Clockwork could've done almost anything, said nearly anything in that brief moment of silence. Instead, he stood there dumbfounded at the sight before him.

It was Charger. Aside from her rain-soaked form and the dark circles under her eyes, she was otherwise untouched. "Long time no see, huh?" Clockwork asked.

Charger nodded as she turned back to the charts she had been looking at before he rushed in. After several papers had been folded, stored, and said storage bins readied for travel, she turned back around and spoke. "It is good to see you again, Clockwork."

Clockwork would've rushed to embrace his friend. He would've cried on her shoulder for hours just because he was happy to be alive, but something kept him silent and still. He wasn't sure if it was his training, his exhaustion, or that unfamiliar look in his mare's eye.

Regret? Sorrow? Actual pain?

"Likewise, er. . ." Clockwork choked on his last few words.

Charger sighed. "First Lieutenant, Federation Navy. However, I would prefer that we disregard official designations for now. If I recall correctly, the members of Research and Development have no official rank."

What the actual-

Clockwork stumbled over to Charger's side. He looked her dead in the eyes, causing her to stop what she was doing and stare back.

"Something's different about you," the pegasus remarked.

The yellow earth pony took a step back. "It has been more than a year since we last spoke face to face. It is a reasonable assumption that both of us would've-"

"I want to reiterate my last point." he lightly stomped. He didn't care about the pain right now.

For a split second, water gathered at the corners of Charger's eyes. After a few deep breaths, the mare trotted over to the table at the center of the room and laid out several different maps and charts. Every single one of them had red X's and green O's scattered about. "By technicality, I've been the highest ranking equestrian in this city for the past forty-eight hours. Proper command structure, tactics, communication, I utilized every last ounce of training I had acquired. Do you know how many soldiers and civilians died today, Clockwork?"

The pegasus slowly shook his head.

"Due to the battle having just concluded, we don't have any true casualty list just yet. Every red X on these maps marks a failed operation; civilian evacuation, ambush, and defensive fire, you name it. The green circles represent successes. Every operation needed my approval, and I gave it only when I believed the odds were in our favor."

Clockwork scanned the maps for only moment, but it was all he needed. Judging by the heavily imbalance proportion of red to green, mixed with the fact that griffons didn't take prisoners. . .

"It’s been predicted that for every griffon dead, two soldiers and one civilian died as well. My actions have left my hooves stained with the blood of thousands of good people."

Clockwork stood dumbstruck, his eyes wide and legs trembling. He tried to comfort the mare of his dreams, tried to reach out and pull her close, but he couldn't. His body wasn't responding, he wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore.

Thousands. . .

"Clockwork! Charger!" a new voice echoed through the room. "You two in here?"

The pegasus recognized the voice. He managed to turn his head just enough to see that Longshot had entered the tent. The nocturni spoke. "We're leaving, all of us. Fresh troops are pouring in and the Even Odds is ready to depart. I'm getting you two out of this hell. You. . . hey Clockwork? Are you still with us?"

Clockwork's senses suddeny gave out. In an instant, he was enveloped in complete darkness.

Official reports later classified the attacks on both Ponyville and Cloudsdale as military successes in the Alliance's favor. Combined Alliance casualties are listed at 1500 with 3000 more sustaining various injuries. Out of the estimated 20,000 Supremacy troops to take part in the dual conflicts, none survived.

Clockwork stood alone in one of the Even Odds' soldier quarters. The pegasus didn't want company right now, he needed to calm down, let off the stress acquired from journeying into Tartarus twice within five days.

Desperately trying to remove his focus from previous events, the pegasus looked around the room in which he was now situated.

The living quarters were nothing special. A few bunks lined one wall, pinup posters of mares in skimpy uniforms lined the other. An empty gun rack laid against a coffee table set in the middle of the small, dark room. The whole thing was painted a dull gray with bronze accents, illuminated only by the scant flash of lightning and dull thunder that followed. The rain was almost noiseless as it drizzled down the window that made up a large portion of the quarters’ outer wall, coating the room in darker flecks.

Clockwork's ears twitched as he heard the door behind him slide open. He was half-surprised at the voice that followed.

"Hello, Clockwork."

". . . Hey."

"I remember reading somewhere that talking about your experiences is one of the best methods to removing stress. Are you willing you talk?"

“Sure.”

For a long while, the only sound that echoed through the room was distant thunder. After clearing her throat, Charger started the conversation, just like old times. “How has your time with Research and Development been?”

Clockwork shrugged. “I’ve barely made progress in recent months. Didn't you get my last letter?”

“No.” Charger shook her head. “It was ruined by the rain, and the day after I was transferred to a different post.”

“Alright.”

“Have you made any friends?”

