Chapter 2: A New World

My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

The fall did not kill him. His genetically-enhanced skeletal structure had not broken or fractured upon hitting branches on the way down or upon impact with the ground. A black carapace, an implant that strengthened and protected his ribcage, had cushioned his organs and prevented internal damage. He was stunned, however, by the transition back into reality. Even the enhanced mental faculties of a Space Marine fought desperately to restore balance and awareness to his mind. It was as he was laying there, trying to make sense of what had happened in the last few eternal seconds, that he heard a sniffing sound near his helmet.

I am not in the mood for this. Even without his armor, the soldier would have been a match for many of the known fauna within the Imperium of Man. Within his ceramite power armor, he could take on anything a feral world could throw at him. His training in unarmed combat and a lifetime of experience dealing with the horrible beasts of a death world didn’t hurt, either.

Rising to his feet, the Space Marine glared in the direction of the animal’s sound, expecting to find some cringing scavenger which had found more than it had bargained for. Instead, his eyes looked through his helmet’s lenses and encountered… an equine? Yes, it was definitely a horse of some sort. And a very small horse at that. The top of the horse’s head was probably a little less than four feet from the ground. His own seven and a half foot frame, with a couple of inches added on by his armor, loomed over the animal.

He next noticed the amount of jewelry the beast was adorned with. Either this world has a ridiculous mineral content, or this animal may belong to someone important enough to squander wealth like this. How short must the people of this world be in order to make the use of such a tiny thing as this as a mount feasible? From there the warrior took note of its black-and-white striped hide. Never before had he seen a horse with colors like this. Some remnant of an ancient breed preserved from the Dark Age, perhaps?

Quickly realizing that he was woolgathering in what could still potentially be a hostile environment, the Space Marine scanned his surroundings. Other than the breathing of the startled equine and a gentle breeze playing through the branches of the surrounding forest, his audio sensors could detect no other noises. His enhanced vision found no signs of lurking predators or an ambush. The soldier’s hand crept past his right shoulder for reassurance…

And found only air. Reaching around frantically, the Space Marine pawed desperately behind his back. “My sword… where is my sword?!” In his panic, he actually spoke his thoughts aloud. Whirling around, the warrior searched the ground frantically near where he had fallen. Scattering leaves and kicking branches did nothing to reveal what he sought. Hoping against hope, he shot his gaze upwards at the branches of the surrounding trees.

There it was. His beloved blade had caught in the crook between a branch and the trunk of a tree. With all that bouncing off the branches, it must have gotten caught as I kept falling. Now, however, the Space Marine was presented with a new problem. The branch that held his weapon captive was fifteen feet upwards. He had no doubt that he was strong enough to climb up that high. Judging by the width of the available branches, tough, he could not say the same for them. It was time to get creative.

Backing up a few steps, the half-ton giant leaned forward and charged straight at the tree. He twisted his torso and rammed into its trunk with a shoulder pauldron. It visibly shuddered and tipped, some of its roots ripped from the ground. Above him, the offending vegetation finally relinquished its hold on the sword. He took a step to the left as the blade came down point first.

The full weight of the sword forced the blade a foot into the dirt. Clasping both hands around the two-foot hilt, the Space Marine pulled the five-foot blade out of the ground. He let out a thankful sigh as he ran his gauntleted fingers along the flat portion of the weapon. A moment was spent lovingly taking the sword’s details and reaffirming its value.

It was not much to look at, at least to another. The dark iron grey blade was simple, unadorned, and without inscribed patterns or oaths. It was also unusually wide; a full foot-and-a-half for most of the blade’s length. No crossguard rested between the hilt and the blade. Instead, the only consensus toward a guard was the bottom of the blade flaring out slightly to the sides. It was more than enough to ward away blows on the outside of the blade while held. On the inside, however… well, if your opponent is within your circle, you’re already in trouble. Satisfied that it was not damaged or in need of cleaning, the soldier hung the weapon behind his back and activated a mag-lock on his power armor’s backpack. There, now you aren’t going anywhere.

Satisfied that everything was as it should be, the Space Marine returned his attention to the equine. While the beast still seemed nervous and alert, it no longer shied away from him. Instead, it looked quizzically back at him. By the Circle, its eyes are huge! Feeling much better now that he had his weapon back and there was no immediate danger, he jokingly said, “All right, beast, let’s see if we can’t find your master around here.” The horse’s eyes widened… then narrowed. And it spoke.

“You may be strong, but you must cease.
I am not like you, but I am not a beast!
Your thoughts might be rattled and unkempt,
but I have done nothing worth your contempt!
I know not who masters who at your home,
but here, with the ponies, my will is my own.”

His sword was in his hand before he was even conscious of the action. The warrior assumed a battle stance, with one shoulder forward and his weapon reared back to strike. Although he outwardly appeared calm and ready, his thoughts had once again been set awhirl by this new development. This creature, this animal, had just spoken to him in Low Gothic! A strange dialect of it, yes, but Low Gothic nonetheless! There’s no way! Unless…

“I care not what you are. I don’t know if you’re a shapeshifter or some psyker fiddling with my mind, but what I do know is that there is no way that I am simply talking with a horse! Flee, witch, and be gone from my sight!”

Ᾰ

Stalking through the bushes, the manticore followed its nose as the scent of prey drew it closer. Hungry as it was, the manticore found the smell of pony irresistible. Peering through a set of bushes, it spied its target. It had seen this particular pony wandering around the forest many times and apparently it was now distracted by something else. The predator shifted its bulk, flattening its bat wings against its back and tensing its haunches. It would spring on the distracted pony and scare away whatever was menacing it. A pink tongue ran over its glistening teeth. The beast had no grudge against this hermit, but it was a carnivore. It was simply obeying the law of the forest.

Ᾰ

The horse backed slowly away from the en garde Space Marine.

“I am no witch. I am as you see.
There is no lie or trickery.
I am not capable of sorcery
The skills you describe are beyond me.”

“Stop with your insolent rhyming! You think to give me cheek? I don’t think you are aware of who you’re dealing with!”

As the invader took a step forward, a large beast sprang from some of the nearby foliage. The strange assemblage of lion, bat, and scorpion leapt toward the equine, a roar erupting from its fang-lined maw. The horse screamed.

Ᾰ

“Raaaaaaaaaaaargh!”

“Aaagh!”

“The beast is upon us!”

“Spread out, don’t let it catch us all at once!”

“Brother Meynard! He’s down!”

“Leave him, Mykel! Help us, or the beast will kill us all!”

“Shoot the bastard between the eyes!”

“Which ones?!”

“Any of them!”

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! BLAM!

“Meynard? Stay back, we can handle this!”

“For the Order!”

SHINK!

“Rooooooargh!”

THWACK!

“Well-struck, Meynard! Pursue the monstrosity! We can track its blood!”

“Don’t let it get away!”

“Mykel! On your feet! The beast will not… Mykel?”

“Meynard… Meynard is dead.”

Ᾰ

There was no concern or real thought that drove his action. It was only ingrained training, and the flashes of a long-ago memory.

Amplified by his helmet’s external audio speaker, the Space Marine launched forward with a roar of fury that matched that of the pouncing manticore. Both hands closed around the sword’s hilt and swung its massive blade into the creature’s shoulder. The force of the blow reversed the beast’s trajectory and sent it flying away from its prey.

As it groggily tried to regain its feet, the merciless warrior closed on the predator. Faced by this new daunting presence, the manticore began to give ground. Its retreat spared it from a full blow to the head as instead the weapon collided with one of its forelimbs. He could feel the creature’s bone break beneath the strike.

The manticore cried out in agony and ran off as fast as its three undamaged legs could carry it. It extended its wings and used them to turn its running into bounding leaps, anything to get away from the newest monster in the Everfree Forest.

“What is this? No stomach for battle? Come back and face the might of a true son of Caliban!” Though the combat was over, the Space Marine’s body still ached for violence. Combat stimulants pumped into him, heightening his aggression. He wanted to chase after the vile beast and put an end to its miserable existence, but he retained enough sense to realize the impracticality of such an idea. Instead, his anger was shifted to looking upon his weapon. No matter how many times I take a whetstone to it, or have one of the Techmarines sharpen it with their machines, the blade still won’t cut!

The Dark Angel reluctantly mag-locked his weapon with a deep sense of dissatisfaction. He took a few deep breaths to counteract the effects of the drugs in his system. It was the jingling of jewelry that reminded him that he was not alone. Turning, he discovered that the equine was slowly approaching him. Her eyes still held their initial fear, but some other, unknown emotion conflicted with it.

“One moment you threaten, promising strife,
and the next you defend, saving my life.
Thanks to you, I have not died.
Now I must ask, though, why you tried.”

He hesitated a moment before answering. “I don’t know why. I owe nothing to you, and you could be an enemy.” His posture changed from a slightly hunching stance of wariness to a straight-backed display of pride. “But what I do know is that I am… was… a knight of the Order, and that I swore to defend the people from the depredations of the worst Beasts the wilds have to offer. I am a son of Caliban, and I stand against the shadows for all of mankind. Even you, I suppose.”

Nodding slowly, the horse replied,

“You have my thanks. Now, tell me,
do you suffer from injury?
You have just fallen from the skies.
If you were hurt, there would be no surprise.”

“No… I’m fine. But I… thank you for your concern.”

“Good. If we left quickly, that would be best.
There are worse things that hunt in the forest.
If you do not wish to blindly roam,
Would you care to stay at my home?”

“…Very well.” An armored finger pointed at her like the barrel of a bolt pistol. “But understand this: if this is a trap, or you lead me astray, then rest assured that I will see you dead.”

“A fair enough attitude, I guess.
I will cause no undue stress.
Zecora is my name.
Would you care to do the same?”

“You expect me to reveal my true name to a random psyker? You will have to earn that trust.”

She sighed.

“Such distrust is no stranger to me.
Come, let us go. I could use some tea.”

Chapter 3: Of Ponies and Men

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My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

Chapter 3: Of Ponies and Men

A short while later the odd pair of beings found their way to a gnarled tree. Its trunk housed a small door, flanked on either side by windows cut into the tree, and bottles were hung from its branches by ropes. A red and green mask hung above the entrance. Zecora approached the door and turned her head to ask,

“You must be thirsty, I think.
I shall make us some tea to drink.
Staying out here, you need not abide.
Would you care to come inside?”

Taking a few steps forward, the Calibanite eyed the doorway and shook his head. “Thank you, but no, I think I’ll stay out here.” I probably wouldn’t fit through that door, he thought. And even if I could, it would be too easy to trap me in there. Just because this strange hermit had offered him aid did not mean she lacked more sinister motives.

She sighed and pushed open the door. As the equine stepped inside, the outsider scanned the surrounding area. His eyes picked out points in the surrounding bushes and trees where an enemy might spring from in ambush. Distant sounds reached through his helmet’s audio sensors to tickle his ears with the buzzing of native insects, the croaking of amphibians, and a gentle breeze stirring the branches of nearby trees. Contrary to what the soldier had expected, there were no distant roars or calls that suggested larger creatures going about. Either his host had exaggerated the ferocity of the local fauna, or things were quieter than would be expected.

This forest reminds me of how home used to be… except it seems to be less of a hellhole. Despite the constant and varied dangers faced in his native woods, the Space Marine found himself missing the old forests of his past. Back when Caliban had been green and alive, not flattened by-

-smoke and fire and blood and ruin and the sound of a world ending-

-flashes of memory flooded his mind. His primary heart began to beat faster in sympathy, and the smell of sulfur filled his nostrils. Try as he might, the Dark Angel could not assemble these fragments into something cohesive.

The sound of hooves clacking against the ground broke him from reverie. Zecora came out of her house, her mouth holding a tray upon which two cups rested. She placed the drinks in a shady spot under the tree’s branches and said,

“The tea is ready and boiled with heat.
Won’t you join me and take a seat?”

After a moment of hesitation, the human went over and sat down beside her. Pleased with this small amount of progress, Zecora picked up a cup and gratefully took a long sip. As she raised the cup to her lips, the Calibanite found even this small movement interesting. The handle on the cup is extremely large. She is able to fit her entire leg through the gap. It took a moment for the implications to become apparent as he stared at the remaining cup. These were designed for horses!

It seemed that this supported Zecora’s assertion that she was in fact an equine and not a shapeshifter, but he still harbored some doubts. She is a talking horse! There is no such thing! Noticing his lack of movement, the zebra set her cup down and asked,

“Come now, please, won’t you try it?
I am sure you are thirsty, don’t deny it.”

He slowly lifted the cup up and held it before his helmet, allowing the steamy aroma to run through the sensors in the mouth grille of his helmet. No neurotoxins, biochemical agents, or parasites detected… Hidden behind red lenses, his eyes switched from the cup to the little horse beside him. She merely sat there and smiled encouragingly, without any hint of malice or ill intent.

This, more than anything, persuaded him to remove his helmet.

Ᾰ

At first Zecora had not understood why he did not just drink, but now she saw that the thick black shell that covered the stranger was in fact a suit of armor. The hands rested the evil-eyed helmet on the ground as she got her first real look at the being behind the mask.

The first thing that she noticed was the light peach of his skin, as if he had been exposed to very little sunlight during his life. His head was completely bald and devoid of hair, and she wondered if the rest of his body was the same way. Then she noted that the structure of this outsider’s head was different than any creature she had ever seen. His mouth was directly underneath his eyes, instead of being in front of them on a snout, and his nose stuck out by itself from his face. He’s so… alien.

Dark green eyes, set in the center of the face like a predator’s, regarded her beneath hairless brows. These then fell upon the remaining cup. Armor-clad fingers raised it to the warrior’s lips, which took an experimental sip. He was silent for a moment, gazing into the liquid.

“Now that you have had a drink,
tell me what you think.”

“Digestible,” he stated flatly. Zecora’s eyes narrowed a little at the tactless reply. “High nutrition content, especially calcium.” Looking at her, he arched an eyebrow. “Grass?” She smiled and nodded.

“Here in the forest, the grass is sweet.
It is good to boil and good to eat.
Add some tea leaves to the pot
And a delicious brew is what is wrought.”

“My thanks.” He tipped the cup up and swallowed the rest of it in one gulp. The zebra winced at the thought of chugging hot tea. As he placed the cup back on the tray, he looked at her as if considering something. Without warning, he grabbed one of her forelimbs, which barely registered in her brain before the knife came down slashing.

Ᾰ

He made sure to keep a firm grip on her leg as his knife darted forward and made a shallow cut on her limb. Still holding firmly, he allowed a trickle of blood to pool onto the blade. Satisfied, he released Zecora. She watched in horror as her blood was licked off the blade, her assailant’s face a blank mask. Finally, though, it struck him and his eyes widened.

Memories flitted through his mind like birds on the wing. They were blurry, as though seen through the eyes of another, but they could still be understood. He saw grassy plains of a land far away. He saw wandering tribes of striped horses, herding cattle and fending off lions.

He saw the telling of a lie, and the tragic consequences that followed…

His consciousness snapped back like a rubber band, the memories finally settling like snow. Zecora, hermit of the Everfree Forest, backed away from him, her eyes wide with fear. For the first time since he had met her, his face softened. “I am sorry, Zecora, but I had to be sure you were telling the truth. You are what you say you are… or at least mostly.” The solider stood up and stepped out from beneath the tree, staring out into the forest.

While she was confused about this sudden shift in behavior, and doubly uncomfortable at the ease of which he could have killed her, she was still angry.

“Why did you cut me and bring me pain?
Tell me, stranger, do you care to explain?”

He turned to her and stated matter-of-factly, “My fellow Astartes and I possess an implant that allows us to read the memories and experiences of other creatures. It’s very useful for when little is known about the prey you hunt. In order to do so, however, a sample of organic tissue is required, mostly blood or flesh.” The Space Marine knelt and wiped his knife clean on the grass. “This was the least damaging way I knew. I had to make sure you wouldn’t struggle, or I might have given you more than the small cut I needed.”

He held the blade point up for emphasis, showing the serrated edges. “Trust me, little horse, if I had really wanted to hurt you, we would not be having this conversation.” Zecora shuddered as he sheathed the knife, chilled to the bone by how casually he talked about murder.

“So, the dominant species on this world is a bunch of horses? Very interesting.” The warrior walked back to the tree as he talked, stopping to pick up his helmet and placing it back onto his head. Once more Zecora was confronted by blood red slits. “I thank you for your hospitality, and I apologize for frightening you, but I think it would be best if I left.” With that, he started to walk further into the forest.
Zecora trotted quickly after him.

“Wait now, do you know where you’re going?
Memories or not, you’ll have no way of knowing.”

He stopped his advance into the darker depths below the clustered treetops.

“Why leave at all? Stay with me.
It’s not wise to get lost in Everfree.”

“I need to find some sort of shelter where I can evade prying eyes and plan my next move. I don’t think your tree house would be able to accommodate me.” Her earrings jingled as she considered his words.

“If solitude and safety are what you seek,
I know of a place, though it’s not for the meek.
An abandoned castle is in the forest, hidden,
ancient, stony, and vine-ridden.”

He stood silent for a moment, and for all that he moved he might have been a statue. A castle in the forest… ancient and stony… almost sounds like Aldurukh… No sooner had the word sprung to his mind than memories-

-swords clashing and bolters barking and shouts of outraged betrayal-

-returned to plague him once more. Why can’t I remember clearly? Aggravated, he shook his head to clear his toughts. I need time to think. Finally, he turned his head and replied, “I guess I could use a guide. How far away is the castle?”

“It is not far, a few hours away.
The sun is setting, though, an end to the day.
You could stay here tonight, keep yourself warm,
and then we’d head out in the morn.”

A look at the horizon did indeed show that the sun was setting. What’s more, clouds were closing in with the threat of rain. The Dark Angel itched to be moving. I could set off alone and leave her, or force her to take me there now. With the enhanced senses granted by his helmet and the wargear he carried on his person, he had no fear of going out into the dark forest at night. However, I’m sure she’d be of little help in the dark, and it would take me weeks to find that castle by myself. It chafed at him to say, “I hate to say it, but you’re right. But I wish to be on the road at first light.”

Zecora gave a small chuckle, full of warmth and genuine humor. Now he was confused. “What is so amusing?” Her eyes twinkled as she said,

“Earlier you made fun of my rhymes.
Guess who’s doing it this time?”

Her mirth faded away as she sensed a tense silence from the Space Marine. Have I offended him somehow? Then she saw his hand scratch the back of his helmet and his stance slouched a little, a universal sign of awkwardness.

“What is the matter? Did I offend?
To mock you I did not intend.”

What she could not have known was that her statement had caused some of the absorbed memories to resurface, bringing alien thoughts and feelings to the Dark Angel. “Zecora, I… I know why you rhyme.”

Her eyes widened, but the zebra tried to restrain her shock.

“You know?! How could-”

She stopped herself, a resigned look on her snout.

“Ah, the memories from my blood.
So you’ve seen what I’ve done.”

Closing her eyes and hanging her head, she asked,

“Could you do one favor for me?
Please, tell nopony what you’ve seen.”

Uncomfortable with the situation both in front of him and in his thoughts, he answered, “If you take me to the castle tomorrow, I swear upon the stones of Aldurukh and as a knight of the Order that I will keep your secret. Never will it pass from my lips, not even under pain of death.” Gratefully, she raised her head.

“I thank you for your understanding.
It seems, though, I hear raindrops landing.
Come inside, just for one night,
and we will set out at first light."

She trotted back to her house, grabbing the tray and cups as she went. The Space Marine saw light shining through the windows as candles were lit. Raindrops splashed onto his armor as he debated between the indignity of squeezing into the small shelter or standing out in the rain and perhaps finding a tree for cover. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed, and the metal-clad giant realized how one-sided the debate was.

He felt ridiculous as he had to walk on his knees and lean over to get through the entrance, but once past the door the inside of the tree was actually quite spacious. The interior was dominated by masks and bottles, with a large cauldron in the middle. “You are an herbalist?”

“Yes, I make great use of plants.
You’d be amazed at the healing it grants.”

The stranger’s respect for her went up a notch. Primitive worlds are where the real healers shine. They don’t rely on machines for making decisions, or cybernetics to cover up their mistakes. He watched as she applied a small poultice to the cut he had inflicted on her. And she seems knowledgeable about infection. Most other tribal cultures would have just washed it out with water.

“Zecora.” She looked as she finished winding the bandage around her leg. He once again grew uncomfortable. “Since I know almost all about you, not by your own choice, it’s only fair I suppose…” He trailed off and she looked on expectantly. How much should I tell her? Do her people know about humanity? About the Imperium of Man?

“I am Brother Mykel,” he finally allowed. Zecora smiled.

“I am glad, Mykel, that you can trust me.
It is not misplaced, that you will see.
Now I grow weary and will soon head to bed.
Let me find you some blankets, my friend.”

Mykel held up a gauntleted hand. “That will not be necessary. I don’t require much sleep, and I have much to think over tonight.”

Her jingled as she held up a hoof.

“If you need something, let me know.
If nothing else, see you tomorrow.”

With that she retired to a small bedroom off to one side of the tree. He marveled at her attitude. I threatened her and wounded her, and yet she still offers me shelter and aid. What kind of world is this where there is such generosity and forgiveness? Where it is so easy to call someone friend? He leaned against the wall, lost in his thoughts and pondering what had happened in the past few hours, as the last vestiges of chocolate rain poured down outside.

Chapter 4: A Tale Behind a Tail

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My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

Chapter 4: A Tale Behind a Tail

Miles away, where the province of Ponyville bordered the Everfree Forest, Fluttershy was snuggled deep under the covers in peaceful slumber. Recent events had left her exhausted. After helping to defeat Discord and attending the victory celebration at Canterlot Castle, all she had wanted to do was go home, check on her animals, and rest. The pale gold-colored pegasus made no sound as she slept, her pinkish hair somehow able to maintain its flowing shape. How she managed to do that, Angel would probably never know.

The small white rabbit was seated comfortably (well, as comfortably as was physically possible for his perfectionist standards) in a wooden chair in the upstairs portion of Fluttershy’s cottage. While she had gone to bed a while ago, he had stayed up reading Buns of the South by candlelight. As he beheld his caretaker/cook/hopelessly submissive doormat, Angel’s ears detected a strange noise originating from outside. He would have called it crying if it wasn’t for the deep, snarling undertones.

Putting aside his book, the bunny looked out the window and was surprised to see a manticore approaching from the forest. His initial moment of panic passed as he saw that the beast moved along slowly, favoring one of its forelimbs. It was making a beeline straight for the cottage. Briefly Angel considered just pretending that no one was home and letting the carnivore go bother someone else, but he knew that the creature might stick around and make more noise. What was worse, soon even the other animals with less keen ears would hear it and turn the evening quiet into an uproar. It seemed that if he wanted some peace and quiet, he would have to wake up his in-house case of unassertiveness to do something about it.

Hopping over to the bed, Angel poked Fluttershy in the shoulder. When that failed to get a reaction, he poked her again, slightly harder this time. After giving her a generous two seconds, he seized one of her pillows and gave her a fierce whack upside the head with it. She frantically rose up, squeaking in fright. Once she was fully awake and aware of the fact that nothing was trying to hurt her, the pegasus turned her attention to Angel. He stood to the side of the bed now, his arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently.

“What is it, Angel,” Fluttershy asked in her quiet, soft voice. “Do you have a tummy ache?” Silently he pointed at the window, indicating that she should look. She removed herself from the covers and walked over to peer outside. Her reaction was instantaneous.

“Oh my goodness!” Using her wings to speed her, she raced down the stairs and through the front door. The manticore looked at her as she came forward and hugged him gently. “Oh, you’re hurt, aren’t you?” Her visitor whimpered and nodded, raising his leg for her inspection. It was swollen and purple. Fluttershy gasped, “You’re really, really hurt!” She lifted off the ground and patted the side of his head. “Don’t you worry, because I’m going to take good care of you.”

