneath a light canopy of trees. Going over the top, the deer hurriedly paced away from the trench system.

“Oi, where are you going?” a gruff deer officer called from behind, forcing the soldier to turn around.

“Need to empty the bladder, sir. Is that so bad?” he quipped in response, causing the officer to roll his eyes in disgust.

Now after finally having some alone and finally far enough away to have some privacy, the Olenian found a nice secluded tree and… handled his business.

A minute later and he was trotting back to the trench system—albeit somewhat dreadfully.

He trotted out of the small forest, finding himself standing above the reserve trench and taking in the scenery. Soldiers mill about, interacting with each other as the day begins and the sun rises over the trees. The morning dew still stubbornly cling to blades of grass, each step wet to the touch.

The soldier couldn’t help but look up at the sky. It was indeed a pretty day. Cirrus and Cumulus clouds paint the blue sky. The air felt still and warm, not too hot yet. A large flock of birds in the distance flew towards the trench high up in the air, it’s engines roaring in—

Wait… since when did birds look so big?

The deer looked up intensely, squinting his eyes. The inverted V formation glided across the sky with expert precision, never once breaking formation. It flew at least 1000 meters above ground, just barely below the cloud cover. But the wings seemed… crooked? It had a bent shape to them.

A gut wrenching premonition suddenly took hold of him. Now that he really thought about it, those birds were flying awfully fast…

And then they dove down. And that’s when he heard the sirens of the dive bombers.

He couldn’t move. He found himself paralyzed entirely, mesmerized by the sight. The sirens blared louder and louder, and yet he remained still. His eyes were shrunk in the irises; his breathing gridlocked; his joints locked in place, as if they were rooted to the ground.

He was in shock paralysis. He couldn’t react. 

But someone else did, with a piercing scream. “AIR STRIKE!”

Everyone simultaneously looked up. Then the bombs fall.

Instantaneously, panic swept the trench system. Olenians ran in circles for their lives to find cover. When the bombs finally impacted, many of them were exactly on target; landing inside trench lines, eviscerating any foundations of the structures, and any infantry that were still standing there. Some of them landed in the forest, spraying jagged shards of wooden splinters that penetrated like shrapnel. 

A cacophony of screams and explosions. Many of the Olenians died in the teens, if not hundreds. An inferno caught alight in one of the nearby trees, the trunk engulfed in flames. It would soon spread throughout the forest.

The low flying Stukas passed by overhead, their terrifying sirens blaring in full volume as the Olenians tried to gather their bearings.

“What… what happened?!” one of the olenians screamed. 

Bratatatatatatatatat!—BOOM!

Automatic gunfire and explosions suddenly roared from within the trenches, followed by more agonizing screams. At that moment, changeling infiltrators were now opening fire within the ranks, killing any form of command structure they could find. Officers, lieutenants, majors; any high ranking official that was present was to be terminated before they reorganized.

Grenades were thrown, gunfire was exchanged, orders were barked.

The invasion of olenia had begun.


—



June 21st—1008—14:24


“Full speed Larx, shift into 4th Gear.”

The heavy steel chassis of Panzer IIs were rolling through a large and open pasture. Hardly any buildings or traces of life were to be seen, besides the ominous rolling dust clouds emanated by the panzer Battalion. About 50 of them in total, separated with at least 5 meters of space between each of them. 

While peacefully empty, the pastures were not lacking landmarks and terrestrial features. 	The terrain itself was rugged, rolling up and down with tame inclines to traverse. Far off to the horizon, patches of forests could be seen standing tall. Lonely farmhouses long since abandoned stubbornly stand in the way of the panzers as they continue along the roads with ease. 

In the rear of this large mechanical formation, a green eyed Trimmel is trading glances with the formation and the land around him. Although the tank formation was a fearsome sight, Trimmel was not overzealously confident as the rest of his peers had been. Olenia was bending under the will of the Changeling military, yes, but they are not yet broken. They still fight on with dogged resistance.

But he hoped to change that. Their next target—should they capture it by the deadline—would prove to the Olenians that their war was already lost, and that they were battling against inevitability. 

Although, the overcast nimbostratus weather isn’t improving his optimism. He desperately hoped it wouldn’t rain anytime soon.

A tired sigh escapes Trimmel’s lips. His mind wanders given the lack of immediate information that was needing digesting. All he could see were puffs of dust and dirt from the treads of his tanks, trampling through the earth with no friction aside from the ground itself.

“Everything alright, sir?” a youthful voice asks from below Trimmel’s commander hatch. Peeking his head inside, he found his gunner Styx looking up at him with concerned teal eyes. “You look like you are about to give the formation a good scolding.”

Trimmel actually chuckled at the remark, allowing himself to relax. “No, I’m just thinking. Lots of things that have to happen on time, and it mostly falls onto me to keep track of the Panzers.”

Styx nodded solemnly, turning his attention back to the Autocannon inside of the turret chassis. “Haven’t got a chance to fire this baby for a while now. I’m starting to get worried the war might be over already. Then I’ll never get a chance to fire this thing again!”

A chortle escaped below the autocannon’s receiver. The driver sat in the forward left hull with the gearbox on the right. “Don’t feel too bad Styx, if it were up to Trimmel you would have never shot that thing at all if he could help it.”

Trimmel slowly panned his head to Larx, his driver, at the remark he had just made.

“If what were up to me, exactly?” Trimmel asked with a low voice, almost like he was threatening him.

“Not to undermine you or anything, sir.” Larx replied quickly. “But you are… restrained. Cautious. Not that its a bad thing, just that it's slow going with you.”

“Are you blind, Larx?” Trimmel asked quickly, no hint of quarrel in his voice.

“Uh… no sir, otherwise I wouldn’t be driving a 9 tonne piece of military hardware right now.” Larx answered with mirth.

“Look ahead of you. Do you see us going slow to you?”

Larx did just that, seeing more plumes of smoke and panzers. The terrain itself remained relatively unchanged, with more rolling empty plaines leading to small forests homesteads. The panzers were moving as fast as they could physically go, which was about 25 miles per hour.

“I see us rolling through empty fields, sir. And we are in fourth gear along with everyone else, so… I would say no.” Larx answered honestly.

“And do you see anyone shooting at us at this current moment?” 

“No sir.” 

“Do you hear officers barking orders at you to go faster? To stop slacking and maintain focus? To stay on course and keep moving to Vaverfront without taking breaks? Are you currently marching on hoof right now?

“No sir.”

“Then consider yourself lucky. There are plenty of fates worse than being bored. And I don’t need my subordinates telling me what I should and shouldn’t do because they feel like it. Understand?” 

“Yes sir.” the driver and gunner answered simultaneously.

Another weary sigh fled Trimmel’s lips as he forced himself to up through the hatch again. Twisting several knobs on the control head of his radio, the mic levitated up to his face. With a quick breath in and out, he pressed the receiver button on his mic. 

“E Battalion, maintain your course bearing 205. Vaverfront is only 20 miles away.”


—



June 23rd—1008—19:39



Bratatatatatatatatat!

Automatic gunfire was exchanged from behind windows and piles of brick. A ruined Coffee Cafe somewhere in Vaverfront was under intense fire from Changeling Jäger infantry. The building had valiantly stood against onslaught after onslaught for hours now—under oppressive artillery barrages, panzer IIs, grenades, and oppressive rain. 