Clockwork froze up as he remembered Wetwork, HAywire, and Saltwater Taffy. Hopefully, they were all still alive; Wetwork especially. At least she held feelings for. . .

Something snapped.

"Where were you?"

"What?"

Clockwork looked over his shoulder. "Where were you when Ponyville got hit?"

Charger sighed. "It’s classified, but I was based in Mustangia. From there, I was ordered directly to Cloudsdale to take the place of several deceased officers simultaneously. Even if I had the abilities, I wouldn't have been able to make it back to Ponyville to help aid in the-"

Clockwork slammed his wing into the coffee table, causing the glass to shatter and red to drip from his appendage. "You weren't there. You weren't there! You weren't there to WATCH. MOPPET. DIE."

Charger was visibly shocked at the pegasus' sudden, violent outburst. She stepped back.

"You were off in some hick village pulling weeds while my home, our home, was razed! You weren't there to see all the pain and suffering, loss and hopelessness. The blood and screaming and bodies. YOU WEREN'T THERE TO WATCH THE LIGHT FADE FROM MOPPET'S EYES!"

"Clockwork, calm down. Please." For the first time, fear was easily noticeable in Charger's voice.

"No, I will not calm down!" Clockwork stomped his heavily bandaged hooves into the metal floor, causing the wraps to gradually redden. ”Before you and I joined the military, Moppet, You, and I made a promise that no matter what, we would be there for each other! I even promised Smokestack that I would keep his little brother safe! I've taken more than a few bullets for you! Moppet died for us! We sure as Tartarus tried to uphold our side of the deal! WE TRIED! WHY. NOT. YOU?!”

Charger crouched into a familiar stance and readied her gloves. Her hooves and tail arced with blue lightning. "Stand down, soldier."

Clockwork seemed to relax, though anger was still visible in his eyes. He trotted to stand at Charger's side, though he was facing opposite her. "Oh, but I thought glory was for the pegasi and the dead, First Lieutenant? Is that all I am now? A subordinate? A grunt? A one winged freak with a lost cause and a clingy persona? An egghead tech junkie that sits around waiting to fix your shit? What am I to you, Charger?"

Clockwork left the room before Charger could answer. However, the mare waited until her friend was out of earshot before she whispered her answer. "You're the stallion I care about most in the world."

Despite his years of training, the Acolyte couldn't help but crack a smile as he marveled over the success of the mission.

The world surrounding him seemed like something out of a horror story. The earth beneath his claws and paws was a monotone gray and moist with Carniferous-knows-what. The only thing more common than the billowing, black smoke was the rubble from which it was born.

The ponies had a base at Valor Point. Key word: Had.

Aside from the scorched ruins of the Alliance base, the no-griffon's-land had barely enough to keep one's attention for more than a few seconds. However, this place had great meaning, both historical and sentimental.

It was here, millennia ago, that the abomination had been defeated. Thousands of soldiers died just to give their majesties the chance to bring it down, and the griffons had yet to forget the names of those that perished. The demon's magic tainted the world, extending so deeply into the earth that it had been reduced to gray mud for eternity. Oh how he wished to have been born then, to take part in such a glorious conflict!

"Hey! Watch where you stick those tin wands, you feathered piece of shit!"

The Acolyte's relatively positive mood was torn from him by the violent outburst of a nearby prisoner. The griffon rolled his eyes. Why had his lordship demanded that they kill only what they couldn't capture? Political leverage? A display of strength? Spite? He quickly banished the speculation from his mind, for he knew he could never truly comprehend the immaculate mind that belonged to the Griffon Emperor.

"Pffft. For a soldier, you sure daydream a lot. Whatcha thinkin' about, bird?"

The Acolyte glared at the stallion kneeling before him, another griffon's blade pointed at the back of his head. He was slathered with mud, mane shredded, and patches of skin ripped away to expose red muscles. A fire unlike any the griffon had seen before now burned in his eyes. The griffon withdrew his own sword and pressed it to the pony's throat. "I wouldn't slur my superiors if I were you."

The earth pony grinned, revealing that he was missing a fair amount of his teeth. "The only superior thing you birds have over us is your casualty list. You best crawl back to your nest and bunker down, 'cuz you guys pissed off the motherbucking hurricane."

The stallion's final act of life was to spit in the Acolyte's face.

As the griffon wiped the saliva from his eye and the fresh blood from his sword, a curiosity arose within him. Even when looking death in the eye and then spitting in it, he never once seemed to be afraid. His vermin comrades had been slaughtered before him, and many more would come later if they acted in a similar manner. His base had been reduced almost entirely to rubble, and he had sustained multiple debilitating injuries; yet through it all, his eyes never housed the slightest glimmer of fear.

How?

The Acolyte shifted his focus back to the situation at large, perhaps Equestria would put up slightly more resistance than expected.

