It is the dawn of the 30th millennium of ponykind. The Empress reveals herself and begins to subjugate the cradle of ponykind.
Old Night, a time of the warp storms that shattered the Pony Federation and left it a ruin is starting to come to an end.
Holy Equestria, the home world of pony race sits in the grip of techno-barbarians, xenos races, chaos worshipers and those who employ the ponies of iron as their troops, they squabble and wage war against one another for dominance.
From this chaotic mess a new leader rises seeking to unify all of Equestria under her rule, either through negotiations or by force. This new leader is known by many names, the Golden Mare, the Lady of the Sun, but many simply know her as the Empress. She marches forth wearing mighty gilded armor and flanked by warriors in gilded armor, known as Marestodes. Her armies are equal parts awe inspiring and terrifying.
Some call her the savior of ponykind, some call her just another tyrant. In the end all will kneel before her or be lain low by blade, bolt and flame.
This is a Warhammer 30k/MLP:FiM mashup.
This story is rated M for warfare, violence, disturbing images, and because it's a Ponyhammer story.
While the Pony Federation ruled supreme, their technology keeping the Yax and Eldeer at bay with their powerful tech, a FTL ship comes into orbit around the planet Marelech. This ship is a relic of a bygone age, an age before warp drives and Gellar field generators. This relic of a ship would have served as a generational ship for the earliest of pony colonists, now instead it holds a number of ponies whom time has no touch.
The nose of the FTL ship glows red-hot as it plunges into the planet's atmosphere. White-hot plasma caused from friction with the air engulfs that ship as it plunges deeper and deeper into the layers of gasses that serve as the blanket for Marelech. The old ship shudders and rattles from cross currents and eddies in the atmosphere, as if the very planet is attempting to force it away, but it stays on course.
The ship slows as it enters the lower atmosphere and begins circling, starting a landing pattern. Kilometers below the descending ship is its goal, an ancient and crumbling temple of unknown origin. Landing struts extend from the hull of the ship as it begins to near the ground. The ship groans and creaks, almost as if protesting, as its struts settle into the ground.
A ramp extends and settles onto the ground. Out walks in a single file line ten ponies. They older than the living memory of mortals. Ancient and powerful beyond reasoning, they are beings known as perpetuals. Rockhoof, strongest of them. Somnambula, wisest of them. Mistmane, most skilled psyker. Flash Magnus, greatest warrior of them. Meadowbrook, doctor and healer of renown. Starswirl, master of the Sigilite Order. Marestarte, brilliant geneticist. Stygian, master of stealth. Clover, clever inventor. Oleander, eldest of them all. At the end of the line walks the leader and most powerful of them all, a mare who bears the traits of all ponykind, her white coat shines in the light of the sun, her white-feathered wings lay relaxed at her side, her curling ivory horn extends high from her forehead. She is known by many names, Revelation, The Herd-Master of Ponykind, none truly know her name. Today she bears a new title, one that is whispered among the Neverborn who hide just beyond the pale, Anathame, for her very existence is anathema to the parasites who live in the immaterium and sup on the souls of those whom they have deceived into believing they are gods.
The procession enters into the ancient temple. Ancient carvings of esoteric and profane symbols decorate the walls, chief among them is a star with eight points. The procession walks through the winding passageways, lumen globes mounted on anti-grav harnesses. The lumen globes creates long shadows in the dark passageways. Some of the shadows seem to dance around and move on their own. Some seems to taunt or reach out to the procession. The shadows seem to rerteat from Anathame.
The procession passes chambers that were once used for profane rituals. The carvings on the walls of the chambers depict vile rituals. Some depict bloody gladiatorial combat and ritual beheadings. Some depict magical rituals and followers twisting into strange forms. Some depict the worship of rot and decay.
Whispers begin filling the passageways. Some offer power, knowledge and secrets, others threaten and coerce, others whisper doom and despair. Undaunted, the procession marches on.