The building is hardly recognizable for what it originally was. The wooden lounge tables were stacked against what used to be the front doorway to the building before it had long been blown off. Panzer IIs made quick work of the exterior before they were easily taken out by Anti-Tank Rifles. The crews usually do not survive. 

After about 3 Panzers were lost, they resorted to infantry combat. Trouble was that the rain soon turned into a storm, and visibility was near none. Soldiers couldn’t see beyond 10 meters, and could only see muzzle flashes in the darkness and downpour. The building was annoyingly persistent to the Changelings, as it was holding a particularly busy intersection at this course into the battle.

Changeling officers were getting annoyed at this development. They needed to keep moving west, and this particular building had stalled them for three hours. To say it was slowing them down was a massive understatement. 

Shivering and huddling behind overturned cars were several Jäger infantry, clutching onto their bayoneted rifles. Every time they were to push forward, machine-gun fire would deter them before they would even get close. They even had some shooters high up in the windows, so flying over to ambush them was not feasible. After losing about 5 Jägers to them already, they had to be smart. 

The gunfire had ceased for the time being, but only because nobody could see anybody. 

“Godverdämmnt! How is it that one fucking nest could be so fucking annoying!” one Changeling curses out loud. Another chuckles grimly.

“The irony of what you said… it’s rich.”

“Fuck off! They’ve killed more of us than we killed them.”

Hoofsteps approached from behind the car. The changelings angst up simultaneously. Until they saw that it was their officer sprinting back from their skirmish.

“Fucking hell, he’s got good aim.”

“You saw what they were working with?” 

“It isn’t promising for them. Their cover is deteriorating, and the front door is literally gone. A well thrown grenade or three could easily kill them, but their aim is something I’ve never seen before.”

Silence. The changelings gave one another a tentative glance.

“Who’s got grenades left?”

They’ve tallied up 3 frags, and 2 smokes from all 6 of the changelings huddled behind the car. 

“Smoke grenades in the rain won’t work so well, though. We need something else for cover.” the officer muttered to himself.

“Smokes don’t work in rain, you say?” a jäger piped up, hooking everyling’s attention. “I’ve got an idea on where it will work...”


—


Clutching the MG tight in his grip, the Olenian soldier’s focus was sharper than any blade the world could forge. His sights darted with expert precision across every discernable chokepoint. Car and building; car and car; the open space after both points to the shop—every space was checked every second. 

Nothing moved in the distance. Even through the rain, they were not trying to move and flank. He could guess where they might be, but to do so would be to give up looking on where else they could be and he would never accept that. And thus he kept looking. 

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Muzzle flashes erupt from every chokepoint at once, all of them wildly missing him. He reacted calmly, training his gun to the farthest one on the right. 

Bratatatatatatatatat!

Gunfire exchanged from both sides. Some Olenians fired pot shots from their rifles behind the gunner, but he was honed in. He never glanced backward once, and only faced forward with his eyes and his gun. 

Blam! Blam! Bratatatatatatatatatatatatatat!

The sounds became deafening. And somehow, the changelings were still firing despite the suppressive fire. Yet it was faint and very pathetic. It almost felt diversionary.

An uneasy premonition took hold of the gunner. His eyes darted upward suddenly.

Two white Irises affront of purple eyes stared back at him, two grenades levitating next to him.

Survival instinct took hold of both of them. The grenades were chucked, a pistol was drawn.  Shots were fired, maneuvers were made. The pin was pulled, dread encompassed them.

“GRENADE, DOWN!”

An order yelled, bodies ducking to the floor. Several seconds to dive and grab whatever piece of cover you had. Tables, chairs, rubble; anything.

Everyone waited, the gunfire ceased. Yelling was heard outside amidst the downpour, but nobody reacted to it.

Fsssssssssssssss!

No explosion. Only white vapor emanated in the middle of the shop, quickly spreading around.

The gunner didn’t react to it, he dove back onto the spot where he left his gun and—

Where is my gun?

The gunner felt fear kick in. His gun was missing, and he didn’t know how it was gone. He looked forward through the gap and found only dark rain.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

Scrambling his hooves across the floor amidst the debris, panic finally took hold of him. An irrational fear that he buried it somewhere consumed him, prompting him to dig across the debris.

Clink-clunk!

The sound of an object being thrown captured his attention, and yet he turned back and found only more smoke.

That is until he looked down. And found more grenades.

And his world erupted into blinding light.


—


KraKOOOO-KOOOOM!

The explosions were powerful enough to send bits of the structure in the upper levels crashing down. Dust billowed out of the building, and hulking debris collapsed onto the already large pile in the front entrance. 

Several changelings flew forward at the sight, rifles ready. A few shots were exchanged, but it ended just as quickly as it began. Silence soon took hold afterward.

The Changeling Officer and several other Jägers peeked from behind cover, waiting for anything to happen. Soon afterward, they saw the same changelings that flew forward give a welcoming gesture, inciting the all clear signal.

“Holy shit… that actually worked?” a Jäger muttered to himself.


—



June 29th—1008—13:37


King Johan had spent all day listening to the radio broadcast transmitted from Vaverfront that was supposed to be music. Instead it was propaganda; Propaganda stating that the war was already lost, that the Olenians were fighting against fate itself and that it was an exercise in futility. That their nation was led by a corrupt and scandalous Hedonist who wants nothing more but to live in glut excess.

Johan had none of it, his heart was filled with rage. He anxiously waited for his daily report to come in, which was already incredibly late by now and only fueled his anger. 

But a new sound caught his attention, the sound of a doorknob turning. The grandiose doors of the council room soon croaked open thereafter, revealing a very tired Fallion at the entrance clutching a stack of documents and opened envelopes. 

“Finally, thank you Fallion!” Johan desperately greeted his trusted advisor. “Let's see what we have here!”

The now exhausted Fallion planted the stack onto the table, before sitting down in a chair to rest his old bones. Johan did not wait for permission or for “but waits,” he was anxious to get answers.

He began sifting through the reports: Deficit in Munitions, Uniforms, Rifles, Grenades, Boots, Trucks, Planes, Helmets, Machine Guns, Anti Tank Rifles; Deerpower was at an all-time low as well. and several divisions are MIA. Vaverfront is guaranteed to be lost, with any divisions over there at inadequate strength.

The Rudolf Line is not going to be completed anywhere on time, and if it somehow did get miraculously constructed on time, it would be too big for the military to use it properly—Owing to the lack of Deerpower problem from earlier. Air superiority is nonexistent to the Olenians, as their planes stood no chance against the modern Changeling Svarm.

And to top it off, Sakara was being invaded from the coastline.

Johan stared in disbelief at his advisor. “Is there any good news in this report? At all?” 

Fallion looked at Johan, still panting softly. He didn’t say a word.

He instead gave him that look.

“No, I…” Johan did a double-take at the table and Fallion. “Surely we can do something, right?”

Fallion shook his head. It disturbed Johan greatly: Fallion was never this apprehensive. 

“I…” Johan shook his head vigorously.

 Then his eyes glued to the radio, still spewing out mutinous propaganda. He grabbed it and chucked it at the wall with all the strength he had with a piercing yell, silencing the transmission forever. 

