Chapter Fifteen: London's Burning (Part 5).

***

The Avatar of Albion smiled softly as he stood upon the summit of the stairs of St Paul's, Excalibur resting in his hand and across his shoulder as he stared at the tumultuous grey sky.

All around him, soldiers were setting up. St Paul's cathedral was, slowly but surely, being set up as a fortress: gun emplacements, snipers, defensive lines and kill zones surrounding it. Troopers were checking their machine guns, making certain that the ammo lines would enter correctly. Others cleaned their bayonets and triple checked their assault rifles in readiness for the coming battle. Music was blaring loudly from hidden speakers, designed to inspire the troopers to new heights and, more importantly, intimidate any attacking force. Humans and ponies alike ran around, preparing themselves for the inevitable attack.

He could even see one or two of the experimental Resistance P220 (one of the rarest - and also best - weapons available to the Equestrian Resistance) among the defenders. A special kind of heavy weapon designed for ponies, it was held on the wielders’ saddles by strong, light metal clamps, with the two small miniguns held on either side. There was a modified bit harness acting as the trigger, which could be used to fire both weapons simultaneously. Though rare, this weapon had seen field use before, and was one of the few innovations the BDF and Resistance could afford to make. Unfortunately it was also a cumbersome weapon - every gunner needed a Unicorn “steadier” to keep the weapon’s recoil from catastrophically overbalancing the wielder.

Jan Lockett ran by the Avatar, sparing him a quick glance as she did so. With her was Dutch, the last member of her team. Albion nodded at them as they jogged to their position, the part of him that was David Elliot glad to see them still alive and still fighting and hoping they would continue to do so by the time the battle ended. There were others here - he recognised Sir Jason sans le Argonauts of the Knights of Albion, and there were members of the Dead Men contingent he knew here too, though he could see none of them through their masks.

We are a band of heroes, united in common cause, he thought to himself. And live or die, we do so as heroes.

"You know," a voice said, "I'm fairly certain Hell Blazer will be upset if you die."

Albion turned to look at the figure of the Doctor, the battered pony frowning up at him.

"The man Constantine has lost much," he said not really speaking from the perspective of the human part of him when he said that. "He has survived all of it, scarred as he is in body and soul. He will survive the death of the man Elliot."

"I see," the Doctor said, sounding surprisingly neutral.

There was a pause as the two of them watched the preparations continue. Albion and the Doctor had never interacted much - as far as David Elliot was concerned, the old pony was a friend, though he was a friend who had changed considerably.

"Has it occurred to you why you could not defeat Celestia?" the Doctor asked. Albion gave him a questioning look, confused about how the old pony knew that story. "Hell Blazer and I had a little chat. He told me what you said: how you couldn't defeat the Celestia of the other world, despite your best efforts and her weakness in comparison to Solamina."

"No, I could not." Albion didn't like admitting that his power was limited: whatever feelings he had as Elliot was only intensified as Albion, and Elliot's shame at his weakness was a burning hole in Albion's gut, like a poisonous lead weight. "A failing of the man Elliot, perhaps. His shell is weak and cannot hold this essence."

That statement was a lie, and they both knew it.

"A failing of Elliot, perhaps," the Doctor said with a shrug, "but not in the way you think. It's also a failing of your aspect."

"What dost thou mean by that?" Albion asked, frowning down at the Doctor.

"You and he are one," the Doctor said bluntly. "You are Elliot, and the Avatar, all in one. The separation you experience in your perception is... well, shall we say, it is a block. It is not what you should be feeling."

"And how hast thou come to believe this?" Albion said, unconvinced that the resolutely scientifically minded Time Lord in pony form could ever understand what it was like to be as he was, though he could not deny that the pony was echoing thoughts that the man Elliot had also had... that he had had.

"Study," the pony replied simply. "It's not important. What is important is this: you are one being, David Elliot. One man, with one life before him, one mind, and one soul. Remember that, and there will be no force that can stand against you."

With that, the Doctor walked off, shouting orders to other defenders as he did so. The Avatar shook his head, thinking over everything he had just been told. Was the Doctor right? Could he actually become more powerful? Was there a way that he could increase his strength? And if so, was it, as the Doctor appeared to be suggesting, by allowing himself to be one being...?

He shook his head. Now was not the time to think about such things. Now was the time to stand against the coming tide and tell it, in no uncertain terms, that this was Albion, that he was its Avatar, and that they should never have come here. They had defiled this land and threatened it's people too long, and now was the time for these particular enemies to pay the price for their transgression.

