“The mind of a warrior must remain as sharp as his weapon, for in the reflex of his mind, the warrior is able to understand his actions, and beg Faust’s forgiveness.”

Shining Armour drew the whetstone along the head of Starlight Wrath with calm, patient, practiced strokes, muttering the litanies of battle under his breath as he prepared himself for the coming bloodshed. There was something comforting that the stallion found in the simple, repetitive action, the rasp of stone-on-steel serving as a highly appropriate counter-point to the complex, arcane prayers that tumbled from his soul.

“Yet if the warrior becomes dull, and his blade loses its edge, he shall lose himself, and wander a killer with no compassion for the dead.”

Hefting Starlight Wrath into the air, Shining Armour inspected the weapons edge for a few moments before nodding to himself in satisfaction, spinning the axe in his grip so that he could begin work on its other head, slowly honing its razor edge. He’d been like this for several hours now, simply propped on the edge of the magnificent four-poster that had been provided for his comfort, methodically working his axe as time slipped by, edging closer and closer to his duel with Queen Umbra. Indeed, once he’d been escorted to his assigned chambers and unpacked his meagre belongings earlier that day, the first thing Shining had done was to grab his axe and begin honing the edge, seeking tranquillity in the warriors bond with his weapon as he prepared himself.

It was in the rare moments like these, in the calm before the storm when there was nothing but him, his axe, and silence that Shining Armour would openly admit that he was truly at peace, otherwise hiding himself behind the emotionless façade of the Patriarch. Though hardly a troubled individual, and certainly lacking any detriments to his mental health, Shining could never truly feel as care-free as when he was working on his axe, the soothing repertion of the whetstone-on-steel opening something in the stallions heart that only a hoofful of ponies had ever seen, something divorced from the brisk and blunt sentiments of his militarised mind, and more open to contemplation of the endless convolutions of existence.

Currently, as they were always prone too, the stallion’s thoughts rested on the ultimate recipient of his affections; his loving wife Mi Amore Cadenza, so many hundreds of miles away from him in the verdant summer-lands of the south. In his mind’s eye he could see her, the stallion wincing faintly as a pang of loneliness overcame him, Shining Armour realising that it had been close to a month and a half since he’d last been able to lay in his wife’s embrace, to take in her scent and the heat of her body against his. Yet no sooner had the loneliness overcome him was Shining’s mind suddenly filled with a horrible sense of guilt, the pangs so strong the stallion found himself unable to think of his wife without a sense of deep personal shame overcoming him, as if he’d wronged her somehow.

From seemingly nowhere, a knot of self-loathing seemed to tighten in his gut, the stallion grimacing as confusion filled his mind; confusion at how thoughts of his wife could make him so self-disgusted. True, Shining had always felt some guilt whenever he’d looked to his wife, guilt at the fact he’d allowed her to be taken from his side and then duped into devoting himself to her foalnapper. But this seemed deeper, worse, as if something that he’d specifically done was the route of the issue, something deeply heinous to the morals he valued and upheld. Keeping the whetstone to the axe, Shining Armour allowed himself to ponder a while on the issue, though not without some minor self-concern.

The subject of Cadence was something that Shining Armour always held very close to his heart. Raised in a married household, it had always been impressed upon Shining Armour that getting married and raising a family was the highest accolade a stallion could aspire to; the succession from one generation to the next the most honourable action he could ever partake. Thus it had been that when he’d first laid eyes on Cadence all those years ago, when, under the brilliant light of Celestia’s sun, as a young colt, he’d spied the filly pushing his giggling sisters on the swing-set in their back-garden, Shining Armour had known instinctively that this was the mare he would grow up to love.

Of course the reality was never as simple as the dream.

From step one Shining had known that in order to gain Cadence’s hoof in marriage, he would have to prove himself to be a superior specimen of Equine-kind. Though born to a noble family, the inherited credentials of the Sparkle household were nowhere near enough to allow Shining Armour to even approach the young princess, let alone court her. That had perhaps been the beginning of his aspirations for rank in the Celestial Guard; knowledge that a position of authority in the Celestial Guard would give him the access required to approach Cadence serving to fuel his drive. Perhaps others would have seen such a path as a track to wealth and fame rather than love, but not once had the thought to abuse his position within the guard ever came to Shining Armour’s mind, he’d been far too focussed on Cadence for that.

Starting from the bottom of the ladder, Shining Armour had, through dedication, ceaseless work, and the passion of a driven soul, pulled himself rung by rung up the ranks of the Celestial Guard. When he’d joined at the age of sixteen he’d been tasked with cleaning blades and looking after the barracks, barely able to hold his own in the sparring ring. After two years he’d managed to rise to the rank of praetor and command a contingent of a hundred guardsmen, to the chagrin of more experienced individuals present. By the age of twenty-four he was a shoe-in for the title of Patriarch, capable of besting any challengers. By the age of twenty-eight he’d risen to stand at the right hoof side of Celestia herself, the efforts of his sister and himself pushing the Sparkle household to new heights of power. Through fortune and good luck he’d somehow found the courage to approach Cadence during those years, eventually being lucky enough to be awarded the accolade of her guardian. Yet still it had taken time; months, years, before he’d finally been able to truly approach the object of his desire, and confess his true feelings.

Somehow, he’d been unsurprised when Cadence said that she’d always known of his affections.