Breathing with intense ire, he still was unsatisfied. So he gave the radio a few more smashes with his hooves.

Punch after punch after punch after punch after punch.

His hooves were bloody at that point, after punching through wire and metal for so long. With his rage subsiding, he turned to Fallion with a crazed look in his eye.

Fallion did not budge. He was as stoic as ever.

Johan felt his resolve whither. “Please Fallion.” Johan said, sitting on his haunches. “You are my most trusted individual. Tell me what I am supposed to do! Please!” Johan’s voice quivered.

Fallion could only watch in pity for his king. And with the sight he was in now, the answer for what had to be done was plain and obvious for all to see.

“Surrender.” he simply stated. “Then her punishment will be merciful, I’m sure.”

Johan stared in disbelief. He felt like he had been bucked in the stomach by an Earth Stallion. He felt his eyes sting a little.

Looking back at the ruined radio, there was nothing left but a dented metal box with a speaker. Then he looked down at the blood: The blood on his hooves for his arrogance, his greed, his pride, and his hedonism.

It would haunt him forever. Tears freely trailed down from his eyes onto his cheeks. He took a shuddering breath.

“Fallion…” Johan ordered, barely above a whisper. 

“Yes, your grace?” Fallion answered, hoping his king would do the right thing.

And to his relief, for once in his career… he did.

“Tell the Queen that... the King of Olenia is... willing to negotiate the terms of surrender.”
> Amore - Pt. 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Crystal City. 


The beating heart of the Crystal Empire has been put under siege.


By early Winter of 1012, the Heersgruppe is wreaking havoc in the empire.


Hivesmarschal Trimmel had orders to capture the City, even in the lethal freeze of winter.


These orders came from the High Queen herself.



The Great War had finally reached a stalemate across all of Equestria.


In the south, the Ponies held the line just outside of Bales, Ponyville, and Las Pegasus.


Despite their best efforts, the changelings could not breach the newly formed “Sentinel” line.


Bloody combat only resulted in pointless casualties, and the changelings soon dug in.


Ergo, the Queen turned her eyes elsewhere—onto more fortuitous horizons.



Battle plans to annex the Crystal Empire was fabricated long before the war began. 


Chrysalis argued that if the Crystal Ponies surrendered on schedule, Equestria dies with them;


Consequentially, Stalliongrad would have no hope to save them with their intervention.


It was debated to be a Bold Strategy, one that could overextend the army past its limits.


But still, Chrysalis behests for the order to be given anyway.



She argued that if the Crystal Ponies were to be annihilated first before Equestria, 


The latter would also be stretched too thin to properly contain an offensive from the empire. 


And with the newfound industrial capabilities from the conquest of the Empire’s Capital City,


She could shift the tide of war to her favor at last—followed by one final push into Canterlot.


After much debate, it was finally agreed upon. Operation: Avalanche was to be prioritized. 



Trimmel’s army had since besieged the city from December of 1012, but still the garrison stood;


Being surrounded, in a ruined city, with rations and ammunition running dry, and horrid weather,


The strategic situation of The Crystal City is deteriorating, and troop morale plummets.


Cadence has pleaded to Celestia for reinforcements and equipment to relieve the besieged city.


Until then, the ponies prepare for what ultimately may be their Last Stand.







January 12th—1013—05:47


“Come on. Look sad! You are surrounded, the war is lost for you- don’t look at the camera!”

“Why are we doing this? Can’t we just kill him?”

“Shut up, and get him to look down! Make him look despondent!”

A pony dressed in a drabbed, battle-worn uniform for the Equestrian Army is surrounded by four Changelings, one of which is operating a film camera and the other relaying orders as a propagandist. The latter two flanked the chained pony with their weapons ready, constantly taunting and harming the subject relentlessly.  

All of them stood in the middle of a camp situated behind some roughly made trench lines. Tents scattered about, and some campfires were seen. In the distance, the constant sound of thunderous artillery fire continued to hammer away.

The pony, however, showed no sign of defeat nor obedience. He stood defiantly against his oppressors and stared fiercely into the camera. 

“Stop staring at the camera! Look down and look sad! The war is over for you!”

The pony lips curled into a faint smirk.

“Why would I be sad? It’s not my problem anymore. You think I wanna stay in that fucking city?”

“If you wanted to leave so badly, then why the hell are you massacring our-”

“I told you! I had nothing to do with them.”

“Oh yeah, sure, Major fucking-what’s-his-face, am I right?” one of the flankers ridiculed.

“Major Quartz!” The pony reiterated.

“Oh yeah sure it was, you fucking piece of filth.” one ling clubbed the pony’s head with a rifle butt.

“Please.” The Cameraling interrupted. “Can we get these last few seconds under control for the Prisoner? And get these shots done with.” Both of the guards sulked.

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Then it’ll be back to popping some pony skulls.'' Both of them answered separately.

The pony snickered and chuckled, and still stood defiantly. 

“Heh, ah fucking Changelings. Ah—How many times now have you tried to make it to the Crystal City, huh? Like, four times? And every single time, you failed. You can’t break fucking SHIT!” 

The loud repartee earned another rifle butt to the back of the head, causing the pony to fall sloppily to the ground, though still conscious.

“SHUT UP! Just- just stand there with your mouth shut!” the propagandist ordered.

“Yeah, little fucker. Last warning.”

The pony gave another giggle, albeit struggling to stand. He promptly spat on the ground toward the ling that taunted him, getting some dirt out of his mouth.

“You know,” he began after catching his breath. “You sound like one of those pussy recruits, who haven’t seen combat yet. Wh- what is it, is it because your momma drone was never good at loving you, and your changing balls haven’t dropped yet?”

“OKAY, FUCK YOU!”

The Pony earned a swift kick to the face, breaking several of his teeth and his nose. He collapsed onto his back, tasting copper all over his now broken snout. 

Upon opening his eyes, he found a rifle barrel staring back at him.

Everyone reacted at once.

“Whoa whoa, wait-”

“Are you-”

BLAM!

One bullet later, and the Pony laid forever still. Bystanders from the camp heckled and cheered at the scene. Others went on about their business without so much as a peep.

The Changeling who promptly delivered the shot cocked the bolt, letting out a satisfied sigh.

“That’s right, fuckface. How do you like that?”

No reply was given.

“... Let’s see what he had on him.”

Eventually, a sigh escaped from the Propagandist’s lips.

“We’ll have to cut that part out.”

“... Figured we would.” The cameraling replied with a nod, switching off the camera. No other words were shared, and the duo eventually wandered off.

As the two former escorts proceed to loot every pocket that is on the pony’s body, they proceed at a slow pace. 

“Fucking ponies,” one of them groans to himself. “Why do they have so many pockets?”

A noise made their ears flicker. Hoofsteps… a lot of them, heading this way in a hurried fashion. They peered their heads up on reflex and found a large mass of Changelings following the lead behind one, who appeared to be a CO of some kind. 

They came from the direction further towards the deeper parts of the camp behind the frontlines and halted the formation right in front of the looting duo. The lone, green-eyed officer stared down with a condescending and disdained expression on his features.

“... I suppose if you are content with just fiddling around in the mud, you wouldn’t mind being helpful enough to point me to your Commanding Officer?”

Both ‘lings looked at each other with an irrepressible sense of indignance on their part. 