By now, the approaching enemy force could be seen. The Solaminan Royal Guard and Militia Pegasi had assembled, like pigeons, across the rooftops of nearby buildings, surrounding the church from above. Errant Flight and other Pegasi of the Equestrian Resistance Air Force occupied the roof of St Paul's, eyeing their opposite numbers warily, each of them tensing for the fight. Marching towards the edge of the causeway leading to the cathedral, meanwhile, was an army of lightly armed and armoured militia, spears, halberds, glaives and swords held under arms and in teeth, or in the telekinetic grips of Unicorns.

Behind the militia were ordered phalanxes of Royal Guards, marching in formation, spears at the ready and Unicorns positioned amongst the phalanxes, ready to put shields up. Interspersed among the enemy forces were large crystalline constructions: Crystal Golems, creatures that were created by the weapon foundries, magic workshops and factories in Equestria. Some were shaped like giant ponies, the height of a human or taller. Others were built and shaped like minotaurs, carrying large crystal swords. These were among Solamina's deadliest weapons, formidable foes.

The Avatar could see a few dozen experimental one-pony magi-cannons dotted amongst militia positions; the experimental weapon had, according to their spies, been largely abandoned, but some ponies still seemed to prefer a projectile weapon.

"Prepare to fire!" a call rang out from the defensive line. Guns clicked and clacked as soldiers locked and loaded, and P220’s were aimed and steadied in readiness.

"Wait!" one of the attackers called out. "Parley!"

There was a brief, shocked silence across the battlefield as that word settled in the ears of the defenders.

"Bollocks to that," someone muttered near Albion. The Avatar, however, held up a hand, a quizzical frown on his face.

"We shall hear thy parley!" he called out loudly to the Solaminan forces. "Speak quickly!"

A pony marched forward from the main force, a white flag held under one arm. He was an orange Pegasus with a purple mane, dressed in all the best Royal Guard finery, and when he spoke it was a confident voice filled with courage, honour and the promise of fairness. He planted his flag, took off his helmet and held it underneath one hoof, showing his handsome face.

"Defenders of St Paul's," he said loudly. "I am Captain Flash Sentry of the Royal Guard. I have come to extend an offer from the gracious Empress Astra Solamina Maxima. If you will lay down your weapons and surrender, she promises all of you clemency and places of honour in her Empire. If not," he added, his voice taking on a morose note, "we will have no choice but to kill you all. You have five minutes to give your answer. After that time, we will attack."

There was a pause as the defenders considered. Albion scowled at Sentry, who seemed to see him, and scowled back: they knew of each other. Flash Sentry was one of Shining Armour's lieutenants in the field, a competent and respected commander. Albion opened his mouth to give an answer.

Suddenly, a shot rang out from the defence line, and Flash Sentry collapsed to the floor with a clatter of armour, a gaping hole where the right half of his face used to be.

"That's our answer, motherfucker!" someone shouted, and everyone and everypony in the defensive force cheered loudly. Albion frowned slightly, but did not say anything. It was - in less elegant terms - the exact same answer he would have given, though he would have let Sentry return to his force to die more honourably later.

There was a moment's pause as the Solaminan forces milled in confusion, their commander dead, and then a clear voiced call went out.

"All forces, attack!"

The call was repeated, a cry from every position along the Solaminan line. Magi-cannons were positioned, aiming at the palisades. The Avatar scowled.

"Silent Step!" he called to a pony who was one of their comm specialists. "Relay the order to all positions - weapons free, fire at will. Give Red Leader permission to engage."

"Sir!" the blue mare said with a nod. "All positions, this is Avatar One, fire at will, fire at will. Red Leader, this is Avatar One, come in…"

Just as the order went out, the Solaminan forces started their assault. In the sky above, Pegasi took flight from the surrounding buildings and charged at St Paul's. On the ground, magi-cannon fire impacted, blowing chunks of masonry - and some of the ponies and people defending it - apart. A hail of Unicorn spells of various colours and qualities flew, cutting down dozens of defenders.

And then the defenders responded.

In the sky, Pegasi flyers dueled, bodies beginning to fall from the sky at speed as limbs were shorn and bodies opened up. Blood began to almost rain from the sky, showering the combatants below. From the barricades, a hail of bullets lashed out, impacting amongst the ponies and cutting swathes down. Shields went up but the sheer volume of bullets cracked and battered the magical screens, before, one by one, they started to fail, and the ponies behind them scrambled to find cover.

Another hail of spells flew, suppressing the humans' fire for a moment - and then another cry went up from the Solaminan line.