In a massive chamber carved out from the bedrock of Marelech the procession enters. In the center of the room, atop a massive carved plinth with eight sets of stairs leading up to it sits their goal. A tear in space-time, a wound in reality, a gateway between the material and immaterial.
Anathame ascends the stairs as her companions keep guard. She takes a breath and steps to the gash in reality. In the blink of an eye she is gone.
***
Anathame comes to rest on what can be considered solid ground for this realm. It is known by many names, the Immaterium, the Empyrean, the Sea of Souls, the Realm of Gods, the Warp. Time flows forwards, backwards and laterally here. Anathame gathers her psychic might about her and conceals herself. Though she has come to this realm to confront the most ancient enemy, the Primordial Annihilator, the False Gods, it is not her only goal.
Throughout this realm Anathame prowls like a thief in the night seeking her treasures. The power of the soul of an indomitable warrior here, ancient and forgotten knowledge there.
After uncountable centuries, Anathame stands on the border of the realm of chaos. She surveys the ever-shifting landscape. The Blood God, the Murderer God, the Hound, sits in his citadel of brass atop a throne of skulls while his legions wage war across blood soaked and blazing plains. The Changer of Ways, the self-proclaimed Master of Fate, the Raven sits in the center of a crystalline maze while his followers plot and scheme. The Lord of Plagues, the Master of Despair, the Crow sits in a black mansion in the center of a garden of rot and disease stirring a cauldron of filth while his followers tend to the fetid growths of the garden. A god of Hate, a God of Betrayal, a God of Malice shouts curses as he tears away at the borders of the other three gods while his followers try to destroy everything. In the distance another god swells and writhes in its gestating form, a thirsting abomination yet to break free of its profane womb, snakes and twisted mockeries of revelers slither and undulate and writhe around this unborn new god.
Anathame steels herself and double checks that her concealment is still in place. Though the time to confront these blights is near, it is not time yet and she still has a few more prizes to snatch. From the realm of the Blood God she steals the ability to erase fear. From the realm of the Changer of Ways she steals the knowledge of how to shape flesh and bone. From the realm of the Plague Lord she steals unyielding endurance. From the Lord of Malice she steals the weapon of hate. From the unborn god she steals the means to perfect her vision.
Upon a high precipice Anathame stands and reveals herself. "Come forth you profane ones and meet your doom!", she cries out in a loud voice.
"ANATHAME!", Khorne, Tzeench, Nurgle and Malice cry out as one. The unborn god quakes in their abominable womb.
"KNOW TERROR AND DIE, ANATHAME!", Khorne bellows. Eighty-eight legions of bloodletters, bloodthirsters and beserkers scale the precipice, baying for the Anathame's blood. Golden rays of light come forth from her, shattering the deamonic hordes.
"Return what you have stolen!", screeches Tzeench. Nine changers of ways fly up and cast profane magics at the Anathame. The precipice she stands upon shifts and warps into jagged crystals, writhing tentacles and grasping talons. The Anathame spreads her wings and takes flight. One by one she strikes each changer of ways down in single combat.
"Know despair and rot.", burbles Nurgle. Seven great hosts of rot, each led by seven great unclean ones shamble up the precipice to bring the gift of rot to the Anathame. Flames of gold and crimson issue forth from her, burning the fetid abominations away.
"HATE! HATE! HATE!", curses Malice, the renegade god of chaos. Eleven armies of jackal-headed horrors scramble and scrabble up the precipice, slashing and tearing at one another, in an attempt to be the first to reach the Anathame. She hurls freezing meteors and flaming comets, smashing the armies to dust.
Six bands of twisted revelers dance and cavort up the precipices, licking their lips in desire to taste the Anathame's flesh. She summons a cleansing flood and washes them away.
"HEAR ME NOW AND TREMBLE, YOU PARASITES! I WILL STARVE YOU, I WILL DENY YOU YOUR FEASTS, AND WHEN YOU LAY AS EMACIATED WRETCHES, I SHALL COME ONCE AGAIN AND FINISH YOU OFF!"