“What’s it to you?” one of them replies.

“Your life, if you do not obey my authority.” The officer replied. 

The soldier rolled his eyes. He’d seen this type of Changeling time and time again, and they never ceased to perturb him. Junior Officers sent straight from the academy who think they know warfare but never experienced it. They usually are replaced quite fast, due to their eagerness. The ones who do survive long enough will know by that point how wrong they were from the start.

But in this situation, the best they could do was begrudgingly follow whatever instructions he would throw at them. 

“What do you want, sir?” 

“You’re from the Fälschung Company, aren’t you?” The Officer asked.

“That’s us.”

“Okay, where’s your CO?”

“Hauptmann Winter? He’s near the front to the North East, tending to the Massacre.” he casually answered.

This paused the Officer. “... What fucking Massacre?”

“... Just… Head over there. You’ll know it when you see it.” the second escort answered hesitantly, pointing at a small break in a treeline. 

That answer didn’t help in the slightest in explaining the situation, causing the officer to facehoof with a raucous sigh.

“Fucking- Alright, 7th Platoon, come on!” The officer bellowed, prompting the formation to pick up the pace once again. They moved in a rigid pack, loosely conglomerated and unorganized as they marched past the duo.

As the platoon disappears, one of the looters stands up with a sigh.

“He’s got nothing.”


—


A teal-eyed changeling, his expression hardened and even, stares at a tree that holds another Changeling hostage. Tied and tethered to the dead trees with barbed wire and covered in mud, the wounds and infections combined deemed them unsavable.

Mud.

Screaming.

Suffering.

They were the last wave to enter Crystal City; or, what was left of them.

The remaining survivors screamed in agony as they had been tied up there for hours. There, tethered between two ruined trees and painted in red ink that many ‘lings assumed was blood, were several crude wooden signs.

They read:


“Welcome to Equestria!”


“Have Fun!”


“This Will be You!”


The Changeling that found himself staring at his helpless comrade was levitating a rifle beside him, fixed with a bayonet. His mind revolted in almost every way that this was wrong and unnecessary, but the small and rational part of him that saved him time and time again also knew that there was no saving them.

And so, he forced his legs to move with as much speed that was necessary, leveling the bayonet to his poor victim. The Ling tethered to the tree stared with wide eyes.

The blade sunk easily into the chitin, having long since been broken. He could feel the vital organs churning and resisting against his blade as he plunged it into the abdomen of his victim.

He’d rather shoot them than be using his bayonet, but he knew better. The strategic situation was too critical to afford using bullets on their own Changelings, even if it is for mercy killing. The fact of the matter is, the previously failed assaults bled their supplies dry, more than they would like. And mercy killing with bullets would only make the logistical situation worse.

“... sorry, brother,” he whispered, as the victim turned limp soon after.

The blade was quickly pulled out, and the lone 'ling turned to the pensive crowd surrounding the screaming trees. 

“Alright, let’s hurry it up… They shouldn’t be stuck up here any longer.”

Everyling spurred into action, albeit reluctantly. Some of them had to float up to the trees to reach the higher-stranded ones. All of them proceeded to euthanize them, in the same fashion that the previous ling had accomplished.

The cries for rescue soon turned to cries of anguish. One by one, they were silenced. One by one, Changelings killed their own kind, rather than leaving them to suffer. 

Some couldn’t watch. Others did. Some didn’t vomit. Others did. 

Suddenly, the same two reporterlings with the camera emerged from further behind the lines and found the gruesome scene before them.

“Oh…” the Propagandist morbidly mumbles. “Uh… don’t shoot any of that,” he asks the cameraling.

“Yeah, no shit.”

The cries ranged fewer and fewer now, with the Azure-eyed leading officer that ordered the killings standing in front of his first victim. The rifle hung around his chitin, his locked eyes onto the milky sockets of the victim that gazed lifelessly at the ground. 

“... Never underestimate psychological warfare.” He mutters aloud, mainly to himself.

His body remains still, almost as perfectly still as the corpse in front of him. But he could still feel it, even now; the small quakes in his limbs. He couldn’t forget this if he wanted to. The sight would stick with him for the rest of his days.

If he were to survive by tomorrow, that is.

“Hauptmann Winter?”

The Changeling breaks out of his trance with lightning-quick reflexes, levitating his pistol from his holster and swiveling around to his target. 

Only to find another Changeling, who promptly stumbled backward with his forehooves raised. The formation behind him also took a small step back.

“Whoa, whoa! Take it easy, sir.” the junior officer carefully speaks.

Winter snorted through his nostrils, staring through his iron sight for a few seconds longer until he finally lowered his weapon.

“Oh thank the Queen, reinforcements for the next assault,” Someling called out, returning from the now eerily silent scene, save for the constant thumping of artillery in the background.

“Not a moment too soon, either.”

“About damn time.”

A crowd soon formed around the newly arrived 7th Platoon, with Winter facing the leading officer of said Platoon. He scanned him, top to bottom thoroughly, keenly noticing his clean uniform and ‘fish-out-of-water’ demeanor. The chitin was clean as well, his face was young and rested. 

Hell, he had to be the cleanest officer around here for hundreds of miles. 

The group behind him seemed particularly small, and he noticed that there weren’t other groups to be found following.

“... How many are you?” Winter rasped, his voice hoarse and dry.

“About a Platoon, sir.”

“A Platoon?” Winter peered over the shoulder of the CO, gazing at the unorganized mass of Changelings that stood eagerly before him. “... are you serious?”

“Yes, si-”

“I was promised Armored Infantry, who are you?”

“Th-that’s us, sir, I-I’m-” The officer stumbles at his words, forcing him to swallow saliva down his throat. “I’m Unterfeldwebel Strela, sir, I-I’m with the Armored Cavalry Company, and I-”

“And where’s the rest of your Armored Cav Company, Strela?” Winters’ gravelly words were like sandpaper to the chitin.

“W-well, that’s th-the thing sir, we… we…”

The Officer’s eyes drift to the nightmarish scene before him, gazing upon the lifeless bodies of Changelings still tethered to trees. The young Changeling commanded his body to move but the limbs were locked in place. 

His eyes locked onto the corpses. Remnants of the previous wave. The reality as to how they died slammed him like a freight train to the gut, and a sinking feeling to his stomach couldn’t be washed away. He had marched to the frontlines with the knowledge that whatever predecessors died like heroes… or so he was told.

He saw no such heroism here. Only agony. 

“Hello?... Unterfeldwebel!” Winter barked, causing the young officer to phase back into reality.

“Uh… wh-... what happened was, sir, we- we had a last-minute redeployment from one of the division commanders, a-and over half of our company—about all of the assets apart from the leg infantry—were transferred further south to another location.”

“Oh, son of a bitch.” Winter mumbles to himself, his hoof planted on his face. The crowd that had gathered around the two gazed tentatively at one another, upon hearing the news. A few of them inched closer to the scene. Winter trotted away a couple of steps and swiveled back around towards Strela.

“Fucking fuck… and you said your name was...?”

“Unterfeldwebel Strela, sir.”

“And where’s your CO?”

“Uh… Hauptmann Zera went down with 5th Platoon, along with the HQ Company on landmines, before the redeployment was-”

“Son of a bitch!” Winter kicked a pile of mud towards the trees, startling a few ‘lings to step back—Strela included. Winter reared back around again, more than perturbed.