"Militia and Guard Phalanx! Assemble!"

The Guard organised themselves in Phalanxes, lightning fast, their spears held at the ready. All around them, the Militia milled, ready to advance. New shields were established, the renewed fire bouncing off them for the moment, though cracks would soon show.

"Advance!" the cry went up.

"BY THE RIGHT, MARCH!" a sergeant screamed. As one, the Guard Phalanxes advanced, Militia still milling all around them, falling to bullets where the glowing shields didn't protect them.

The final battle for London had begun in earnest.

***

Errant Flight smirked as Flash Sentry dropped dead. The pony had always been something of a naive type, and judging by his speech to the defenders, he had still been naive. Now, of course, he wasn't anything after all.

It was almost impressive how blasé Errant felt about the whole thing: once upon a time the death of fellow ponies would have sickened him. Now, though he found the death of ponies - well, certain ponies - almost amusing at times. Maybe that was a sign that he was becoming something less than Equine… he wondered if it was always going to be that way…

He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts quickly. The minute the cry from the Solaminan line went out he knew that, as most of his human friends would put it, 'shit had gotten real'. He flexed the muscles on his forelegs, triple checking the mechanical flip-out blades he wielded that were the standard equipment of the Resistance air forces, (adapted from the hoof-flipped blades of the Wonderbolts, though the bulk of the Solaminans managed quite well with spears). They were well oiled and clean: they wouldn't fail him.

"Red Leader, this is Avatar One, come in!" an urgent voice suddenly sounded on his comms.

"Red Leader here," Errant replied.

"You are a go to engage inbound hostiles!" Avatar One told him.

Errant grinned. "Thank you, Avatar One."

He flipped out his blades.

"Red Lead to all flights," he called, the comm device in his ear picking up his call. "We are clear to engage. Repeat: engage hostiles!"

"Copy that," Green Leader called in, his twenty pony squadron taking off.

"Roger, Red Leader," the female voice of Blue Leader said as her squadron flew into battle.

”As you say, Red Lead,” came the voice of Gamma Leader, who sounded resolute.

"Engaging now!" Gold Leader added, his tone betraying his enthusiasm.

There were four full squadrons here: Green, Blue and Gold were all older squadrons from the early days of the Resistance’s reworked flight teams. Gamma was one of the newer squadrons, but had acquitted itself well. All in all, not counting any squadron’s individual losses, forty eight flyers. None of these Pegasi had ever previously been considered as candidates for Grey Squadron, but they were all competent enough flyers - though Errant Flight was afraid that "competent" might not cut it anymore.

Still, Errant thought idly, they might surprise me.

And with that thought, Errant Flight launched from the rooftop into the skies, charging straight at inbound flyers. He brought his left foreleg blade to bear and charged at a militia Pegasus, slicing the lightly armoured pony across the abdomen and spilling his blood down onto the ground. He charged at a Guard next, flipping his other blade out. He impaled the guard in the shoulders, ignored the screaming, then tore his right blade out and slashed it across the throat of his enemy. The Guard gurgled his last out before dropping to the ground. Errant panted, taking a moment to scan the air to see the state of the battle.

Below them the battle was well underway - the humans were firing, the Militia and Guard were advancing. Meanwhile, in the sky all around him, Pegasi danced an intricate dance of flashing blades and flying spears. These Guards hadn't been stupid enough to try a formation attack, though they weren't as proficient as the Resistance flyers at the style. The Equestrian Militia were even worse, many of them not even armed properly. Still, they were taking a toll. On Errant's earpiece, he heard the scream of a Resistance Pegasus who had his wing slashed: if he squinted, he could see the flyer impact into the building, red splattering across the building as the unprotected body flew at high speed into the brick wall.

"Red Lead, this is Green Six," a young stallion's voice called through the earpiece, distracting him from his scan of the area.

"Copy, Green Six," Errant said.

"I'm under attack," the young flyer said. "I'm leading two hostiles to your position! Any help would be great!"

"On it!" Errant said. He fought back the shock of battle and focused on the adrenaline rush.

***

Jan Lockett, standing on the front defensive line at the very bottom of the stairs, fired her automatic rifle at the charging Equestrian Militia, reloading as soon as she emptied the clip. The militia were coming so thick that it was easy to score a hit: even the more armoured ponies went down, since every bullet now issued to the army was armour piercing.

The shields the Solaminan forces put up were impressive, taking quite a few bullets to put down, but by now every BDF and Resistance soldier knew how to concentrate their fire to achieve the required result. The phalanxes that survived their first day quickly learned that formation fighting was a poor show.