Yet, though he stressed the point over and over in his mind, Shining Armour realised on some innate level of his soul that he would never quite be able to quantify just how much he loved Cadence, just how deeply dedicated he was to her in mind, body, and soul. Though there would have been nothing from preventing a stallion in his social and financial position from amassing quite a herd of fine mares (and certainly no lack of volunteers), it had simply been the case that Shining Armour had never turned his eyes from his wife, never paused to consider that he could possibly indulge his carnal and emotional desires with another partner other than the mare he loved. Even his marriage was unique in that regard; with only a bare fourteen percent of Equestria’s population being male, the statistic itself an all-time low, the average herd size was larger now than ever: seventeen mares, excluding their stud.

Yet still he’d only ever had eyes for Cadence.

The stallions down in the barracks had laughed at the notion, many simply unable, or unwilling, to believe that a pony with such stance and acclaim as their Patriarch could possibly be so bent around the hoof of a mare that he would actually go and get married. Others, most particularly his female admires, found the gesture to be the greatest form of romance, many swooning at the thought of being the sole recipient of his passions. But despite the opinions of those around him Shining Armour continued on, unknowing, or perhaps uncaring of what others whispered when they saw him with his wife, simply content to dedicate himself to the mare in heart and soul.

It was this very dedication that Shining Armour took with him wherever he went, the tenants of his belief; respect in his fellow equine, love for his wife and family, duty and honour, imprinted into him by his mother and father before he’d been old enough to walk or talk. His mother in particular had taken the most interest in his moral development, certain to mould her colt into the desirable young stallion he was today. To be honest, it wasn’t as if the mare had even hidden her goals from him in the first place; Shining Armour very aware of the emphasis his mother had placed upon being a good husband, someone reliant, dedicated, and willing to do the impossible for his family if needed. Though the modern climate produced stallions more accustomed to sampling a little of everything, Shining Armour was strictly a traditionalist at heart; one stallion and one mare united in a common bond of love.

So why did thoughts of Cadence make him feel so guilty?

There were three well-timed knocks on the Patriarchs door, Shining’s ears perking as he raised his head from Starlight Wrath. His armour rattling faintly as he approached the door, the Patriarch opened the heavy oak doorway to discover a pony-shaped mountain of steel waiting outside; only the centimetre wide eye-slit betraying that there was somebody inside the metal leviathan. From within emerged a harsh voice, like stones grinding each other to dust, “Shining Armour; Diplomat of Equestria, Warden of Canterlot, and Patriarch of the Celestial Guard?”

Shining reeled slightly, a little put off at the full use of his titles. “Yes?”

“My Queen has requested your presence in the Armoury; the time of combat has arrived.”

“I understand. Let me grab my helmet.”

Returning to his chambers long enough to don his plumed helmet, the golden metal glinting in the unburning fire of the Phoenix feathers which sat atop, Shining Armour followed his somewhat large escort down the large corridor outside his chambers; their footsteps surprisingly silent amongst the rafty vaulting. The main construction component of the Imperial Spire was a strange, onyx black crystal, the substance possessing a dark, smokey quality about that seemed to blur the hard lines and edges of the walls; like the whole tower were nothing but black, frozen ash. Currently the Patriarch and his companion navigated the wide, radial corridor around the circumference of the tower, eight smaller corridors at regular interval leading to a central stairwell with access to vast areas of the Spire, save for the chambers of Queen Umbra. Their armoured hoofsteps were muffled by the thick, scarlet red carpet that ran beneath them, the plush, soft material providing some respite from the chill of the crystal floors.

Looking about himself, Shining Armour noted that whilst the particulars of decoration may have varied, there was really little difference between the Imperial Spire and the Royal Palace back in Canterlot. Lining the walls, vast, magnificent portraits of former Regents gazed down upon him with stern, unyielding eyes, their long dead glory captured for the briefest moment within the canvas and paint. The style was not all too dissimilar to those back in Canterlot, though it seemed that unlike in Equestria, where the portraits of the Lunar and Solar Princesses depicted the Celestial Sisters as beings of creation, dedicated to the learning, wisdom, and peace, here, the portraits of the Crystal Empire proudly displayed their long dead rulers as soldiers and little else. Where in an Equestrian portrait would have been found the usual symbols of peace and prosperity: the plough for agriculture, the book for wisdom, a crescent sun and moon for universal stability, In a portrait of the Crystal Empire there were only renditions of combat and war.

Very few of the portraits depicted something other than bloodshed.

One particularly grandiose portrait caught the Patriarchs eye, the stallion feeling himself slowly grind to a halt as the sheer power of the imagery overwhelmed him. Depicted on a massive canvas a good five meters tall, a charcoal-black stallion, his features swathed in the shadows of a hooded cloak gazed down upon the Patriarch, his expression inscrutable beneath the blackness. Unlike the portraits on either side, which depicted scenes of war, the lone stallion of this portrait stood alone out on the tundra, surrounded by an endless waste of ice and the fury of a windigo’s blizzard. Armoured in baroque plating from a bygone era, Shining sensed something deeply unsettling about the lone figure; the only light visible beneath the cloaked hood being that of two emerald green eyes, pitted by pupils the colour of blood. Streams of purple fire wept from the two orbs, whilst rising above was a jagged horn of scarlet ivory, glowing with aethereal power.

There was something disturbing about the portrait that Shining Armour couldn’t quite pin; something a little… off. Staring up upwards, Shining Armour felt somewhat captivated by the canvas, the image upon it painted in such a way as to be looking straight into the eyes of an observer, the ancient king commanding in death the same respect and fear as he had in life. “Who is depicted here?” the Patriarch asked his guide, the heavily armoured stallion snorting loudly.

“The Mad King.”