"... And you're all that's left, is that it?"

"Uh..." Strela wanted to answer, but Winter moved faster than his mind could.

“Tell me, Unterfeldwebel, what exactly am I supposed to do with just a Platoon of Leg Infantry, against the Crystal City’s defenses?”

“You carry out the assault, Hauptmann Winter.”

A new, authoritative voice calls out from the back of the formation, causing every Changeling to turn and make room for whoever spoke up.

And to everybody's surprise, standing on his own bare hooves in the still cold and wet mud of the Northern Equestria among his troops, was Hivesmarschal Trimmel himself.

“... Whatever the costs.” he finishes his sentence, as he trots up to Strela and Winter.

Trimmel had seen better days. He looked exhausted, if the bags under his sagging green eyes were anything to go by. If one were to guess, he had been managing to stay awake off of concentrated Love alone, and had endured many sleepless nights. His coat was worn and wrinkled, cleaned to the best it can be but still had some hard stuck stains from previous events visible. His cap was still on and in a little better condition, but was uneven and not properly aligned with the three-horned crowned pin of the Hives in the center.

But still, he stood, among his infantry—destined to charge headfirst into impending doom no less. 

“Hivesmarschal Trimmel?” Winter asked with disbelief. “Excuse me for asking this sir, but, wh-what the fuck are you doing so close to the front?”

Trimmel only stared evenly for a few seconds, but it felt exponentially longer than that. It felt like years. 

“... Every Changeling on this side of the line needs to engage in the onslaught Hauptmann. I am no exception.”

“... Well,” Winter adds on, “under these fucked up circumstances, I am right there with you sir.”

Trimmel didn’t have a reply for that, or maybe he didn’t deem one to be necessary. Instead, he trots to a small gap through the treeline they‘ve hunkered in, peering beyond the field. 

Further, in the distance, he could see the Crystal Palace’s spire stretch into the sky from just under the horizon. The sun was crowning from underneath said spire, and already the underlayer of the Overcast sky was illuminated in a neutral tangerine glow. 

The frontline that separated them and no creature’s land was not too far ahead from where they stood, the line illuminated by the tracers of artillery and howitzer fire. He could see hundreds of shells being launched over to the enemy line.

“They’re fucking insane, those ponies!” One Changeling quickly pipes up, causing a murmur among the crowd. “Every assault we try, they fight like savages! They’ll never give up the city without a fight!”

“And we barely have the capacity for another assault, who knows when we can try again after this—if we can try again!”

“I am aware.” Trimmel replies sternly, turning his head to the crowd. They were silent. “... That is why this assault has to be the one, everyling. Failure today is not an option.”

A murmuring acknowledgment settled over the crowd. 

“... No more fucking around with these Ponies!” Trimmel barked loudly. “All of you, every Changeling around the Crystal City will begin their final assault today. They will be in full 360-degree combat in all directions. The Crystal City is destined to fall today! And I mean today!”

The murmurs grew more invigorated and confident, a few “yes sirs” and “jawohls” piping up.

Trimmel turns toward the junior officer, who by now was more than intimidated in the presence of the Hivesmarschal. Strela felt his body physically contort against his will as he performed a salute for Trimmel. Upon inspecting his sleeve patch, Trimmel asked accordingly.

“Unterfeldwebel.”

“Ja?”

“You and your Schutze of…”

“Cav Company-” 

“Cavalry Company—will advance along with the Fälschung Company to the Crystal City. Time to get your hooves wet.”

“Jawohl.”

Trimmel then locked eyes with Winter, who didn’t bother with the same formalities that Strela did.

“I’ve dispatched survivors from Uptrich’s ‘Stahler’ Armored Division from Ponytown to join you today. They should be at the front now providing support fire. You will also be attached with Stigler’s Jaeger Company to ensure you get past those Pillboxes. Will that work?”

As Trimmel listed off the assets, more and more Changelings from the rear line began to form up around the Hivesmarschal. More reinforcements.

“... I can work with anything at this point, sir.” Winter’s fatigue was infectious with that reply.

“Good answer.”

“Uh, Hivesmarschal?” a voice calls out from the rear edge of the treeline, a Changeling with a radio backpack levitating a radio phone onto his ear. “Oberst Hendall wants us to get the ball rolling.”

Another prolonged sigh escaped Winter’s lips. Strela could see it in Winter’s eyes, a spark of some kind of animosity with that name. Then that spark was replaced with ambition. As Trimmel was cantering back towards the rear, Winter spoke up from behind him.

“Hivesmarschal Trimmel, if I may speak freely just this once?” Winter asked with humility, prompting Trimmel to swivel around with a raised brow. After a brief moment of contemplation, he nodded curtly.

“About Oberst Hendall…” Winter paused, trying so delicately to find the right words for him. “He has been responsible for every failed assault that we have suffered and endured so far, and…” He paused, once again dancing around eggshells. “Being the Queen’s Guard that he is, I’m sure you know that he is a damn sadist, sir!”

This caused a small chuckle to escape Trimmel’s lips. Not condescending, yet not mirthful. It was a sort of cathartic laugh. 

“Well, with these ponies; we need to fight crazy with a little bit of crazy of our own.”

It wasn’t the answer Winter had hoped for, nor expected. He decided to double down.

“... Sir, with all due respect I give to you, I sincerely request that you put me in charge of this assault.”

This request promptly caused every Changeling, even ones who weren’t actively tuning in to the conversation, to gaze in their direction. All eyes were on Trimmel and Winter, the two of them staring sternly at one another, but with deep-rooted respect.

“... There’s no time for last-minute reorganizations, I’m afraid. If there is nothing else Hauptmann, that would be all.” 

Strela was staring from the side. He couldn’t see it on Winter’s face, whatever he was feeling. He couldn’t get a read on him, as much as he wished he could. 

For Winter, he knew that the fate of most of these Changelings was now sealed. A lot would not return. And there was no point in arguing against it now.

“Alright then,” Trimmel announced with fatigued but stern optimism, eyes locked on Winter. “Now get out there, and do the Changeling Nation proud!” 

Winter could do nothing but obey. “... Yes sir.”

A tense few moments of silence. Until it was shattered by a series of even louder artillery barrages coming from the frontlines. It shook the ground beneath the troops to their core, ever so slightly.

“Looks like they’re still waiting on us.” Winter swivels around to the growing formation of infantry behind him. “Let’s move out!”

The convoy of troops responded in yet another choir of agreement.

“Unterfeldwebel Strela?” Winter asked with authority.

“Ja?”

“You and your 'lings are with me now,” he ordered decisively. "Try to keep your head down."

“... Jawohl. 7th Platoon, on me!”

The narrow column of infantry began marching loosely to the front, striding at a quick pace to get there. Various ‘click-clacks’ of rifles reloading could be heard as the convoy moved onward. Other Changelings barked at one another to pick up the pace in an orderly fashion.

Trimmel stood unmoving, gazing at his pocket watch. It read 6:02; Two minutes late. Hendall would have to make do with it.

He tucked the watch away, sternly watching the convoy as the inspired infantry moved onward for what would be their final assault.

For good or ill.


—


Tchoom! 
Tchoom! Tchoom!
Tchoom! 
Tchoom! Tchoom! Tchoom!