In the shadows another watched. Not some profane parasite that claims to be gods. No! He has been the thorn in the side of the chaos gods. The fly in their ointment. He is the Laughing God of the Eldeer, Discord. "My, my, my! What an impressive display of might, soon-to-be Mistress of Ponykind.", Discord says to himself with a chuckle. "It appears we have similar goals. They will not let the theft of their gifts and brazen attacks on them slip by without retribution. I shall be watching you. Heh-heh-heh-hee-hee-hee-hah-hah-hah!"
***
The Anathema of Chaos stepped out of the tear in reality. Untold centuries passed for her, only a few minutes passed for her companions. It was clear she had grown in might. Power radiated off of her like waves in a mighty storm upon a beach, the air danced and shimmered about her, her eyes shown gold with eldritch might, her mane and tail, once a dusty pink, were now a pastel rainbow and flowed on the winds of the warp.
As the Anathema of Chaos descended the stair, she spake to Rockhoof in a voice that was simultaneously motherly and of a being of immeasurable power, "Rockhoof, old friend. I have a task for you. Protect this gate and let none pass through it, not even myself."
As the old FTL craft left orbit, the Anathema of Chaos looked out across the gulf of space towards the very heart of the Eldeer Empire. She could see , hear, smell and taste their hedonism, their excess brought on by boredom, their hubris. She could see the storm clouds forming in her future sight centered over the heart of their civilization and would engulf the entire galaxy. In fifty centuries their actions would birth a new parasite abomination that would consume their Empire. It had been a long seventy centuries to reach Marelech, and it would be another long seventy centuries to return to Equestria.
Return to Equestria and the beginning of the Great Work
For seven thousand years the ancient FTL ship flew through the vast, mostly empty gulf of space. For the last two thousand years of the trek warp storms buffeted the ship. The warp bleeding through into realspace were the birthing cries of a new abominable parasite sucking on the souls of mortals. The materium and immaterium roiled and churned as both were attempting to consume and repel each other simultaneously.
The ancient ship disengaged its faster-than-light engines on the outermost borders of the Helios system, a region where the gasses of the star came into contact with the interstellar medium. Said system held the cradle of ponykind, Equestria. The ship switched off all running lights, closed the blast shields on all external viewports and shut down all non-essential systems, going into silent running mode. Though none of the perpetuals aboard the ship were concerned about death, the loss of the ship would cause undue and unwanted delays in getting back to Equestria as the solar system was prowled by xenos pirates and slavers. It would take the ship another century before it reached the inner solar system.
The ancient ship took longer than expected to reach the inner solar system. Because the ship lacked any offensive weaponry, it was forced to hide in clusters of asteroids, in drifting debris fields, or the shadows of planets to avoid the pirate and slaver patrols. The evasive maneuvers had added nearly eight decades to their time, but now the ancient ship had finally cleared the asteroid belt that separated the outer solar system from the inner solar system. Running lights came back on, the blast screens on external viewports opened and all systems came back on line. The exhaust on the engines glowed bright against the blackness of space. Equestria was now six months away at full burn.
As the ship moved into the gravitational influence of Ares, the mare who would claim the titles of Empress and Mistress of Ponykind looked out the viewport at the planet. In ancient times ponykind would look up at the night sky and see the fuzzy red dot that was the planet. When ponykind reached out to the stars and cast off from Equestria, they landed upon the red planet, and began to transform it from a desert with iron-red dust storms into a lush, verdant world with flowing water. It was during this time that she had subtly wove into their society a story, a self-fulfilling prophesy. Now, after two thousand years of being cut off from the solar system and the galaxy at-large, along with untold civil wars, Ares was once again a red desert, only this time instead of iron-red planet-encompassing dust storms, the planet was encompassed by massive forge-cities towering kilometer-upon-kilometer into the sparse atmosphere, smog belched from smokestacks atop the spires. In orbit around the planet's equator was a massive ring made of dense alloys known as adamantium and ceramite, and an artificially created stone known as rockrete. Ships and orbital craft docked with or departed from this ring.