She rushed back inside, gathering up bandages, several splints (due to her patient’s larger-than-average size), and pain-relieving rubs. All the while Angel watched her, his expression one of severe disapproval. “I know he’s a manticore, Angel, but he still needs my help,” she explained as she scrounged for supplies. “That poor thing probably has no place else to go to and I would feel just awful if he got sick.”

Having gathered the necessary items, she brought them outside and ordered the manticore to lie down. He did so gingerly, wincing as his broken limb brushed the ground. “Now keep it straight and still,” the pegasus instructed. While Fluttershy was… well, shy around ponies and didn’t like to give orders, she was very confident around animals and allowed nothing to interfere with her self-appointed duty of caring for the creatures who made their home near and in the Everfree Forest. That being said, however, she couldn’t help but wonder what a deep forest predator was doing coming to her for help. How did he even know about her?

As painlessly as she could, the pegasus arranged the arm so that the bone was angled straight. Her patient mewled pathetically as she worked. “You’re being very brave, big guy. Just keep still and I promise I’ll be done soon.” Holding the limb up with one hoof, she applied her ointments to the injury. Next she wrapped the leg up in bandages, and finally added a splint to the bottom, which she fastened with more of the bandages.

Fluttershy examined her work until she was sure that nothing would slip and that the bone was perfectly straight. Satisfied, she looked up and stated, “There, that’s much better. Now, I want you to stay off that leg for a while, okay? Oh, and make sure you get plenty of rest and drink plenty of fluids.” With a purr most unbecoming from such a fierce beast, the manticore leaned forward and gave her a good lick. She giggled, then stopped as she realized, “Wait, I know you, don’t I? You’re the manticore who came across me and my friends when we were going to stop Nightmare Moon, aren’t you?”

The forest-dweller nodded eagerly, holding her close with his undamaged limb and treating her to another lick. A benevolent smile formed on her snout. “Well, it’s nice to see you again. But… what happened to you?” She was lowered to the ground as the manticore stepped back and made a series of growls at her.

“A monster? In the forest,” she interpreted. He nodded an affirmative. Fluttershy’s expression turned to one of fearful concern. “How tall was it?” The manticore raised his paw and held it level above his head, indicating half again his height. “And… and how big?” He carefully stretched out both arms, stopping at half again his width. Fluttershy was growing more worried by the second. “Did… Did it have big, sharp teeth?” Her patient opened his mouth, baring his own fangs, and held his hands squared off to the side, highlighting nearly his entire body length.

“Oh… my.” Gazing at the tree line, she didn’t feel safe at all at the thought of being there at night with such a creature running around. I had better tell Twilight about this. Maybe she’ll know something about what could beat up a manticore. The forest seemed to crawl closer at the thought. Tomorrow, that is.

Turning her attention back to the predator, Fluttershy said, “I think you should stay here tonight. I’m sorry that you can’t fit into my house, but I’ll get you some blankets so you can keep warm.” Thank goodness the rain stopped earlier, she thought as she went back inside to fetch the blankets. It would have been just awful for him if it was still raining. Armed with tools of warmth, the pegasus flew out and began enveloping her guest in an overlapping blanket arrangement, working with the speed and efficiency that only an experienced caregiver could accomplish.

Once her work was completed, she was rewarded with a look of peaceful bliss and gratitude. “Well, if you’re going to stay here, I’ll just have to give you a name.” She thought about it for a moment, idly twirling a hoof through her mane. “How about Monty?” A short bark of approval was given in reply. Still aloft, she patted her charge on the head and said, “Pleased to see again, Monty. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything. I will see you in the morning.”

Despite his injury, this was the most comfortable the manticore had ever been. He had known that this winged pony would help him, as she had so long ago when he had had a massive thorn stuck in his paw. “Monty” laid his head down to get some sleep, trying to forget glaring red eyes, a booming, unnatural voice, and a massive metal fang.

Ᾰ

True to her word, Zecora was up early the next morning. Mykel declined joining her in partaking in a breakfast of dandelion-and-cinnamon porridge, but accepted a piece of honeycomb with curiosity. It was sweeter and more wholesome than anything he could remember eating, but he reminded himself not to grow too attached to the substance. After packing a lunch and garbing herself in her brown traveling cloak, Zecora led the two of them off into the forest.

At first they moved in relative silence, the clacking of Zecora’s hooves a counterpoint to the tramp of Mykel’s metal boots. Above and around them the forest spread, blocking out much of the sunlight and darkening the space below the branches. Somewhat unnerved by his silence, the zebra took this time as an opportunity to study her companion. His movements were far from graceful, she noticed, as he plodded one foot in front of the other. What was lacking in smoothness and poise, however, was made up for in the sheer power she sensed every time his foot met the earth. Each stride ate up distance and she was forced into a light trot in order to keep him from accidentally running her over.

Finally she could no longer hold back her curiosity.

“Tell me, friend, where are you from?
Describe for me from where you come.”

At first he said nothing and the little zebra was worried that the entire journey would be conducted in silence. After a few moments, he spoke with reluctance, as if weighing his words carefully. “I come from the world of Caliban, the home of the First Legion, the Dark Angels. It is… was a world of forests, ancient and all-encompassing. Much like this one, to be honest,” he added, gazing around at the surrounding trees. “But this place is considerably less hostile.”

Zecora’s earrings jingled as she curiously tilted her head.

“Less friendly, you say? How is that so?
Of a place like that, I do not know.”

“The forests were home to all manner of beasts. They came in all shapes and sizes. Teeth like swords, spikes that launched like arrows, beaks strong enough to crush armor, spittle that made flesh melt like candle wax… All of these I have seen or heard of amongst their kind. No two were ever exactly the same, but they all had one thing in common: they had an unnatural penchant for cruelty and would slay anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path.

“That is why the Order was founded. We were a group of fighters from every walk of life, dedicating ourselves to protecting the people and slaying the foul beasts. In one last, mighty crusade, we purged our world of the dreadful vermin.” Here he paused.

“All but one of them, that is.”

Zecora eyed the enormous weapon on his back.

“That explains your mighty sword.
You had to fight a beastly horde.
I have never seen a blade so large.
How did it come into your charge?”

“Well…” he began. It will not hurt to tell her, I suppose. And it would only be fair that I share my memories as I have seen hers. “I suppose that is a fair question. To be honest, even the swords my brothers use aren’t usually this large. It all started long ago, before I became an Angel…”

Ᾰ

They were on patrol through a section of the forest where there had been sightings of a giant serpentine beast.

Mykel was only thirteen years old, but he was already a veteran of combat with the tainted creatures that called the darker portions of the forest home. His family, after a history of suffering more than a normal amount of predation, had dedicated themselves to becoming professional beast hunters. Villages would hire him, his father, and his four brothers to dispatch any beasts that reared their ugly heads. More than once he and his brothers had asked to join the knighthood of the Order and wage their campaign of retribution that way, but Father had insisted on all of them sticking together. He argued that, “Only when your brothers are counting on you will you fight at your best.”

Over the years, this business took its toll. Two of his brothers were dead, buried beneath a rocky cairn to prevent scavengers from digging them up. His father had been crippled by a particularly savage mauling, forcing him to retire and rely on his remaining sons. Mykel’s surviving brothers, sensing the change in their family’s fortunes, hired themselves out as guards to protect traders and caravans from bandits and the beasts. Mykel was not ready to give up the battle yet, however, and one cold night he told his father that he was going to join the Order.

A mixture of frustration, sadness, and pride met his statement. They both knew they would probably never see each other again. As a parting gift, the boy was allowed to take his father’s two-handed sword, the family’s ancestral heirloom. “Many beasts have choked and bled on its length,” his father had bragged with pride. After a close embrace, Mykel had set off, never to return.

Now a knight of the Order, he rode upon a black horse, scanning the forest around him for movement. Mykel sat straight in his saddle, brimming with the confidence and self-assured arrogance that can only come from youth. The knighthood had seen fit to equip him with a suit of black armor, powered by technologies from a forgotten age. His father’s blade, however, still hung on his back. Some of the other young knights wondered why he did not arm himself with a chainblade. He had had to explain to them that the sword felt as comfortable to him as his own skin, as responsive to his thoughts as his right hand. If he was ever caught by surprise, he assured them, this blade would be the one to save him.

Around him other armored members of the patrol rode on their own steeds, vigilant for any sign of their quarry. Since the defeat of the Knights of Lupus, who had captured and tried to breed almost all the surviving beasts, reports of any kind of attack or sighting had become almost nonexistent. Many of the Order were spread out throughout the forest, seeking to eliminate the last of the Great Beasts.

Soon. Soon all of Caliban will be free, he thought to himself. No longer will mothers fear for their slumbering babes, or fathers for their beloved sons… His internal monologue was halted when Kenath held up a hand to halt the group. Dismounting from his horse, the young warrior knelt by a particular patch of ground that was covered by pine needles. Although Kenath was not the finest fighter in their band, his skills as a tracker were unmatched. Carefully he brushed aside some of the needles, exposing a long footprint. A track through the dirt ran alongside it.

“The beast was here,” he reported. “You can see where its belly dragged alongside its foot.” Kenath’s gaze went upward as he studied the branches of a tree close by. “Look at that branch right there. See how some of the needles are missing?” Mykel and the others studied the plant. Some of the branches were indeed stripped of their foliage.

"It seems that the monster hit these branches to dislodge their greenery and used it to try and cover its tracks.” The young knight looked up at the others. “This is a clever one, brothers. We should be careful, least we find ourselves the hunted. ”

Mykel nodded in solemn agreement. As Kenath remounted, Mykel took a moment to consider their next move. “Brother Kenath, which way was the beast heading?” Kenath pointed west in reply, towards the base of a low, rocky mountain. As the group’s most experienced beast hunter, Mykel had been given command of this mission. He had accepted reluctantly, aware that the lives of five other knights were his responsibility. It would have been easier to let someone else take the reins and simply serve as a sword arm, but his superiors had been firm. They claimed that this task would “cool the fire” in his blood.

Despite Kenath’s warning, Mykel had confidence in his own skills and in the cohesiveness of his patrol group. Every one of them had faced a beast at some point or another and was eager to add the glory of another kill to his list of deeds.

“We will track it to its lair. The sooner that this evil is put to rest, the better.” The rest of the patrol nodded their agreement, turning their mounts to head west.

An hour later, the band found itself approaching the rugged mountain face. Here the trees were scarce and withered, their roots clutching the soil like the fingers of a dying man. All the atmospheric noise they were used to died as they approached. Not even a puff of wind disturbed the quiet. Every one of them felt a great unease as they finally halted their mounts. The knights stood at the base of a rocky scree that had been formed from boulders and cobblestone that had fallen down the mountainside. Its jagged slope led up to a cave that sank into the mountain like a wound, its entrance ringed by stalactites formed over millennia by the action of water on limestone.

“Dismount,” Mykel ordered. As one the hunters lowered themselves and crept carefully forward. They all crouched there for a moment, tensely watching and listening. Other than the cawing of a far distant bird, no sign of their quarry met their senses.

“Move up. Keep it quiet.” Slowly they climbed the pile of rocks as they advanced toward the cave. Mykel swore under his breath as one of his squad, Gwain, misstepped and sent a rock clacking down. The glares of Kenath and the others were apparent even with their helmets on. For a moment they waited, scarcely daring to breathe. When a minute had passed, and none of them had been torn to pieces, they continued and reached the cave mouth at last.

“Something just occurred to me,” whispered Kenath.

Mykel turned to him and quietly replied, “What?”

“It is possible that the beast slumbers now. If we go in slowly and take our time, we might be able to catch it napping.”

The slumping of shoulders all around showed the mixed feelings that met this news. While it would be an easy kill with little risk, there would be no real glory gained from the beast’s demise.

“Then let me go in first,” Mykel suggested. “I’ll scout it out and see if it is home. Even if it isn’t, we can still set a trap for it.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do it,” asked Kenath. “I can move quieter than any of you.”

“Sorry, Kenath. I’m the one in charge, so I take the risk. You just wait here and be ready for whatever happens.”

“If I hear screaming, we’ll come running,” Kenath promised.

“Oh, we’ll be running, all right,” Gwain piped in. “Straight in the opposite direction.”

Mykel could not help but chuckle at their grim humor. Casting his gaze back to the dark hole, he steeled himself and crept forward. The cave floor under his feet sloped upwards gently, its surface crisscrossed by grooves carved into the rock by erosion. Fifty feet up, the passage curved right. Mykel continued onward and his squad was lost from sight.

As he ascended, the sunlight behind him seemed to fade, as if he were underwater. When he rounded a corner that led to the left, it grew darker still. Every twist in the passageway saw the darkness deepen around him. Mykel was debating with himself about whether or not to light a torch when his eyes began to register a pale glow emanating from deeper in the cave. He pressed on slowly and cautiously, reminded all too well of an account that one of the elder knights had told him of a monster that had used its own bioluminescence to attract unwary villagers.

The glow became brighter with each step, with new colors becoming apparent as he got closer. He finally reached a point where the cave expanded upwards and outwards, revealing a circular chamber with a floor that was dotted with bubbling, boiling hot springs. Algae within each spring gave off different colors, varying from red to green to yellow and many others. Mykel noticed, however, that the predominant color that was given off was a soft blue.

He nearly took a step into the room before stopping himself. It would have been an embarrassing death if he had simply wandered in there and the monster had dropped on him from the ceiling. Mykel crouched down and crept forward, his helmed head scanning the walls and ceiling.

What he saw there was even more amazing than the algae and the springs. Strange growths poked out from the wall: fronds, shrubs, polyps, and other, stranger shapes. All of them glowed with a brightness that put the algae to shame. Heart’s blood red, golden yellow, rich lavender and the green of new spring growth were all present, all serving as undertones for a neon blue that reminded Mykel of the edges of lightning bolts.

On the other side of the chamber a large stone platform rose about four feet from the floor. Stalactites and stalagmites that had fused together to form natural pillars prevented him from seeing if it was occupied. The knight stepped lightly onto one of the paths that ran between the various springs. He made use of the cover the limestone columns offered him as he advanced, until at last he found himself at the weathered edge of the platform. Mykel pressed himself against its lip and peered over it. There was no sign of the beast.

With some minor difficulty due to his armor Mykel was able to clamber up onto the platform. His eyes widened behind his helm’s mask as he saw that which he could not have seen from the floor.

Bones. Bones were scattered all over platform. A quick glance over assured him, however, that none of them had belonged to humans. At least, as far as he could tell. Curious, he dropped to one knee and examined a skull. It was about two feet wide and three feet long, and filled with needle-like teeth. The weathered, brown surface showed that these bones had been there for quite a while.

“There used to be so many of us,” a susurrant voice explained.

Mykel whirled as he heard the voice behind him, jumping backwards and grasping the hilt of his sword. Rising over the edge was a long, light pale blue body topped by a flat, snaky head. Feathers crested the back of its head, its colors as varied as a rainbow. Short, skinny arms placed long fingers onto the stone. Its fingers were chubby and slimy like those of a frog or a newt, but they were topped by raptor’s talons. Feathery wings seemed to sprout from its length at random, literally branching out from the trunk.

The rest of its body was hidden below the raised section of ground, but Mykel was willing to bet that the creature was at least a good fifteen feet in length and three feet in diameter. How could I have possibly not seen it, he wondered as his heart hammered. From their lofty perch an additional two feet above the knight, golden orbs regarded him sagely. The beast made no further move.

“You… you speak?” It was the only response that Mykel in his shocked state could think of. His mind raced as he tried to come to terms with the fact that he was not being attacked and was instead having a conversation with a beast.

“Yes. It is a gift. Most of my brothers were not blessed enough to have it,” it indicated with a sweep of its arm. Its gesture took in the bones that Mykel was standing amongst. “All they knew was how to howl, to roar, to scream, to kill, to eat…” The serpent leaned forward, caressing the skull that Mykel was examining earlier. It gazed upon the relic sadly. “And how much good did it do you, my brother?”

Having regained some semblance of calm, Mykel demanded, “You have been terrorizing the village folk. Why?” His grip remained tight on his father’s sword.

“To draw attention,” it replied smoothly. As he listened, Mykel was put in mind of a snake’s hissing mixed here and there with snippets of birdsong. “I knew that if I frightened some of the peasants, the villages would call for the knights. I was hoping that they would send me a worthy champion…” More of the creature’s body appeared as it slithered closer to Mykel. It stopped well out of sword range. “And perhaps… maybe… you are the one that I need.”

“Do you truly seek a challenge, beast?” Mykel was confused by its manner.

“No, not a challenge… a wielder.”

As Mykel stood there, cocking his head in confusion, the beast turned to face the rest of the chamber. It shook its head mournfully, the movement accentuated by its long neck. “The Time of Beasts is nearly done. Man owns the forests now. Even as we speak, the last of my kind are being hunted down. Soon, we will be nothing but bones and memory, reviled in stories and used as fodder for heroes in tales.”

Its neck swung around and the beast stared at him, its eyes filled with fierce conviction. “I do not wish for that to be my fate. I wish for my memory to live on as more than just a mindless animal. And that, Mykel, is why you are here.”

The knight was struck dumb by that last statement as the beast slithered off the platform and amongst the pools. He soon regained his wits and jumped down, speeding after the creature.

“How do you know my name?”

“I know it because it was prophesied. Fate has brought you here, and we will both be better for it.”

The feathered serpent made its way to one side of the cavern, Mykel following in its wake. His curiosity made him forget about the hunt. No tale he had ever heard had made mention of talking beasts or prophecies. Somehow Mykel knew that this was a moment that would affect his destiny, and possibly those of others as well.

It stopped before a small pool and Mykel, in his haste and preoccupied state, had to stop himself from bumping into the creature. This pool was different, as gas leaked up around the water ignited with the air, causing blue flames to surround the pool. In the center of the pool, a large, flat stone stuck out of the still water. The serpent gazed into its reflection before closing its eyes.

“Watch and see, young knight.”

At first nothing happened, but then a low rumbling began. Mykel began to feel the stone under his feet shake. The vibrations grew until the whole cavern shook and the warrior found it difficult to keep himself from stumbling. During the whole interval, the beast neither moved nor opened its eyes.

Just when the tremors grew most violent, a mass of metal cracked through the surface of the stone in the center of the pool, dragging up blobs of magma with it. The volcanic material sloughed off of the metal, leaving a steaming dark grey length sticking out of the stone. Mykel could not believe his eyes.

“It’s… a sword,” he breathed reverently. While he was by no means short, standing five feet tall at thirteen years old, Mykel saw that the blade of the weapon alone was nearly as tall as he was.

“Aye. It is composed of iron from the very core of our world,” the beast affirmed. “It is called the Heart of Caliban. But it is not yet complete. One thing remains…”

Mykel looked at it questioningly.

“And what is that?”

The serpent turned to regard him.

“I would ask a boon of you, in exchange for the sword.”

He tensed, suddenly wary.

“Fear not, human. I wish you no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact,” it assured him. “I only ask that you allow me to place my last fang inside of the sword.”

“Why,” asked Mykel, not understanding.

“I am old and tired, young one,” answered the beast in a weary voice. “Living has become an exercise for me rather than a pleasure. My days are numbered, no matter how I count them. I shall either starve and waste away, or be the trophy of some aspiring knight’s Beast Quest.” A hissing sigh escaped its lips.

Upon closer inspection, Mykel saw that time had indeed taken its toll on the creature. Its scales had lost their sheen and many had fallen off without being replaced, leaving only bare pale white skin. The feathers on its head crest and wings were faded in color, and he could point out spots where some of them had fallen out. As if to emphasize its point, the serpent opened its mouth wide, revealing a curved fang the size of a short sword. The tooth’s twin, however, had been snapped off near the base.

“Now do you understand? My time is coming soon, and I have made my choice. I want my existence to have counted for something. In exchange for bringing you and the sword together, all I ask is for a piece of me to be entombed within the sword itself. That way even after I am long dead, and my bones have turned to dust, my tooth will still bite into worthy foes.”

The young man found himself strangely moved by the beast’s plea. He was reminded of his father, a warrior past his prime and simply waiting for the end. Mykel solemnly removed his helmet, revealing a young and strong face topped by close-cropped hair. Forest green eyes met golden ones in that moment.

“I, Brother Mykel, knight of the Order, grant you this boon. Together we will seek out the most dangerous of prey and show that even in death a warrior may strike down his foes.”

Closing its eyes and bowing its head in thanks, the serpent replied, “Then I shall now complete the sword.” It raised its arms and opened its mouth, the one fang gleaming. Both hands grasped the fang and gave it a hard yank. Another yank off to the side and the tooth came free in a spurt of blood. Smacking its gums, the beast pressed the liberated fang against the sword. The metal, still molten hot from the heat of rising to the surface, shifted and absorbed the tooth. Slimy fingers kept pressing until the relic was completely inside of the blade, returning to their owner smelling of scorched flesh.

“Step forward, Mykel, and claim your destiny.”

He was skeptical at first, not wanting to suffer severe burns to his fingers. When the serpent beckoned him on, he grasped the hilt and was surprised to note that it was now perfectly cool. Grabbing it with both hands, Mykel yanked on the sword. It came easier than he had expected, and the mammoth blade smashed down on top of him. Even through the armor the force was enough to knock the wind out of him. Damn, this thing is heavy.

After regaining his breath, the young knight stood up, trying not to think about how uninspiring he had seemed in the last minute or so. He held the sword point down, leaning it on the floor like a polearm.

“At last, it is done.” The beast’s eyes were alive with glee. “I can finally rest.” It craned its neck forward, speaking face-to-face with Mykel. “One last favor I ask of you. Please… end me.”

“What?”

“As I said, human, I have grown weary of life. I am ready to be done. You will carry my legacy forth, for all to know that not every one of us was without thought or reason. My strength, added to yours, so that you may fulfill your destiny.”

It laid its head upon the floor, inhaling deeply. “Use the Heart of Caliban. It is only fitting that I be the blade’s first kill.”

Reluctant to kill the only beast-that-was-not-a-beast he had ever seen or heard of, Mykel hesitated. Eventually, however, pity won out. It took all of Mykel’s strength to lift the massive weapon.

“Before I do this, I must know… do you have a name, beast?”

“Sadly, no, not in the sense of your kind,” admitted the beast. Its golden eyes looked up at him, hopeful and regretful at the same time. “I think you understand now why I do this. My destiny is bound to yours. You will be great, and by extension I will have done something great. Thank you, Mykel of the Order.”

The Heart of Caliban came swinging down, decapitating the snake’s head. With its last breath, the head gasped, “You shall… bring… great change…”

Ᾰ

Shortly after the coup de grace, Mykel left the cavern with the sword and returned to his squad. They were overjoyed to see him alive, thinking he had buried inside the mountain by an earthquake they had all felt. They had waited for several tense minutes, it was said. This was confusing to their returning comrade, who felt that the better part of an hour had passed while he was inside.

At any rate, they were happy at the news that the beast was dead, proven by the blood that still clung to Mykel’s new sword. The artifact was greeted with great curiosity, but Mykel declined to tell how he had gotten it. No doubt the other knights would never believe him.

And so they the merry band began the ride back to the fortress of Aldurukh, unaware of the pair of small, hooded figures that watched them leave.

Upon their return, Master Ramiel had accosted Mykel, wondering where he had come across such a ridiculously huge sword. Mykel explained that he found it in a cave during their mission, which was the truth.

“So…” he began as he strained to hold the weapon in one of the sword drill forms that they were taught. The blade’s weight had him hunched over and on his toes to try to maintain his balance, and even that would not last long. “Would you let me train with it?”

Ramiel grinned and quipped, “When you can hold that sword properly, lad, yes you may.”

Two days later, the Emperor’s Angels descended on Caliban.

Chapter 5: Refuge and Contemplation

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My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

Chapter 5: Refuge and Contemplation

The time passed by quickly as Mykel recounted his tale to Zecora, making good progress through the forest undergrowth. Even during the telling, both the speaker and the listener kept wary eyes on the underbrush, their ears keen to any sound that might signal an unseen observer or an ambush. When he had finished speaking, Zecora asked,

“So you were not an angel before.
You killed on the hunt, not in war.
They came to your world, but why?
What made them come down from the sky?”