Still, as much as they were reaping a heavy toll on the advancing ponies, they were losing people too. Concussive and other damaging spells were thrown out even as the oncoming Phalanx advanced, impacting the line and blowing defenders to kingdom come. Even as Jan watched, the line was hit by a barrage of magi-cannon fire that obliterated part of the barricade.

“Shore that up!” she yelled, pointing to the area. A few men raced over to begin repositioning barricades, and even as she watched more men moved to shoot any Militia that got too close.

They were holding - just - but the enemy were still coming, relentless, and nothing was going to stop that force from hitting the barricade.

"They'll reach the line in twenty!" Dutch yelled from next to her, his own rifle barking intermittently as he picked his targets. "Best ready bayonets!"

He was right, Lockett realised. There was no way they were going to be halted.

"All troops, prepare for close quarters combat!" she yelled, drawing her own bayonet as she emptied another clip.

The standard issue bayonet was almost a short sword, but she attached it to her rifle, almost turning her assault rifle into a short spear: perfect for stabbing. Dutch drew his bayonet, holding it in a reverse grip, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

"Brace for charge!" someone yelled.

And then the enemy hit the line. Ponies slammed into the barricades, and other ponies vaulted, trying to grapple with defenders. Knives, spears, halberds and other weapons were brought to bear, and the defenders responded with short-range gunfire and bayonets.

Lockett's blade went into the throat of a Militia pony who tried to charge her. She withdrew it, ignoring the gurgling body, and stabbed out at another pony, lodging the bayonet deep into the mare's shoulder. The shrill scream hurt her ears, and she withdrew her blade, before stabbing again and again, driving the screeching pony to the ground.

Next to her, Dutch was lashing out repeatedly, his blade cutting across the faces and torsos of his enemies. One mare gurgled briefly as blood spilled from a slashed artery. A stallion coming up behind her stabbed with his spear, only for the human to block it and riposte, stabbing the stallion in the front. The militia pony's eyes widened, and he fell, leaving Dutch free to slash another pony across the throat.

All around them, humans and ponies fought. Solaminan spears impaled soldiers, knives cut across forelegs, throats and faces, ponies grappled with one another. The enemy, however, had the numbers, and though the line held valiantly, soon soldiers were pulling back up the stairs, the crack of close range assault rifle fire lashing out and hitting ponies at near point blank range as soldiers desperately tried to stem the tide.

In the thick of the fighting, Dutch ended up back to back with Lockett, backed up against her by the press of enemies.

"There's too many!" he yelled. "We can't hold 'em!"

Lockett yelled in frustration as she jammed her bayonet in another militia pony's eye socket. Much as she hated to admit it, Dutch was right. Even more Phalanxes of Guards and swarms of Militia were coming.

"This is Lockett to Avatar One!" she yelled into her earpiece. "I need reinforcement at the front! Now!"

It was an impossibly long five seconds before the reply came from Avatar One.

"Roger that," an impossibly calm voice said. "Support inbound."

A loud battle cry came from the rear of the lines, and Lockett risked a glance backwards. What she saw made her laugh out loud.

***

Three minutes earlier.

Behind where Albion stood, the soldiers of both the Holy Order of Albion and the Dead Men waited, their blades drawn and their guns discarded minutes ago. Albion watched the battle with narrowed eyes, certain that the time would come soon for him to make his move.

"On my signal, we charge," Albion said, his fist clenched around Excalibur. "No mercy for the enemy. They have signed their own death warrants, and it is our task to deliver it upon them!"

"Yes my lord," one of the Knights of Albion said earnestly. "We will not fail you!"

"For Albion!" someone called, and a cheer went up from the line. Albion smiled softly - the man Elliot felt uncomfortable with the adulation of these men. To Albion, they might have been misguided, but they followed good ideals. The Order of Albion dedicated itself to the ideals the Knights of the Round table espoused: military chivalry and the defence of those who could not defend themselves.

The Dead Men were a different matter. In a world of so much death, it was all but inevitable that there would have been men and women - and later, even ponies - would reach the pits of despair. The Dead Men, at least, made their despair into their motivation. Albion could respect that.

"Purpose is upon us," one of the Dead Men said quietly. "And we will not shirk it."

The sentiment was echoed by the others, but other than these quiet murmurings the soldiers were unusually taciturn.

Albion narrowed his eyes, and turned to Silent Step. The little blue mare was frowning as she listened to the incoming communications from various parts of the defensive line, as well as the Pegasi above.

"Call's gone out for support!" she suddenly called.