But it wasn't the structures on or around the planet that held the mare's attention. She, who would one day be proclaimed as Empress and the Mistress of Ponykind, had her attention focused on a long line of lagged, maze-like canyons that marked the entrance to a massive subterranean network of tunnels, chasms and fissures known as the Noctis Labrynth. Deep within that labyrinth sat a sealed a massive and thick adamantium door. Behind that door sat an ancient being made of strange black metal that glowed with green power in its cracks, a veritable God of the Materium. She who would one day rule over ponykind as its Empress remembered the day she encountered the creature. It was old, as old as the universe and it had been grievously wounded, fleeing from a war that its servants had waged against its brothers. It had landed upon Equestria and burrowed deep into the planet's crust to slumber and regain some modicum of its strength.
When it had awoken, it had burst up through the planet's crust and began to consume the ponies there, body, souls and all. She had charged forth to face it. The clash was titanic in proportions, one one side was a God of Machinery, on the other was the mightiest mare to ever exist. The fight was long and brutal, she had been severely wounded, but the machine had been lain low. Just before she could deliver the final blow, the machine called out for mercy and offered a deal. Revelation was one who would at least consider a deal. After much deliberation and negotiations, the deal was struck, in return for its life it gave her the knowledge of great and powerful technology. The mechanical God of the Materium agreed to allow itself to be transported through psychic might to the red planet, where it would be sealed deep beneath the world to slumber and regain its strength. As ponykind began to settle Ares, its dreams slowly began to seep up through the planet's crust, subtly altering the inhabitants and giving them the knowledge of powerful technology.
Deep beneath the massive mountain range on one of the largest continents of Equestria, deep where an ancient and massive chamber had been carved out of the living stone, containing an esoteric device of unknown origin, the Golden Throne, Revelation set up one of her many, many gene labs and workshops. Flanked by four massive ponies that she had meticulously crafted using her own, blood, bone, sinew and power, that would form the bedrock of her personal bodyguards and elite strike force, the Marestodes.
Night and day scientists, gene techs, and gene splicers worked tirelessly alongside Marestarte to lay the groundwork for a grand army of fearless and fearsome warriors. Night and day engineers, technicians, and laborers worked tirelessly alongside Clover to create the arms, armaments and vehicles for a grand army.
Deep within the vaults that had been dug out when ponykind first began to realize its technological might, large bins filled with ore and stacks finished billets of a metal that was harder than adamantium and shone like gold, auramite. In one of her personal workshops, Revelation began to smelt and forge the auramite, shaping it into armor for her and her bodyguards.
Revelation scowled. Though her great work was making strides, the delays on returning to Equestria had set her timetable back. The initial test to create fearless and unyielding warriors had been met with failure. Their bodies had violently rejected the new organ transplants, resulting in the test subjects dying painfully as they mutated horribly. If she had to fight the first stages of this war with only mortal soldiers and her small cadre of Marestodes, she would.
A fortuitous breakthrough happened in the gene labs. Instead of using stallions to create the first gene-crafted soldiers, after decades of tireless work in finding ponies who had the least amount of mutations and genetic degradation, it was discovered that mares took to the implementations the easiest. These mares stood nearly as tall as Revelation herself. Marestarte had nicknamed them Thunder Mares, because of the sound their hooves made when they impacted the ground, and the name stuck. This first batch of Thunder Mares were not perfect by any measure. Due to the lack of adequate resources and tech, the bones of their legs and spines had to be reinforced with steel rods. Likewise the workshops also lacking in resources and tech weren't able to create proper servos for the power armor for these new gene enhanced warriors, so instead they used pneumatic pistons and actuators.
Because the tech wasn't sufficient to create enough optics for the Thunder Mares' helmets, only unit commanders were issued them.