When Shining Armour turned with a questioning look on his muzzle, the escort was silent for a few moments, the stallion looking back and forth beyond the Patriarch and the portrait before replying. “Beneath the frigid stars, before the emergence of the Crystal Empire, the ponies of the tundra survived by fighting as tribes, united by bonds of common heritage and divided by ties of mutual hatred. From this wilderness emerged a tribe that none could oppose, a tribe that enslaved all they met and massacred all else. This tribe, led by a stallion who had sold his soul beneath a moon of blood for the power to crush nations and slaughter empires, drove their way across the roof of the world until they stood poised to break-out into the southern lands. Yet, though the ponies of the tundra held no love for the decadent weaklings of the south, it was known that such ponies were unversed in the ways of war, and that if the horde were to burst loose from their frozen cage Faust would drown in the blood of her foals.”

“So it was that a last defence was mounted at Shatter-Peak, the few remaining free tribes preparing to sell their lives in defence of their southern cousins. There were but a hoofful to repel the enemy, barely a few thousand warriors; stallions, mares, and foals alike, yet in the face of impossible odds they had the pass for eight hours under continuous assault. Surviving the first day, those that remained returned to their camp to lick their wounds and prepare for death, for though they had killed many hundreds that day, all knew that the horde always had more reserves to call up, more slaves to throw into the meat-grinder. Despairing, the leader of the survivors, the last living king of the united tribes, locked himself away within his tent and barred any from entering. To tell the truth, no one knows what transpired within that night. Only that as the sun rose the next day, little more than a pale disk smudged in the sky, the last king stepped forth from his tent, no longer a pony, but the beast depicted here, a Daemon robed in mortal flesh.”

“When battle was joined, it was carnage. Though there were only a few hundred remaining ponies of the free tribes, the Mad King tore through the ranks of the enemy, unleashing forces that stained the souls of their targets. In a battle that lasted from the suns rising to its setting, the Mad King routed the horde, slaughtering the soulless stallion that led them and dispersing the survivors into the Tundra, for Mother Winter to finish.” The armoured stallion paused in his speech, looking from Shining Armour to the suddenly much more imposing portrait, shivering ever so slightly beneath the baleful gaze of those bloody eyes. “In the aftermath, of the battle, no trace of the Mad King could be found; not a plate of armour, or a shred of his cloak. Some believed that perhaps he’d died on that battlefield, but in the centuries since those dark days, there have been many tales of a black creature stalking the Tundra’s wastes, its eyes burning like the furnaces of Dis.”

Shining Armour looked to the portrait with a much greater sense of trepidation than before, no longer entirely comfortable beneath the gaze of the stallion framed within. Certainly no legend of such darkness existed in Equestria, much less an actually historical event. True, there were times in the nations past when the situation had been dire, but never something so…

Shining Armour held the stallions gaze, Images flashing through his mind; the choked ruins of the Everfree Palace; the dust begrimed carpets within; the shattered stain-glass windows and the broken masonry; the glowing form of a deadly predator. The rush of fear as surges of frigid cold ran up is hind legs, paralysing him. A weight on top of him. Heat. Movement. The sensation of silk. The face of Nightmare Moon suddenly emerging from the shadows, her mane flowing in an astral wind as an impassioned blush stained her cheek. Snapping himself from the images, Shining Armour shook his head, taking an abrupt step backwards. His escort looked to him, Shining Armour eyeing the portrait with a sense of great unease.

“Is everything alright, Shining Armour; Diplomat of Equestria, Warden of Canterlot, and Patriarch of the Celestial Guard?”

“Yes, yes, everything is… everything is fine.” Taking his eyes from the portrait, Shining Armour could feel another headache coming on, a painful, deep throbbing in the back of his head. Groaning to himself, the stallion raised an armoured hoof to massage the bridge of his nose, trying to alleviate some of the pain. Now was the last time he needed something like this, not with a highly important ritual duel about to begin. Lowering his hoof, Shining Armour did his best to bite down on the pain, giving his escort a nod before they both continued on their way; leaving the portrait of the Mad King and its lonely occupant behind.

“If I may?” Shining Armour asked as they continued, turning off from the corridor and beginning to make their way towards the great central stairwell. “The eyes of that king, they resemble those of Queen Umbra.”

The escort tensed slightly, the movement visible even beneath mountain of plating that covered his form. Shining Armour realised he may have caught onto something that was taboo within the confines of the Spire, but after a few moments of thought the stallion relaxed slightly, though there was still some tension in his movements. “Since the Mad King, there have been born those who are like him in flesh, charcoal coats and black manes, with blood stained spears for horns. These foals are said to be the twisted offspring of the Mad King, the remnants of whatever foul powers he used haunting the ponies long after his death. Though many of these foals are killed at birth, those that survive have gone on to do both great and terrible things in service to their nation, their loyalty beyond question. My lady is one of these individuals.”

“And the Mad King. What was his name, his real name?”

There was another pause, this one longer.

“Sombra. He was the Mad King Sombra.”

The Armoury was a series of wide, open rooms filled with weapon racks, the glint of steel everywhere in the flickering torch light. Resting in their places, Shining Armour spied halberds, spears, pikes, falchions, claymores, broadswords, short-swords, crossbows, helmets, barrel plates, hoof-guards, and much more, all lined with military precision; clean, polished steel simply waiting to deal death. Though a few torches were lit down the central aisle to allow ease of access, the majority of the armoury lay in darkness, the rest of its deadly secrets hidden from view. Ahead could be heard the sound of blade-on-blade contact; the Patriarch’s keen ears quickly picking up the familiar harsh rasp as metal sheered and sliced.