"Then now is the time for battle!" Albion yelled. He spun his blade. "For Albion!"

The call was echoed by the Order's soldiers, and even by the Dead Men, and a moment later they charged. Albion faintly heard Silent Step relay their charge, but ignored it. He needed no herald but himself.

Twenty seconds after he bellowed his war cry, he reached the front line of the Equestrian Militia. His blade lashed out, cutting through dozens of enemies in moments as he swung again and again. The lightly armoured militia stood no chance against either the reach of a zweihander, nor this particular zweihander's magical properties. The Guard fell back too, magic shields and well-made armour still nothing. Spears and blades were cleaved in twain by the magical blade.

"Albion!" the cry went out from the defenders as he cut a bloody swathe through the enemy. He smiled. The enemy had no chance against him, and they should have known it. Now he would make them see why they should never have come here.

***

A white unicorn with a blue mane named Fancy Pants cursed under his breath as he watched the militia fighting against the being known as the 'Avatar of Albion'. He hated sending good ponies to die brutal deaths, and though he knew it was for a noble cause, he still didn't like to order it.

Fancy Pants had been Flash Sentry's second in command, and now (by virtue of Sentry's untimely death, which to Fancy Pants only proved why the humans should have been attacked in the first place) he was the commander of the entire Equestrian army present: he, Sentry and Shining Armour had been sent to co-ordinate the offensive along with Pinkie Pie by Empress Solamina herself. Though Pinkie Pie had ostensibly been the commander of the offensive, the pink former party pony's frankly frightening level of mania and insanity - as well as a complete inability to pay attention to practically anything - had left Shining Armour as the de facto commanding officer of the assault. Armour's own death had left Flash in command, and now it was Fancy Pants who was left in charge.

"Our troops are being slaughtered out there!" he said, snarling slightly. His adjutant, a Lieutenant named Sharp Blade, flinched.

"Sir, we've nothing that can stand up to the human's magical warrior in individual combat," he said quickly. "Our best tacticians agree that the best plan is always strength in numbers."

"To Tartatus with that, they're getting slaughtered!" Fancy Pants swore. "Pull them out! Now!"

"Most of those forces are only converted militia," one pony said. "It's not like we're losing anything importa..."

Fancy Pants turned on the speaker, his eyes blazing in fury. The speaker - an Earth Pony Lieutenant - quailed.

"We did not convert those humans to use them as cannon fodder," Fancy Pants said, grinding his teeth at every word. "We converted them to save them. I will not send them to a pointless death now! Pull. Them. Out!"

"What should we send instead?!" Sharp Blade asked.

Fancy Pants narrowed his eyes at the figure of the 'Avatar'. "Send in the Crystal Golems: they might have a chance."

"Sir!" Sharp Blade said with a nod. He turned to his own subordinates. "Send in the golems! Pull back the militia and Phalanxes!"

Fancy Pants sighed as the cry went out. He hoped this would turn the tide.

***

Errant Flight sliced through the armour of another Pegasus, letting the body fall to the ground limply as he searched for more targets. The air was thick with fighting Pegasi.

"Red Leader!" a voice called in Errant's ear. "This is Blue Leader!"

"I copy Blue Leader," he said quickly.

"Needing support!" the voice of the other pony said, sounding worried. "Multiple hostiles on my six!"

Errant scanned the skies until he saw her: she was flying past the tower of St Paul's, at least three Pegasi in Royal Guard colours chasing after her. He frowned and took off, charging straight at them. He held his forelegs out, blades extended, and began spinning in a corkscrew. Blue Leader dodged under him, and he corkscrewed into the enemy Pegasi. The spinning blades sent every one of the enemy ponies spiralling out of control, wings and limbs flying away from them like bloodied missiles.

"Thanks!" Blue Leader said, her voice tinny through the comlink.

"Don't mention it," Errant Flight replied. As he looked around, he frowned. They were losing a lot of ponies, and though the enemy's forces were also losing many troops, they could afford such losses.

He looked down, frowning at the state of the front defence line: it was battered but the militia attacking it were retreating in disarray. At first, Errant felt better, knowing that they had held. Then he noticed something else - a squadron of large crystalline figures: the Crystal Golems, heading towards the defence positions at a steady pace.

"Oh horsefeathers," Errant Flight said quietly. He activated his radio. "Attention command, Golems incoming at defence line!"

***

Albion decapitated another militia pony, Excalibur slicing through armour and bone with equal ease, before bring the blade up in a high guard position.