Because of the time crunch, the weapons of the Thunder Mares lacked any polished finish, opting for function over form. Their bolt guns, which were shortened by the gene enhanced warrior to bolter, were blocky, ugly weapons. Though they were based off of the original schematics created by Revelation, which she kept the first working prototype as her own personal weapon, the workshops were unable to put out firearms that had the rough edges smoothed down on the current timetable. Likewise, the workshops were unable to figure out how to make the power field generators for melee weapons work in the current set timetable, so the Thunder Mares were outfitted with unpowered mauls, maces, hatchets and swords.
The Thunder Mares quickly took to the psycho and hypno-indoctrination designed to erase fear from the minds of the gene enhanced warriors. The Thunder Mares took even quicker to combat training. They were able to perform feats of strength and shrug off wounds that would give a mortal earth pony pause. They were able to move at speeds over great distances that would be impossible for any mortal pegasus. They were able to fend off attacks that would vaporize any mortal unicorn.
Revelation stood atop a tall platform overlooking the parade grounds. Her new grand army were assembled below. She hoisted a banner she had designed and sewn herself, it was a simple scarlet field with a golden blazing sun in the center. She stared down at the one thousand Thunder Mares and five hundred thousand mortal soldiers. The first of her grand armies. In her future sight she saw untold numbers of mortal armies all crying out one name as they spread out among the stars to make war against the enemies of ponykind, 'Empress'. She also saw in her future sight legions of gene crafted warriors, none of them were Thunder Mares. In that moment she knew that one day she would have to discard these gene enhanced warriors like a craftspone discards a broken tool.
She steeled herself, for out there in the galaxy and right here, just beyond the pale, lurked the ancient enemy. "Hear me, my fellow ponies!", Revelation cried out. "We prepare to march out and reclaim this world, the cradle of ponykind, from those who seek to abuse and consume us! Out there in Equestria you will encounter all manners of horrors! Mutants! Xeno scum! Vile beasts! Worshipers of filth! Show them no mercy for they will show none to you!"
Starswirl the Sigilite stepped up beside her. He raised a golden circlet of oak laurels over his head. "I crown thee Empress of Equestria and Ponykind!"
Revelation raised a hoof and rejected the laurels. "I did not raise an army to rule as tyrant! I cannot accept the title of Empress!"
This little play had been scripted decades ago.
Once. Twice. Thrice. Starswirl had offered her the crown of golden laurels, and thrice Revelation had refused the crown. One-by-one the other perpetuals stepped forth and beseeched her to take the crown. There was a palpable silence that hung in the air. It started off slow, a smattering of voices in the crowd, slowly more and more joined in until the entire host began chanting as one, "ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS! ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS! ALL HAIL THE EMPRESS!"
Revelation knelt down. Starswirl lowered the golden laurels onto her brow. And the newly crowned Empress of Equestria and Ponykind rose. Above and below hooves thundered out in applause as ponies shouted their adoration, cheered loudly and whinnied in excitement.
"Very well! Since you chose me as your Empress! My first decree is to march onto the kingdoms of the barbarians to the north and strike down the enemies of ponykind! With blade and bolt and flame, purge them from their strongholds. With fervor and ferocity, dig them out of whatever rat-infested holes they scurry down!"
For decades now the Empress had been watching the techno-barbarians who had been dwelling on the steppes of Old Mareussia. It was a land rich with ore and petroleum deposits, and these gaggles of tin pot dictators could pose serious a threat, if they were to ever unite under one banner.
The Golden Path that the Empress had planned for ponykind would have its first paving stones lain here. These would be the first steps for her Great Crusade.
***
Two hosts formed up on opposite sides a broad flat plain. On one side was the grand army of the Empress, on the other side was the army of a techno-barbarian warlord, named Golgotha. The former was a trained and regimented, if all-together green, the latter was less of an army and more of a swarm of frothing mutants, madponies and technologically augmented horrors, all seeking personal glory and plunder.