“They were the First Legion of the Adeptus Astartes, the Emperor’s Space Marines. They were part of a Great Crusade to reclaim the stars for the human race. It was on Caliban that they finally found their primarch…” Mykel stopped for a moment, halting his stride. Puzzled by this development, Zecora stopped and looked back at him. In the silence that followed, only the chirping of small birds broke the stillness.

“Mykel, are you all right?
Has something given you a fright?”

Without warning he stomped forward, eyes focused on some distant goal. Zecora had to scramble out of the way as Mykel trudged past her. He set off in the direction they had been heading in, except now haste was evident in his movements. Her trot accelerated into a canter as she tried to catch up with him.

“Hold, friend! What makes you upset?
For what reason do you fret?”

He whirled and faced her, his fists trembling. “Jonson,” he shouted. Zecora took a step back, startled by this abrupt change. Deep breathing rumbled and rasped through the grille of Mykel’s helmet as he stood before her.

Confused, she replied,

“Who is this ‘Jonson” of whom you speak?
What sort of havoc did he wreak?”

“He was our leader! Our gene-father! The greatest warrior of us all! Then he abandoned us! Left us! Forgot us! And as if that wasn’t enough, he betrayed us and the Imperium!” Swinging, Mykel smashed his armor-clad fist into a nearby tree. The sound of splintering wood cracked through the forest like the sound of a gunshot. All birdsong and background noise ceased.

Taking a breath to calm himself, the Space Marine turned his head to look at the frightened zebra. “Don’t you understand? I have to get back, now! Caliban, my home, is under attack by oathbreakers and kinslayers!” A sigh grated through the grille of his helmet as he looked down sadly. “Luther needs my help… if he is still alive, that is…”

Zecora’s face grew troubled and sadly responded,

“I am sorry, but that is beyond my power.
I cannot send you back at this hour.
I know of a few to call on for aid,
but efforts to be patient must be made.
Let us find a roof for your head,
then we can try to combat your dread.”

Stepping forward, Zecora took a chance and placed a hoof comfortingly on the giant’s leg. Even though the armor was cold and hard, she hoped that the gesture itself would be enough. Zecora tried to smile comfortingly at the harsh red eyes above her, pretending instead to see the green eyes that she knew lay behind them. For a minute, Mykel stood there in silence, merely gazing down at her silently. Finally, he nodded to her. This wasn’t the sharp nod of acknowledgement that she had seen before. Zecora knew that this time, Mykel was actually listening to what she said.

Finally, the knight broke his silence. “Zecora, I… I should thank you. I know that you made a deal to take me to this castle, but… thank you for genuinely caring.” Mykel looked back in their direction of travel, his metallic voice a great deal calmer. “I had almost forgotten what that feels like…” Continuing on their way in uncomfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts, the zebra and the Space Marine went back to listening to keeping an eye out for trouble.

After hours of walking with no further incidents, they finally reached their destination. The sight of the old stone fortress stopped Mykel in his tracks. Not out of any sense of awe, for this place did not compare in size or strength to the old fortresses of his homeworld. Those had been bastions of defense against monsters too foul to fight in the open. Instead, the old, forlorn castle had a withered and worn look to it. Truthfully, it was little more than a ruin. The roof was completely gone, and to say that it had walls would have been very generous. Here and there a stained glass window survived the devastation, but the majority of them were stripped of glass like bones picked clean of flesh. Somehow, despite all the damage, the wooden doors of the castle still held firm. The only approaches to the castle were two bridges, one of creaky wood and a much shorter one of stone that was barely noticeable under the forest cover at the rear. These bridges spanned a chasm that would prove a formidable obstacle to any ground forces besieging the castle.

What had stopped Mykel was how this castle gave him an aching reminder of the days of Caliban of old. Stone fortresses surrounded by dark forest… Back when honor and duty were clear and true… Out loud, he asked, “Does this place have a name?”

“The Castle of the Sisters, or so I am told.
It is well over a thousand years old.”

“A thousand years…,” Mykel repeated with a small amount of admiration. One would have thought that the forest would have reclaimed the stone by now. Perhaps there was indeed some hidden strength here…

“I have brought you here, but now I must go.
There are friends of mine who of your arrival, must know.”

Mykel turned to her suspiciously. “You’re going to alert others to my presence?”

Zecora shook her Mohawk-clad head in exasperation.

“As I have stated, I cannot help your endeavor.
Without the aid of others, you will remain here forever.
To get find your way home, trust must be given
or your fortunes will find themselves riven.”

She offered him a kind smile.

“No intent to betray is in my blood.
Surely, you saw that as only your eyes could.”

Although Zecora meant no slight with the remark, Mykel stood chastised as he was reminded of the complete invasion of her memories. Sensing his discomfort, Zecora patted the side of his leg reassuringly before offering one final comfort.

“If I can, I’ll be back tomorrow.
Hopefully, good fortune will also follow.”

Trotting off back into the woods, Zecora left Mykel alone to his thoughts. After a few minutes, Mykel finally forced himself to step onto the flimsy hanging bridge. The way it creaked and squealed under his boot was not comforting. Step by careful step, Mykel made his way across. He imagined as he stepped that at any moment, the bridge would finally give under the stress and he would plummet into the chasm. A Space Marine’s armor would let him survive the fall, of course, but it would still be both an inconvenience and an unpleasant experience.

Somehow, half an hour later, Mykel finally reached the other side without collapsing the bridge and looked back at the passage. As much respect as I have for whoever put that together, I might as well try to leap the gap next time. Trudging confidently up to the gate, Mykel placed his palms on the doors. Taking a breath to ready himself, the former knight pushed the portal opened and walked forward into the darkened halls.

Ᾰ

“Are you sure about this, Fluttershy?”

The timid pegasus nodded in response to Twilight’s question. Sighing, the purple unicorn reflected on what her friend had told her.

Both of them were seated in the main room of the Golden Oaks Library in Ponyville. Bookshelves, carved into the walls of the living tree and filled to near-bursting with tomes and other reading materials, surrounded the two mares. A gold and orange sun, the symbol of their beloved mentor Princess Celestia, was painted onto the circular ceiling above them. Rays from the late morning sun, the true Sun, shone through the windows that were set haphazardly into the walls, which seemed to squeeze into any space that was not occupied by the library’s impressive collection. In a dark corner, away from the bright sunshine, the nighttime assistant Owlowiscious slumbered peacefully.

Twilight Sparkle had been quite surprised by Fluttershy’s unannounced visit earlier this morning, even more so when she had observed that her winged friend had actually flown to see her. Even though she was a pegasus, Fluttershy didn’t like to use her wings unless she absolutely had to. When Fluttershy made it clear that the matter was not extremely urgent, Twilight invited her in and set a kettle of tea to boil in the tree’s side kitchen. Normally, she would have had her little dragon assistant Spike do it, but he had been sorely tested by the past couple of days. He and Twilight had been taking inventory of all the books and scrolls in the library, including fitting new donations into Twilight’s experimental “alphabetical topic order” style of bookkeeping. Since the library was not very busy today, she had decided to let him sleep in.

As they waited for the tea to boil, Fluttershy described the events of the previous night. Twilight had initially panicked about the possible presence of a manticore in Ponyville, but her winged friend had had the wisdom to leave him at home under the watchful eye of her guardian Angel. Shortly after the story was told in its entirety, the tea kettle whistled and the unicorn poured each of them a cup. The lavender mare sipped her lavender tea, considering the situation.

If what Fluttershy says is true, then we might have a serious threat just waiting to make its presence known in Ponyville. As for what could beat up a manticore… Briefly she went through her mental catalogue of beasts that she knew about. A hydra wouldn’t come out this far from the bogs. Cerberus should be guarding Tartarus and wouldn’t pick a fight with a smaller creature. An Ursa Minor… or maybe even an Ursa Major however… She shuddered at the thought. There was at least one mother and one child living in the area, but Twilight doubted that an angry mother or her annoyed young would be content with simply breaking a limb if riled.

A knock at the door interrupted her musings.

“Could you please excuse me for a moment, Fluttershy?”

The yellow pegasus nodded, taking another dainty sip of the relaxing beverage. Rising from her seat on the floor, Twilight walked over to the door and quickly opened it. Standing before her was a mint green unicorn mare with golden eyes. A cheerful smile was plastered on her face. Twilight couldn’t help but smile herself.

“Hello, Lyra. Can I help you with something?”

Lyra Heartstrings nodded her head up and down energetically. Twilight had never seen her being less than upbeat.

“Yeah, I was just wondering… would you happen to have a bestiary in stock here?”

Twilight frowned at the question. The timing of it… could it be… nah. Lyra never really left Ponyville to go exploring the Everfree, so it was very unlikely that she would have seen anything.

“I think I have something like that.” Twilight beckoned Lyra in and together they approached one of the bookcases as Fluttershy looked on. The purple unicorn could tell that Fluttershy wanted to continue their earlier conversation, but, true to her nature, was waiting patiently for Lyra to finish her business. Don’t worry, ‘Shy, I won’t keep you waiting long.

“Let’s see…” Twilight used her magic to lift one of the books off of its shelf. “The Best Topiary: A Guide to Canterlot Gardens.” Her brow lowered as she frowned at the misfiling. Spike, it’s alphabetical by topic, not title. This should be under “Plants”… She resolved to have a word with him when he woke up. Replacing the book and pulling out the next one had better results.

“Here we go. The Bestiarum Equestrius: An Archive of Races and Monsters.” Her eyes lit up as she examined it a little more closely. “Wow, it was even written by Clover the Clever when she was traveling with Starswirl the Bearded!”

“Uh, Twilight?” Sheepishly, Ponyville’s librarian realized that she was engrossing herself in the book that Lyra was looking for. She passed it to the green unicorn, who began flipping through the pages as if searching. This behavior puzzled Twilight.

“Lyra, what exactly are you looking for?”

Her guest matter-of-factly responded, “Humans”, without looking up.

Twilight smacked her forehead in exasperation. “Lyra, I’ve already told you. Humans never actually existed. They’re not like minotaurs or Cerberus, which were discovered to actually exist. They were just stories made up by ancient ponies to explain things that they didn’t understand at the time.”

Lyra looked up as if she’d been smacked. “Yeah, well, if that’s the case, then why are they always depicted with having only two legs? Most ‘imaginary monsters’ aren’t that consistent in their description.”

The purple unicorn gave her a deadpan look. “What about the ones with the body of a pony instead of two legs?”

“Oh yeah, right. Centaurs,” Lyra admitted bashfully.

Sighing, Twilight continued, “I don’t understand why you are so fascinated with these creatures. According to the myths, they are incapable of any sort of flight or magic, aren’t that strong or tough, and aren’t even that attractive. I mean, by Celestia, the depictions of their faces are some of the most grotesque artwork that I’ve ever seen.”

“Hey!” Lyra closed the book and stashed it under one leg while pointing defensively at Twilight. “They might not be as strong as a minotaur or as powerful as an alicorn, but reading about some of their ideas makes me believe that they didn’t need magic or wings or anything like that. They had everything that they needed right up here.” She pointed to her own forehead in emphasis, tapping behind her horn for good measure. “It’s said that humans are equal parts tricksters, geniuses, and crazy. Kind of like if Discord actually did something constructive as opposed to turning things upside down for his own amusement.”

Twilight winced at that last part. Having defeated the draconequus mere days ago, the madness of that encounter (and their own near failure) still left her somewhat shaken by the experience. If humans are anything at all like Discord, it’s probably a good thing that they don’t exist. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Twilight didn’t so much give up as shelve the conversation. “We can debate Equestrian mythology at some other time, Lyra. Normally, I’d be happy to pull out every book I have on the subject, but I was in the middle of a meeting with Fluttershy. Come back later and we can have an actual debate as opposed to arguing like a couple of school-fillies.”

Lyra looked put-out, but finally nodded her head in understanding. She hesitantly replied, “I’m sorry, Twilight. I didn’t know.” Her guilty expression turned into fierce determination as Lyra gave one parting shot. “But don’t you worry… I’m going to get my sources and we are going to have a serious research throw-down!” Bunching up her legs to run, Lyra suddenly remembered where she was. Calming herself and walking quietly toward the front door, the green unicorn finally gave in to her excitement once she reached the threshold. It was not long before the sound of clopping hooves faded into the distance.

Sitting down across from Fluttershy, Twilight returned to the topic at hand. Fluttershy looked up at her with those sad, worried eyes, clearly expecting her to do something about it. To Twilight, there was only one clear answer.

“Fluttershy, see if you can get in touch with Rainbow Dash and Applejack. I’ll go talk to Pinkie Pie and Rarity. If there really is a possible threat to Ponyville, we all need to be on the same page and come up with a plan. A monster such as the one you have described is likely to only be defeated if all of the Elements of Harmony are present.” She tapped a hoof on the floor in emphasis. “Now, let’s get to work!”

Twilight trotted out the door, an apprehensive Fluttershy soon following after her. A few moments after they left, a small bipedal purple dragon with green spines walked groggily through the bedroom door upstairs and gave a toothy yawn. “Can somepony keep it down around here? With all this running around, you’d think that the world was ending.”

Ᾰ

It was the dream again. She did not wish to relive it as she had every day since her return, but she was powerless to stop it. The past replayed in her mind over and over, as if it wished to constantly remind her of her mistake.

In the realm of dreams, she entered a landscape unlike any she had ever seen. It reminded her of the Everfree Forest that surrounded the Palace; that is, if the entire forest had begun to rot. Everywhere she looked, plants were bent, cracked, or dribbling pus and other vile secretions. The floor of the area, where there were not puddles of slime or what seemed to be cancerous tumors, was covered in shovel-leafed blue flowers or plants that looked disturbingly like the skull of some animal. Flies buzzed overhead, ranging in size from tiny ones congregating in swarms to ones that could have easily carried her on their backs. Each of these details that she noted was rather hazy, as if the air itself was heavy and blurred any form of perception.

A tremendous racket had her turn her attention to the left as a massive beast came stumbling out of the gangreenery. It was the epitome of hideousness, a long slimy body with short, almost useless legs frantically trying to pull it along. Tentacles and organic tubing poked and penetrated its back, writhing and leaking green gas. Thankfully, in her dreams, the smell of the beast did not wash over her like a tide of reeking putrescence. Its head was a mass of more tentacles, surrounding wide eyes and a gaping mouth exposing a tongue so long it might as well have been another tentacle.

Upon noticing her, it hopped in place and barked excitedly. Such activity was more reminiscent of an excited puppy than a monstrosity. It bounded toward her, gleeful delight apparent in its eyes. Although troubled by its appearance, Luna did not seek to judge and stood her ground as it closed in…

Unfortunately for the slimehound, the Garden had other plans for her. The beast suddenly found its path obstructed by a sickly figure, who grunted at it disapprovingly. This new creature was another oddity. Its limbs were almost skeletally lean, but it walked with a clear paunch. Its movements were slow and smooth, unlike the beast’s quick energy. A sword, rusted beyond reasonable use and serrated with edges that had been corroded black by green pus, was carried in one of the figure’s hands. The other hand was pointing away, clearly instructing the beast to find another playmate. The beast whimpered and rolled around helplessly, clearly upset at having playtime interrupted. Heaving a sigh like a dying man’s last gasp, the figure petted it soothingly with its spare hand. Pacified, the beast slithered its way upright and trampled its way back through the undergrowth.

Turning to face Luna, the figure’s face was finally revealed. A single large eye stared at her with a lazy intensity, topped with a single horn like a unicorn. Beneath the eye, a slack jaw left its mouth agape and leaking a frothy drool. Boils and sores covered its skin, ranging in stages from mild protrusions to exploded pits of pus. A hernia was present in its belly as small loops of intestine peeked through the opening in its skin like a shy maiden behind a curtain. All in all, a sickening sight whose horror had not faded with the repetition of the dream.

Its single, unblinking eye not leaving her, the plaguebearer pointed back to her right. As Luna looked in the indicated direction, she gasped. How she always managed to miss the creaking, dilapidated, huge mansion, she would never truly know. One instant, the space was empty. When next she looked, a sizable cabin with groaning timbers and shattered windows made itself apparent in its ugly fashion. Smoke literally belched from the chimney on its roof. This smoke, upon closer analysis, was revealed to be millions of flies being released into the Garden. The grey-green of the house’s timbers was not reminiscent of wood so much as cold, dead flesh.

The cyclops pointed again, arm extended empathetically. For lack of any alternative action, Luna slowly walked toward the manse. As she grew near, she became of bone-white trees forming a crude windbreak around the house. Fruit that grew and rotted at the same time hung from the trees’ branches; blackbirds with cracked beaks, gunk-encrusted eyes, and severe boils and open sores regarded her silently. Where the beast’s eyes had been welcoming, these birds were clearly watchmen of a sort. Still, Luna went unchallenged as she finally approached the towering front door and knocked.

Her hoof had scarcely knocked the door twice when a deep, booming, phlegmy voice greeted her. “Come in, come in, Little Luna! I’ve been expecting you.” The joy in the voice, warm like that of a grandfather greeting his long-awaited grandchildren, was marred somewhat by an undertone of hidden malice. Luna screamed at her dream self to run away, to gallop away as fast as she could from the nightmare that awaited her. But sadly, this was memory, not a lucid dream. As she had done once, as she had repeated many times in the deepest of slumber, Luna pushed on the door.

Instead of resisting, it swung right open. Stepping inside, Luna knew what she would find, but that did not stop her from being awed and horrified by the mansion’s occupant. Sitting beside the front door, in a chair that seemed to reach to the ceiling and was but one step away from falling apart altogether, was the master of the Garden himself. A being who was immense in every sense of the word; the aura of rot and decay that clung to the presence fought for perception with its immense, corpulent bulk. The details were never precise, but key features were always remembered: a crooked mouth with yellow teeth and a lolling tongue, a pair of great horns crowning its head, milky yellow eyes, thick thighs atop stubby, disgusting toes, and a green expanse of skin covered with sores, acne, and scabs like the craters of a moon. Its head, mounted atop a fleshy expanse that barely qualified as a neck, regarded her like an ant walking upon its floor.

“Welcome to my humble little abode, Little Luna,” the great being spoke. As its lips moved, tiny balls of green matter fell out of its mouth and sprouted legs. These walking spores of pus cackled and giggled as they playfully ran across the being’s expanse. Unminding of its creations, the elderly figure continued, “I heard you cry out in your dreams, little one. Tell me, your dear old Grandfather Nurgle, what troubles you so. What makes you so unhappy?” Its face twisted into blistery concern at Luna’s distress.

Try as Luna might, she could not stop her past self from speaking. “If thou wouldst bend to Us thine ear, Grandfather… Since Mother left Us, things have become so different. We are responsible for raising the moon, a noble and important task to maintain the tides and protect Our beloved world from asteroids and other extraterrestrial intruders. But it seems as if Our subjects have eyes only for Our sister. Our Night Court goes empty as ponies sleep, unaware of Our sacrifice for them. We have tried talking to ‘Ti- Our sister, but she rebuts Us.” Luna’s tone became mocking. “’Doth thou not thinkest that We suffer as well, little sister? Be gone from Our sight, foalish child!’” Luna’s eyes began to tear up, though each incarnation had very different reasons for doing so. “She was once so bright and warm, Grandfather. Now… She as cold and distant as Our moon. Hers is a light that burns and blinds, with nothing of warmth or illumination.” Luna hung her head in despair. “We are deeply troubled, Grandfather… The changes were to make Our world so much better. Why is it, then, that We are so unhappy?” Soft sobs began to echo in the massive lounge room’s space.

Bending down in his chair as only an immaterial being can, Nurgle shushed her comfortingly and lifted her up on one giant palm. The other hand stroked her gently, leaving green slime present in her mane. “Shhh, Little Luna. Grandfather Nurgle sees how upset you are. Tell me, Luna… despite all the change that has come to Equestria, is it really any better off than how it started? For every set of troubles that you banish, a new company of problems show up to take their place. Learn to be happy for who and what you are.” Luna looked up at Nurgle with teary eyes, the barest glimmer of hope glistening in their pupils. “But,” Nurgle admitted reluctantly, “I can see that something must be done if happiness is to be achieved.” The Lord of Plagues rose from his chair, the sound of groaning timber like that of an old building coming down. He walked further into the mansion, passing by a frighteningly damaged staircase, and looked down at Luna with a grin that was strangely winning for all its oozing hideousness. “Just remember this, dear… no matter what happens, Nurgle loves you.” The scared little princess smiled gently at that comforting statement. For the princess reliving the memory, however, she wanted to scream until her voice gave out.

Eventually, for Luna could not be sure how time it actually took to traverse the mansion, they arrived in a massive kitchen. At first glance, other than the clinging mold and the decrepit state of the cabinets, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Once one regarded the gigantic black cauldron in the center, however, its true purpose became apparent. Bubbling with more violent froth and glowing with sicklier green light than even the most ambitious of witches could brew, the Black Cauldron contained the essence of everything rotten, vile, sickly, and nauseating. Even with the lack of smell, the swirl of strange oily colors every now and again and the bits of detritus that drifted up to the top were enough to make Luna’s stomach churn disconcertingly. Doubly so for the part of her that knew what was coming next.

Setting Luna down on the table that occupied space like a small island, Nurgle looked down at her with an indulging smile. “Now… don’t go anywhere, Little Luna. Grandfather will be right back with a cure for what ails you.” As the Great Pox turned his back and began searching through his cabinets of ingredients, the dreamer began to curse herself for not realizing how very wrong this all was. The words of kindness had trapped her like bee’s honey, however, and she did not attempt to take flight. Gazing around at the immense space of the kitchen, Luna soon found that there was a rusted bronze cage in one corner of the kitchen. A being sat inside the cage, arms wrapped around its knees in a protective posture. This being clearly did not belong here amongst all the decay and pestilence, for it was beautiful. Its limbs were long and smooth, attached to a slender frame that matched none of the Garden’s inhabitants.

Feeling the princess’s eyes, the stranger’s head lifted. Golden hair, fair beyond anything that could have come from this wretched face, parted to reveal a strange face. A flat face, with nothing like a snout or a beak, broken only by a sharp nose protruding. Pale lips were pressed tightly together, trying to suppress a cough. Most fetchingly of all, however, were the eyes. Blue eyes, the color of the deep ocean or the late night sky, contrasted heavily with the light blue of Luna’s own hide. It felt like one could get lost in those eyes and the suffering they had clearly endured, for twin trails of teardrops wound down from them onto the woman’s cheeks. Clearly, this prisoner ached to speak, but fear held her voice back. The eyes were the ones to speak instead. Help me. Please.

Before Luna could work up the courage to voice her own questions, Nurgle returned with a vial that was taller than Luna. An inky blackness writhed inside of the dirty glass, tapping against the walls of its prison. The dreamer Luna tried desperately to crawl away as her past self approached the vial. “Well well, Little Luna, I think I might have something that can help. Now, just to warn you, this is one of my newer gifts. I’m still not quite sure how it works yet, but the first tests have been very promising. Whereas most of my work affects flesh or metal, this will bring sweet release to the mind. This will allow you to reach out to your subjects in their sleep and spread the joy that I am to give you now.”

Curious, Luna walked closer to the vial and gazed at the ingredient inside. “…What is this ‘gift’ that thou bringst to Us called?”

An excited grin came to Nurgle’s face as he undid the cork at the top of the vial and the oozing blackness began slithering its way out.

“Tantabus.”