For a moment, he lets himself relax, resting on his hind legs and looking to the horizon. It was a interesting view, truly.

“Acolyte Tawnyfeather.” a raspy, commanding voice declared a good distance away from him.

Turning, the young griffon’s beak formed a hard, thin line. “Yes, Chaplain?”

The Chaplain was a grim individual, battle scarred and filled to the brim with quiet, seething ambition, one of those priests who had stayed in his rank for too many years, eager to rise up in the chain of command and not be forced to command Acolytes like himself.

However, ranks tended to change quickly during wartime.

“I expected you to keep your sword to yourself,” the elder griffon said, looking at the cooling pony corpse on the ground. “That was an earth pony, you daft fool! You have access to the files about the real reason we are capturing ponies, and I would expect you to know that what you just did could cost us our quota!”

The Acolyte winced. “I assumed it was a mule by it’s appearance, sir. Look at it’s knobbly legs and filthy pelt.”

The Chaplain gave the younger griffon’s words some thought, seemingly taking the blatant fallacy as truth. “So it seems. I would warn you that if you keep this up, chick, you will never even become a Templar.”

“Of course,” the Acolyte answered robotically.

“We are leaving for Victoria Urbem very soon, chick,” the Chaplain stated with little effort, causing the much younger griffon to blink. “A meeting for all the generals and the priesthood. One of the Bishops asked that I should accompany him, and that I was to bring another with me as an arms-bearer.”

The Acolyte blinked. “It would be a great honor, Chap-”

The Chaplain raised a gnarled talon and clicked his claws together. “Hush. Walk with me.”

The Acolyte, though taken aback, said nothing and did as he was told. The Chaplain said nothing as he strolled across the battlefield, walking over corpses and pieces of hot metal. The younger of the two was still slightly unnerved by such things, but he remained silent. Soon, they were at the rim of the plain, a great expanse that showed the many miles of gray landscape that dominated the area. It had a sort of stark glory to it.

“You see this?” the Chaplain asked, waving a talon in the air, “This is not what we are fighting for, chick.”

The Acolyte did not respond.

“Yes, we fought long and hard to take this place, and this is what the citizens of our great cities are being told that we are doing, but this is not what we are taking.”

The Acolyte was confused. “Sir, what are we doing here, then? Is this not the place where the Abomination was slain?”

The Chaplain rolled his one eye. “It is; though perhaps you are not understanding what I am saying. Who am I, young Acolyte?”

“Chaplain of the Fifteenth Templar squad, sir?” the younger griffon asked.

“I am Gazot Brightwing, young Tawn.” the elder replied smoothly.

The Acolyte was even more confused now. He was straying from church matters into. . . civilian ones. Only the higher ranking priests knew and called each other by name.

“We are not fighting for these lands. We are fighting for the soft, fertile green lands of Equestria. Not zebra or buffalo or camel or horse, but pony lands. Soft rolling hills, clean air and clear water. A place for our people to grow.” He stopped abruptly, looking at the Acolyte with his single watery, judging eye. “You have read the documents regarding our spies, yes?”

The Acolyte shuddered. “Sir, what is this about?”

“Once, when I was young, I flew across the border of the Empire to a tiny pony settlement.” Gazot began his story..

The Acolyte’s eyes widened with shock and a little bit of fear. Something like this was unheard of among the priesthood!

“As this was before the conscription for the priesthood began, you will gain access to those texts as you advance, I even lived there for a time. I had a pegasus mare as a companion as well, Tongue Twister was her name.” the griffon sighed, looking older and more tired than the Acolyte had ever seen him before. “She was a wonderful person, young one. Those times there were the happiest in my long life, but I had to leave.”

“Sir, what. . . what are you trying to tell me?”

“You must understand, young one, that while they are our enemies today, it was not alway so and it will not be so in a few years. If it be by blood or peace, one day, ponies and griffons will not be enemies, and it will be within your lifetime as well.”

The Acolyte thought that over. He knew that, if the older griffon was telling the truth, it would be in his own best interests, both for advancement and his allies, to alert a higher power and have Gazot taken in by the Inquisition and slain. He could easily become a Templar or even a Knight Templar! Or, perhaps, as he had once heard, the rumors that one who kills another priest can take their place, and that he could become a Chaplain to an entire Legion!

In the end, Tawnyfeather thought against committing such an act.

“I see, sir.”

The older griffon appeared stiff, old, dried up. Not nearly as dignified as any other griffon his rank should have been, but old and withered. Grandfatherly.

“I see. I expect to see you before midnight, we are taking my personal shuttle.”

The older griffon stood there for a few moments then slowly began to walk away, to the heart of the wreckage, no doubt.

Acolyte Tawnyfeather said nothing, looking at the setting sun in front of him, wondering about the red crust that was still on his sword and what it said about himself.