The assault was thinning out, the militia ponies pulling back as cries to retreat sounded from behind them, but Albion could tell something was coming. Figures of crystal marched out from the lines of Royal Guard, lumbering but powerful. With a sickening sinking feeling, Albion realised what the Equestrian army was sending.

"They're falling back!" someone yelled, sounding relieved. "We held!"

"It is not over yet," Albion replied, lowering his blade into a mid-guard. "They are merely sending heavier forces."

As he spoke, a soldier ran forward, clutching a radio.

"Message from aerial support! They're reporting incoming Crystal Golems!" he yelled. "I… oh, shit. That's them!"

Albion nodded, a wry smirk on his face. "Indeed it is."

Most other troops immediately grabbed their rifles and aimed outwards at the Golems. Soon enough, they could all see them: the enemy's creations advanced steadily, their lumbering gait only making them more threatening in appearance.

"Fire on those targets!" someone yelled. Immediately, missile launchers, RPG's, machine guns and assault rifles fired out, smashing dozens of the Crystal Golems to pieces - but even when wrecked, many walked on, dragging themselves forward towards the defenders. Even worse, many of the golems began regrowing parts of themselves that were destroyed, many of them aided by their handlers, unicorns trained in the magic of growing Crystal.

"What the hell?" someone muttered.

"It's Sombra's magic!" a pony yelled out. "Concentrate your fire!"

"No!" Albion called out, raising a hand. "Pull everyone back to the second line. I will hold them here!"

For a moment, there was uncertainty. Retreat was almost never an option - that was drilled into every BDF soldier. They didn't have anywhere to run to, so learning to run was futile. Then, Jan Lockett started shouting orders.

"Move back!" she cried. "Secondary line, go, go, go!"

The troopers began retreating up the steps, leaving Albion alone at the base, facing off against dozens of Golems. He raised Excalibur in salute, before settling into a defensive posture.

"In the words of the man Elliot's generation," he said quietly to the unthinking golems, "come at me!"

***

St Paul's shook as Hell Blazer led the Element bearers and the younger versions of True Grit, Lyra and Derpy through the halls. The civilians in the cathedral had been moved to an underground shelter that had been set up, leaving only troopers and medics running around the interior, desperately moving to hold their ground or help the injured being constantly ferried in. There were two groups of medics, one set who wore red crosses on white armbands, and one set who wore green crosses on white armbands: those who specialised in healing humans and those who specialised in healing ponies.

"Trooper!" Hell Blazer called to one pony who was walking in with a limp. "What's the situation?!"

"Albion's called a retreat to the second line," the trooper replied wearily. "He's holding the first line alone against Crystal Golems!"

"Crystal Golems?" Twilight Sparkle said, eyes wide. She thought back to her experiences of crystal magic in the Crystal Empire, but she had never heard of Golems being created in this manner. "Oh no."

"Dammit," Hell Blazer said. "Alright, go get seen to, kiddo."

The pony nodded, moving towards a nearby medic with a pony armband on.

"There must be something we can do to help," Twilight said quietly.

"There might be," Hell Blazer said with a nod. He turned to Rarity, Lyra and Twilight. "Are any of you any good at sensing magical energy in use?"

"Yes," Twilight said. Lyra nodded, and Rarity frowned in confusion.

"Fairly, why?" she asked.

"You three might be our best chance at stopping those damn Golems," the yellow Earth Pony said. "Follow me, quick!"

He raced off towards some stairs, the other ponies following, wondering what the hell he meant.

***

Excalibur came up and blocked a blow from one of the Golem's blades. Albion snarled and pushed back, before lashing out against the Golem. Though the magical crystal was strong, the blade of Albion still sundered it well enough.

The Golems seemed focused on him, though a few did seem willing to at least try to brave the stairs. Those that did found themselves the target of concentrated missile and small arms fire, and were quickly blown apart. The problem was, many of the creatures that were blown apart seemed intent on standing back up again, parts regrowing almost like some super-fast kind of natural healing.

Albion decapitated another construct, then sliced it down the middle. Almost immediately, the thing sprouted two new halves, transforming into two Crystal Golems. Growling in frustration, Albion stabbed the first creature, and span it's impaled body around, throwing it in the direction of the enemy lines. He then span and sliced the second in half at the waist, before stabbing the heart of its torso half with Excalibur, shattering it.

The lower half tottered and tried regrowing again, but he kicked out, the force of the blow throwing it down the street. Unfortunately, once it was there it began regrowing again.

He cursed under his breath. At this rate, he would have to unleash the power within him fully before it was time. The blast would destroy the golems perhaps, but the Royal Guard behind them would still be a threat. He smashed aside another Golem as he considered his options.