The Empress strode forth ahead of her army, flanked by her four bodyguards, planted her standard in the soil and shouted in a loud voice, "SURRENDER NOW, PROSTRATE YOURSELVES BEFORE ME AND YOU SHALL BE ALLOWED TO KEEP YOUR LIVES!"
The answer came in the form of a single, poorly-aimed artillery shot from an antiquated cannon that fell well short.
The Empress said nothing. She simply plucked up her standard, clamped it to her back and marched back to her lines. "Send the mortals first. I want to see how well they have taken to their training.", she said to the generals. "Keep the Thunder Mares in reserve."
The orders were given. Mortal ponies all formed ranks into platoons. They loaded and cocked their auto-guns, and began to march forth.
Antiquated cannons fired large iron balls and exploding shot. Most went wide or fell short of their intended targets, as the crews were trained to bombard static targets, or fire volleys of canister shot at point-blank range. Of the small percentage of shots that were accurate, cannon balls ripped bloody lines through ranks of mortal ponies and explosive shot ripped the bodies of mortals apart with blast waves and swarms of jagged shrapnel.
Many mortal ponies broke ranks and fled back the way they had come from, only to be shot dead by their comrades, cowardice was not to be tolerated in the grand army of the Empress. Most kept moving towards the enemy. Officers ordered the mortal soldiers under their command to spread out, ensuring that any shots from the enemy that met their mark would inflict the fewest number of casualties.
Golgotha's host began to swarm forward as her cannon crews began to load canister shot into their antiquated cannons. She had surmised that this army coming up from the south was led by another upstart warlord, and that she wouldn't need to bring her best weapons and warriors to bear against them A mistake she would not make in the future. The cannons fired, the small cylinders broke open after leaving the muzzles, dispersing dozens of seven centimeter iron balls that tore into ally and enemy alike.
Scores of the Empress' mortal soldiers fell, killed or maimed by the canister shot. Their comrades behind them surged forward to fill the gaps in the lines. Pegasi took to the air and swooped overhead to assault the enemy cannons. Unicorns fired blasts from their horns into enemy ranks.
In Equestria's ancient past, it was believed that unicorns possessed magical abilities. As science and technology progressed, it was found that all ponies have a natural propensity to control and shape naturally occurring electromagnetic fields. Earth ponies could use it to anchor themselves to the ground. Pegasi could use it to push against the molecules in the air to fly. Unicorns could focus it to create dazzling light shows, move objects without touching them or fire blasts that could crack stone. The closest to what could be considered magic occurred four thousand years ago when a series of genetic mutations, known as the psyker gene, allowed ponies, regardless if they had horns, wings or neither, to tap into the powers of the Empyrean that allowed them to fire bolts of lightning from their hooves or eyes, cause objects to burst into flames, shape muscle, sinew and bone to their will, or alter the minds of those around them. The new psykers were of both great benefit and great risk, sometimes they would explode, damaging everything within three meters of them, and sometimes truly horrifying things would happen. The failure of many planets to cull these psykers, along with the ponies of iron controlled by abominable intelligences, led to the horrors that brought the Pony Federation crashing down.
The mortal soldiers of the Empress' grand army zigzagged to prevent the techno-barbarians from lining up accurate shots from their weapons at them, stopping just long enough to fire aimed bursts from their auto-guns into the enemy ranks. Pegasi fired bursts of winnowing fire at the cannon crews, cutting down many of their number, causing the crewponies of the antiquated artillery guns to break and run. Unicorns fire blasts from their horns, blinding or blasting gaps in the bunched-up ranks of the techno-barbarians. The officers shouted the order to fix bayonets. Soldiers affixed blades to the lug below the muzzles of their auto-guns.
The two hosts paused and began to form up ranks in preparation for a brutal melee charge.
The techno-barbarians shouted taunts and threats.
The Empress' mortal soldiers answered with shouts of "For the Empress!" and "For Equestria!". The order was given and the grand army charged.