Artillery, field gun, and tank cannon fire incessantly lunged from the Changeling Line across No Creature’s Land; Shell after shell, after shell, after shell. Some were launched higher at an arc, some were shot like a straight arrow over the marred landscape.

The guns themselves were hunkered down in various dugouts and enclosed positions, emplaced behind a long stretching trench system teeming with Changeling life. Many moved up and about the lines, getting into their various positions as they were still on schedule. The crewlings of the gun batteries worked tirelessly to continue firing away at the Guns, some of them moving boxes of ammunition to and fro the lines to ensure they wouldn’t run out. 

Infantry stood huddled together shoulder to shoulder on their hind legs, separated into two rows inside the already narrow trenches. One row stood entirely on the firing steps, giving them a proper sightline of No Creature’s Land ahead of them; They had their weapons ready and mounted against the walls, ready to go over the top. The second row stood on hind legs with their back against the rear walls, waiting for the ‘lings in front to go over before they can mount the firing steps and follow their predecessors.

And sitting in one open hatch of a Panzer IV at the rear formation of Panzers, observing through his binoculars, was Oberst Hendall. Donned in a highly decorated uniform with the Queen’s Guard insignia on his sleeves, the impatient ‘ling tapped incessantly on his tank with an idle hoof as he watched the bombardment with boredom. 

The scene had been like this for hours: Infantry huddled tightly together in the trenches waiting for the inevitable order to charge, while the guns continued to fire away. And nothing had changed for over 12 hours. 

It especially annoyed Hendall when he was told by his superiors the assault was supposed to happen yesterday, but was delayed due to weather.

“‘Delayed due to weather.’ It’s always bad weather here, they have fucking Pegasi!” the Oberst mumbles to himself in acrid frustration. 

He stowed away the binos and instead reached for his pocket with a hoof. Towing out a pocket watch, he flipped it open and it read 6:07. 

He stifled a groan.

“Late... again.” he mutters once more with indignation. 

“Sir!” a Changeling calls out from behind with impeccable timing. Hendall swiftly turns around with vigor, and sees a column of infantry advancing toward him with pace. He allowed a small, unnoticeable smirk to form on his lips. Two of them were leading the large formation, one of them clearly more experienced than the other from whet Hendall observed. 

“Hauptmann Winter of the Fälschung Company, reporting!”

Strela stumbles on his words soon after.

“J-Jawohl, I-I am also Strela of th-”

“About time you got your horns out of your asses.” Hendall barks curtly. 

Before Winter could reply, a tank cannon from behind fires without warning, causing both him and Strela to jump. Winter quickly recovers.

“Sir, we’ve only got one shot at this, and we-”

“Listen up, Armor!” Hendall yells through his radio phone, ignoring Winter. “Today is the day, and now is the time! We are pushing forward! I don’t care what happens out there, when we go over this line we do not stop for anything, we push through those lines and kill every last one of those colorful cowards on the other side. Today is the day, and now is the time!”

Strela overheard Winter sigh heavily next to him over the sound of cannon fire.

“Understood?” Hendall orders. No reply came, to which Hendall yelled once more. “Understood?!”

A single tinny voice replies. “... Ja. Understood.”

Hendall forcefully hung the line up without another word after the confirmation, continuing instead to observe the bombardment one last time. 

Winter hangs his head ever so slightly. “Here we go again.” he groans to himself. 

“Huh…” Strela half-sighed, half-laughed. “He’s quite the character, isn’t he?”

“He’s a fucking moron.” Winter grimly replies. Taking a quick glance around between his infantry behind the tanks and Hendall, he quietly adds, “Every attack we have tried has been done with suicidal bulldozer tactics. How many times is it going to take before the dumbshit realizes he’s a dumbshit?” 

Both take a tentative glance back at Hendall, oblivious to the conversation.

“... We’re never going to take the enemy lines head-on at this rate.” Winter morbidly mumbles, his eyes fixed on No Creature’s Land.

“Well, why is that?” Strela asks dumbly. Winter pretended to think that it wasn’t a stupid question and answered him anyway.

“Well, because the Crystal Ponies have their defenses the strongest on this side, and we can’t charge head-on in the open without cover. So we use armored pushes. But this is the only direction of attack where the terrain isn’t too marred for the tanks to traverse, so everything they got for Anti-Tank purposes is focused on this line. The only other options for cover are traversing across the shell holes, and that is easier said than done.

“It’s a bloodbath every time, but they can’t keep up for long.” Winter grimly finishes.

“Why not?” Strela asked. Another stupid question. 

“Because we have them completely surrounded; they’re low on ammo, and their industry is in ruins. They’ve been slowly running out over time. All it takes is one breakthrough to shatter their resolve, and they don’t want you to get even close.”

“Well, how close have you gotten?”

For once, not a stupid question.

“Close enough to touch their line. And fuck, that’s when those ponies get really mad.”

“Hauptmann!” Hendall barked over his tank firing the cannon. Winter—ever so slightly—flinched at the sound of his name, reluctantly turning to the Panzer next to him. “Get your ‘lings in gear! It’s just about time to push forward!”

“... Sigh.” 

Hendall grabbed hold of the radio phone with his levitation, holding it to his mouth. “All guns, cease fire!”

Orders were barked from officer to officer down the line. Soon, the guns started to silent themselves one by one. The constant ‘thumping’ of artillery fire soon turned sporadic. The final salvos were launched into their targets.

Winter and Strela watched as the trench line was now buzzing with activity; soldiers readied their kits and gear, said their final prayers and hopeful wishes, fixed bayonets, and formed a neat line facing No Creature’s Land.

“Winter! You and Fälschung Company will be behind me every step of the way from here on out. Understood?”

“... Jawohl,” Winter replied evenly, just loud enough for Hendall to hear.

Amidst the commotion, Strela found himself entranced with the sight of No Creature’s Land being bathed in Morning Glory. He watched the last few tracers of tanks shells fly toward their targets, exploding faintly in the distance upon impact. The sun was now beginning to hide its body behind the endless veil of clouds.

Soon, the tracers stopped. No fire was exchanged from either side. The air around them seemed palpable, dense, and hot. The quagmire landscape, for once, seemed tranquil and still.

Strela knew the stillness was only a brief respite of what was to come.

The calm before the storm.


—


Smoke and dust billow upward harmlessly, as a deathly quiet takes hold over the Equestrian Line. Crude wooden stakes; mangled barbed wire; concrete pyramids, acting as tank obstacles; damaged pillboxes, with inner rebar haphazardly poking out like metal spaghetti.

The bombardment seemed to have finally stopped… for now, anyway.

A singular head pokes from behind sandbags stacked atop frozen dirt, peering out beyond No Creature’s Land; a charcoal-coated Earth Pony, ruby tinted eyes. Her Crystal Army Uniform has long since been ruined due to wear and tear. The white pigment on her uniform was degraded and weathered down to an ugly grayish-white. The violet, crystal snowflake painted in the center of her Brodie helmet was the only thing left hinting at her allegiance. 

“Everypony alright?!” a male voice calls from within the line. One by one, more voices answer her.

“I’m okay!”

“Still alive!”

“We’re good!”

The charcoal pony peers higher beyond the sandbags. The guns have definitely gone silent now, and they didn’t seem hellbent on firing anymore. 