Travelling the full, shadowed length of the Armoury, Shining Armour emerged into what could only be described as a magnificent amphitheatre; rows upon rows of stone ledges leading down into deep depression in the ground, surrounded by viewing boxes. Descending the long stairway and reaching the very lip of the great hole at the centre, Shining Armour looked over the edge to discover the depression was a seven meter deep hole that ended in a sandy floor, banners and torches lining the walls. The arena itself was a good thirty meters wide; plenty of space for two combatants to fight to a stand-still or death. Within, a whirling maelstrom of metal and flesh took place.

A lone combatant fought against four heavily armoured opponents, all of them armed with fat-bladed falchions that had enough strength to easily cut clear through a limb. The lone warrior seemed to be armed with only a thing blade in comparison, a blade that glowed with a vibrant scarlet energy, something about the colour causing the remnants of Shining’s headache to briefly flare; a strange sense of wrongness seeming to emanate from the blade. The scarlet weapon moved with deft, swift movements, gracefully launching into each strike with deadly precision before elegantly returning into a perfect defence stance, the blade aligned down the length of the warrior’s body to provide maximum protection.

The four opponents circled warily, communicating to each other through subtle twitches and taps of their blades. Surrounding their quarry, the four prepared to strike, their blades raising as they launched forward into the assault. It was a perfect manoeuvre, the four blades falling in such a way that made retreat difficult, if not impossible. One of the four came in with a low cut: designed to take out the legs, while another two came in with direct thrusts to their opponent’s barrel, the final stallion performing a wide, downward strike that had enough force to severe a pony in two. For a few moments the Patriarch thought the lone warrior was surely doomed, before, with movement that seemed impossibly quick, the pony dodged, throwing their body in a graceful roll through the tiniest gap in the enclosing mesh of steel, sparks flying as the blades skimmed the surface of their armour. Landing outside the closed ring, the warrior turned their head, a hoof raising to tear off the helmet of black metal that covered their head.

Shining Armour gulped.

Queen Umbra’s smile was like that of a vicious predator, grinning in feral triumph as it closed with its prey. With but a mere tip of her horn, Queen Umbra sent the scarlet blade by her side rocketing forward, encased within the grip of her aethereal talents. In a single, elegant side-wipe, the blade took of the stallion stood directly before the queen, the combatants only just realising they’d missed their strike. The stallion went flying, landing in a heavy mess of metal and flailing limbs. Roaring with a viciousness that bellied her form, Queen Umbra leapt forward forwards, her hooves gripping tightly around the neck of another foe as she collided with him, the force of the impact sending both to the floor even as the scarlet blade swept another opponent off his hooves. Stamping her hoof down on the opponent beneath her, Queen Umbra turned her flaming eyes to the last remaining stallion, who, commendably, had enough nerve left to raise his weapon once more.

He didn’t last long.

Before the colt had time to blink Queen Umbra was on top of him, an armoured hoof smashing into the side of his muzzle before Umbra spun and delivered a devastating buck to his flank, sending him sprawling. Raising his sword, the colt managed a final charge, his blade coming down in a series of swift, rapid strikes that would have been deadly if they’d made contact. As it as, Umbra merely danced through the hail of deadly blows, her gauntleted hoof once more smashing the cot on the other side of his muzzle. Leaping back, Queen Umbra giggled, Shining Armour realising she was merely playing with the whelp. Leaning towards his escort, Shining Armour asked: “A training exercise, I presume?”

“Correct,” the mountain replied. “All who wish to join the ranks of the Imperial Guard are tested by Queen Umbra personally. Though, admittedly, they have no hope in defeating such an opponent, the Queen in always stringent about the process, and it would be wrong to say that her insight into the finer details of a warriors mind don’t put her at an advantage when selecting new recruits.”

Nodding, Shining Armour returned his attention to the arena, just in time to see Queen Umbra finish off the final survivor. Dropping her blade, Queen Umbra charged her opponent, gracefully dodging through the colts defence efforts. Reaching her opponent, the Queen leaped onto the colt, forelegs grappling round his neck as he instinctually reared on his hind-legs, braying as he attempted to shake the Queen loose. Anticipating the move, Queen Umbra pulled back with all her force, the colt toppling onto his back as the Queen locked him in a choke hold, armoured legs gripping tightly around the colt’s neck.

For several long seconds Shining Armour thought Queen Umbra was actually about to choke the colt to death, but after a few moments longer the Queen released her captive; the colt gasping for air as he rolled off his Queen and gulped down sweet oxygen. Rising without a moment’s hesitation, Queen Umbra marched across to her discarded helmet, the three other applicants groggily staggering to their hooves as they tried to make sense of the world. Forming up in what would have been a disgrace of a parade line, the four trainees waited in silence as the Queen paced in front of them, looking at each in turn with her burning, bloody eyes. “I see potential,” her voice echoed around the chamber, ringing back and forth. “But I also see wastes of my time.” Raising a hoof to the colt she had nearly choked into oblivion, Queen Umbra smiled slyly as the colt snapped to attention, his stance sub-par after his recent beating. “This one is the only warrior with any spirit amongst you. The rest shouldn’t have come, the Imperial Guard is for legends, not lackeys.”