Something had to give soon, or else he wouldn't have any option but to go early and hope that the defenders could hold.

***

Hell Blazer looked out, frowning at the battle between Elliot - Albion - and the Golems. He, Rarity, Twilight, Lyra and a soldier named Richardson armed with a sniper rifle were standing atop one of the corners of St Paul's' roof, the other newcomers nearby in the doorway from below. All around them, Pegasi flew in a dance of death. As they watched, another pony rammed into the wall near them, an Equestrian Royal Guard judging by his uniform.

"He'll be overwhelmed," Hell Blazer muttered under his breath, continuing to watch the fight between his friend and the Golems.

"What can we do?" Twilight asked, moving to stand next to him. Hell Blazer turned to her.

"These Golems are controlled by magical 'handlers'," he explained quickly. "They aren't dependant on having these handlers in order to run, but they're dependant on them for new orders and more importantly, they're dependant on them for their healing ability."

"So?" Rarity asked. Hell Blazer grinned ferally.

"I need you three to try and locate them through their magic, and then reveal the connection so that Richardson can snipe them," he said quickly.

Twilight, Rarity and Lyra shared an uneasy glance between the three of them, and then nodded.

"What about us, sir?" True Grit asked.

"Keep us covered if you can," Hell Blazer asked. True Grit nodded, turning his grim visage to the sky.

Twilight, Rarity and Lyra began concentrating, their magic reaching out to try and sense the power being used to control the Golems. It was a strenuous business, not helped by the sheer level of noise around them.

True Grit's magic lanced out, striking one Pegasus that charged at the group down. Another Pegasus, a young looking Stallion, landed in front of them, but Applejack bucked him off the side, where he fell downwards, managing to restrain his fall near the bottom only to be shot down by fire from the defence line. The orange pony closed her eyes, willing the surprised look on the young pony's face out of her mind: it remained etched there.

"There's a lot of incoming!" Grit yelled. "I can't hold them all off!"

"Leave some of them to me," Rainbow Dash said from behind him, frowning up at the sky. Without another word, she took off, charging at a nearby Pegasus and knocking him from the sky. She maintained a holding pattern near their position, warding off any ponies that approached with lightning fast reactions and quick kicks.

Suddenly, Twilight yelled in triumph, sweat glistening in her coat. From the Golems' position, thin tendrils of blue energy appeared, revealing positions far back from the line.

"Got a shot!" Richardson said, grinning. He aimed his rifle and fired, and one of the tendrils disappeared, the Golem it had been attached to halfway through repairing a missing arm. It glanced down at the limb as if surprised, but Albion struck it down before it could do anything more. Richardson took another shot and another blue tendril disappeared.

Suddenly, a hail of spells starting hitting their position. Richardson took a hit that incinerated his shoulder and half his neck, and blew him onto his back, where his wide unseeing eyes stared right up at a shrieking Fluttershy, who quickly covered her eyes. Twilight moved her focus to a shield spell, but Lyrs and Rarity kept at it with the revealing spells, and more fire from the second defence line rained down on the handlers' positions. One by one the tendrils disappeared.

"Yeah!" Hell Blazer yelled in triumph. "How d'you like those apples, you motherbucking wank stains?!"

***

Fancy Pants swore as more handlers died from enemy fire, the now visible tendrils of their magic disappearing one by one. The golems were being slaughtered by the Avatar creature, their regenerative properties now nullified.

"Sir, now what?" Sharp Blade asked. Fancy Pants hated having to give this order, but he realised he had no choice.

"Throw everything at them," he said. "We need to overwhelm Albion and destroy this position." Fancy Pants cursed the tall figure for his refusal to lay down and die. "That thing might survive, Sharp Blade, but I promise you; we'll kill so many of his forces that his survival will taste as bitter as death."

***

Albion smashed aside the last Golem with a mighty hack, and returned Excalibur to his initial mid guard position. He watched as the militia who had so recently retreated began advancing again, now supported by ordered phalanxes of the Royal Guard. He grimaced.

Holding this position by himself was no good. He might be the most powerful fighter here, but there were thousands of ponies ahead of him. Worse still, there were more ponies advancing down the street behind the main force. If they reached him, he might slay any who approached, but they could circumvent him, even try to crush him under sheer weight of numbers.

Now was the time then, he realised grimly. He lowered Excalibur.

"Warriors of Albion!" he called, his voice rising impossibly over the din of battle. "Defenders of St Paul's! Brace yourselves and seek shelter!"