This meant one of two things: Either the enemy had to cease fire to conserve ammo, or so that they would attack.

The latter seemed much more likely compared to the former.

“Agh! Fuck, it hurts!” a pained voice off to the side grabs the charcoal pony’s attention, and she quickly scrambles to aid whoever was hurt. 

Her rifle clanging her side from the sling, she gallops toward a shell hole near a still occupied pillbox. 

The shell had narrowly missed a hunkered down Timberwolf, one of the few surviving units of Tanks leased by the Equestrians. Three ponies hunkered in said shell hole, with one of them bloodied up pretty badly from shrapnel in the leg. 

“Got any potions left?”

“No, I used my last one hours ago.”

“Dammit!”

The charcoal pony scans the grisly scene with a sigh before hastily trotting past them.

“Settle him in the Triage as quickly as you can.” 

“Sarge, the Triage Tent is already at max capacity-”

“Then make room!” she behests, moving past them towards the hunkered down Timberwolf. The pony in the hatch was busy tossing out empty shells from within. 

“How many shots do you have left?” the Sergeant asked the Tanker.

“Uh… ‘bout thirteen? All AP?” he sounded uncertain.

“... make them count.” She simply orders, before trotting off again.

“Uh, sarge, I don’t think that’ll make much of a difference!”

Further ahead past the pillbox near the Timberwolf, a series of discombobulated sandbag walls were planted over a small depression from another shell hole. They were placed where the frontline trench used to be before being blown apart. A decent-sized group of ponies huddled behind it, weapons ready. A number of said ponies were busy inspecting several military crates made of wood a little ways behind.

Some ponies laid still on the ground beside them all, with a few being tended to by some ponies with the green medical cross on their helmets. The few that survived the bombardment and were being tended to writhe in pain in the stiff dirt. Overlapping voices barked over one another, competing in a sea of sound from all directions in order to have their message heard.

“Pear Tree, I got one more box of twelve-milimeter with your name on it!”

“Bring it! Better than nothing!”

“Fucking shit! Where’s the Blood Plasma? Do we have any left?”

“Stay with me buddy, it’s fine! You’ll be fine soon!”

“Vanguard, to the front! Guns forward!”

“Do we get medals for this?”

Noise. Uncertainty. Chaos. It seeped and festered onto the troops, thick like pus from a wound; Clinging onto everything and threatened to send it all astray.

But the charcoal pony’s features boast a stern yet the unfettered expression on her face. She knew how to quell and disperse uncertainty if possible.

“Everypony, I want rifles facing out the line ASAP! Get whatever you need and move your asses! Stay vigilant!”

A murmured choir of acknowledgment answered her. The effects of her instructions were seen almost immediately, as ponies began to pick up the pace in their activities. The chatter died down somewhat; only a few cries of pain from the wounded could be heard, along with the ‘Click-Clacks!’ of weapons being reloaded. 

She trotted through the partially dispersed crowd of pony soldiers trying to regroup onto the line, which had been deducted to hastily assembled sandbag fighting positions stacked between pillboxes, either behind trenches or shell holes landed on what used to be trenches. 

The charcoal pony wearily trots her way toward one of these said sandbag positions, harboring a small squad of ponies from various walks of life. One of them happened to be an Equestrian Soldier, leftover from what remained of their reinforcements from months ago. One of the distinct few who happened to survive the entirety of the siege. 

“Everypony good here?” She asked softly.

“Yeah.” one of the Crystal Soldiers replies flatly. 

The charcoal pony notices that the one who answered was struggling to maintain their composure. If the wide-eyed expression, shaking limbs, poorly aimed firearm were anything to suggest, the poor pony was barely keeping it together.

She took a moment to carefully inspect their clothing, scanning for a rank and a name… there. On the left forearm

“Corporal Syrup?” She inquired softly once more. “You sure you're alright—”

“Yes, Sergeant!” she barks curtly, refusing to look at her. “I-” She paused, for only a moment. “I… I just want this to be done already.”

I can relate, the charcoal pony thought to herself. She struggled to find any form of catharsis or reassurance that could be said in this situation.

So instead, she spoke the simple truth.

“We all do Corporal. Just keep fighting. That is all you have to do. Just keep fighting.”

The shaken pony visibly stilled herself upon hearing those words. She had taken the advice to heart.

“Y… Y-yes, Sergeant!” She answered with grit, cocking the bolt of her rifle back partially to check her ammo. She bolted with a satisfying click, fully loaded.

The sergeant, meanwhile, could only sigh. It was a sigh of pure exhaustion. Moments like these never stopped coming, and the situation only continued to deteriorate. With the light of morning finally bright enough for her to see, she took a moment to take in the sight of the crude defensive line that had been formed here—a decrepit shell of what it used to be before the siege: 

Frozen puddles of mud pooling in the bottom of shell holes.

Tangled barbed wire, posing more of a nuisance to the defenders than a threat to the attackers.

The endless graveyard of bodies from both sides stretching out from the line all the way to No Creature’s Land.

The smoldering remains of large gun emplacements, now a husk in of its former selves.

The few remaining wooden bunkers, and machine gun turrets were fixed atop of concrete pillboxes. 

The dwindling number of defenders that only continued to drop by the hour. 

The closest that she could compare this to was the equivalent of a lucid nightmare. One that had manifested itself into reality. One where there is no escape by waking up.

One where sleep doesn’t reward pleasant dreams in the night anymore. All that sleep is reduced to now is a blank void of nothing. 

Tartarus on earth.

It was immensely difficult to focus on something else that wasn’t dwelling on the despair of it all; the hopelessness and the loss. The near impossibility of the rescue mission from the Equestrians only fueled that despair.

For the Sergeant, she knew her fate was sealed since the Siege began. She would live here; She would fight here; And she would most likely die here.

And she fought against that fate, even if it was suicidally impossible.

“Sergeant! Sergeant Shamrock!” a pony seizes her attention with her name; somepony with a radio backpack, the phone held aloft with a wing. The wielder looked apologetic and empathetic.

And based on the incessant and incoherent yelling and griping that Shamrock could hear, she knew exactly who that was. And she felt her stomach fall into a pit. 

“Uh, sorry ma'am, but uh… Major Quartz wants reports...?” he asked sheepishly. 

A raucous sigh escaped Shamrock’s lips.

“Fucking hell.” she groaned. As she did so, her eyes were glued to the small, and very distant treeline that she could just beyond No Creature’s Land where the bombardment had been firing from. Her eyes never left that spot.

Hesitantly, she grabbed the phone with a free hoof and, slowly, eased the phone into her ear.

“... Major Quartz?” She spoke with caution. 

"SHAMROCK!" The voice screams with unbridled fury, causing her to flinch instinctively. “Those Fucking Bugs are going to roll in from all sides! They’re about to attack at any minute!”

“I am aware Major, I’m looking at them right now!” she barked back

“Don’t get cute with me, Sergeant! This may be our last chance to repel an assault before reinforcements arrive tomorrow!”

“Again, I-... wait, tomorrow?!” Shamrock nearly cracked her voice as she raised her volume. “You never informed me that reinforcements were arriving tomorrow!”