Dismissing the colts, Shining Armour watched as the three failed applicants trudged with heavy heads towards an armoured gate at one end of the arena, the successful colt heading to another gate in the opposite direction. Queen Umbra herself remained at the arena’s centre looking up towards Shining Armour, who suddenly felt somewhat less confident of himself after such a display of martial prowess. Snapping himself from his own doldrums, Shining Armour mentally chastised himself, berating himself for being so negative. Of all things necessary when about to enter any form of combat, a positive state of mind was perhaps the most important; the confidence to win being a prerequisite to victory itself. Shoring up his mental guards, Shining Armour cleared his mind, readying himself as Queen Umbra called out.

“Patriarch, thank you for coming.”

“My pleasure, Queen Umbra.”

“I trust your chambers are adequate, and the staff on form?”

“Your hospitality has been impeccable, dear Queen.”

“Indeed.” Queen Umbra replied, her scarlet blade coming alive by her side as she took it in her aethereal grip and raised it in Shining Armours direction. “But enough of the pleasantries, shall we?”

“The rules of the duel are simple. No magic. Biting and physical contact is permitted, within the realm of minor injury, and, though this isn’t a duel to the death, there is no penalty for inflicting bodily injuries, within a reasonable extent.” Queen Umbra drew her blade through the sand of the Arena in a wide circle around herself before bringing it upright before, a slight malevolent edge to the blades scarlet glow. “Victory shall be established in the traditional manner of the Empire. I trust you understand the principles?”

Shining Armour nodded, swiftly calling to mind the required information. From what he understood of the matter, victory of a traditional duel amongst two citizens of the Crystal Empire was decided by one combatant establishing dominance over their opponent. Though the texts available to Equestria were outdated, it seemed as if dominance, in both a literal and social context of the word, was a highly established and valued trait amongst the citizenry of the Crystal Empire, much as confidence was valued in Equestria. The practice in itself was simple to understand: in the highly militarised society of the Crystal Empire, those individuals with the charisma, will, and strength of personality to lead often ended up in positions of authority, their ability to make others follow an important tool for the reigning government. As to the exact mechanisms of establishing dominance, Shining Armour was well versed; a demonstration of skill at arms, a demonstration of his speed and ability, and finally a display of his physical strength – the reason duels in the Crystal Empire involved such a high level of hoof-to-hoof combat.

It was simple really: all he had to do was beat Umbra, and be kinda flashy about doing it.

Grinning, Umbra dropped herself into a fighting stance, scarlet blade glowing as she raised it into the traditional guard position. Her form was impeccable, clad in tight, utilitarian plate that was at once bluntly austere and flagrantly exhibitionist with how tightly it clung to her curves, the dull-grey plating of her armour highlighting each and every curve the mare possessed. Dropping into his own fighting stance, Shining Armour tried to clear his mind, attempting to expel his rousing thoughts from earlier, when he’d first met Umbra face to face. Then, as now, he’d felt a colt-like flush of wonder run through him at her beauty, and then, as now, he’d tried to fight the rising tide within him, tried to remain cold and aloof, analytical, like Princess Celestia would expect. Slowly the two combatants began to circle each other, movements slow, cautious, Shining Armour alert and ready for the first strike.

Umbra lashed out with her blade, the weapon little more than a scarlet blur as it rocketed forwards. Shining Armour parried with ease, Starlight Wrath flaring brightly as the two weapons came into contact; the superior mass of the axe allowing it to absorb the blow without damage. Umbra withdrew for another strike, but as the mare pulled away Shining Armour pressed his own advance, Starlight Wrath lashing out in a series of three rapid strikes that pushed Queen Umbra backwards, away from the centre of the arena and towards the encircling wall. The flight was brief, the Queen swiftly reversing the situation with another attack of her own, regaining her lost ground in mere moments. Sizing each other up once more, the two began to circle again, probing attacks finished as they prepared for a full assault.

The arena was empty now; aside from the clash of steel on steel, no other noise of movement threatened to disturb the duel. Shining Armour held his orbit around Umbra for a few moments longer, weapon held in a defensive stance before he launched forward, Starlight Wrath descending in a wide, deadly arc that had enough force to cleave a pony clear in two; Umbra merely dodging the deadly blow by dancing out of reach, Starlight Wrath embedding itself deeply in the sandy floor. Seeing her chance to attack, Shining Armour leapt away as Umbra’s scarlet blade came down upon him, rolling away to the right as the blade severed several of the fine hairs in his tail. Light on his hooves, Shining Armour barely managed to dodge Umbra’s next assault, the Patriarchs flank tingling slightly as the Queen’s blade came down right beside it, sparks flying from where it was blocked by his armour.

Already Shining could feel himself slowing. This plate metal was far too heavy for him to be able to move at full haste, the unnecessary ornamentation slowing him to a deadly extent. Ahead of him, separated by the armoured form of the Queen, Starlight Wrath glinted faintly, embedded deep within the ground, the Patriarch growling as he drew a dagger from his flank, his only auxiliary weapon. Umbra came at him again, her movements so lightning fast as to little but a blur, yet still Shining Armour managed to avoid each blow, ducking and dodging each strike for the chance to leap within and around Umbra’s guard and retrieve Starlight Wrath. Seeing his chance, Shining Armour leapt forward, his form twisting through the air even as the Queen’s scarlet blade came down up where he’d been standing only moments before.

Launching past the Queen, Shining Armour landed bodily, having just enough time to scramble to his hooves and retrieve his weapon, Starlight Wrath flaring brightly within his grip as the weapon recognised the touch of its master. Raising the axe high, Shining Armour brought it down in a deadly two-hoofed stroke that forced Queen Umbra back a good few feet, the two warriors circling each other once more. Shining could feel the blood pumping through his veins, feel the exhilarating rush of heat and fear and adrenaline that soaked him in combat. Already his senses were heightening, his awareness closing in as he wrapped his attention around a single object, a single recipient of his consciousness. He could smell Umbra in the air, the scent of her sweat, blood, excitement, the taste of her resting tauntingly on his tongue. He could feel his conscious self begin to slip, reason and logic retreating inwards as his world became one of instinctual reaction.