***

Hell Blazer's eyes widened. It was time.

"Inside now!" he yelled to the other ponies. Without understanding what the yellow pony was on about, the others complied. Hell Blazer soared his friend one last glance.

"Survive this, mate," he said. "Or I'll bloody deck you."

With that, he too raced inside.

***

"Cornwall procedure!" Lockett was yelling. "He's about to unleash! Everyone get down!"

'Cornwall procedure' was a term used to describe bunkering down while Albion unleashed his power. Though he was normally able to direct it, there was still enough blowback to cause injuries. Lockett turned to look at the figure of the Avatar before bunkering down herself.

"Give them hell," she whispered.

***

Errant Flight landed behind cover, the figures of more of the other squadrons landing around him. Half of Gold was gone, along with most of Blue, a great deal of Gamma, and a fair few of Green, but they hadn't done too badly.

"What's he doing?" Blue Leader asked him, and he turned to face her.

"Something that's gonna be worth watching," Errant replied grinning slightly.

***

Fancy Pants frowned slightly as he watched the Avatar lower his sword. It was unlikely that the creature would surrender, even given the odds facing him.

"What's he playing at?" he said out loud.

As he watched, the Avatar span his blade until the tip was facing downwards. He then planted the massive, ornate sword into the ground, closing his eyes as he did so.

The first warning was the crackling of magic in the air. Every unicorn on the field must have felt it - to Fancy Pants it was a tickle on the back of his neck. Then there was the faint corona of light that surrounded the figure, a vague glow that seemed to come from the very air itself.

Then a great wind began stirring, first swirling around the Avatar's immediate person, then gradually extending outwards until it surrounded him at a span of about fifty metres, debris spinning in the air around the figure, even whipping debris at the first row of the approaching militia and Royal Guards.

Fancy Pants realised what his enemy was about to do about a second before he did it. He had time to yell "cover!" before the Avatar opened his eyes.

The wind exploded outwards accompanied by a roar of bright golden light that scattered everything before it like a hurricane. Even Pegasi in the sky were scattered before the awesome power of that release, their frail bodies thrown into buildings and across the city by the power of the blast.

Fancy Pants tried raising a shield: he could only watch in horror as Sharp Blade was thrown into a wall behind him, the pony's neck at an impossible angle. The soldiers directly in front of Albion were the worst hit though, many of them being shattered by the sheer force if the blow, pieces of them raining over those behind, who in turn were thrown to the winds. Arms, legs, backs and necks were crushed before the sheer force they were subjected to - a scant handful of unicorns managed to hold a shield up, but they were few and far between. Finally, Fancy Pants himself was thrown backwards.

A moment later, the blast was over. Fancy Pants struggled to his feet, feeling like he'd sprained his ankle and thankful that he had not sustained worse injury. He opened his eyes, seeing dust settling, but there was so much in the sir that it looked like thick grey fog and ash. He coughed slightly.

And then he saw it.

Most of the first wave and a fair chunk of the second had been sent flying by the blast Albion had sent. Only a handful of bodies were moving, their stirring feeble amongst piles of the dead and dying.

And stood exactly where he had been, unbent and unmoving, was the Avatar of Albion, eyes glaring out at the field of the dead.

"By Solamina's grace," Fancy Pants said quietly. "That's... that's insane."

At that moment, he made the only decision he could. He would not send what was left of his army in a fool's errand to kill that thing. He would retreat, pull his army back across the channel to New Prance, and let his soldiers live to fight another day - and hopefully a less hopeless battle. He would not send them to the slaughter against a demigod.

"All forces!" he called in a clear voice. "Retreat!"

***

Albion watched the pony army retreat, quietly impressed that managed even a semblance of order after the drubbing he gave them. He did not move, did not allow himself to so much as twitch, until he was sure they were all gone.

Slowly, he released a breath he didn't realise he had been holding. He released Excalibur from the death grip he had on it, and it vanished into nothingness. A moment later, Albion's armour dissipated and David Elliot was stood at the base of the stairs of St Paul's.

He coughed, the hacking sound loud against the quiet left in the wake of the battle. He looked at his hand, and was only mildly shocked to see thick red blood there.

"Oh," he said quietly. "That's interesting."

And then he collapsed.

***

Author's Notes:

Damn. That was fun to write.

My thanks once again to all favouriters and commenters, and my apologies that this chapter took a bit longer to get out than the last few have. Real life is, unfortunately, irritating in the extreme.

The next chapter should come soon. Until then, enjoy. :-)

EDIT: This chapter was edited 18th July 2015