Like a cresting wave of darkness, the newest plague of Nurgle reared itself back and hurled itself as an oily spear toward the frightened princess. As the blackness began to envelope her, Luna was finally able to scream as only the damned can. Horrified eyes with pinprick pupils were soon covered by the ink so that they could no longer see the kitchen. In her mind’s eye, she saw a disembodied grin in a black void as her body became a vessel for this nightmare given flesh. Before finally being trapped and dropped headlong into an endless drop of oblivion, the last thing that Luna could perceive was the booming echo of Nurgle’s coughing, hacking maniacal laughter-

Sitting upright in her own chambers, Luna’s heart beat like a war-drum as she struggled to recover from the shock of the dream. Turning, she was nearly blinded as the afternoon sun came shining through her window high up in Canterlot Castle. The blue drapes that normally held back the daylight had been moved aside. Only one being in Canterlot would dare such a move.

Sitting on the edge of the bed before her, the white alicorn that was her sister regarded Luna with clear worry in her eyes. The first few times that this dream had occurred, after Luna’s defeat as Nightmare Moon by the Elements of Harmony, Celestia had been alerted by the screams and tried to shake Luna awake to spare her sister the pain of reliving it again. Each time, however, Luna was only allowed to awaken once the dream had played its course. Now, all Celestia could do was wait until the storm had passed. Gazing upon her larger sister, Luna whimpered and blinked away restrained tears as she scooted over and wrapped Celestia in a fierce hug. The Princess of the Sun rested her chin gently atop her sister’s shoulder. “Luna,” she said in a gentle, warm voice, “the dreams aren’t going away. You’re losing your strength. Please… let me help you.” Celestia pushed Luna just far enough away that they could look into each other’s eyes. “Luna, you were alone on the moon for a thousand years in the worst suffering that I can imagine. I’m… I’m so sorry that I had to send you there. Please… let me make it up to you. Let me help. What can I do, Luna?”

The Princess of the Moon sniffled and her voice trembled as she replied, “Nothing, dear ‘Tia. ‘Tis Our burden to bear, as t’was brought upon by none other than Ourselves. Thou already doth so much, having shouldered both the sun and moon for a thousand years along with rulership of Equestria. How can We ask Thou to do more?” Luna voice broke with that last statement and she rested her head against Celestia’s chest, the sniffles again betraying her.

Celestia’s wings wrapped around her like a warm blanket. “It is not unwelcome if I ask for it, my little Lu-lu.” When they had first become royalty, Luna had hated that nickname so much for the smug tone that Celestia had adopted when using it. Now, however, only genuine love drove it and it made Luna smile ever so slightly as she was reminded of better times. The blue alicorn sighed. “’Tia… We wish that Mother was here.”

Her older sister stiffened for a moment before relaxing as they embraced again. “So do I, Lu-lu. But you know why She can’t be here. Just as we have our parts to play, so does She.” Celestia placed a hoof gently under Luna’s chin so that the smaller alicorn would raise her head and look her in the eye. “We must be strong and brave, Luna. All these ponies, this entire world that we call home, depends on us. You are still weak from Nightmare Moon’s influence. I completely understand. You’re frightened of so many things now. But we can face the future together, as we were meant to. I can’t do this alone any more, Luna. I need you.” The radiant smile on Celestia’s face banished the last traces of the dream’s horrors away. “Can you do that for me? Can you be strong and stand beside me as we watch over our little ponies?”

Luna’s heart ached to say yes, but doubt continued to gnaw at her stomach and her voice died in her throat. Despite having been given plenty of time to recover after the Tantabus was expunged from her body, Luna still felt weak and unready. This weakness was not the physical of limbs pushed to their limit, but the dull ache of a spirit that could not find rest. Luna looked down between her forehooves.

“’Tia I… I can’t.” Her denial was uttered in a soft voice. “I’m sorry.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Luna galloped to the window and launched herself out into the daytime sky. On instinct, her wings expanded and she was soon gliding away from the castle on thermals. Walking up to the window, Celestia watched her sister fly away with growing sadness. The Princess of the Sun heaved a weary sigh.

Much time had passed since Luna recounted the tale of the otherworldly mansion and the events that had transpired there. In her heart of hearts, Celestia could not be truly resentful of Luna’s behavior. During the early days of their reign, having been reduced from three to two, the sisters had been forced to grow up fast. Those early days had been a strain on Celestia as she learned to finely control the sun’s orbit while juggling her responsibilities as a monarch to the peoples of Equestria. Duty ate up every second of her time and she had grown resentful of it. When her little sister had come to her for support, Celestia had been too absorbed with her own problems and told her sister to stop complaining. If only I had listened… If only I had seen… But that had not happened. Instead, she had buried herself in her own problems and left Luna all by herself. It was Celestia’s greatest shame and she had never forgiven herself for it. She had hoped that bringing Luna back into the world and spending time with her would help heal that old wound. Celestia was busier than ever, however, and Luna was still trying to find herself in this world that was so different from the one she had lived in a thousand years ago.

Celestia watched as her sister became a distant pinprick on the distant horizon. Judging from her trajectory, Luna was heading for the Everfree Forest. Briefly, Celestia entertained the idea of sending an escort after her, but discarded it. It was clear that Luna needed some space to find her center. The white alicorn wistfully sent her thoughts after Luna, uncaring that they would not be heard. Please, come home safe, my little sister. I love you, and I would not lose you again.

Ᾰ

Far, far away from Equestria, distance measured in many light-years, the fate of a world had been decided in a mere two minutes.

Of course, the conflict that had ensnared the world did not begin in those two minutes. The initial assault on the renegade forge-world of Cartiligus-III had begun weeks ago, when the blessed Host of the Dark Apostle Pharus had laid siege to the warband of Iron Warriors stationed there. The local Warsmith, a Veteran of the Long War named Corossus, had taken this world years ago and turned it into a private fortress and manufactorum… in the name of his Legion, of course. Guided by divine visions from their Dark Apostle, the Word Bearers had had the gall to pompously arrive in system and demand that Corossus follow them on a Dark Crusade. Needless to say, Corossus didn’t take that well.

What followed was weeks of bloodshed as conscripted factory workers were forced to pick up the same weapons they had been manufacturing while the Iron Warriors fortified themselves against the incoming assault. As expected, the slaves did a pitiful job of stopping the War Host as the Word Bearers came to write the Black Testament in their blood. Indeed, the tides of blood left in the initial wake of the assault were used to fuel the dark sorceries that summoned daemons forth onto Cartiligus. Juggernauts of Khorne, those crimson and bronze-armored riding beasts of destruction, engaged in single combat with the Iron Warriors’ own daemonic engines. The mortal menials of the factories fled in wide-eyed terror from ranks of sanguine-skinned Bloodletters and mobs of Plaguebearers. Riders of Slaaneesh hunted the tight streets for new playthings and Tzeentchian Horrors melted the defenders’ vehicles to slag with warpfire.

All the while, the Word Bearers marched forward with their banners, which bore screaming demonic faces and the eight-pointed star of Chaos Undivided. Curiously, however, the Host did not try to combat the tide of slaves with any reserves of cultists or press-ganged soldiers. Instead, these Bearers of the Word let the waves of bodies and bullets crash against them before tossing the enemy back into their own comrades. Blades and mauls of all shapes rose and fell, each ending in a crimson arc and scream that paid tribute to the Blood God.

Pharus would not taint his conquests by indulging the unworthy, by entrusting proper worship to the cattle and the fodder. His faith in the Chaos Gods was found through the prayers on his lips as his arms swung in the chaos of combat. Over time, the Iron Warriors grew to note and respect this. Well, some of them, at any rate. Others sought to take advantage of this behavior by setting up killzones with long-range weapons, so reminiscent of the trap that Perturabo had once laid for Dorn. Pharus’s indignant response was swift and bloody. Terminator armor-clad Anointed, the elite among the Host, were teleported through the Warp to the entrenched weapon positions and painted the walls red with the dark blood of Perturabo.

After weeks of artillery bombardments from the defenders’ guns and devastating the world’s human resources, Pharus had finally had enough. On an open-vox frequency, Pharus challenged Corossus to a duel. One-on-one, winner-take-all. In the shameful days since the failed Siege of Terra, the Warsmith had grown increasingly discontent with cowing human populations and squatting on meager conquests like a vulture. He craved the prospect of facing a worthy foe. Corossus agreed to the prospect and the two of them settled on a battlefield: an old landing pad for cargo-craft.

The two leaders squared off, each of them acting as a foil to the other. Corossus towered over Pharus in his ancient, scuffed and worn pre-Heresy Terminator plate. A servo-arm reached over his shoulder like a scorpion’s tail, its claws stained with a viscous substance that was obviously some sort of daemonic poison. One of the Warsmith’s hands was engulfed by a rumbling chainfist, clearly chosen to end the fight quickly. His other hand clamped around the grip of a combi-bolter, a signature weapon of the Traitor Legions. The spiked helm that covered Corossus’s head resembled some sort of spined feral world lizard, glaring with red eye-lenses at his opponent. His hunched posture, like that of a crouching predator, only further accentuated the hulking shoulders of his armor. In many ways, with his cybernetic limbs and chevron striping across his armor, Corossus seemed more a sentient, malicious machine of war than a man.

Standing across from the Warsmith, Pharus represented the opposite end of the spectrum. He had decided to go into this battle without a helmet, so that all could see his face. The process of becoming a Space Marine had rendered many of his facial features blocky and inelegant, but it was hard to deny the nobility in his jaw as Pharus returned his opponent’s stare calmly. Pharus’s skin was dark olive from his previous heritage, but a combination of lack of sunlight and Lorgar’s genetic influence had caused it to grow paler. Dark brown eyes regarded Corossus intently, but without any obvious evidence of impatience or bloodlust. The only decoration on Pharus’s skin was the eight-pointed star that had been branded over his lips, searing his chin, cheeks, and nose.

As a true Dark Apostle, however, Pharus’s armor was a work of art. Scenes of abasing humans, rising flames, and shrieking demons were carved with loving detail into the armor’s surface. Skulls of various species, human and otherwise, dangled on his armor alongside prayers of unholy malediction written on the treated skin of Imperial priests. Most spectacular, however, was the Dark Apostle’s choice to stick to Mark IV power armor rather than a suit of blessed Terminator plate. Pharus armed himself with only one weapon: an Accursed Crozius, the badge of his office. A power maul was already deadly to an enemy, armor or no, but this particular weapon also had a daemon bound to the Apostle’s service. Imparting its wielder with unholy resilience and adding massive strength to blows, a Crozius was not simply a weapon, but a sign of favor from the Chaos Gods themselves.

Word Bearers and Iron Warriors formed a ring around the landing pad, the weight of moment and the ceremony banishing any thoughts of continued conflict. If any Astartes from either warband had thought so much as to swing a weapon, they would have undoubtedly felt the wrath of both champions. In the tense moments before the duel began, utter silence reigned over the killing ground. Only the wind, stirred by the thinning of the Veil in the area, dared to give voice.

…All the more reason for disappointment. In the time that Corossus had raised his combi-bolter and opened fire, Pharus had already charged forward. He moved to the side to foil the Warsmith’s aim before swinging his Crozius into the Warsmith’s side. The remaining one hundred and fifteen seconds consisted of Pharus ducking and dodging Corossus’s clumsy blows while paying tribute to the Blood God with each swing of his maul. By the end, an upward swing from the Crozius managed to knock the Warsmith’s back. One downward swing of the Crozius, aimed at Corossus’s head, was all it took to end the fight.

Pffft, what a waste, thought Laruk of the Iron Warriors as Pharus stood on Corossus’s chestplate and raised his Crozius up in silent exultation and triumph. The Traitor stood with his arms crossed, having come to this arena with a general, niggling feeling of how things were going to play out. Beside him, his squadmates shifted uneasily as they recognized the turning of Fate’s wheels. Kurluk, a Techmarine and a rarity among the Chaos warbands, only showed his tension through a slight tightening of his grip on the bolter in his hands. Mordecai, however, was much easier to read. His horned helm twitched and he clasped the chainaxe in his hand like a vice as his body shook with repressed violence. In the moments following the death of the Warsmith, the tension in the air grew palpable as Traitor eyed Traitor across the ring.

Having knelt next to the body of his opponent and muttered promises to the Ruinous Powers, Pharus stood and turned to the surviving Iron Warriors. Sweeping his gaze across them, he finally spoke.

“As of this day, you no longer serve the Iron Warriors legion. Corossus made the terms of our duel very clear: we swore everything we had in sight of the Chaos Gods. Corossus has already paid with his life and his blood now flows to Khorne’s bronze cup.”

“But there will be no skull for Khorne… jackass,” Mordecai muttered, much more quietly than he normally would have.

If Pharus noticed the comment, he gave no indication. The orator side of the Dark Apostle was in full stride. “As his warriors, you are now mine. I have no illusions that this is welcome news to some of you. As sons of Perturabo, you do not take kindly to obeying orders from the sons of Lorgar.” Some of the Iron Warriors relaxed at the Dark Apostle’s admission. “Rest assured that, although we are not of the same blood, I will still treat you with respect. You are Astartes, demigods of carnage and first and foremost among the mortal servants of the Chaos Gods!

But no longer will you sit and rot in the fashion of some of Grandfather Nurgle’s less devout followers. No longer will you serve as mere custodians of conquered worlds and have your sword-arms grow dull due to misuse. I would think that your Legion has had its fill of that.” This time, mutterings of agreement arose from the throng of Iron Warriors as they recalled their mistreatment during the Great Crusade.

Holding both arms aloft, Pharus cried, “No more! The Gods have visited me with a great vision of their designs. There is a world that is in great need of bloodshed and pestilence, of excess and mutation! For too long, its inhabitants have thought that their beloved royalty could deny the Ruinous Powers their due. For too long, have a race of miserable sapient equines, a rabble of beasts of burden descended from Terran stock, thought themselves equal- nay, the superior of mankind!”

Now the muttering had turned into growls of outrage. The very idea that an animal could think themselves above the human race was an insult to these warriors, Traitor or not. Their pride in humanity as the chief power in the galaxy was offended by such a notion. In this day and millenium, Laruk found himself to be struggling to be surprised by anything. Instead, Laruk took note of the speed with which Pharus was winning their loyalty. How much of this inspiration comes from Pharus and not from the influence of the Warp? Even discounting the rumors that an Accursed Crozius could lend power to a Dark Apostle’s words, it seemed that Pharus’s voice twisted and distorted with malefic energy. Although Laruk felt a faint spark of inspired indignation within him, he did not share the genuine outrage of those around him. Truthfully, Laruk had a secret.

He did not pay homage to the Chaos Gods. Laruk didn’t even view them as gods at all. For all that he was concerned, they were just bigger daemons. Laruk didn’t join the Iron Warriors out of any sense of devotion or delusions of power. He had taken the Black Carapace and journeyed across the stars to accomplish the same goal that he had always pursued: survival. Despite the Chaos Space Marines’ penchant for finding themselves in warzones, the galaxy seemed a great deal less frightening to someone clad in ceramite armor and armed with weapons that fired rockets like bullets or bore adamantine teeth edged with diamond blades. That was why when the Iron Warriors had come to his hiveworld, Laruk had killed and suffered to join their ranks. Laruk knew that Kurluk felt the same way.

Mordecai, however, was the outlier. He had craved the strength that Astartes wielded and eagerly jumped into the worship of Khorne. As if to prove the unspoken point, Mordecai raised his chainaxe skyward and thumbed the trigger, sending the blade’s teeth spinning. “Blood for the Blood God!”

At first wary of the war cry, Pharus’s face split into a joyous grin. “Indeed, brother, and Skulls for His Skull Throne! For above all the other Chaos Gods, no one but Khorne has desired this crusade so. The inhabitants of this world desire a world without conflict, without battle. They desire… harmony.” The last word was spat out like the lie that it was, with all of the bile reserved by Loyalists for one of Nurgle’s plagues.

It was enough to push the Iron Warriors over the edge. Raising their various weapons skyward, they were quick to proclaim their allegiance. Their helm-enhanced voices echoed off of the walls of the damaged hab structures nearby.

“Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!”

“Humanity will rule the stars!”

“Maim, kill, burn! Maim, kill, burn!”

“Their hides will blister, fester, and boil! Let them taste Nurgle’s rot!”

Laruk noticed the transformation in the atmosphere with interest. In the space of a few minutes, Pharus had been able to stir up these Chaos Space Marines in a fashion that Corossus had not been able to match in years. Weary after the stagnation of several years spent overseeing production of arms on a backwater planet, these warriors were ready to finally be on the warpath again. Laruk also took note of the smile on Pharus’s face as these new Astartes pledged their allegiance to his cause. The Dark Apostle’s face may have shown joyous humility, but the Iron Warrior could see the dark ambition lurking within the Word Bearer’s eyes. Looking to Kurluk, he saw that the Techmarine was already looking at him. In that strange mental connection that they had, more instinctive than psychic, they had already seen and agreed on the same things.

This crusade would be trouble. But was staying on this forsaken world, surrounded by groveling wretches and watching the days tick by, even worth it? As beings who were functionally immortal, there would be no comfortable descent into old age and death for them. They would be stranded in a sort of limbo, with no end to the monotony. I never thought that I would see the day where I preferred combat to inaction. Laruk didn’t care one way or another about this world that the Dark Apostle spoke of. The galaxy was a big place and the only people that deserved to live were the ones who made decisions and made things happen. I guess we’ll find out which ones were are soon enough. Without saying a word, Kurluk nodded.

“My brothers,” Pharus called out to them. Heh, only five minutes and we have progressed to “brothers”. “My brothers.” The Iron Warriors settled down. “Your enthusiasm and devotion warms me. I am glad to see you so willingly take up the mantle of this crusade. Gather your siege engines, for we will have need of them. Take stock of your engines of war, as well. We have no need of tanks for this task, but there will come a day when the icons of Chaos will sit atop armored shells and bring death to the servants of the Corpse-Emperor.”

“My lord,” called out one warrior, “what of the slaves of this world? Shall we arm them and load them onto the ships?”

“No,” the Dark Apostle replied. “Their wills are weak and I will not suffer their lack of devotion when we embark upon this most unholy of tasks. They are to be rounded up, yes, but we shall offer their blood in tribute to Khorne. The Blood God shall drink deeply this night.” He raised one fist up in the air. “Blood for the Blood God!”

The voices of both Iron Warriors and Word Bearers rose as one to complete the chant.

“Skulls for the Skull Throne!”

The war parties soon dispersed, each of them assigned to a different task. Hesitating, Laruk lingered long enough to see a cloaked figure approach the Dark Apostle amid the hustle and bustle of armor. From the stature, it has to be an Astartes... What game are you playing, Pharus? Not wanting to be seen as rebellious or uncertain, Laruk stomped off in no particular direction with Kurluk and Mordecai in tow. His berzerker squadmate was strangely quiet and brooding, matching the mood of his other squadmates. Curious, Laruk asked him, “What’s the matter, frag-face? I thought that blood-spilling would be welcome news to you.”

Ignoring the old insult, Mordecai muttered, “Was hoping for a real fight. Just a lot of talking and throat-cutting.”

Looking at him with concern, Laruk asks, “Should I be unsurprised if you get us killed by taking on Pharus yourself?”

Mordecai shook his head. “Despite what you may think, brother, I’m not that stupid.” It always puzzled Laruk how despite the hair-trigger temper that his squadmate possessed, Mordecai always meant it when he called either him or Kurluk by that term. “Pharus has Khorne’s favor. If we follow him, there will be blood and skulls aplenty. If I fight him, my skull takes the place of Corossus’s beneath Khorne’s bloody boots.”

“Huh. Did you hear that, Kurluk? It almost sounded like Mordecai was talking sensibly.”

The Techmarine turned and regarded them both in that quiet, intense manner that he always did. Where Mordecai spoke in an angry snarl and Laruk’s sarcasm carried through the metallic sound of their helms, Kurluk’s heavily modulated voice made him sound more robotic than anything. “Good. Perhaps, if we all stay sensible, we won’t end up as Chaos spawn.” Although the Iron Warriors had employed their own Warpsmiths to craft daemonic engines, the sheer fanatical glee with which Word Bearers embraced mutation and possession was disturbing to them. The Warp was something to be contained and utilized, not let loose to run wild and free. All three of them fell silent at that.

Mordecai finally broke the silence. “Do you really believe what Pharus said? About a bunch of horses offending the Chaos Gods? I mean… what?”

Laruk shook his head, trying to hammer down the confusion that was starting to trickle its way into his mind after-the-fact. “It doesn’t matter. Just remember, whatever happens, we stick together. That’s what we’ve always done.” He placed a hand on either warrior’s closest pauldrons. “Iron within.”

Kurluk immediately returned the gesture to Laruk and Mordecai. After a brief hesitation, Mordecai slung his axe on his belt and completed the triangle. “Iron without,” they all breathed in unison.

Ᾰ

If the trio had stuck around a bit longer, they would have noticed the cloaked figure throw back its hood and reveal a blue helmet topped with a crown of serpents. Green eye-lenses gleamed beneath the frozen heads of a writhing hydra. Pharus nodded respectfully to the Legionnaire. “Captain Metaron. Glad to finally see you outside of the shadows. Are events unfolded as was envisioned?”

The Alpha Legionnaire nodded. “Everything is proceeding accordingly. Soon, Equestria will be in our gunsights and our destinies will finally make themselves known to us.”

Pharus breathed in deeply, the strange sensations of the Warp working through him as the sacrifice of this world already began. “I feel the eyes of the Chaos Gods upon us, Captain. Soon, we shall finally have an end to the Long War.”

“Metaron” couldn’t agree more.

Chapter 6: Secrets and Lies

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My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

Chapter 6: Secrets and Lies

As Mykel stepped into the castle’s great hall, he took note of how grass had found its way between the pavestones. The destroyed ceiling above laid this portion of the castle open to the sky. Nature does its best to reclaim this place, nonetheless.Marching forward, he noted six arches, three on either side, which led to other parts of the castle. Behind the arches, at the far end, two sets of stairs made a precise one hundred and eighty degree turn before meeting further up in the castle.

Picking a random archway, Mykel soon lost himself to the castle’s inner halls. He told himself that it was to scout the area and assess any possible threats, but he knew that it was actually to feel the comfort of stone walls around him. A gauntleted hand brushed the stone walls, uncaring that the fingers within them could not actually feel the brick. Each step sent up a small cloud of dust, revealing that no one had set foot in this place for a long time.

It took a long time before Mykel noted something interesting: he did not have to duck his head in order to navigate the castle’s interior. Clearly, these halls were meant to admit larger creatures. Is Zecora small for her kind, or was this castle meant for a different kind of creature altogether?

Mykel continued to wander, taking note of the strange sights before him. One hall contained several suits of armor, clearly meant for equine warriors. They would have been impressive were it not for their diminutive size. So, they are all that small, then. Then what does that make the Sisters? Surely, they cannot be of the same breed. The knight tried not to think of how that logic could be turned against him with the example of the primarchs.

Another hall contained a puzzle for him. Gazing down the hall, Mykel took note of strange, cylindrical shapes sticking out of the walls and holding torches. Not realizing their true identity, Mykel shrugged them off as unnecessarily complex torch sconces and continued onward.

As the afternoon wore on, more and more of the castle was revealed to him. Before making his way either further into the castle’s depths or upwards toward the obvious location of the throne room, Mykel resolved to check one more room. What had appeared to be yet another hallway was, in fact, a library. A small desk was set up in the center of the room with two downright tiny chairs, clearly meant for the former equine occupants. How do they even hold themselves upright in such a position? Surely, they must be top-heavy enough with those large heads that they could not hold themselves upright as men. Mykel shook his head as he tried to abandon approaching that idea with any sort of rational reasoning. Yesterday, the idea of a talking horse would have been ludicrous. You’re really going to waste your mental energy on something so trivial, instead?

Surrounding the table were shelves stuffed to the gills with books. Before the Imperium had arrived and changed the Order’s records from written word to digital, this was similar to how Aldurukh’s own collection had looked. Moving to one of the bookcases, Mykel looked on the spines of the books and gave a low gasp in surprise. Inscribed on each of the books was a title in Low Gothic. It is one thing to learn another people’s language, but to adopt their writing… What secrets do you hold, I wonder?