Umbra lashed out again.

He barely dodged this time, Shining Armour only having enough time to move his head out the way before the scarlet blade went roaring past, skimming his ear by millimetres. Reacting without thought, Shining Armour seized the weapon in his own telekinetic grip, forcing the blade deep into the sand beneath them. For the briefest second Queen Umbra struggled to withdraw the weapon, but it only took the merest fraction of time for her to realise the weapon was now lost, and begin charging forward, vicious fangs exposed and gleaming.

She hit hard, an armoured hoof slamming into his muzzle as the two opponents went sprawling. Shining had barely had any time to recover before Umbra was on top of him, fanged maw grinning viciously as she raised another hoof. Shining dodged the blow, the Patriarch seizing the incoming hoof in his own, his superior physical build allowing him to halt the hoof in its track. For the briefest moment, Umbra scowled at him with the same look of an irate foal, before, with a gasp of surprise, she was pushed off him, Shining Armour using his considerable bulk to roll himself over and launch into another strike. But where he had the gift of strength, Umbra far outclassed him in terms of speed, and with each attack Shining Armour could feel himself slowing ever so slightly, unable to land even a single blow on the spritely mare.

A hoof came from nowhere, smashing into the side of his muzzle before being followed by a harsh buck, the force of the impact sending the Patriarch flying and threatening to knock loose more than a few teeth. Groggily raising his head, Shining Armour had enough time to realise that Umbra was on top of him before an armoured hoof smashed down on his gut, buckling his barrel-plate with the force; no easy feat. “Impressive, Patriarch.” Umbra managed, panting for breath as she raised her hoof and brought it down once more. “But not quite enough.” The mare smiled, her cheeks flushed with what could only have been more than mere heat. A scent hung in the air around the mare, musky, heavy, and familiar

“I haven’t yielded yet, dear Queen.” Shining Armour replied.

Before Umbra could manage a response, Shining Armour swept out his hide leg in a wide arc, knocking the mare’s legs out from beneath her. Umbra had enough time to mumble “oh” to herself before she was suddenly met with a fine view of the ceiling, the rattling of metal filling her ears. Rolling over, the mare moved to stand, but not before a weight suddenly made itself present upon her back, a pair of strong, heavy hooves forcing her fore-legs to buckle, forcing her back to the ground. Cold steel appeared at her front, one of the razor heads of Starlight Wrath nicking ever so gently at the flesh of her neck. The weight on her back became greater, Shining Armour forcing the mare to the ground even as he took a bit of her mane, pulling her head back to a sharp, uncomfortable angle, whilst his hind-legs spread her own.

The mare whined, instinctively trying to escape such a compromising position. But even as she tried to break free, Shining Armour held her firmly in his grip, keeping the mare pinned beneath his larger bulk. “Do you yield?” he asked in a breathless voice, pressing the mare’s delicate flesh ever so slightly against Starlight Wrath. “Do you yield, Queen Umbra.”

The mare didn’t reply for several long moments, eyes closed as she drew deep, rhythmic breaths, her body seeming to tense and twitch beneath his own. Slowly, opening a single eye, the mare looked to Shining Armour with a pupil of blood, purple fire streaming free all the while. The miasma around her seemed to thicken, the familiar yet illusive scent tickling at the Patriarchs peripheral awareness, triggering mechanisms that only the subconscious mind could access. “Do you yield, Queen Umbra?” Shining asked again more forcefully, the edge of starlight Wrath cutting at her flesh ever so slightly. For a few moments longer the mare struggled, her movements weak and small beneath his own, before finally she fell still, ears submissively folding back as she lowered her head in defeat.

“I yield, patriarch.”

Shining Armour held his grip for a few brief moments longer before releasing the mare, his body retreating from her own as he took a few steps back, removing the deadly edge of Starlight Wrath from Queen Umbra’s throat. Taking stock of the situation, Shining Armour examined himself for injury, quickly making note that while he’d been fortunate enough to avoid physical injury, one of Queen Umbra’s earlier strikes had left an ugly gouge along the plates of his flank, irreparably scarring the delicate hoofwork. The Patriarch winced slightly at the damage, aware that it would require great deal of the armour to be melted down, reformed, and then meticulously worked back into a shape fitting of a royal suit, but at least the armour had served itself purpose. Shining Armour looked back to the Queen.

Umbra hadn’t moved an inch from her previous position; forelegs bent; head lowered; ear folded back; hind-legs raised; tail flagged…

“Queen Umbra?!” Shining Armour half-yelped at the sight, turning his sight from the mare’s exposed sex to spare her dignity. “Your highness, please, what in Equestria are you doing?!”

Queen Umbra raised her head, turning back to look at the averted eyes of the Patriarch, a healthy blush staining the stallions cheeks as he looked in an direction other than at Umbra herself. Frowning, the mare gave the Patriarch a questioning look before replying. “I am yielding,” came her blunt reply, “What else would I be doing?”

“But your highness!” Shining Armour replied, his voice uneasy, “The duel is over, there is no need to… expose yourself to me!”