The mutants, madponies and technologically enhanced horrors of Golgotha let out crazed bellows as the answered the charge with a charge of their own.
Sunlight glinted off of the bayonets of the Empress' army as they charged as one mass. The techno-barbarians surged and swarmed forward in bunched-up knots, each seeking to be faster than their compatriots so they could be the first to claim the glory of closing ranks with their enemy.
The two hosts slammed together. Bayonets bit deep into flesh, auto-guns rattled off sprays, butts of firearms slammed into skulls, crude truncheons battered bodies, hatchets and axes cleaved into flesh, sabers sliced necks, knives were thrust into bodies, hooves flailed and stomped, large mechanical shears bit deep into flesh. Fighters on both sides screamed in pain as they were felled.
Golgotha's forces were the first ones to quail. Instead as a cohesive unit, they all fought as individuals, seeking personal glory. As such, many of their numbers were quickly surrounded and cut off. Several, seeing they couldn't win, tried to surrender, and they were quickly cut down with bayonet thrust or shot dead on sight. No quarter was given and no mercy was shown. Up and down the line individual techno-barbarians broke and ran. This set off a wave of panic and the host broke in a rout. Technologically augmented horrors, madponies and mutants fled from the wall of steel and fervor. They climbed over or trampled their compatriots in a desperate bid to save their own lives. Surrounded knots fought to the last in desperate last stands. Those who were too wounded to defend themselves cried out for mercy, the only mercy they received was a bayonet to the heart or a bullet to the head.
Golgotha watched on through her insectoid bionic eyes as she sat atop her palanquin. A tremble of anger shook her mostly mechanical body. She had ruled these plains for three hundred years. She wasn't about to lose to some upstart piss ant. "Send in the terror machines.", she spake through her speaker that had long replaced her voice box.
With whirring clanks, two thousand machines made in the mockery of the pony form walked forth. Their eyes held the cold, hateful gleam of abominable intelligence. Their bodies were festooned with all sorts of vicious weapons. Sword and scythe-like blades that crackled with electricity, whirring saw blades, snapping shears, crushing clamps, bloodstained hooks. Smog and smoke poured out from their mouths. With an unspoken order, these abominable machines began galloping forward.
The mortal soldiers of the Empress' grand army saw the next wave moving in and began forming up in ranks. Taking aim, they fired. Bullets whizzed through the air and bounced off the machines' metallic hides in showers of sparks. More shots were fired, more sparks as bullets bounced harmlessly off the machines. The mortals kept firing until they had expended the last of their ammunition. The mortal soldiers were brave, but they were still just mortals. With bayonets fixed, they counter-charged the damnable machines. Screams, blood and entrails filled the air as the machines coldly and cruelly ripped them apart. Discipline broke down and mortals fled in every direction, panic and dread filling their hearts.
The Empress ordered the soldiers in reserve to not fire on the fleeing mortals. "Enough mortals have suffered and died this day at the hooves of terror machines. Send in the Thunder Mares."
The one thousand genetically enhanced warriors charged forth, shouting and bellowing war cries. Pebbles and small stones bounced, danced and skittered as the ground shook beneath their charging hooves. Red streaks filled the air as the first volley of bolt shells were fired. Rocket-assisted, armor piercing rounds ripped through the air at hypersonic velocities. The first of the rounds impacted the front ranks of the machines, their hardened noses ripping through the metallic hides of the machines. A split second later they exploded, gashing open the machines, gears, coolant and oil filled air, mechanical limbs were sheared off. Though the struck machines faltered, they did not fall and continued onwards.
The Thunder Mares continued charging forward, unleashing more volleys of bolt shells. Internal explosion ripped through the internals of the previously struck machines, wrecking circuitry and delicate machinery. Some of the damnable machines exploded, disappearing in balls of fire and shrapnel, melting or ripping rents into their neighbors' bodies. Some of the machines simply collapsed to the ground, burning liquids pouring from the gashes in their bodies.