As Mykel reached for the books, unpleasant memories stayed his hand. There was another group in Caliban’s history that had sought the knowledge of Beasts for their own purposes. The Knights of Lupus had been obsessed with the lore of witchcraft and mutation. Such eager pursuit of forbidden knowledge, along with their secret program to breed the last of Caliban’s Great Beasts, had earned them the tips of the Order’s swords. Could he be falling into a similar trap?

In the end, Mykel decided to compromise. His hand stayed well away from books that clearly indicated magic, searching instead for more scientific titles. In doing so, however, one book in particular caught his eye. It bore a simple, unornamented cover with an interesting title: Past My Pages, Not My Lips. Pulling the book out from its spot, Mykel examined it a little more closely. The author’s name was stenciled in below the front title. “Starswirl the Bearded,” Mykel read aloud. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. By the Circle, I hope that was the name he given and not a pen name that he picked for himself.

Setting the book down on the table, Mykel dubiously eyed the chairs. While he had been willing to test the bridge above the chasm earlier, Mykel felt no such compunction here. Going down on one knee beside the table, Mykel opened the cover. Immediately, the pages were nearly ripped out of the spine by the motion. He placed his hand quickly beside the pages and pushed them gently back in. Clearly, time had not been kind to these books, either. Gently, Mykel flipped the pages as he began to read. Luckily for him, this book had been designed for hooves and was much easier to handle for his gauntleted fingers than anything made by human scribes. This calligraphy is so precise… How does one write so well without any fingers?

The first few pages were a self-introduction by Starswirl. As talk began to turn to magical theory and the various advances he had made in that field, Mykel started to become uncomfortable with the idea of pressing forward any further. He could almost feel the lost souls of the Knights of Lupus reading over his shoulder, mocking him for his hypocrisy. Just as he was about the slam the book shut, however, one passage caught his eye. Soon, Mykel found himself intently reading the words of the long-dead scholar.

It is the nature of us mortals to forget. To be caught up in the now or the future and turn our backs to history. Well, I shall quote wisdom that is older than the Princesses themselves: ‘Those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.’ In light of this fear, that our frail harmony may all collapse in on itself after all that we have worked through and sacrificed for, I shall leave this account so that our descendants may know of the titanic efforts undertaken to allow for peace.

Countless years ago, the world on which we stand was awash in the influence of Chaos. No records indicate if our first civilization came before or after the tide of madness. What is remembered is that it was a dark time, where fear, savagery, and cruel sacrifices were enacted to please distant deities. Discord, a servant of the powerful being known as the ‘Changer of Ways’, ruled over our lands like a foal given the iron crown of a tyrant.

No one remembers the name of the mare that finally managed to stand before Discord defiantly, nor is there any physical description of her. The Princesses, despite being pressed for details by historians, do not speak of her. All that has been recorded is that she used a golden magic that banished Chaos and acted as a beacon for our people. This indicates that she was at least a unicorn, but I would not be surprised if she was an alicorn. When this great hero turned Discord to stone, bestowing a fitting punishment upon an agent of mutation and shapeshifting, she then appointed her three daughters to ruling over the kingdom of Equestria before vanishing from history altogether. When asked why they were to only be princesses and not queens, or why their mother had not taken the position herself, silence once again met the inquiries of historians.

Two of these Princesses we know. Beloved Celestia, Princess of the Sun and Day, with a pure white coat and a mane like a rainbow. The fetchingly beautiful Luna, Princess of the Moon and Night, her coat the blue of the night sky and her mane a tapestry of stars. But too much effort has been put into forgetting the Third Princess, the third sister.

Her name, unfortunately, has been lost to the ages. What is remembered, however, is that she was subjected to a different burden than her sisters. Where Celestia and Luna are immortal to fulfill their duties in raising the sun and moon respectively, the third sister did not have such a luxury. She was achingly mortal, just as we are, but she was allowed to have what her sisters could not have: a bloodline. As the Princess of Love, a vital component of our society, she was able to pass on her title to one of her daughters. That way, even with the death of the previous Princess, love would still continue to exist in Equestria.

Well then, you might ask, why is she not venerated just as much, if not more, than her sisters? Sadly, revisionists seek to erase her from history not because of her sins, but the sins of one of her descendants. Princess Papilia, ruler of the Crystal Kingdom, was much adored by her subjects. When an Earth pony named Sombra began to court her, however, storm clouds began to gather over the Crystal Kingdom. At first, Papilia sealed herself away in her palace, refusing to address matters of state or resolve conflicts between her subjects. Rumors began to spread of her unhealthy infatuation with her new suitor and the long hours that were spent in the royal chambers rather than the throne room.

What seemed to be malicious slander, the sort that always greets new royalty with jealousy, was validated when she pronounced that Sombra was to become Emperor of the Crystal Kingdom and she was to be his Queen. Through some dark magic, Sombra had overcome his birthright and gained the horn of a unicorn. Little is known of what sorts of cruelty he visited upon his new subjects, but the one clear change he made was to attempt to mobilize an army to overthrow our neighboring kingdom of Equestria. Supposedly, long-forgotten armor designs that would enhance the strength of his legions would have been the key to his victory.

Fortunately for us, the Princesses reacted decisively and launched a preemptive strike against the Crystal Tyrant. They managed to seal him within the ice of the Frozen North, but at the cost of imprisoning the Crystal Empire as well. Only Princess Papilia was able to escape the disaster.

Her time with new lover had changed the Princess, and not for the better. Papilia’s once beautiful coat of black fur had fallen away to leave behind the shell of an insect. Her blue mane, once a source of pride and beauty, now lay limply across her neck. Open sores were present on her legs and horn from where she had worried at them. Papilia greeted her relatives with open hostility, demanding to know why they sought to separate her from her Dark Prince. As newly-formed fangs were bared at Celestia and Luna, a further surprise was revealed: Papilia carried a filly swaddled in blankets. Unrepentant for her role in Sombra’s uprising and madness, Papilia was banished. Her daughter, however, was taken in by the Princesses and continued the line of the Princess of Love.

Despite being exiled, I have no illusions that she has either died or lost her power. Somewhere, Papilia hides and nurses old wounds. I cannot imagine under what circumstances somepony like her would sink so low, but mark my words: only magic of Chaos can wreak such havoc. The secret to her corruption lies hidden in the past, but as long as the Crystal Empire joins Sombra in exile, the truth is lost to us…

We must be vigilant, now more than ever. It is clear to me that dark forces move unseen in the shadows, the barest glimpse seen flickering in the corners of our eyes when we focus on something else. The Ruinous Powers hate the harmony that we have constructed for ourselves with a strength that only Virtues can withstand. The greatest changes to rock our world have not come from grand battles or meetings of world leaders, but from our own bedrooms. As we sit in the night and think about what our lives are, what they have been, and what they will become, the choices that we make in those moments will shape the future of Equestria. I can only hope that we prove worthy of the power that has been entrusted to us…

Secrets

Unbeknownst to Mykel, there was no home for him to go back to. Caliban, the once-proud home of the Dark Angels Legion, had been sundered in the battle between the Lion’s and Luther’s forces. The remnants of the world hung in space, shattered into billions of pieces by the Chaotic forces that rent it asunder. In the wake of the destruction, only one piece of the planet survived intact: the stone upon which the great castle of the Order had stood. This asteroid-sized chunk was fittingly named the Rock. Aldurukh had been severely damaged after the duel between Luther and the Lion; it sat ruined and abandoned on top of the Rock and was now known as the Tower of Angels.

The Warp-drive that had been placed within the Rock had allowed it to escape the clinging grip of a dead world’s gravity. It now sat in space, standing sentinel in the Cadian subsector as the Eye of Terror hung in the galactic distance like a harbinger of doom. This mobile fortress-monastery dwarfed even the largest of battleships and its sides bristled with defenses; gun turrets, lance batteries, and torpedo tubes across its bulk promised swift death to any attackers. Large docking bays, yawning in the Rock’s surface like a Beast’s mouth, housed craft ranging in size from fighter class all the way up to frigates. Most deadly of all, however, were the armored figures that walked within the depths of the Rock.

Inside the fortress, all was quiet. The quiet hung in the air with many emotions; grim determination, shame, nostalgia, and caged resentment all made themselves known simultaneously. Its dark corridors were lit by archaic torches that eagerly consumed incense. Giant armored figures walked slowly through the halls. Whenever they spoke, it was in hushed tones to avoid breaking the forced sense of peace. Armor of black, white, or green denoted each battle-brother’s ranking in the Chapter hierarchy. Dark Angels of both the parent and successor Chapters made their way through the labyrinthine tunnels carved into rock like a worm’s burrow. These figures regularly walked past doors that had been sealed with both iron chains and holy inscriptions. Some of these portals guarded rooms filled with ancient archeotech, such as the forcefield that safeguarded the Rock. Others just barely managed to hold back screams and shouted questions as… renegades and informants were interrogated by the Chaplains.

Within a cell that had more psychic protection than physical, a Space Marine attempted to meditate and pick out individual strands from the tapestry of Fate. Olive skin crinkled around his eyes as he focused his concentration inward and outward. As a Librarian, his job was to observe the Warp and use his knowledge to help his brothers and combat the immaterial. The Librarians of the Dark Angels and their successor Chapters, however, had another task that was kept secret: hunting for signs of the Fallen.

Deep within the safety of the Rock, the Astartes sat cross-legged without either armor or psychic hood. Only a sturdy bed of metal and a small shrine, dedicated to both the Lion and the Emperor, topped with candles burning low occupied the room. The lack of light was no problem, for the Librarian’s eyes were turned inward as visions of impossible color and blurred images danced across his mind. Zaphkiel sought out any clue in this web of possibility that he could find, weeding out the lies and half-truths that the spirits of the Warp were so fond of using to mislead mortals.

Suddenly, the Librarian found his psychic wards sorely tested. Scrabbling claws and fangs tested his defenses, seeking an entrance. Realizing quickly that he had somehow attracted the attention of a powerful force, Zaphkiel forced his consciousness back into his body and opened his eyes-

Standing before him in the dim light of the cell was Asgaroth, one of the Interrogator-Chaplains of the Deathwing. Although Zaphkiel was more familiar with the Chaplain than most, it still sometimes made him nervous to be under the man’s judgmental gaze. Like Zaphkiel, Asgaroth had taken leave of his armor to wear a simple black robe. The only concession to breaking the shadow of his outline was the white hood he wore with forest green trim… and the bone-white skull mask that covered his face.

It was not lost on Zaphkiel that despite the Chaplain’s lack of battle-dress, the Interrogator had still armed himself with his Crozius Arcanum before entering the room. A power mace with a head shaped like a winged sword, it was both his primary weapon and a badge of office. Taking deep, controlled breaths to stop the cold sweat breaking out across his body, Zaphkiel did not move from his position on the floor. Was I truly so entranced that I did not hear the door open or his boots as he strode across the room? Why does he come so armed, as if I was one of the Fallen? Is my doubt that obvious…?

Asgaroth finally broke the silence. His voice was harsh like a whip crack and laced with veiled threat. “From what little I saw, brother, the Warp is severely taxing you. Take care that you do not delve too deeply into its secrets or drink too much from such a font of power, for that path lies to ruin… and your final repentance.” The Chaplain held his Crozius up meaningfully.

Rising smoothly to his feet, Zaphkiel let his own white robe settle before replying. “I try to pierce to veil that we may find more of our traitorous brethren, but some unseen force confounds my efforts. It is as if the closer I get to the truth, the harder it pushes back.”

“Luckily for you, Epistolary, our spies have been able to see what you cannot,” Asgaroth commented derisively. “One of the traitors has finally reared his head on a near-forgotten world. Its inhabitants do not seem to have access to even basic firearms, so this should be a simple matter of retrieval. Still, we shall go clad in the full raiment of the Deathwing. Go down to the armory and ready yourself, brother. When you are equipped, meet with our squad down in the primary docking bay. We shall leave aboard the Deliverance of Traitors in two hours.” Without another word, the Chaplain left the room… and Zaphkiel to his thoughts.

Hours later, the Librarian made his way through the stone corridors of the Rock toward the docking bay. Now encased in full Terminator plate, painted sky blue to denote his position in the Librarium, Zaphkiel took up a large portion of the corridor. The tip of his force staff tapped in rhythm with the tramp of his large boots; the weapon’s head was crowned with the statue of a hooded angel holding aloft a sword. Zaphkiel’s mouth and nose were covered by a metallic mask. In the event of a hull breach or some other incident depriving him of air, its systems would keep him alive. Since the psychic hood he wore jabbed its many needles into the back of his skull, Zaphkiel could not wear a helmet and had to rely on the barbaric looking apparatus. Still, he wore it, for he had learned too much and seen too much go wrong to let such an oversight be the death of him.

As he walked, he spotted two diminutive hooded figures approaching him from further down the hall. Hidden beneath brown robes, only their red eyes could be seen. Seeing that they were engrossed in some silent conversation, Zaphkiel stopped and let the two figures pass respectfully. The Watchers in the Dark were a mystery, even to those in the Inner Circle, but he had no doubt that every task that they performed was of the utmost importance. It was said that the greatest heroes of the Dark Angels were blessed by their presence. He could only hope that one day he would receive such an honor.

Eventually, Zaphkiel reached the docking bay with minutes to spare. He took an indulging moment to stand in awe of the spectacle around him. Massive starships, kilometers long, competed for space with scores of fighter-class defensive craft. Spurts of binary code and shouted orders rang through the air as Techmarines, Chapter serfs, and servitors all scrambled to either prepare the craft for take-off or initiate repair machine-rites. The colors of each vessel ran the gamut between shades of green, ash white, black, and silver. Though the majority of them belonged to the Dark Angels proper, there were a few other vessels in dock that belonged to visiting successor Chapters. Unlike other First Founding Chapters, the Dark Angels made no distinction between themselves and their descendants; all of them together were the Unforgiven.

After searching, Zaphkiel finally found the ship’s name painted on the side of one of the larger vessels in the docking bay. Despite how the vessel compared to the others in scale, running at thirteen hundred meters, the Librarian was surprised at how small it was. A simple Hunter-class Destroyer escort ship? Asgaroth seems confident in his informants’ intelligence regarding the natives’ technological levels. For most hunts for the Fallen, at least a Strike Cruiser was thought to be prudent. The choice of a smaller craft signified either a need for stealth or confidence in a lack of real resistance. Being a torpedo boat, the Hunter did not even possess orbital bombardment ordinance to support ground forces. Let us hope that that is a good sign.

Making his way down the metal stairs to the bay’s floor, Zaphkiel was grateful to find that the dock workers were giving him a wide berth. How much was due to the hulking ten feet of Terminator plate or the clear blue of the Librarius, he could not say. The additional height also proved useful as it allowed him to see over the heads of even his fellow Astartes and spot similarly clad warriors waiting at the ship’s base.

From what he could see, six members of the Deathwing stood waiting for his arrival. Five of them were garbed in the traditional white of the Deathwing, a color that represented ash and bone instead of purity. They carried among them an assault cannon, a storm bolter, a heavy flamer, a thunder hammer and storm shield, and a strange combination of lightning claws and bolter. To complement their ranged weaponry, three of the five armed themselves with power fists on their off-hand. The individual with the odd combination of claw weaponry towered even over the other Terminators, standing at eleven feet in his Tactical Dreadnought armor. His weapons consisted of four retractable claws on each wrist flanking three bolter barrels. A clip of ammunition extended from the bottom of each arm, clearly allowing for ease of reloading.

As for the sixth squadmate, Zaphkiel already knew who he was. Garbed in black Terminator armor and a skull-patterned helmet covering his head, Asgaroth cut an impressive figure. A Rosarius dangled around the Chaplain’s neck and fresh purity seals, their wax still cooling, were pressed to his armor.

Despite the differences in color and personal effects, all seven of them shared two things. The Crux Terminatus, each of which was purported to hold a small fragment of the Emperor’s own armor, covered the left pauldron of each set of armor. On the right side, the Deathwing First Company symbol was displayed for all to see: a downturned red sword stabbing through a circular disc on a background of ash white.

Acknowledging the Chaplain with a nod, Zaphkiel respectfully asked, “Are we ready to leave?”

“No,” replied Asgaroth with clear resentment. “Sadly, we wait upon a few brothers from the Ravenwing to join us. Were it not for the distances that we might have to cover to find our traitor, I would be content to leave them here and press on.”

“Then that gives us a little time.” Turning to regard the others, Zaphkiel found a sudden burden thrust onto his shoulders. His voice was quiet and contemplative as he recited their names.

“Israfil.” The brother bearing the flamer looked quizzically at the Librarian.

“Haniel.” A nod was returned from the brother bearing the shield and hammer.

“Hofniel.” Stillness greeted him as the warrior armed with the storm bolter stared back.

“Baradiel.” The tip of the assault cannon was raised to the ceiling as the brother saluted.

Zaphkiel stared at the last brother and gave a grateful smile.

“Temeluk.” Stepping forward, the giant placed a gauntleted hand upon the Librarian’s shoulder. Zaphkiel returned the gesture, albeit by clasping an arm instead, before Temeluk stepped back.

There was no need for Zaphkiel to acknowledge Asgaroth. Even had they been in identical suits of armor, each would have known the other well enough. Still, purpose drove Zaphkiel to look Asgaroth in the eye. He spoke directly at the Chaplain, but it was clear that his words were meant for all of them.

“I am glad to see that we serve together again. It is just as well that all the shards of the blade have been brought back together, that it may be reforged from its broken state.” Zaphkiel paused as a sudden and quiet tension filled the air. He blew a sigh before continuing. “Brothers, I know that our failure still hangs over you. It haunts me, as well. However, we cannot let it detract from our purpose here. This is a chance to redeem ourselves, to prove ourselves worthy of the Lion and the Emperor. We may have lost a world, but we will bring a renegade to justice.” Firm conviction filled his words.

“The fires of Perdition tested us sorely, but never once did you falter or shirk your duty. You stood strong and gave the enemy every reason to turn back. Let the past be the past. We will not forget what the greenskins did to us, but we have a higher obligation to uphold. Just know that, no matter what happens, I am proud to fight alongside you. Every one. If I am to finally stand before the Emperor and await his judgment, let it be in this company.”

An uncomfortable silence greeted the Librarian’s candid words. The memories of that bloodbath, that mere diversion compared to the real battle that had been waged at Armageddon, still left the bitter tang of failure in their mouths. Clearly, they had not expected anyone to speak of it so openly. For his part, Zaphkiel expected Asgaroth to reprimand him for stepping on his toes and giving a speech before departure. Such oratory was clearly the duty and privilege of a Chaplain, not a Librarian. When Asgaroth finally spoke, however, his voice was strangely subdued and respectful. “Well spoken, Brother Epistolary.”

The tramp of approaching boots broke the quiet reflection of the moment. All seven of the Deathwing observed as two black-armored members of the Second Ravenwing Company advanced rapidly toward them. Clad in modern Mark VII power armor, the two Astartes had their helmets hanging from their belts. Instead of the red sword on white of the Deathwing, their right pauldrons carried the white winged talon grasping a sword on a background of black. Despite the similarity of their garb, the two Ravenwing battle-brothers could not have been any more different. One of them had pale skin and a closely-shaven band of red hair that went only across the middle of his scalp. A pair of bolt pistols hung from his belt as he approached the group in a business-like manner. The other was of a much darker skin color and kept his head bald. His chainsword clanked against his leg as he walked toward the waiting Deathwatch with something approaching eagerness.

When they were finally close enough, the pistoleer spoke first in a clipped voice. His accent reminded Zaphkiel of the rare occasions he had met with the Storm Wardens. “My apologies for our tardiness, Chaplain, but there was a hiccup in the machine-spirits with regards to requesting fuel for our bikes. Wouldn’t want to be caught on a strange world with empty fuel tanks, now would we?”

“I would not speak of the machine-spirits in such a manner while within the confines of the docking bay, brother. This is the domain of the Techmarines and they would not take kindly to you insulting the Omnissiah’s gifts so.” Unlike most of his rebukes, Asgaroth did not deliver this one with malice.

The other Ravenwing biker nudged him. “He’s right, you know. You’ve had a screw loose for years. Wouldn’t want you catching the attention of a Techmarine and have them tighten that screw with one of those fancy Martian power axes, now would we?” Though the swordsman mocked his brother’s earlier words, there was no real disrespect in his voice. How does one like him maintain such a demeanor in the Ravenwing, Zaphkiel wondered.

The first biker rolled his eyes wearily and pointed a thumb toward the other. “This is Brother Rahatiel. Lucky for us, his bike and sword-arm are as fast as his mouth. I am Ansiel. My job is to keep this one here in check.”

“You wound me, brother. Am I truly such a burden?”

“In the legends of ancient Terra, there was a Titan tasked with bearing the weight of the Earth itself. You make me feel like that, sometimes.”

“If we are quite finished,” Asgaroth interjected with growing impatience. The two Ravenwing snapped to attention with eyes facing forward. Placated, Asgaroth swept his gaze over the eight other Astartes. “As you know, our sources have tracked our prey to an isolated world.” Within the confines of the docking bay, where the ears of those outside of the Inner Circle might accidentally catch snippets of conversation, Asgaroth avoided direct mention of their target. “I will not reveal the rest until we are already under way, but take comfort in this: this world is not far away. Soon, the enemy shall know the full extent of our wrath and beg for forgiveness for his crimes. Let us embark, for the Lion and the Emperor!” Asgaroth held his Crozius aloft in emphasis. The fists, hammers, and claws of his brother rose alongside it.

“Yes! We shall teach this renegade the folly of pledging his allegiance to Horus, the Great Betrayer,” Rahatiel proclaimed proudly. Ansiel nodded in support of the notion.

None of the Deathwing uttered a word in response.

Ᾰnd

Deep within the Everfree Forest, far from both the prying eyes of ponies and the stony ruins of the Castle of the Sisters, a simple yawning hole sat in a rock face. Barely big enough to qualify as a cave, it nevertheless served as the entrance to the lair of the forest’s most cunning denizens. It connected down to a series of labyrinthine tunnels that resembled an anthill more than a base of operations.

In the dark of these tight places, the murk only broken by the light of specially grown fungus shaped into dangling orbs, four-legged creatures scurried and flitted to and fro. An outsider regarding them from afar could be forgiven for mistaking them for ponies, for these denizens did indeed match the shape of Equestria’s primary inhabitants. Whenever they passed through the light of the fungus, however, their true nature became much more apparent. Almost all of them had black hides made of chitin rather than hair. Holes perforated their legs, further enhancing the skeletal aspect granted by the soft sheen and rigid-edged smoothness of their carapaces. Rather than white eyes surrounding pupils, almost all of them had blue eyes surrounding a slightly lighter “pupil” in the center of their visual orbs. Insect-like wings, predominantly translucent green, buzzed on their backs. Twin fangs jutted from below their upper mandible, lending them a predatory look. Such an impression was fitting for a race that hid in the shadows and preyed on the weak, away from the blinding light of the sun or the moon’s damning gaze. For these were the changelings.

Of course, despite how similar they all appeared at first glance, there were occasional differences between them. Aberrant colors, differences in fang length, and other, more… interesting mutations occasionally made themselves known. Despite the best efforts of their supreme leader, the creation of these changelings did not always result in a perfect, carbon-copy drone. Such differences only made them the subject of more scrutiny and harsher tests, for only the Queen was worthy of respect, recognition, and devotion.

Luckily for one changeling walking slowly through the confines of their hidden base, his differences were not that noticeable. His only defect was having three pairs of smaller fangs instead of the prominent double fang pair expected of a drone. More aberrant to his fellow changelings, however, was his behavior. It took physical effort for him not to merrily bounce his way to the Queen’s chamber and receive his assignment.