There was a moments silence before Umbra began to giggle, the noise oddly feminine and innocent for a battle-armoured mare in such a provocative state. Shining Armour’s blush intensified at the sound, the health glow strengthening into a deep shade of rose. For a few moments the mare simply mocked, before, after tiring of her amusement, she replied; “This is how duels are conducted in the Empire, Patriarch. I assumed you knew this.”

“But… I’ve read the studies, I established myself as the dominant party by overcoming you and forcing you to yield. That’s sufficient in itself, it does not require me to mount you and…” Shining Armour’s blush deepened severely, threatening to become a permanent stage.

“Maybe if I were a stallion you would be correct. But, as it just so happens-” The mare waved her tail, the silken fibres spreading her feminine into the air. “-I was born a filly, Patriarch, and by law of the Crystal Empire, when a mare challenges a stallion and loses, she is put back in her place.”

“But… That’s…”

“There’s no need to be agitated by it. Had I won, you would have been ridiculed across the Empire for being defeated by a mare. Suffice to say, you and your nation would have been… weak in the eyes of the wider populace. But no, fate has spoken, and thus tradition dictates.”

“And you knew this when you accepted my diplomatic mission?”

“Of course. Why do you think I requested you be sent? I have heard many tales of your prowess, Patriarch, and those tales I have been eager to test. But just as many are the rumours of your prowess in more… intimate matters. I won’t lie that they may have… influenced my choice in ambassador.”

The Patriarch stood aghast for several long moments, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate a reply, only to come out with a hoarse groan. Shining Armour could feel his headache returning with a vengeance, blurred images flashing in his mind, too fast to comprehend.

“I… I can’t… I have a wife…”

“And no one doubts your love for her, Patriarch. Even in the Crystal Empire, the bards sing ballads of the young lovers. But this has nothing to do with matters of the bedroom, this is statecraft, and unless you fulfil tradition, you will have to surrender, be ridiculed, and return to your princess with an empty hoof.” Umbra raised her tail. “The choice is yours, Patriarch.”

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this could be happening.

Shining Armour felt a knot begin to tighten in his gut, threatening at any moment to squeeze too tight and make him hurl. Though he knew on every level that what he was contemplating was wrong with every belief he held dear, his analytical mind refused to die, reminding him over and over, as he sought another way out, that the only way to secure the final objective was to mount Queen Umbra and… and…

Thoughts of Cadence ricocheted through Shining’s mind, the knot in his gut tightening to the very brink of his limits, the stallion’s coat paling as he realised what he had to do, the great betrayal he would have to enact. Taking a deep breath, Shining Armour gathered what thoughts of Cadence that he could before shoving them back into the darkest parts of his mind, in the places where they wouldn’t come back. Steeling his gut, the Patriarch ground his teeth and marched across to the mare before him; bent submissively with her tail raised and core exposed. It wasn’t anger that Shining Armour felt churning in his gut, but something that made him cold and mechanical; performing the actions of a machine, not a thinking stallion

Seizing the mare's flank in his magic, Shining Armour held her still in his grip as he inspected her, the mare squirming beneath his gaze. Leaning in Shining Armour trailed his tongue up Queen Umbra's sex, the mares tail batting at him in excitement as he gently lapped at her folds, probing her. Umbra whined as she felt the Patriarchs tongue beggin to lap at her, the inner muscles of her sex gripping him as he teased her, a thin trail of liquid dripping down his muzzle from where the mare's excitement became too much for her. Pulling back, Shining Armour watched Queen Umbra wink, indicating her willingness to her partner.

Shining Armour mounted the mare, his horn flaring as he gripped the armoured plates around her flank and pulled them loose, buckles coming loose and slackening as he stripped her of her protection; fully exposing her shame. Removing his own barrel, the Patriarch pinned the mare beneath him with his weight, his greater muscle and mass proving too much for Queen Umbra to resist, gripping her forelegs with his own, Shining Armour bit the mares mane between his teeth, tugging her head back sharply as he began to grind his cock against the Queens heated flower, his length growing as he teased the captive mare beneath him.

Queen Umbra whined, the bite of her earlier comments as Shining Armour pushed her head into the floor of the arena. A blush, barely visible beneath her charcoal coat, stained her cheeks as she felt the stallion grinding against her, preparing to fuck her. Being the Queen that she was, Umbra was not prone to indulging in her urges; perhaps she took a lover when the brief heat swept the Empire at summer’s peak, but otherwise she was a mare dedicated to her nation. Of course, that was no easy task, and with the Crystal Empire being as sparse, vast, and inhospitable as it was, overseeing such a realm took a strict discipline of the mind. More often than not, the winter that her citizens celebrated threatened to damn them if anything else, yet through strict, precise control, she was able to ensure the survival of her ponies, and the prosperity of her empire.

That level of involvement demanded a lot from a mare.

Another fillieish whine leapt from the mare’s throat as Shining Armour abruptly drew his whole length across her sex, coating his cock in the mare’s excitement before bringing the very tip to her entrance, teasing the mare. Umbra let out a begging whine at the move, ears flickering against her head to indicate her submission as she bit her lip, looking up to the stallion above her with lidded eyes.

Shining Armour held the mare gaze for a few moments, tormenting her, steeling himself for what was about to happen, before, finally, he made his move.

“For Celestia and Country.”

With a single, swift thrust, Shining Armour hilted himself within the mare, forcing her body to take every inch as he plunged into her depths. Shining Armour grunted as he felt the mare’s sex clench in excitement, Umbra visibly shaking as Shining withdrew and began to thrust with harsh, continuous strokes, her eyes rolling as she let out a deep groan of satisfaction, feeling the stallion press deep into her being with each thrust. Shining Armour took deep, measured breaths as he fucked the mare beneath him, moving with dispassionate, mechanical movements whilst Umbra whimpered beneath him, her sex gripping his tightly each time he hilted within her.