“That’s because we weren’t aware they would be here by tomorrow, until just today! The telegram reports they are in combat with the eastern flank, and we may be able to make a breakthrough if all the defensive Bulwarks can just hold the line!” 

The major never ceased to yell when speaking through the intercom, much to the annoyance and displeasure of Shamrock.

“Major, we’ve barely been able to hold the line so far because we had the ammunition to do so. I-I don’t think we have enough for this time! You never sent us that Logistical Delivery like I specifically requested!”

“Those supplies have better use elsewhere!” Major Quartz nearly screamed back. “We’re close to making a breakthrough on the Eastern Flank to open up the Equestrian supply lines! J-Just hold the line! When the Equestrians finally help us break through, then we can get you the supplies!”

Shamrock felt her eye twitch involuntarily, and the nerves in her body were tingling with warm, manic energy. It felt like her blood was boiling.

“You… You sent our Lifeline away to try and attack? Major, have you lost your mind?!”

“NO I HAVEN’T!” Quartz yelled back with defiance. And despite his unhinged tone, he still sounded so sure of himself. “We are so close, Sergeant! Once we break through, then we can give you assistance!”

“We won’t be here by then, Major! We will lose the position, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all this time! We can’t hold the line forever!”

“We don’t need forever! We just need to repel one more assault!”

Shamrock wanted to scream. She felt her vision blur with a red haze. It felt like she was nearing a tipping point.

But before she could explode or release, a voice screamed from the side of where she was standing.

“HERE THEY COME!”


—


Strela’s eyes never left the sight of No Creature’s Land beyond the Treeline. He could have sworn that there was movement further beyond that looked like equine figures running around, but that may have been his brain fooling him for staring at one spot for so long.

The sight of the rugged shell craters riddled with metal carcasses of tanks and corpses of Changeling soldiers never ceased to discomfort him, which in of itself was a massive understatement. He continued to think at how much potential each of those lives had; how they could have made a difference in the outcome of this battle had they just made one slightly different decision at some point to potentially rescue them.

Instead, their fate had already been sealed. They’ve been dead for a long time now. Ended up as a statistic.

Everyling was on edge and anxious to hear the order to go over the top. The tanks churned their engines idly, stagnant and waiting for the order to move. Everyone was like a coiled spring, waiting to be unleashed and sprung in all its fury. 

All that they waited for was one word: ‘Attack!’ 

Strela felt his limbs shaking as he struggled to calm himself through breathing exercises.

Winter, as usual, was stern and stoic. Unmoving and unwavering. Strela gazed at him through the corner of his eyes with respect and envy.

He cleared his throat after a quick, deep breath to speak.

“So, uh… If you don’t mind me asking, Hauptmann…”

Winter turned his head around with piqued interest, his eyes locked onto Strela’s. As if he was scanning deep in his soul for any hint of deception.

“Uh… What’s it like out there? Have you- have you ever- have you been able to see them?” he asked quickly.

Winter turned his body around, still gazing at Strela but this time with a raised brow.

“... Well, haven’t you been in combat?” Winter asked curiously, scanning the officer once more. But he couldn’t shake this feeling in his stomach that there was something about Strela he should have known.

Something he should have known way sooner than now.

“Uh, no- no sir, I-I… I just got off the transport vehicle about an hour ago.”

That’s when the bit dropped in Winter’s mind.

“You’ve- You’ve never… oh fucking hell.” He groans with a hoof to the face, turning away from Strela.

The latter of which did not feel better about his circumstances, given Winter’s answer, in the slightest.

“Alright look, just—f-follow my lead, keep your head down, and keep track of your ‘lings, okay?”

“Right, right. Of course.” Strela anxiously complies. It wasn’t lost to Winter that the fear of what was to come was just now starting to get to Strela—If the hitched breathing was anything to do by.

This was going to be complicated.

“S-so, these ponies,” Strela asked softly so that his subordinates wouldn’t hear. “T-they’re real fucking monsters, aren’t they?”

No reply was immediately given. Winter kept his eyes glued on the soporose landscape ahead of him for what felt like years.

“... Looks can be deceiving.” He finally answered back. “They look colorful and soft on the outside, but when cornered… They fight like savage, feral animals.” 

Winter’s face turned enough for Strela to see only his right eye glaring back at him. 

“You’ve seen what happened to the last wave at the massacre behind us.”

“... Yeah. I did... And I don’t plan on joining them,” he answered with calm vigor, finding his cool for just a moment. Cocked the bolt back slightly to check his ammo, and locked it back with confidence. 

For a moment, only the sound of heavy engines constantly churning flooded the soundscape. Everything seemed comatose, like a moment frozen in time. The sun had dipped behind the cloud curtains entirely, revealing only a gray haze of morning overcast with a faint luminosity to guide the way. 

It almost would have one believe that an attack was not coming.

Almost.

“Line Infantry! Fix Bayonets!” A voice from the trench lines bellowed. A slight commotion ensued that quickly dispersed, followed by another episode of stillness from the line.

“I want your blades dripping with pony blood by the end of the day!” the same voice bellowed out once more. “Oberst Hendall, we await your order! It’s on you!”

Winter quickly tapped Strela’s Whither to get his attention before it was too late, having his gaze fixed on the troops of Fälschung Company and the survivors of Strela’s Company.

“Alright, here we go! Stick together behind the tanks and stay glued to cover! The only way we are going to win this is if-”

“Death to the Ponies!” An unsettling yell from Hendall interrupted Winter, causing his heart to stop and his stomach to drop. He saw that Hendall’s whistle and radio phone was levitated near his mouth as he continued to yell

“For the Queen!

“For the Hives!

“For the Changeling Race!

“ATAAAAAAAACK!”

The Whistle was blown.

All across the line, a cacophony of screams, engines, rumbling treads, and thunderous hoofsteps invaded Winter and Strela’s ears. He saw the frontline infantry charge out of the line, most certainly to their doom. Soon, the treads of Panzers and Assault Batteries trudged along with the quagmire of No Creature’s Land. 

Winter gazed back at Strela and his soldiers, all of them staring anxiously for their directive. He could only sigh in defeat.

“Follow my lead!” he bellows one last time.

The spring was finally unleashed.


—


Shamrock felt her heart stop for a few beats.

She didn’t need to see the army approaching, she could feel it in her bones. The earth itself was rumbling.

Panzers. They are charging into the breach once more with everything they’ve got.

“We are the Strongest Defensive Sector that is protecting the Crystal City! Sergeant Shamrock, we are NOT GIVING UP!”

Shamrock steadied herself with a deep breath.

“... I’ll see what I can do, Major, OUT!” She finishes with a shout.

And to emphasize the point, she practically shoved the poor radio pony to the ground when she slammed the receiver into the slot on their backpack with a scream.

“USELESS FUCKING WANKER!”

“I see them!” another voice calls out from behind. Shamrock hurriedly rushed to one of the sandbag walls, readying her weapon upon it as soon as she was nice and seated. 

Far off in the distance, she could see them. The unmistakable silhouettes of tanks charging their lines. And Infantry rushing ahead of them.

“Weapons Ready! I want all heavy guns fixed on those panzers!” Shamrock bellows with ferocity, causing a stir up and down the line.

She aimed down her sight, for what must have felt like the thousandth time down this same range by now, and had one wayward thought before all of Tartarus was let loose.

How much more of this?