Yes, his assignment! He was so excited that it was everything he could do not to vibrate himself out of his shell. Queen Chrysalis, unquestioned ruler of the changelings, was to give him his own personal mission! His mind filled itself with visions of him daringly infiltrating Canterlot Castle itself, cunningly making his way through its hierarchy and gaining the royals’ trust. Then, in a dramatic flash of green light, he would reveal his true form and incapacitate the surprised Princesses!

His beloved Queen Chrysalis would settle upon Celestia’s throne and lavish praise on him for his brave and wicked involvement in the takeover of Equestria. And then, when the changelings conquered more of the land, he himself would be raised to high status! All would know the devious mind and low cunning of Daggert, changeling special agent! He resisted the temptation to throw his head back and laugh in his raspy voice, wings buzzing as they lifted him up in the air to sweep his arms dramatically.

He wanted to be special, but he couldn’t be. Not yet. He had to earn it first.

Daggert paused and let a pair of drones go by, hauling a struggling pony along with gooey, sticky strands of green webbing. The pony’s voice was ragged with breathing, no doubt from screaming earlier. Even though hope quickly began to die in the captive’s eyes, the pony’s eyes darted as they sought escape. As those eyes met Daggert for a fraction of a second, silent pleading caused them to water. Soon enough, however, the moment passed and the pony continued to be dragged down the corridor.

The interaction produced no real reaction from Daggert. The hive needed the love provided by ponies in order to survive. That deliciously sweet positive feeling filled a void in the very core of their being. Sometimes, the changelings were forced to kidnap ponies to drain on the love that their captives possessed for their families, but just as often ponies made the unwise decision to visit out-of-the-way places either alone or in pairs.

That having been said, Daggert didn’t get any sort of sick pleasure watching the prey item give in to despair. There were some among the changelings that did indulge in that – Daggert suppressed a shudder as he remembered how fond the Queen was of it – but it was not something that he particularly enjoyed. He didn’t want to starve and so the pony could just deal with it. Continuing on his way, Daggert turned his thoughts back to imaginings of his grand assignment.

Finally reaching the entrance to the Royal Chamber, Daggert found himself stopped by a rather tall changeling. The sentry in question was one of the hive’s most stand-out drones, which was rather unfortunate when the Queen looked to cast blame. His chitin was a ghostly white, a comparison only made stronger by the holes present in his legs. Dull pink eyes, alert and discerning, regarded Daggert as the changeling grew near. At first wary, the mutant’s stance relaxed as he fully recognized the newcomer.

“Daggert,” the sentry asked with restrained exasperation in a voice that echoed even more hollowly than a regular changeling’s, “have you seriously come to petition the Queen again? If you keep at this, the day will fast approach when she silences your boasting with a snap of her jaws.” His tone was less about personal concern and more the lecture a teacher gave when telling young colts to not stick their tongues to a frozen lamppost.

The smaller changeling waved off the idea. “No need to worry about me, Heindall.” Daggert’s response came out smugly in his high, nasal voice. “As it turns out, I,” he placed a digit upon his chest proudly, “have been requested to the Queen’s presence to receive a royal mission.” A smug grin worked its way onto Daggert’s snout as he gazed up at the taller changeling.

Heindall’s chitinous brow lowered in puzzlement. “You?” When Daggert’s expression didn’t falter, the only word that could escape from Heindall’s fangs was “huh”. Heindall shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Wonders never cease. Very well, Daggert. You may proceed.” The sentry moved aside to allow Daggert past. Head held proudly high, Daggert walked past with excessive solemnity. Of course, once he was clear on the other side of the entrance, Daggert skipped in place like an excited schoolfilly.

That glee died in its crib when he heard a snarling growl make its way towards him. Where Heindall’s mutations had been the result of several hitches in the Conversion process, the creation of the creature that stepped up to Daggert had gone all too well. Gnawdhogg was its name, a being that only barely qualified as a changeling. Queen Chrysalis had certainly broken the mold with her latest experiment to create a proper warrior caste. An entire mouthful of fangs gaped obscenely in Gnawdhogg’s maw as perforated masseter muscle was exposed in the corners, linking the two jaws together and allowing for frightening bite force. Pronounced bony claws scraped against the floor, having traded places with hooves on the experiment’s feet. A scorpion tail reared up from Gnawdhogg’s abdomen, its end barbed and wicked sharp. Slitted blue eyes regarded himself with equal parts disgust and hunger.

It was no secret that Queen Chrysalis fed underperforming or disobedient drones to this monster, who gladly ate the flesh of its kin. Much more on the secretive side were the rumors that Chrysalis used it to satisfy… her other needs. Personally, Daggert never felt the need to bring that subject up. I like my insides on the inside, thank you very much.

Unfortunately for Daggert, it was clear from past encounters that Gnawdhogg felt no sense of companionship for the changeling. In fact, only the lack of a command from the Queen stopped the living weapon from spreading Daggert’s ichor all over the walls as it shook the life from his limp body. As much as Gnawdhogg enjoyed the feeling of ripping through flesh and spilling life’s blood, it dared not anger its Queen by acting prematurely.

That was small comfort for Daggert as he chuckled nervously and saluted Gnawdhogg. “Er, hey there, Gnawdhogg… You, uh… Your teeth are looking particularly nasty today. Did you sharpen them on your own, or did you have some help with, uh… someone else?” Its eyes glared at him unblinkingly, a drooling tongue running over its teeth. Daggert wasn’t sure if Gnawdhogg was actually hearing what he was saying. As he spoke, Daggert slowly made his way around the monster without turning his back. “I, uh… I gotta run. Important meeting with the Queen and all, hehe.” As Daggert turned around, he heard the snarl and whipping of a tail behind him and readied himself for the end of his life. A cold voice, echoing with old power and hate fueled by magic, uttered one simple word in the space of the chamber. “Stop.”

The gaping maw of fangs snapped shut behind the cowering Daggert and Gnawdhogg lowered its head with a surprised whimper. Meanwhile, Daggert opened his clenched shut eyes and discovered that he was, in point of fact, not being torn to shreds. Gnawdhogg slowly backed away, wings dipped low like a scolded puppy’s ears. Looking up, Daggert finally laid his eyes open the other side of the Royal Chamber.

Despite the nature of its occupant, decoration inside the room was rather restricted. Only specially crafted magical lamps of glowing green flame broke the gloom inside. Such darkness was no problem for a changeling, but would prove greatly disconcerting to any other “guests” brought to the Queen’s presence. The Queen herself sat upon a throne carved from a great chunk of limestone. Pores within the rock, normally unsightly, only served to complement the organic feel of the hive and the long, slender, hole-ridden legs that rested upon them. Nearly twice as tall as any of her subjects, Queen Chrysalis already cut an impressive figure with the dainty black crown upon her head. The symbol of her office looked more like an organic growth of blue fungus atop black stalks than anything forged of metal.

In many ways, the Queen was a dark of reflection of – shut up, dummy, don’t even think about her or the Queen will feed you to the fungus farms – a certain Princess of the more… “sunny” variety. Black chitin instead of white fur, a limp mane of blue instead of a flowing rainbow, and a fanged, smug smile that dripped with cruelty instead of kindness. Slitted, green cat-like eyes regarded him with a certain clinical detachment, as if Daggert was indeed the insect that ponies claimed changelings to be. The horn atop her head, crooked and bladed and tipped with a lethal spike, glowed green with fell magic as Chrysalis raised a hole-ridden hoof to beckon Daggert to her. “Come closer, my aspiring little spy. I want to show you something.”

On the way up to the chamber, Daggert had been filled with excitement. Now irony struck him as all he wanted to do was run and escape the judging gaze of the being before him. Swallowing to reduce the dryness in his mouth, Daggert crept forward as he obeyed the Queen’s command.

Once she had judged that the little changeling had come close enough, the green light around Chrysalis’s horn intensified and an ethereal green mirror appeared before Daggert. Gazing curiously within its depths, Daggert found himself gazing at an old stone fortress somewhere within the Everfree Forest. Chrysalis’s voice broke his confusion.

“My scouts have reported that some new creature has taken up residence within the ruins. It has aided a pony against predators, so we must assume that it is an enemy.” The image within shifted, showing a two-legged being that strangely reminded Daggert of another changeling. Covered in black plates and feet like hooves, just like us… The red eyes are very different, though… And what about those sticky little things at the ends of its top limbs? Claws?

“You are to find this creature and kill it.” The Queen’s declaration broke him out of his reverie. “I don’t care how it gets done; just see that it is done. When you have finally dealt with it, bring the body back to the hive and we shall see what we can learn from it.” Chrysalis leaned back in her throne and lifted her head up imperiously. “This is your chance for greatness, Daggert. See that you do not disappoint me, or I will make you wish that I had never picked you out of the Swarm.”

Raising a hoof in salute, Daggert stuck his chest out and stated proudly, “I will commit this terrible deed, for you and the hive! Colts and fillies will speak in hushed voices around their hearths in the dark of midwinter night of the unspeakable carnage I shall inflict!” Chrysalis rolled her eyes at the contradiction. Daggert extended his hoof in questioning. “Now, my Queen, I ask of you: do you wish for it to know its killer, or should its last moments in this life be spent wondering what horror finally brought its end? I’ve really been working on my maniacal laugh and I just thought that-“

“I don’t care!” Leaning forward in her throne, Chrysalis’s yell made her displeasure known. Her eyes were wide and dangerous, fangs bared menacingly. Daggert flinched. “I already said that I don’t care. Get it done and do not return until the task has been completed. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

Daggert knew that his luck would run short if he did not leave immediately to carry out his orders. He settled for one last obsequious bow and whispered reverently in a loud voice, “As you wish… my Queen.” Wings flapped on Daggert’s back as he tossed himself airborne before making a turn in the air and speeding out of the Royal Chamber. So excited was he that he didn’t even notice Gnawdhogg’s hungry eyes following him the entire way out. Neither did he see Chrysalis holding a hoof to her forehead to ease the sudden headache.

Heindall watched the other changeling leave, a growing sense of unease gnawing at an already hungry belly. Why send only one changeling, and an untested one at that, as an assassin against a supposedly dangerous target? Turning into the chamber, Heindall poked his head in and looked askance at his Queen. Voicing his doubts aloud would have been considered treason, but the look on his face was expressive enough. He’s not coming back, is he, Heindall silently asked his Queen. A bloodthirsty grin was all the answer that he needed. Her eyes glittered with malice. Suppressing a sigh, Heindall turned back around and resumed his post.

So. Either Daggert somehow succeeds with his mission and the Queen reaps the benefits… or the true nature of the mission rears its ugly head and removes Daggert’s from his shoulders. Either an enemy or an upstart is removed from the board and the Queen continues to move her pawns.

Tread very carefully, Daggert. The assassin on his mission is the one who least suspects the knife in the dark…

Lies

Mykel spent what was left of the afternoon poring over old tomes and seeing what he could learn. Even with the attempt to avoid explicitly magical topics, it soon became clear that this was a land whose traditions were steeped in psychic might. The imprisonment of Beasts in the underground realm of Tartarus, the nature of Cutie Marks – Mykel suppressed the urge to hawk acidic spit -, the banishment of Princess Luna, the founding of Equestria on Hearth’s Warming Eve… All these events made heavy references to magic, but most of it was in a positive light. Of course it is. Most of these books seem to have been written by psykers and witches. Yet another world fallen to a magocracy.

Still, if each of these Marks, he refused to call them by their full name, are of a magical nature, then why can’t all of them use that magic? Zecora seems unable to perform psychic phenomena. Each answer led to only more questions, but Mykel could almost feel the slope slipping under his feet as curiosity drove him further toward witchery.

He needed to think. To that end, Mykel set his latest book down on the table and continuing his walking patrol of the palace. A full moon shone gloriously through what was left of the roof as he made his inevitable way to the throne room.

Sure enough, two low-seated thrones were present at the end of a raised dais. One sat beneath the banner of a blazing sun while its companion rested below a crescent moon. Even despite the disrepair, however, Mykel couldn’t help but feel that something else was out-of-place. The symmetry of the room seemed… broken, for lack of a better word. It was if the two thrones seen were too small for its space.

Just as he was about to investigate his suspicions, however, Mykel’s sensors picked up the very faint sound of flapping wings. Even with the prior warning, the Astartes barely had enough time to duck behind one of the side entrance archways before the sound of hooves clacked against the stone floor. After a brief moment, the clacking approached closer. Has something learned of my presence here? A guardian or a scavenger?

Daring to take a peek around the arch, Mykel found that the newcomer was not even looking at him. Its gaze – her gaze, he was sure – was locked onto the two thrones. Instantly, Mykel recognized the alicorn from her description in accounts. A mane of stars, hide of blue, the crescent moon Mark… She was significantly taller than Zecora, but there was no doubt. Mykel now shared the same space as the fabled Princess Luna of Equestria, Lady of Night.

And from what Mykel had read, last seen possessed by a demon of shadows.

His grip tightened around the pommel of his sword as it stayed locked to his back. What sort of power can move a body between its orbiting moon and the planet below? Powerful wizardry, indeed. There was only one reasonable course of action. Mykel had to press the advantage rapidly and take her by surprise before she could bring her magic to bear. He moved his arm smoothly to disengage the mag-lock on his back quietly and grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands. The Astartes took deep breaths; his armor recognized this behavior and began pumping stimulants into his body to enhance his perception and quicken his blood.

Steeling himself, Mykel quickly rounded the corner and charged toward the exiled Princess. Though he had contained the war cry in his throat, it was difficult for Mykel to cloak the thudding of his armored boots as he speeded toward her like a train. Looking up, the Princess’s eyes widened in shock as a pair of soulless red eyes and a massive blade that sheened in the moonlight closed rapidly toward her. Luna’s reaction was instinctual. Her horn glowed with a blue magical aura and the Space Marine found himself suddenly halted in his tracks. Despite his enhanced musculature and the aid of his powered armor, Mykel felt himself unable to move and powerless as he was encased in the same blue aura. A cold sense of foreboding washed over him as the equine royal looked crossly at the intruder. When she spoke, it was in a voice that was clearly psychically enhanced. “Who art thou that would ambush Us in the sanctity of Our own throne room? Thou art clearly not a pony. Neither do We recognize thy form from among Equestria’s allies. Speak quickly, least We lose patience and send thee sailing through the night sky as penance for thy skulkery.”

High Gothic? Strain entered Mykel’s voice as he continued to struggle. This effort, combined with the metallic vocal component of his helm, turned his voice into even more of a snarl than usual. “I do not fear you, witchbreed! I have heard of your dabbling into the dark arts and the suffering that you put your people through before your own sister had to banish you! I would do this world a great favor to rid it of the likes of you!”

Luna was silent for a long time, staring at the halted Space Marine. Great was Mykel’s surprise when tears began to form in the Princess’s eyes. Her voice quavered, as did her magic’s hold on him. His fingers began to twitch experimentally as they tested the ensnaring force. “Doth thou thinkest that the same thought hath not occurred to Us? That We are unaware of what hath been wrought by Our own resentment and would not have welcomed death as an alternative to the results of Our actions?” Mykel stopped his struggles for a moment as the unexpected answer caught him off-guard.

Closing her eyes and heaving a sigh that almost turned into a sob, Luna continued, “We were a jealous ruler. In Our quest for recognition, We nearly condemned Our people to eternal night… and their eventual deaths. Were it not for the Elements of Harmony, Our corrupted self would have doomed this world.” Mykel’s brow lowered in puzzlement beneath his helm. The Elements… Where did I see that term? Luna looked regretfully toward the Solar Throne. “Only the kindness and forgiveness of Our beloved sister have given Us the strength to rise from the ground and not submit to the world’s judgment. We had hoped that by coming here, We would be able to retread Our steps and find some measure of closure.” Realizing that she was staring off into space, Luna shook her head and returned her attention to her would-be assailant. “Instead, We find thee.”

“Do not look down thy nose at me, psyker, unless thou doth wish to look down the point of my sword,” Mykel shot back in High Gothic. He’d had some practice back on Caliban, where uppity Terran bureaucrats and trendy lords needed to be reminded that a simple manner of speaking was not indicative of worthiness. Luna, for her part, looked aghast. Clearly, she was not used to being spoken to in such a manner. Mykel pressed his advantage.

“I see clearly the trap that this world has fallen into. You alicorns, the psychic elite, build your empires on the backs of your mundane brethren and use your magic to keep them in line. You keep them in the Dark Ages that they may not rise up and triumph over your foul sorcery with science and reason!”

“Do not seek to scandalize Us with uncouth slander! We bear real love for our subjects and do not threaten them with violence for their loyalty, unlike some that We could mention,” was Luna’s heated reply.

“Then how do you explain the lies and conspiracies that plague your history? The torn-down legacy of your mother and forgotten sister? Who is the King of this land?”

Luna’s expression was torn between reluctant admission and uncertainty. “The choice to remove… Our sister’s throne was to set an example. Our fragile harmony was not to be threatened by mad quests for power or self-indulgence. We loved Our sister, dearly, but sadly her bloodline was as a tree with strong roots that eventually came to bear rotten fruit. Her descendants are still royalty and entrusted with Love, but the memory has tarnished that seat forever.”

“Just like yours,” Mykel barked harshly.

A weak nod replied. “Aye, like Ours… This castle has been abandoned for a thousand years. Our sister, Celestia, now resides in Canterlot Castle and has taken up the mantle of monarch for centuries. As for Mother… She left us. We were sorry to see Her go, but She insisted. Said that there was much work for Her to do and that She had faith that we would find the strength to govern Ourselves. And the King… We truly do not know. Mother never truly spoke of him; She only said that one day he would come and We would serve under him. But that day never came and so She took to the skies.”

“How convenient for you all. A promised messiah that never comes, leaving you all as stewards to prepare for his coming and carry out his orders.” Mykel scoffed. “I would be more impressed if mankind’s history was not so thoroughly plagued with such trickery.”

“We committed no trickery. If Mother said that there was to be a King, then We believe Her. We cannot fathom under what circumstance he would leave his throne empty, but here We are. We have been assigned a duty and will carry it out as such.”

“If that is the case, then who has been responsible for the moon?”

“Celestia.” Luna was clearly uncomfortable with it. “Though now that We have returned, We seek to regain Our strength that We may return to Our duty and relieve a load from her shoulders.”

“…Why should I believe a single word of what you say?”

The look that Luna gave him could have frozen a lake. “Because if We were still Nightmare Moon, possessed by the Tantabus, We would entertain Ourselves with snapping thy bones one-by-one instead of conversation. Or perhaps a trip to the moon would be more to thy liking?”

Reluctantly, Mykel was forced to acknowledge the observation that holding him back did not seem to even take conscious effort for her. “I still do not trust you.” He would not relent.

“Nor We thou, for our first meeting has consisted of thine attempt at regicide. But… Our sister tells Us that forgiveness is the only way that progress is made between enemies. So…” The light from her horn faded and Mykel found that his body could now move freely. Luna gazed at him expectantly. “We are willing to forgive thy bad manners, if thou art willing to sheathe thy sword and make peace instead of war.”

For a moment, the stranger stood still and glared at Luna. Eventually, however, the sword found its way into its customary position on Mykel’s back. “Don’t make me regret this, witch.”

“We will not.” A small smile of welcome worked its way onto Luna’s snout. It reminded Mykel of how Zecora had looked when she welcomed a complete stranger into her own home.

“Now, if thou wouldst join Us, We go to the site of Our defeat so that We might rejoice at Our second chance.” Perplexed by such a statement, Mykel followed behind slightly as Luna found her way to a chamber that Mykel had passed through earlier. His eyes darted around, wary of a trap. The only notable feature was the sculpture in the middle: a round orb mounted on a platform and surrounded by pedestals. Luna looked around the room; the conflicting feelings that tore at her were plain as day on the Princess of Night.

“It was here that Nightmare Moon was struck down and We were returned to Our sister. We wish that more of this statue was intact to commemorate the occasion, but the other stone orbs were sadly shattered during the conflict.”

While Luna was engrossed with the memory, however, Mykel found his eyes drawn to the center orb as if it was a lodestone. Stepping quietly forward, Luna grew quiet as the Astartes fixed his gaze on one particular facet of the orb. There… Brushing the accumulated dust off, Mykel could faintly make out the paper-thin cuts in the stone that outlined a five-fingered hand. Hesitantly, he raised his own hand and pressed it to the orb.

A stony rumbling echoed throughout the room and Luna’s wings spread in panic. Dust rained from what was left of the ceiling. “What did you do,” she asked in rising panic. Mykel himself was too concerned to note the Princess’s slip into Low Gothic.

Rising from the floor in the back of the chamber, near the shattered remains of tall windows, a throne of monolithic stature finally settled and quieted. Both visitors gazed up at the furnishing in awe. “By the stars… How long has this been hidden here?” Luna seemed genuinely astonished by its presence. Mykel, however, was caught unprepared and audibly gasped.

For emblazoned on the back of the throne, proud and strong, was a double-headed eagle clutching a pair of lightning bolts.

Chapter 7: Near-fatal Assumptions

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My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

Chapter 7

“The symbol of the Emperor.”

After the shock in the Chamber of Elements, the duo had retreated to the sanctity of a hidden room. Tipping back one of the chairs that Mykel had avoided in the library, Luna had revealed a secret passageway into a turreted room in the castle. She had revealed that this was a special place to her and her sister, a peaceful hideaway to compose their thoughts and discuss matters too sensitive for prying eyes and ears. The two stained glass windows, with one a yellow and orange sun and the other a white moon on a blue backdrop, made it clear that the room had specifically designed for their use.

After sternly warning Mykel not to touch anything, Luna had flown off for a brief while. She returned with a decanter and two glass goblets. The decanter contained a liquid so purple as to almost be black. Luna informed him that, somehow, their servants had forgotten some of the wine in the royal cellar and poured him a glass. Holding the cup up to his helmet’s grille and letting the vapors waft past his olfactory sensors had revealed no trace of poison, but Mykel regarded her steadily from beneath his helm. Eventually realizing what his inaction was insinuating, Luna rolled her eyes and gave an exasperated groan before pouring her own glass and taking a healthy sip. She looked at him pointedly. There, see? No poison.

Counting on his digestive system to break down anything that a normal human couldn’t handle, Mykel finally removed his helmet and deposited it on the table between the two of them. Taking a sip, Mykel was very surprised to note that the wine had not only avoided degrading into vinegar, but actually benefited from its centuries-long exile in the castle. The grapes that had gone into making it were clearly of higher quality than anything he had tasted back on Caliban, even before the deforestation had begun. They offered such a sweeter flavor than any wine he had ever tasted. Master artisanry of both farmers and vintners, or just more sorcery?

Holding the cup between his gauntleted fingers, Mykel looked into the liquid’s depths and finally gave voice as to what had shocked him so badly in the Chamber of Elements. For her part, Luna had been so fascinated by the appearance of this new creature that his statement knocked her out of her own contemplation.

“Emperor? Surely, thou referst to that braggart upstart, Sombra? But his heraldry was nothing like the icon on the back of that throne.”

Raising his eyes up to her, Mykel scowled. “I am not referring to that sorcerer. No, the man that I refer to is… actually more than a man. He is the single most powerful human in the galaxy, and anyone that tells you otherwise is either delusional or lying to you. He commands untold billions that march across the stars in his name. He made the Primarchs, who in turn served as the genetic base for us.” Mykel tapped his chestplate with one hand. “The Adeptus Astartes. The Twenty Legions. I am a member of the First Legion, the Dark Angels.”

“And who is this member of a Legion unknown to Us that sits within Our sanctum? Thou doth know of Us; We are left at a disadvantage.”

Guarded silence met her request. Luna huffed in indignation. “Doth thou have no manners at all? We simply ask for thy name! Is it truly so costly that not even royal ears may be able to learn it?”

Mykel’s gaze was hard as he stared at her. “Names have a power, Princess. I might trust… others,” he very nearly slipped Zecora’s name, “but you are a psyker and a known consort of dark powers. Do not think me so clueless.”

Luna looked legitimately baffled. “What can We do with thy name but greet and recognize thee, legionnaire? Shall We instead merely call thee ‘Brute’, or perhaps ‘Slayer’?”