Upping the pace, Shining gripped the mare’s flanks in his hooves, squeezing each harshly. Both were demonstrations of the female physique at its finest, toned muscle running beneath supple, silken skin and fur, the Patriarch stroking the mare’s cutie mark for a few moments before raising a hoof and bringing it down hard, spanking the mares flank loudly. Umbra squeaked loudly, her sex clenching tightly around him as she tensed at the blow. Snorting, Shining Armour raised his hoof again, raining another three sharp blows against the Queen’s flanks in rapid succession, the mare squealing in delight at the action.

“You said… that when a mare loses to a stallion… she is put back in her place,” Shining Armour whispered into the Queen’s ear between thrusts, the mare blushing deeply as Shining began to nibble on the tip of her ear. “Is that what you want, dear Queen? For a stallion to put you back in your place?” Shining Armour emphasized the question with hard thrust, his flank smacking against that of the Queen’s audibly. Umbra, panting hard, shook her head, her eyes half-lidded as she tried to reply.

“How… dare you… I’m a… Queen, a QueEENN!”

Shining Armour grunted as the mare climaxed around his shaft, the inner walls of her sex gripping him tightly as they tried to milk him of his seed. Umbra let out a hoarse groan, twitching beneath the Patriarch as her sex tingled in satisfaction, weakly gripping him even now. The stallion chuckled as Umbra let out a deep sigh, her eyes nearly closed as she basked in her afterglow. “I’ve never met a Queen that squeals like a harlot before.”

Umbra’s cheeks turned red with indignation, the mare’s mouth opening to reply yet the only sound emerging being a foolish squeal as Shining Armour began to thrust into her again her flesh too sensitive after so recent a release. Each thrust was met by a squeal on the Queens part, the sounds echoing around the empty arena as the two rutted on the cold floor. Shining Armour grunted gently with each thrust, the Queen’s sex instinctively trying to milk him, even if the mare was too delirious to respond. “I’ve also never met a Queen as deviant as you. Fantasising of rutting a married stallion, hardly behaviour fitting of royalty.”

“Not! True!” Umbra squealed as another climax overcame her, her sex weakly milking him. “I’m a Queen, you’re an ambassaDOORRR!” Queen Umbra tensed, her sex gripping Shining Armour’s shaft with surprising strength. “I can order you to do anything I want! I am a Queen!”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Shining Armour said hilting himself within the mare as a foreleg wrapped itself around her neck, squeezing gently on her throat. “But you’re not my Queen, are you? And as I remember-” Shining Armour spanked Umbra’s flank hard, the unexpected shock causing the mare to squeak loudly, followed by a long moan as the stallion kept up the barrage, mercilessly spanking the mares toned rump. “-you need to be put in your place.”

Shining Armour returned to his thrusting, Umbra being able to do little more than simply lie beneath him as the stallions grip around her throat tightened, choking her ever-so-slightly. Aware that the mare had already had her pleasure, Shining sought his own, mercilessly driving into the mare as his pleasure built, exciting himself off watching a monarch squirm in his grip. A familiar knot built at the base of his shaft, Shining Armour keeping his place until his brought himself to the very brink, before abruptly pulling out, Umbra gasping as he painted her exposed flank with his seed, coating her charcoal black coat with thick ropes of white.

The Patriarch suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion overcome him, sitting back on his flank as he took deep, calming breaths. Inhale. Four seconds. Exhale. Four seconds. Opening his eyes, Shining Armour watched up rise to her full height, the mare shivering slightly as the cold air of the arena met the sensitive flesh of her sex, the mare letting out a whine as a thin stream of clear liquid escaped her sex, her flower winking lewdly at him. Turning, the mare approached, smiling at Shining Armour in an oddly shy fashion before bowing her head and taking his shaft into her mouth, her tongue lapping at his flesh.

Shining Armour sighed, his body relaxed as the mare cleaned him of their combined mess, the soft mass of her tongue brushing up gently against his still sensitive head. Pulling herself back up, Umbra met the Patriarchs eye before tilting her head back and swallowing.

“I trust the alliance between our two nations has been secured?” Shining Armour asked, his voice oddly detached and aloof.

“At ease, Patriarch, your duty is done. I shall send word to the trade guilds that there has been a shift in policy to facilitate immediate economic contact, but a diplomatic mission of our own will be dispatched to Equestria to hammer out the final details.” Queen Umbra blushed, seemingly shy even so recently after their debauchery. “But come, why talk matters of state, if you wish we can retire to my chambers? I shall have the kitchen send up something for us to eat.”

“No thank you.” Shining Armour said sharply, in a tone that brooked no argument. There was a coldness about the Patriarchs features, an expression of dispassion that had been refined through years of service, through months of being screamed at in the face by irate, possibly senile staff sergeants. “I shall return to my quarters and rest for the night. If you would send word to my train, I shall be leaving tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Umbra frowned slightly. “Pardon me, Patriarch, but you delegation is meant to last a week, you can’t leave only a day after arriving.”

Shining Armour disregarded the mare, turning away to make his way across the arena floor to the closest exit. “I’m afraid an issue has cropped up that I must see to with the utmost urgency.”

“Issue? What issue?”

“I have to go back to my wife-” Shining Armour turned back to the Queen, Umbra gasping as she saw the faintest hints of tears on his cheeks, “-And beg her to forgive me.”