The two forces, mechanical atrocities and gene enhanced warriors, continued charging at one another. Another volley of bolt shells felled a dozen more mechanical abominations. The two hosts slammed together in a thunderous clash. Blood and oil, viscera and scrap filled the air, along with the screech of tearing metal.
The machines were the blunt instrument of Golgotha, meant to terrify and crush all who stood against her. The Thunder Mares were the wrath of the Empress honed into an ax, meant to hack and cleave her enemies apart. Though the abominable machines were cold and unyielding, centuries of poor maintenance by ponies who barely understood how they work took its toll. The Thunder Mares pulled the mechanical abominations down one-by-one and crushed them into the dust.
When the dust settled, the Thunder Mares stood triumphant. One hundred of their numbers had been slain and another two hundred had been wounded. The wounded sported grievous injuries, faces torn off, eyes ripped from sockets, limbs sheared off and grievous gashes that exposed the bones and organs beneath. Apothecaries and chirurgeons rushed forth to tend to the wounds of the living and harvest the gene seed organs of the dead.
A visible shiver of dread went through Golgotha's body. This warlord that had come to face her did not bring the typical band of poorly armed and trained rabble she was used to fighting, this warlord had brought a well trained and well armed force, whose discipline was similar to those form the Marescow bloc. With a gesture, she ordered her remaining forces to withdraw. The enemy had taken this day because she had underestimated them. A fatal mistake she would not repeat. The next time she faced this warlord, she would not bring a rabble and antiquated cannons from a mythical time when legendss said ships sailed Equestria's oceans, she chuckled at the old stories of Equestria having oceans. No! She would bring a legion of her best troops and howitzers.
While the grand army hurled the bodies of the enemy dead into burn pits and set up grave details to bury their own dead, the Empress walked the field of victory in thought. The mortals have fought valiantly. Even she did not foresee the warlord using cursed machines. The mortals who fled would be shown leniency. The Thunder Mares had tested their mettle against thrice damned metal and had been victorious. Her gene enhanced warriors did not quail or falter or hesitate, even in the face of mechanical horrors. Today's victory revealed some glaring weakness in her grand army. She would need to secure better technology for her grand army.
"What weights on your mind,Revelation?", Starswirl asked as he trotted up beside the Empress.
The Empress looked down at the stallion, leader of the Sigilite Order and one of her oldest friends. She then turned her eyes to distant hills. There had been eyes watching her and her grand army since they first departed from the mountains to the south. She had seen them watching her, and now as she laid eyes on the watchers in the distance, the currents and eddies of the future played out before her. This group that had been watching her would soon approach her under a banner of truce and offer their aid. With just the right nudge, they'd throw their full weight behind her.
The Empress spoke through her mind to Starswirl. We are being watched. Don't look up or they will notice. Move your mouth to speak of morale and supple requisitions.
Starswirl spoke back through his mind to the Empress Who are they. Are their intentions good or ill?
I cannot speak as to who they are. However in the near future they will offer aid and with the right nudges, they will cast their lot in behind us.
***
Cinnamon of the Terawatt Herd watched the Empress through high-powered monoculars, while her brother, Sticks, stood guard with a high-powered, mastercrafted laser rifle.
"What's going on, Cinnamon?", Sticks asked.
"The big one in gold armor is talking to the smaller one in robes.", Cinnamon replied.
"What are they saying?"
"The smaller one is talking about their casualties they've taken today, and about delays in supplies and requisition. The bigger one just said that they might have to pull back their army in order to rebuild their strength, and that it's such a pain to have to stop and allow an enemy to get away because of a lack of sufficient tech." Cinnamon put down her monoculars and said,"Get your mono-task drone ready. We need to send back a message to Herd-master Crunch."
"What message should I send?"
"That the prophesy of the cogitator-singers are true. The Golden Mistress has marched against the Hill of Skulls."