The Astartes took another long sip before replying. “Do you know what we did with witches back on my homeworld? We burned them.” Her look of shock did not dissuade him as he continued, “When you draw upon the powers of the Warp, and expect not to pay the price, you endanger those around you as well as yourself. The Emperor saw that, too. That is why the Council of Nikaea was called to ban all forms of sorcery. It would have made the galaxy a much safer place.” Mykel sighed.

“Of course, there were those who did not listen. Those who tasted such power and grown fond of it… nay, relied on it did not heed the warnings and continued their malpractices. And thus, our galaxy has been enveloped in civil war.”

Luna took a sip of her own wine. “Magic without restraint can be dangerous; that much We can attest to, Ourself. But magic is part of this world and to pretend otherwise is to render all of us blind to certain dangers.” As she was about to continue, something that Mykel had said stopped Luna for a second. “Thou didst speak earlier of the ‘Warp’. What is it? Is it an entity?”

Mykel shifted uncomfortably. “Truth be told, I do not know for sure. The best way that I can explain it is as a… different dimension. We exist here, in our reality.” He spread his arms to encompass the castle around them. “But at the same time, another reality exists alongside ours that only those with witch-sight can see into. It is a strange and dangerous place, overflowing with malign denizens that only wish to do us harm. Psychic power is drawn from the place and it attracts the attention of these creatures. With enough careless use or, worse still, deliberate manipulation, monsters may be called forth into our reality.”

While she was at first listening quietly out of respect, Luna became a paler shade of blue and deathly silent as his description reminded her of an all-too fateful encounter. This reaction was not lost on Mykel. “You have seen these things, I take it?”

“…Yes, We have. But only within the confines of this ‘other place’ that you speak of. Such creatures do not walk on the soil of Equestria.” At least, as far as I know…

Her guest’s hairless brow lowered in puzzlement. “But that doesn’t make any sense. If what the histories say here are true, and the Royal Sisters are responsible for manipulating entire celestial bodies here in the solar system… How does such powerful magic not result in the manifestation of such monsters?”

Luna shrugged helplessly. “We cannot answer such a question. While We have known for many years that dark spirits make their home in places beyond the mind, We did not know that they could actually take flesh as thou hath described it.” She shuddered at the thought. “A frightful proposition. But still… doth thou and thy brethren truly kill all magic-users? ‘Twould seem a bloody harvest.”

“Not all,” Mykel admitted. Looking down, he realized that his glass was empty and poured more wine for himself. The stout constitution of an Astartes meant that the drinks of men would not even faze him as his body broke down the alcohol in his system. “The Emperor conceded that, under close supervision and a stern hand, Warp powers could be useful. Were it not for the Astropaths and Navigators, the Imperium would be incapable of either faster-than-light travel or communication between worlds.”

Luna looked out of the window that had been made for her. “We understand that thou hath communicated this multiple times, but… there are other worlds out there? I… We struggle to grasp such a thing. How many are there?”

“No one knows for sure. Once upon a time, humanity lived on countless worlds across the galaxy. Then, something horrific happened that separated all the worlds from each other. Some worlds held on to their civilizations and traditions, while most backslid into primitive, tribal or feudal societies.”

“Like yours?” Luna glanced at him coyly, turning his earlier words back on him. He nodded reluctantly with a scowl.

“Aye, like mine. We kept much of our technology, but the secrets of flight and other advanced sciences were lost to us. One thing that all the worlds had in common, however, was that much of their knowledge of Dark Age technology was lost. In the struggle of survival, many of the great strides that were made in the sciences were scavenged for materials or buried and consigned to the dust.

That is why the Emperor has taken such drastic measures. To raise armies that can crush entire worlds beneath their boots. To deal with any dissenters swiftly and harshly. Only when humanity has been united under one authority can we hope to reclaim our old glory.”

Another disturbing question left him silent for a moment. “The Emperor has not expressed a great deal of tolerance for non-humans. Entire species have been driven to extinction by the Imperium’s war machine. That being the case… Why did he contact your people, out of all others? What did he see in you?”

Luna paced the room, the question just as perplexing to her. “We did not even know of his existence until thou revealed the hidden throne, even before Our banishment to the moon. Surely, Mother would had to have known, but She is no longer with us. Perhaps Our sister would know? She was the oldest of the three of us. Mother might have entrusted her with such knowledge. But why keep it a secret? Perhaps She did not wish for us to know of our alliance with a power that created change in such a drastic fashion.”

“Alliance… or allegiance?”

Luna stopped and stared pointedly at Mykel. “Speak plainly.”

“One does not make a throne for a visiting ambassador, no matter how respected. I have no doubt in my mind that that throne was built specifically for the Emperor himself to sit in. Unless the throne is purely symbolic, that meant that he was to have come here.”

“And yet, he did not. Doth thou have any clue as to explain his absence?”

The room was silent for a few minutes as Mykel considered the possibilities. “You said that he would have contacted your mother more than a thousand years ago. That would have been long before the Great Crusade even began. Yet, I cannot imagine that he would have forgotten about an entire world and its people.”

Or can you? A thought rose unbidden to his mind and Mykel shook his head to clear it. “Perhaps we are on the edge of the galaxy. That’s the only reason I can think of as to why the Imperium’s crusade fleets have not arrived here yet.”

“That being the case, how didst thou come to be here? If travel between worlds is indeed only possible only due to magic, then how is thy presence here even possible?” Luna’s face was suddenly very skeptical.

“I…” Mykel had legitimate trouble remembering his journey to this new world. “I was in that other dimension. I do not remember much of it, but… it was horrible. Just when I thought that I would go mad, I suddenly found myself in the sky above the forest and I fell.”

“And how wert thou able to travel through that place of horror, hmmm,” Luna pressed.

Despite focusing his concentration on his memories and taking slow breaths, Mykel was not able to recall how it had actually happened. There was… a wall there. A space in his memory. The harder he tried to remember, the more it hurt his head. Mykel placed his hands on the sides of his head to help dull the sudden headache he had inflicted on himself. “I truly cannot remember. Whether through some fell sorcery or being unconscious for the first part, I know not how I came to be there.”

At first, Luna did not believe his words. Cyan eyes met forest green as she weighed his testimony. Eventually, she relented. “If such recollection does indeed bring such ache to thy skull, perhaps more wine would be appropriate?” Luna lifted the decanter and topped off his wine glass. After a second’s hesitation, Mykel nodded his thanks.

“I have been answering many of your questions. Only fair that you should do the same. Earlier, you spoke of your defeat and the… ‘Elements of Harmony’. What are those relics and how did they banish the shadow without killing you?”

Taking a seat by the table, Luna explained, “Our reign as Nightmare Moon was powered by terror, despair, and resentment. We cannot explain how the Elements came to this world, but they have proven to be instrumental in combating evil. When all six of them are brought together, even the foulest of creatures run back into the shadows from which they crawled. Nightmare Moon – that is to say, We – were struck by the light emanating from the artifacts and the Tantabus recoiled.”

“This light… Describe it.”

Luna looked at him sardonically. “Thou art not an expert on magic, but can divine its nature by sheer color?”

“Humor me.”

“Very well… It was an extremely bright light, white with golden undertones.”

“Did you ever see your mother cast magic?”

“Yes, often.” Luna face firmed as she began to see where the line of inquiry was going. “Art thou insinuating that our Mother infused the Elements with Her own power before leaving us?”

“It would make sense.” Mykel swirled his glass before knocking back a heftier portion. “She would not have wanted to leave you without defense, I am sure. If those contained only a fraction of her power, she must be an extremely powerful psyker.” He leaned forward in consideration. “Perhaps that is why the Emperor wanted to come here. To learn the secret of this weapon and use it against the unnatural occurrences that become more frequent.”

The Princess of the Night shook her head. “Thou doth not understand. The Elements are not a weapon. They are a symbol of the harmony that we have strived to achieve and the understanding that we share between each other.”

“You make them sound like religious icons,” Mykel snorted in displeasure.

“Whatever the truth of their existence is, We know not. Only that they have proven their worth time and again in times of strife. They now reside in the town of Ponyville, ready for whatever evil rears its vile head next.”

Luna crossed her front hooves to settle down more comfortably, her wings elongating slightly as her muscles relaxed. “Perhaps the wine is a bit stronger than We remember, for We have forgotten to ask the most important questions: why art thou here and how willst thou return home?”

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Mykel became agitated at the reminder. “I’m supposed to be back home, on Caliban. The time away from my duties has been, admittedly, a luxury, but I must return home. War has finally come to Caliban and I must be there to help turn back the tide.”

Placing her cup on the table, Luna looked at him with sympathy in her eyes. “We know how it feels to be kept from the place that you love. We promise that, on the morrow, We shall speak with Our sister and see if there is anything that can be done to return thee home swiftly.” A magically levitated napkin, glowing blue from Luna’s aura, wiped the wine from her snout.

Awkward silence hung in the air for a while as the warrior was lost in thoughts. Before Luna could break the silence with a question, he finally raised his head and said, “Mykel.”

Having become slightly fuzzy from the wine and the comforts of an old hideaway, Luna shook herself and asked, “What didst thou say?”

“My name is Mykel, Princess Luna of the Moon and Night. Mykel, Knight of the Order.”

“Ah, a knight, eh?” Luna’s eyes twinkled with interest. “That would make thee ‘Sir Mykel’, no?”

“Some would say so, but not I.” Mykel sat a little straighter on the bench, pausing for a moment as the shifting weight caused the wood to creak in protest. “The Knights of the Order came from all walks of life, from the lowest peasant to the highest of lords. Birth does not nobility make.”

Across the table, Luna giggled at that last statement. It was so unlike her usual haughty airs that Mykel found himself surprised. “Would but that thou couldst inform the nobles of Canterlot with such wisdom!”

“If they are anything like the nobles that I met before joining the Order, I will pass on the opportunity to meet them.”

That response only further tickled Luna. Her laughter increased, punctuated here and there by a snort. In the face of such honest merriment, Mykel could not help but give a small smile of his own.

Ᾰ

As the night went on, the tone of their conversation became more relaxed. Luna related the difficulties she had in reintegrating herself into the world after a thousand years’ imprisonment. At her behest, Mykel told some of Caliban’s old stories about Beast Quests and the founding of the Order.

Expressing the desire to stretch her legs and fight off the drowsiness of the wine, Luna took Mykel on a tour of the castle’s interior. That mysterious hallway he had seen earlier in the door, she explained, was known as the Hall of Hooves. When Mykel questioned the purpose of such a place, a twinkle came to Luna’s eye.

Down in the depths of the castle, she showed him the organ that was responsible for the many trapdoors and revolving walls that had been installed in the castle. While Luna took great delight in recalling the elaborate pranks that she and her sister had been involved with in their younger days, Mykel took careful note as she showed the function of the various keys. This must have been installed in the castle at great cost, but the only use intended for it was as a toy for children? Does she not see the defensive usefulness of such a system?

Luna explained that there were empty holes in the walls of the Hall of Hooves for the sisters to stick their hooves out and scare potential visitors. When Mykel had given her a disappointed scowl in response, she defended that such games had been played back when they were “fillies” and just beginning to understand the full depth of their responsibilities. Some lighthearted fun was necessary to combat the stress that they found themselves under. As someone whose idea of free time included expanding his knowledge and training, Mykel simply could not understand her explanation.

Later on, standing in the great hall, Luna asked if Mykel could give her a weapons demonstration of the sword that he carried on his back. Normally, he was loathe to simply practice swordplay when demanded, but Luna’s sincere curiosity overcame Mykel’s misgivings. Soon, reflected moonlight danced in the hall as Mykel went through his sword forms. The nature of his weapon meant that he had had to modify the Order’s training styles to compensate for its size. Instead of rapid thrusts, Mykel’s form consisted of wide swings and carrying momentum rather than abrupt changes in position. Watching with rapt attention, Luna asked him at one point, “Thou art walking a path through thy forms, ‘tis true?”

“Good eye,” Mykel acknowledged, but did not explain further. The Order’s techniques were not to be handed out to outsiders like bread in a noble’s hall. Luna explained that she had a greater respect for the martial arts than either of her two sisters, who had been more focused on statecraft and developing their magical talents.

Engrossed in their own quest of discovery, both were surprised when the light of dawn trickled its way into the ruins of the castle. Luna gazed up at the sky knowingly. “We left Our sister in a rather hasty manner yesterday. We must return to Canterlot and speak with her. Try to… make amends.” She flapped her wings in readiness. “But fear not, sir knight. We will not forget the promise that we have made. We shall return within a few days. It may take us some time to consult the Royal Library and devise a plan of action.” Rising up into the air, Luna hovered and concluded, “We look forward to speaking with thee again, Mykel of the Imperium. We hope that thou doth feel the same.”

With one powerful surge of her wings, Luna shot through the ceiling and was soon lost in the sun’s rays. Gazing up after her, Mykel continued to marvel at the strange world that he had been so unceremoniously dumped into. ‘Tis a strange place, this Equestria. There is wonder here… but I clearly do not belong.

Ᾰ

Princess Celestia sat in her chambers as she enjoyed the simple pleasure and escape provided by a cucumber sandwich on white bread and a cup of herbal tea. She could have chosen for the chefs in the castle to provide her with something more extravagant, but after serving for centuries as the ruler of Equestria, Celestia had found that it was sometimes the simplest things that were the most comforting. It was just past noon and she had called a recess in the Day Court while she refreshed herself with lunch. In far too little time, however, it would be time for her to return to the throne room and attend to matters large and small within their nation.

It was tempting, far too tempting, to simply delegate these issues to somepony else. The issue was not a lack of her own trust in her officials – well, most of her officials, at any rate – but rather that the visiting ponies only trusted her to provide an unbiased and unselfish judgment. Even when the decision went against them, the defeated party bowed their heads and respected her wishes. Celestia had been trying to prove for centuries that ponies could govern their own affairs, but the respect they had for her bordered on… was nothing less than worship, really. When the servants thought that she wasn’t listening, she could hear them swear by her name, as if she was a divine figure rather than a mere pony that had been entrusted with a greater responsibility than others.

Celestia was about to berate herself for going down that train of thought yet again when the sound of flapping wings turned her head to regard the balcony to her room. Luna settled down onto the stone balcony, her hooves clacking against its white stone. A smile was present on Luna’s snout; the sort of smile that bore the last tinges of grief before it was finally wrung out from one’s soul and acceptance settled in its place. Absently setting her sandwich down, Celestia looked into the welcoming eyes of her sister and cantered over to envelope Luna in a fierce hug. The sun’s warmth played over the two as they merely stood in silence for a moment.

Pulling herself back to allow Luna some space, Celestia gently asked, “So, are you feeling better now?”

Luna’s nod, while not completely confident, was a welcome sight in its honesty. “Yes, We are feeling much better than last night. The flight did Us much good. We took it upon Ourself to visit the old castle and see how it has fared in our absence. Not well, as to be expected, but some of the old glory remains.” Her tone grew optimistic. “Perhaps one day, with the proper care, it could one day be great again.”

“Like somepony else I know,” Celestia smiled as she nuzzled her sister near the base of her horn. The proximity, however, exposed the older sister to the smell of alcohol on Luna’s breath and the slight purple tinge to her cheeks. “Luna, did you get into a wine bottle while you out,” Celestia admonished. While alicorns were more resistant to alcohol than most, there was still no good excuse to be flying long distances with it in somepony’s system.

“Aye, We were, but ‘twas not a solitary activity,” Luna quickly explained. “While We were revisiting the old castle, there was a stranger there with whom We conversed and shared wine with him.”

That got Celestia’s attention quickly. Her little sister covered her snout in sudden mild horror as Celestia’s own snout curled into a cheeky grin and her eyes narrowed. “Him? A little midnight rendez-vous, hmm?” Despite their status as immortal beings and enforced distance from suitors, Celestia always found a way to tease her sister about the entanglements of romance. “Was he… nice?” A merry twinkle danced in Celestia’s eye as the last word rolled off her tongue in a salacious manner.

“Doth thou seek to make Us the subject of slander, ‘Tia,” Luna asked in a heated whisper. “Besides, thou knowst us better than that. We would not… tarry so with someone that We had just met.”

“Someone?” Celestia’s playful grin grew even wider and her eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “He’s not even a pony? My my, little Lu-lu, what would the nobles ever think?”

“’Tia!” Luna’s cheeks had turned fully purple in outraged embarrassment. You make it far too easy for me, little sister. With something between a growl and a groan, Luna smacked her head into Celestia’s chest (although she was careful to position her horn in a safe manner). A matronly chuckle accompanied a gold-shod hoof running through the star-lit mane as Celestia soothed her sister’s ruffled feathers. “Forgive my teasing, Luna. I’m glad that you have finally made a friend here. But, if I may ask… why was he at the castle in the first place? It’s not a place for simple sight-seeing.”

“We are glad that thou hath asked, dear sister.” Pulling her head back, Luna looked up at Celestia. “He is a stranger to our lands and seeks to return home. However, it is far, far away from here and he needs our help. Canst thou aid him?”

Celestia’s smile slipped as she noted how serious Luna was being about this. “I can try to help, but time is running short before I must return to the Day Court. We shall have to wait until this evening, after the Court has been adjourned. In the meantime, please, come enjoy lunch with me.”

As the two walked over to the table, Luna’s walking was slightly off-balance and her eyelids fluttered. When she let loose a yawn, Celestia placed a hoof over her own snout to stifle a grin. “And afterwards, perhaps a nap would be in order for you. Don’t want you nodding off during your Night Court lessons tonight, right?”

Luna merely nodded wearily in response. Luckily for Luna, the chefs had brought a few extra sandwiches for their Princess – Are they trying to tell me something, Celestia wondered – and there was still plenty of tea in the pot. As they sat down and enjoyed the few minutes that they had left, it was clear that the downtrodden mood of yesterday was completely gone. For the first time in a thousand years, Celestia saw her sister smile openly. Thank you, stranger. Whoever you may be, you brought my sister peace.

Ᾰ

Out in the Everfree Forest, death was being brought to an unsuspecting victim. Or, at least, that’s what Daggert told himself. In reality, he did not feel like the predator so much as the prey. The surface of the Everfree was home to a wide variety of strange creatures, many of which were territorial, ravenously hungry, huge, or some combination of the three. Daggert kept to the shadows as much as possible, letting his black chitin provide as much of an advantage as it could.

Eventually, despite a few near-encounters that left Daggert’s heart beating faster than the Queen dancing on an enemy’s grave, he finally made his way to the chasm that separated the ruined castle from the rest of the Everfree. Even in open daylight, there was something about the old place that seemed… spooky. Like there was some ancient presence that hung over the castle and deterred visitors. Realizing that staring up at the castle caused his chitinous body to shake with a sound like chattering teeth, Daggert shook himself and looked up with renewed determination. This was his big chance and he was not going to blow it!

Working up the nerve to rub his forehooves together and snigger in a suitably sinister manner, Daggert’s wings buzzed as they lifted him over the bridge. Walking on that thing? Forget that!

Ᾰ

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

Despite the courteous knocks on the door, Zecora failed to show herself. Apple Bloom, a small filly with yellow fur and red hair, sank a little as she realized the alchemist might not be home. “Hello? Zecora? It’s me, Apple Bloom! I brought along my friends today! They said that they wanna give potion-making a try.” Her words drawled in the typical rural Apple accent.

Silence greeted her. One of Apple Bloom’s friends, an orange pegasus with purple hair, shrugged her shoulders and said in a scratchy voice, “Maybe she’s not home, Apple Bloom. She might be out picking flowers or… whatever it is that she does out here.”

“Aw,” lamented a white unicorn filly with hair alternating between pink and light purple stripes in curls. Her high-pitched whine continued with, “I was really hoping that Scootaloo and I could try for our potion-making Cutie Marks today.” She looked at the ground, downcast.

Apple Bloom put a comforting hoof on her shoulder. “Aw, take it easy, Sweetie Belle. We can either wait until Zecora gets back or we can do something else. Anypony got any bright ideas?” Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow along with the inquiry.

“Well…,” Scootaloo rubbed the back of her neck, “maybe since we’re out here in the middle of the forest, we could try going for a lumberjack Cutie Mark? I mean, there’s all these trees around here.”

Her farm friend leveled a deadpan expression her way. “One. We don’t have an axe or any sort of wood-chopping tools. Two. I know that if we tried something like that out here, in the middle of nowhere with nopony watching, my sister would hogtie me. And three. I don’t think Zecora would appreciate us doing that around her house. Y’know, it being a tree and all?”

Scootaloo’s ears flattened as she replied defensively, “Yeah, well, at least I’m trying! They can’t all be good ideas, Apple Bloom!”

“What about you, Sweetie Belle? Ya got any ideas?”

Where before Sweetie Belle had been looking down at the ground in disappointment, now she was looking at it intently. “Um, Apple Bloom… does Zecora have any potions that make ponies bigger?”

Caught off-guard by such a random question, Apple Bloom sputtered, “I don’t think so, Sweetie Belle. Why, you wanna earn a Cutie Mark in being a giant monster?”

Scootaloo gasped as stars lit up in her eyes. “That would be so awesome! We could fight the giant monsters that come to Ponyville sometimes!”

Just as Apple Bloom was about to share her thoughts on that, Sweetie Belle raised a hoof to shush them both. “That’s not why I asked. Look at this.”

Looking down at the dirt alongside Sweetie Belle, it was Apple Bloom’s and Scootaloo’s turn to gasp. Framed in front of Zecora’s door was a giant… what seemed to be a hoofprint. It was nearly as wide as they were.

“What the hay?!” Apple Bloom backed up a few steps. “What leaves a hoofprint like… that?! That’s even bigger than the ones Big Macintosh leaves behind!”

Scootaloo examined the track before stating, “It seems like this one is a day old. Maybe two.” Following the apparent direction of the footprint, Scootaloo called out, “Over here, gals!”

Trotting over, the other two members of the trio saw what Scootaloo had picked up: two sets of tracks heading into deeper into the southeastern portion of the Everfree Forest. One was a set of prints that looked like they could belong to an adult size pony. The other was the set of monster prints.

Examining the prints with a magnifying glass, one of the things the Crusaders always brought along with them on the off-chance that it proved useful, Scootaloo explained, “It looks like the big tracks are following the pony prints.”

Apple Bloom suddenly looked concerned. “Something wasn’t… chasing Zecora, was it?”

“Nah.” Scootaloo shook her head. “These prints are too close together to be somepony running. Whoever was here, they just walked that way.” She pointed into the treeline.

Rubbing her chin thoughtfully, Sweetie Belle proposed, “Is it possible that Zecora went off with somepony?”

“Don’t be silly, Sweetie Belle,” Scootaloo chided. “Nopony is that big.”

“Weeell…,” Apple Bloom drawled, “what if whoever she’s with is not a pony?”

It was an exciting proposition to the three of them. They looked at each other eagerly, their lines of thought converging on one idea.

“Sooo… We’re totally going to follow them, aren’t we,” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Of course!” Scootaloo held her front hooves up in emphasis. “For all we know, Zecora has a friend that belongs to a species that nopony else has ever seen before!”

“Y’know, I saw Lyra walking around town yesterday with some weird-looking book. I asked her about it and she said that it was a book about all the critters that live in and around Equestria.”

“Maybe… Maybe this is something that hasn’t been put in that book yet!” Scootaloo’s wings buzzed in excitement.

Apple Bloom held her hoof in front of her smugly. “So, y’all in?”

The other two fillies placed their hooves together to complete the triangle. Taking deep breaths, all three of them shouted in unison, “Cutie Mark Crusaders Monster Hunters! Yay!”

They began trotting in the direction that the footprints had taken, though Sweetie Belle took the time to ask, “Um, are we going to get in trouble for going off the path by ourselves? I mean, there was that whole thing with Twilight getting petrified by the cockatrice and Fluttershy having to save us…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Apple Bloom assured her. “Zecora wouldn’t heading off anywhere dangerous, right? And if the grown-ups get mad at us, we’ll just tell them that we were trying to make a new friend. Twilight loves that kind of talk, don’t she?”

With an ironclad excuse, the trio journeyed deeper into the darkness of the forest.

Ᾰ

Daggert finally made it to the outside of the castle walls, trying to regain his breath. He’d made the near-fatal mistake of looking down as he was trying to cross the bridge. Startled, his wings had frozen for a fraction of a second and he’d smacked into the rickety old bridge. From there, Daggert had had to make his way crawling its length. Now that he was back on solid ground, perhaps his heart could finally take a rest.

Once he’d recovered his composure, Daggert decided to show a little tactical genius and fly up to the castle’s roof rather than just go straight in through the front door. A toothy smirk grew as he flew up toward what was left of the roof. Yes! He’ll never see it coming! Just spot him from the roof, fire off a beam, and *boom* headshot! As dead as the Queen’s heart!

…On second thought, scratch that last part. Somehow, the changeling felt a tightening in the back of his neck, as if somehow Chrysalis could somehow hear his thoughts from so far away. Better hurry this up.

Finally reaching his destination, Daggert made his way carefully across the crumbling stonework. Huh. I know this is a castle and all, but… this place is bigger than I thought. It might take some time to find him. That was all right. He would be able to chalk it up as a fierce hunt for his prey and only enhance his glory!

It was in the former throne room that Daggert found his target. One thing that had not been made clear from the Queen’s scrying was how big this creature was. It was easily twice as big as a pony. Well, maybe except for that big red one that lives on the farm near Ponyville. Seriously, what do they feed that guy? Bales of hay?

Shaking his head, Daggert realized he was getting distracted. His target was in the center of the room. That would have made it super easy… if it wasn’t moving around constantly swinging some huge chunk of metal. He didn’t know why, but looking at that sword made the muscle itch under Daggert’s chitin.

I gotta get him to stop moving around so much. Since sniping wasn’t such a great option, another plan came to mind. A toothy grin plastered itself over his snout as he backed away and flew through the roof into another part of the castle. Daggert tried not to shudder as he saw the empty suits of armor that stood watch in the hall. He knew that the suits of armor weren’t actually going to come alive, – er, right? – but they were creepy all the same.

Taking a deep breath, his mind focused on the image of a particular pony. Green flame erupted around him and he could feel fur covering his body. His wings shrank into his body and the holes in his legs were filled. Fangs retracted into his jaw. The weirdest part of transformation, as far as Daggert was concerned, was how his eyes shifted in his head and changed.

Soon enough, the transformation was complete. Only the lingering green glow around his newly straightened horn and now-normal eyes gave away the process.

Time for Plan B. The Fun Plan.

Ᾰ

To say that he was traveling in a circle would be an oversimplification. The path that Mykel followed existed only in his mind’s eye, burned into memory from decades of sword training in Aldurukh. There had been a great circular carving engraved into the rock there. It had symbolized a knight’s journey, from the eager and youthful beginning in the center to its more cautious and disciplined end at the edge. These phases of a knight’s life had complementary sword lessons attached to them. The beginning of the drill was marked by very simple maneuvers: practicing proper footing and simple parries and thrusts. As the circle grew outward, the knight followed as he grew older and expanded his repertoire of moves. They built on the previous ones, becoming more complex and blurring the lines between them. As the concentric lines of the circle ran parallel to each other as they expanded, so did the lessons as simple beginner’s strokes became masterful movements of precision and power. Only with experience and mastery of the previous set of moves could there hope to be any growth.

As far as Mykel was concerned, it was the greatest, most potent symbol of the Order.

His feet followed the invisible lines that existed on a world far away, his focus nearing meditation levels as his blade moved like an extension of his body. The heaviness of the blade meant that his swings were slower, but they also made it so that his sense of timing and footing had to be absolutely perfect.

“Um, excuse me!”

The unexpected voice threw Mykel out of his trance and he stumbled slightly as the blade shifted in its arc. Annoyed at the break in his concentration, Mykel turned to regard the intruder. A yellow furred pony with orange and yellow hair and green eyes approached, a disturbingly large and overly friendly grin on his face. Mykel noted with disdain the horn that stuck out of his unexpected guest’s forehead. A unicorn.

Holding up a hoof in greeting, the pony unnecessarily shouted in a rural accent, “Ain’t seen you around these parts here before, pardner! Whatcha doing out here all by your lonesome?”

Shifting into a more wary stance, Mykel responded coldly, “I could ask you the same question.”

The pony’s eyes darted nervously and sweat began to bead on his forehead. “Aw, c’mon now, don’t be like that! I just wanna be your friend. Now, c’mon down here and give me a good old-fashioned hoofshake!” He wiggled the offered appendage.

Mykel did not move. “Who are you and where do you come from?”

“Me? I’m, uh… I’m Brayburnt from Aaaaaappleloosa!” Brayburnt reared on his hind legs as he mentioned his place of origin. “It’s down south of here and I just felt like taking a bit of a walk.”

“What makes you think that I am here alone,” Mykel pressed.

“Well, I don’t anypony else around,” Brayburnt pointed out. “This place doesn’t get a lot of visitors.”

“Indeed it doesn’t.” The blade was draped over Mykel’s shoulders. “Which brings us back to the question as to why you are here.”

“I was sent to get you by Princess Celestia, Our Lady and Savior,” Brayburnt swore fervently. “She’s gonna make you feel welcome, just like everypony else. Praise the Sun!” The pony raised his hooves in reverence a little too enthusiastically.

“Directly from Canterlot?”

“Yes.” A friendly grin answered him.

Mykel’s grip visibly tightened on the sword. “Canterlot is north of here.”

Looking at the knight aghast, “Brayburnt”’s strained welcoming grin withered into a snarl. The voice that escaped the pony’s lips was no longer warm and friendly, but instead shrill and raspy. “D’aw, crabapples.”

A green beam of light erupted from the liar’s forehead and struck Mykel in the chest. The last thing that Mykel expected was for sorcery to function like a more powerful las-weapon and the impact threw him off-balance. His adversary took advantage of his distraction to quickly engulf himself in green flame and… change. Yellow fur gave way to ugly black chitin. Green on white eyes were replaced by soulless blue ones. Bug-like wings erupted from its back and carnivorous fangs sprung forth. The whole assemblage was supported by legs that suddenly erupted with holes that went clean through.

Mykel had seen many strange Beasts, but none compared to the creature that stood before him. Quick as thought, it once again erupted in green flame and flew through the air straight at him. Not expecting the move, Mykel was too late to dodge. Despite the creature’s smaller size, the sheer velocity of the attack and the clear sorcery put behind it proved too much to stand against. The impact knocked Mykel back into a support pillar. Cracks rapidly traveled up the structure and shifted the stone horse’s head at its top. With a groan, the pillar and its headpiece finally gave up the fight against gravity and buried the knight in stone.

As the dust settled, Daggert stood there in minor shock. “I… I did it.” It was too good to be true. “I did it!” Daggert stood on two legs and performed a series of moves that loosely approximated dancing. He began celebrating in a singsong voice. “Go Daggert! Go Daggert! You’re the best! Get down! With your bad self!”

The shifting of crumbled stone and fragments stopped him in the middle of a moonwalk. A black hand arose from the pile of debris and slammed down onto a chunk of fallen pillar. Rising from its stone tomb like the restless dead, the warrior regarded Daggert with soulless red eyes that lacked a shred of mercy as pieces of the pillar tumbled around its form. Yep, too good to be true.

Its fingers trembled in obvious rage as it regarded the cowering changeling before it. The air was soon trembling with the force of its roar as the sound echoed off the walls, freezing the ichor in Daggert’s veins. Tinged with bloodlust and rendered metallic by an unearthly echo, it was the sound that nightmares were made of.

Faced with such an imposing adversary, Daggert did the most sensible thing that a changeling could do.

He shrieked like a little filly and flew away as fast as his wings could carry him.

Darting through the halls, Daggert was uncomfortably aware of the thundering tramping of feet behind him in hot pursuit. When he finally reached the welcoming hall, Daggert flew through one of the shattered windows. It was a good thing that he was one of the smaller changelings in the Hive, for the glass shards left over would have shredded him otherwise.

Out in front of the castle, Daggert took a quick moment to catch his breath. He got all of two breaths in before the front gates of the castle slammed open. Putting its foot back down, the giant glared in fury at the changeling.

Finding a rather sudden second wind, Daggert flew as fast as his wings could propel him across the chasm that lay before the castle. Gasping for air, Daggert finally found enough to look backwards and blow a raspberry at his would-be mark. “Good luck getting across that bridge, fatty!”

The chitin around Daggert’s face paled grey as the warrior ran straight toward the gap, not even paying attention to the bridge. Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me that it can fly!

As it turned out, Daggert was right.

Legs working like pistons, his prey-turned-hunter reached the lip of the chasm’ edge and pushed off. How something that massive and heavy could power through the air like that was unfathomable to Daggert, but a small voice in the back of his mind lamented about how unfair it was. For a moment, all was still as Daggert held his breath.

The ground shook underneath Daggert as the giant landed on all fours with a changeling’s length to spare from the edge. Its hanging head looked up and those red eyes bore into Daggert like hot iron. Pushing up quickly, one of the creature’s hand reached for the sword on its back and swung it down like a hammer. Only pure self-preservation allowed Daggert to tumble out of his stupor. Whooshing past him, the blade sunk into the ground where it struck. The sword’s mere presence being so close caused his muscles to fidget in discomfort.

It was finally too much. Shrieking again, Daggert galloped his way into the forest cover of the Everfree Forest. An angel of death followed him, feet pounding in the dirt like a funeral drum.

Ᾰ

“So, Zecora, what do you actually know about this guy?”

Rainbow Dash, a pegasus with light blue fur and a spiky rainbow-colored mane, posed the question as their little company marched through the undergrowth of the Everfree Forest. Zecora led the way, since she knew how to navigate within its dangerous reaches better than anypony.

“He is a warrior from a land far away.
But he is lost, alone and astray.
He needs to return home posthaste
So, I came to you with no time to waste.”

“But you met him yesterday. Why didn’t you come to Ponyville last night if it was so important?”

“Rainbow Dash,” admonished an Earth pony with blonde hair and orange fur. “T’ain’t fair to be asking somepony to go galloping through the Everfree Forest after dark. All sorts of nasty critters live in these woods.” Applejack glanced warily at the woods around her.

“She came to the library early this morning, Rainbow,” Twilight Sparkle added. “Considering how far away her house is, Zecora must have been on the road at dawn.” Zecora nodded in affirmation.

“All right, all right, geez,” Rainbow Dash huffed.

“W-well, while we’re going to visit Mykel, can we k-keep our eyes open? Monty said that there is a dangerous monster in this woods.” Fluttershy struggled to suppress a shiver.

“If I might ask, Zecora, why did you not bring Mykel to Ponyville? That would have been more convenient than asking us to drop our plans for today.” A white unicorn with deep purple hair in fancy curls held up a hoof in question. “Not that we mind, of course,” Rarity added hastily.

Zecora smiled as the Element of Generosity struggled to live up to her title. She explained,

“Mykel’s appearance might give a fright.
He is a towering figure, an unearthly sight.
For his welcome, we should start small
before his presence is revealed to all.”

“Why would we want to start small when we can just go big?!” Pinkie Pie, a light pink Earth pony with a wild and bouncy bubblegum-colored mane, asked. Her enthusiasm usually made her volume just shy of shouting. “It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to throw a party. If he’s a big guy, then I’ll have an excuse to make the biggest welcoming cake ever!” Her voice grew shrill as the last word did come out in a shout.

“Girls,” Twilight interrupted in a calming manner, “let’s not get excited before we even meet him. If he really is far from home, I imagine that he’s somewhat stressed. Whenever we get there, just give him some space until we can figure out how he got here and how dangerous he is actually is.” Looking confidently forward, Twilight’s seriousness slipped as she started to prance with excitement. “Teehee, I can’t wait! I have so many questions for him!”

“’Let’s not get excited’, huh, sugarcube,” Applejack drawled with a raised eyebrow. The smile on her snout took some sting out of the sarcasm.

Blushing, Twilight apologized. “Sorry. I do promise that I will be good and give him a chance to explain things before I bring out the list.”

Rarity asked, “A list? What list?”

“Why, a list of the questions that I have, of course!” Using her purple magic, Twilight levitated a thick scroll out of one of the saddlebags on her back. “I have it divided up by topic: military, economics, history, culture, cuisine…”

As Twilight continued on, Rainbow leaned over to whisper in Rarity’s ear.

“Do you think a war was ever declared because somepony asked too many questions?”

Ᾰ

Daggert wheezed air in and out of his lungs as his body ached for oxygen. By crawling through a series of thorny vines, he’d managed to buy himself a little time. Even now, however, Daggert could hear the sounds of ripping and snapping vines behind him, along with the nightmarish breathing of his pursuer. This guy just doesn’t know when to quit! He had no doubt in his mind that this creature would follow him to the other side of the world if it resulted in his messy death.

Between the long trek to the castle and the desperate chase that followed, Daggert didn’t have the strength to just abort the mission and fly away. His reserves of energy were dangerously low. It had been a while since he had ingested love. But where in Tartarus am I going to find that out here, in one of the deadliest places in Equestria?

Scampering through the undergrowth, Daggert heard voices in the distance. Not believing his ears, Daggert skulked closer to the soure of the noise. Peeking through the underbrush, what he saw nearly made his stomach drop. The Elements of Harmony? Here?! Oh, my sweet Queen, what has your loyal servant done to deserve this?

It was no good. He was trapped. If the two-legged juggernaut didn’t squash him, the Elements would burn him to ash with their power.

In his fevered desperation, an idea clicked inside Daggert’s head. Stunned for a moment at its brilliance, Daggert rubbed his hooves together and allowed himself a fiendish snicker.

Turning around, he waited until his pursuer was within line of sight. The timing was going to be close. But if this works… Hohoho, Queen Chrysalis is going to drop an egg when she finds out!

Of course, the fact that he was going to be shrinking down his body beyond its normal size was going to make things difficult. Not to mention hurt. Just stay focused and appreciate the sheer genius of this plan.

Ᾰ

The psyker had stopped and turned like a cornered animal. No doubt it was tired from the case. As Mykel closed in, green fire engulfed his assailant. When it dissipated, a much smaller unicorn with white fur was left smirking at him.

“Your shapeshifting will not fool me a second time, Beast.” Mykel grasped the hilt of his sword, mag-locked to his back during the chase.

The creature said nothing in return. Instead, it turned around and shook its posterior mockingly at Mykel.

Ᾰ

Zecora and company halted suddenly as their fur stood up on end. A deafening roar echoed off of the trees, laced with indignant rage. As it tailed off, a different noise penetrated the gloom: the frightened squeal of a filly.

Before the group could recover and ask the obvious questions, one answer came running out of the bushes. Looking fearfully behind her, Sweetie Belle was breathing raggedly. The filly’s eyes widened in hope at the sight of them. “Rarity!” Her high-pitched voice cracked in desperation as the little unicorn ran toward her sister.

“Sweetie Belle?!” Despite her shocked state, Rarity found the presence of mind to hug her little sister close to her chest. “What are you doing out here? What happened?”

Clutching onto her sister for support, Sweetie Belle pointed back the way she came. “There’s a monster after me!”

“M-m-Monster?!” Fluttershy squeaked.

The sound of splintering wood interrupted their inquiries. Crashing through the bush like a mad bull came a terrifying figure. It loomed over them with its presence. What little sunlight made its way through the trees glinted cruelly off of the massive blade held in its hands. Rarity felt a chill run down her neck as its pupilless red eyes locked onto her.

“Xeno. Witch.” The cold, echoing voice, dripping with hate, was the worst part.

Burying her face in Rarity’s chest from fright, Sweetie Belle whimpered, “Make him go away, Rarity!”

Swallowing her fear, Rarity looked at the creature crossly. “And just who are you, mister?”

Once she recovered from her surprise, Zecora gasped, “Mykel!”

“What,” the others shouted incredulously.

“Zecora?! You are in league with this- this rabble?” Now it was Mykel’s turn to be surprised. His tone grew disappointed as he muttered, “I was too quick to trust.” The warrior took a heavy step forward, sword raised.

“Listen,” Rarity sternly commanded, “I don’t know what happened between you and Sweetie Belle, but it stops now! You will not lay so much as a finger on my sister!” Moisture dampened the fur on Rarity’s chest. There is no need for tears now, Sweetie. Big sister is here.

Sword clutched in both hands, Mykel took another step forward and readied a swing. “Stand. Aside.”

Suddenly, Rarity found herself flanked by all of her friends. Rainbow Dash floated above with her wings, forehooves raised and ready to strike. Applejack bared her teeth fiercely and Twilight’s horn glowed with purple energy as she prepared some spell. Even docile Fluttershy and the overly friendly Pinkie Pie looked deadly serious as they closed ranks.

“We’ve taken down bigger and scarier creeps than you, bub!” Rainbow’s forelegs twirled like a boxer’s.

“Yeah! What kind of meanie picks on a little filly,” Pinkie yelled scathingly.

Zecora quickly tried to place herself between the two parties and held up her hooved in placation.

“Friends, friends, what are we doing?!
I do not know what trouble is brewing-“

“Zecora!”

The happy greeting from a new voice put a stop to all the shouting. Everyone stopped to regard the newcomers as Apple Bloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle all emerged out of the forest.

“Apple Bloom,” Zecora and Applejack asked in unison. Applejack continued, “What are you doing out here in the Everfree Forest? Don’tcha remember how dangerous it is out here?”

“Well, earlier this morning, we were looking for Zecora at her house, but she wasn’t there. We saw these big footprints leading away from her house and wanted to come meet her new friend.”

“Woah!” Scootaloo pointedly excitedly at Mykel. “Zecora, is that your friend? He’s huge!”

“Hiya, Rarity,” Sweetie Belle piped up with a wave.

“Sweetie Belle?” A hair popped out of place in Rarity’s mane as she was suddenly overcome with confusion. “But… if you were with your friends, then who…”

Looking down, Rarity found that the first Sweetie Belle had completely disappeared. One of the bushes behind them rustled as the copy made her escape. A deathly silence hung over the clearing as no one spoke.

“Rainbow,” Applejack asked tersely.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna…?”

“Eeyup.” Landing on her hooves, Rainbow dashed after the imposter. Tension still hung in the air as those left behind glared at each other.

“Check it out, girls!” Mykel’s surprise was total when Apple Bloom somehow appeared on his shoulder. His blade lowered as he considered the filly on his pauldron. “Mykel’s Cutie Mark is up on his shoulder, not his flank!”

“Yeah,” replied Scootaloo from his other shoulder. “I think he’s got a different one on this shoulder.”

“Two Cute Marks?! Mykel, you’re real lucky, ya know that,” Apple Bloom asked with a bright smile.

“They are not Cutie Marks!!!” Mykel’s voice thundered indignantly as he finally recovered from being scaled so swiftly and easily. Both of the girls on his shoulders jumped up in fright and everypony’s ears winced from the yell. “They are the symbol of my Legion. Every Dark Angel has them.”

“What,” Scootaloo questioned in disbelief. “So if you join them, they give you a symbol?”

“Maybe we could become Dark Angels, too,” Apple Bloom joined in enthusiastically.

Before Mykel could explain in very loud, certain terms why that most certainly was not going to happen, a tapping on his armor’s legging caused him to look down. His glare met the white unicorn, so eerily similar to the one that he had chased in the first place. “Excuse me, um, Mister Mykel… We were hoping that you would be willing to help us find our Cutie Marks, since you probably know things that no one from around here does. But I can see that you are busy with the grown-ups, so…” Sweetie Belle hung her head dejectedly while staring upward with disappointed eyes. “Do you want us to leave you alone?”

There was no lie in their words, that much was clear. Standing as still as a statue for a moment, Mykel gave forth a weary sigh and clapped a hand to his helmet with a metallic smack. It was more the idea of the gesture than the actual stroking that tried to dull the sudden headache.

Behind her, Zecora heard a strange sound. Looking at the five ponies from Ponyville, she found that all of them were trying to hide smirks in some fashion or another. Fluttershy’s cheeks were red with mirth while she hid behind her lock of hair. Applejack pulled her hat low to keep herself from sputtering. Twilight suddenly found the contents of her question list very interesting. Rarity kept a dainty hoof covered over her mouth as she tried to maintain a cool, collected, lady-like demeanor. Pinkie appeared about ready to fall over with giggles, shaking with restrained laughter.

Turning to regard her new friend, Zecora found the humor in their situation. A great warrior, a mighty killing machine, had been reduced to helpless weariness by a group of small fillies. Rather than snapping, the tension in the air had bled away. She let her own smile grow on her face before resting a hoof gently on the giant’s leg.

“Mykel, we brought food to eat.
Why don’t you find a seat?
We’ll cut the cheese and slice the bread.
Why don’t we try introductions again?”

Mykel paused for a moment before asking, “What about the other one?” He tilted his head in the direction that Rainbow Dash had gone.

“Oh, don’t worry about her,” Applejack assured smoothly. “I’m sure she’ll be back soon, hopefully with… whatever-or-whoever that was.”

“We were just going to eat at the castle, but all this almost-fighting has worked up my appetite!” Reaching for her own pack, Pinkie Pie flapped a blanket and laid it out on the ground. In typical Pinkie fashion, more food than what should have been able to fit was laid out on the red-and-white checkered surface. Cheeses, fruits, cakes, pies, soups… All of them were either steaming or gave off a cool aroma.

“I call first dibs on the cake! Hope you like chocolate, Mykel!”

Ᾰ

Elsewhere, Daggert squeezed between the roots of an old tree and tried to keep his breathing as quiet as possible. He seethed with indignant rage. What are the frog-flopping chances that those three were in this neck of the woods? Today, of all days?!

It had all been so simple and yet, so devious. Turn his target against the Elements of Harmony through a staged act, watch them fight it out, and then swoop in on the scraps. Instead, Daggert had been forced to run away in the body of a filly and had barely been able to take refuge below ground before the blue pony had come galloping past him. Since this current form had hair, he indulged himself and tugged at it. It just wasn’t fair!

Still, it hadn’t been all bad. When the one called Rarity had held him close and defended him from the giant… By the Dark Prince, that warmth… Daggert had no idea who the Prince actually was, but it at least gave him something to swear by. Love, pure and unconditional, had flowed into him like a river. The sweet love between family members, with a hint of spicy heat from protectiveness.

And as if that hadn’t been enough, the other mares had gotten closer and their love had poured into him as well. It wasn’t as strong as Rarity’s, of course, but they all added up to an overflow of energy. Daggert had been so high on the sensation that he had drooled on the white unicorn’s chest.

It was the most satisfying meal he’d ever had. A week’s worth of love in one go. Daggert had never felt this full. He felt practically bloated on love! I gotta get me some more of that! His stomach grumbled as it tried to cope with the feast that he had passively ingested. Ugh. Later. Much later.

For now, it was time to lie low. He’d need to stay out of sight for a while from, well… everyone. The Queen, the Elements, the monster… All of them. Physical exhaustion and a food coma brought on from love presented a very attractive option. Yawning his jaws, Daggert settled in for a nap. Y’know, just for a little while. Like a week. Just a little napsy.

Before Daggert drifted off into the land of slumber, one puzzling question sailed away into the sea of unconsciousness. If love is that filling and oh-so delicious when given, why do we bother taking it? Sadly, philosophy was the last thing on his mind as he curled up into a ball and slept... and dreamt.

My Little Warhammer 40,000: Penitence

by Bronco Bro

Prologue

Chapter 1: Fallen Angel

Chapter 2: A New World

Chapter 3: Of Ponies and Men

Chapter 4: A Tale Behind a Tail

Chapter 5: Refuge and Contemplation

Chapter 6: Secrets and Lies

Chapter 7: Near-fatal Assumptions