Magic flowed from Twilight Sparkle’s horn as she sat on Celestia’s old throne. There were vague thoughts of sadness at the state of the throne room- the stained glass had all been broken and otherwise defaced, and not a single tapestry remained. One Caribou had seemingly had the gall to prop the body of a tiny foal up on the throne itself, Celestia’s crown settled on the misshapen head. Twilight, mastering her emotions as best she could, had raised the foal back to unlife, and set her along to the Matron. Finding the parents of all the orphan foals would take time, but it was Number 3 on Twilight’s checklist. Number 2 was to get Canterlot back into a working condition. The sounds of hammers clanging and bellows churning from far away caught Twilight’s ear, and she allowed herself a smile.

Scrap iron from the old ironworks would make for suitable armor and weapons for her ponies, at least to start. The Caribou had been foolish enough to leave their trucks and battlewagons if they got stuck or otherwise disabled, and their hulks would work well for Twilight’s purposes. The Royal Canterlot library had mostly escaped destruction- the Caribou had viewed pony knowledge as weak to their own, and tended to ignore it if it was not a weapon- and the vast majority of Twilight’s rescued foals and civilians had rushed to the expansive section of the Castle. Keeping the knowledge was tantamount, as the wealth of magical knowledge within the scrolls and books would be useful in the coming war.

War. Twilight’s teeth ground together with a slight click. War had caused all of this. All the suffering, all the death. All the continued suffering her people would have to go through. If Twilight had it her way, she’d escew war for the rest of her days, content to rebuild Equestria from the ground up. To bring it back from the ashes like a phoenix, into a grand new golden age of scientific advancement, love, and industry. But that was merely idealism. Glancing down, Twilight’s grimace turned back into a warm smile. Applebloom, Scootaloo, Sweetie Bell, and Dinky Doo all kneeled before Twilight’s throne, shudders running over their bodies as Twilight’s magic pressed and molded against them, infusing their bodies and souls with necromantic love energy. Dinky Doo tossed her head with a shaky gasp, eyes flickering up to meet Twilight’s, a small hint of fear blooming in the back.

Poor thing. Been through so much.

Twilight descended down the steps of the throne slowly, the gasps and squeaks of the mares rising as the source of the magic approached. With a faint grunt, she sat in front of them, violet wings spreading wide and gently nudging their heads up so Twilight could get a proper look. A quartet of cherry-red irises gazed back at her, fear giving way to awe as they felt the raw power coiling and snapping inside. Dinky and Sweetie in particular seemed to be in euphoria, their horns elongating as the magic rippled through the magical appendage, sharpening the edges and points to a blade-like finish. Applebloom seemed to have grown, in both height and build, and a flex of her hind legs showed a large amount of twitching muscle. Scootaloo had spread her wings wide during the process, and she gazed back at them in awe as the once-useless feathers merged and morphed, forming a sleek, leathery surface. The wing shank popped and grew out, as did the wing surface itself, and a single flap told the mare that she would soon be learning the joys of flight.

Finally, the magic slid reluctantly away from its hosts, and a true smile broke across Twilight’s muzzle, one mirrored by the ponies in front of her.

“How do you feel, my Knights?”

“Powerful,” Applebloom whispered, shaking her red mane around her eyes and grinning widely.

“Bucking fast,” Scootaloo replied eagerly, running a tongue over her new fangs, and twitching her more sensitive ears curiously.

“Supercharged,” Sweetie Bell answered softly, smiling at the ringing quality her voice had taken on.

Only Dinky Doo was quiet, and Twilight turned to her in concern. Had she asked too much of her apprentice, too soon? Dinky had always been hesitant of taking on too magic at once; one instance of magical burnout had been quite enough for the young filly. The blonde mare had her head bowed, a hoof tracing on the cracked tile beneath her. Twilight’s hoof, shaky and hesitant, drifted off the floor, raising towards her apprentice in concern.

“Din-”

Click.

The smile and look in Dinky’s eyes as she met both Twilight’s gaze and hoof was positively predatory, a wide, toothy smile and narrowed eyes.

“I feel like a Caribou’s nightmare, Princess,” she purred, and the rest of her compatriots chuckled and nodded to the sentiment.

Relived, Twilight allowed herself a warm chuckle, settling back on her haunches.

“I’m glad, my precious student. Because we have work to do, and Caribou are going to be the start.”
***********************

Svoln Ironhoof, Commander of the Sector X garrison, let out a powerful grunt as he hunched over the squalling, wriggling pony beneath him. His rangers had caught the little survivor hiding out amongst some of the cottages near the Everfree Forest, dragging her back with only minimal casualties. Damn thing was a unicorn, but Caribou magic had been more than enough to subdue her. And of course, sawing off that horn had been entertaining enough to be worth the annoyance. Svoln was an older Caribou, approaching his fifth decade, giving him a silvered appearance down his neck and powerfully muscled body. But a male his age still had needs and, even though a puny pony couldn’t bare the young his country needed, they were still good enough for an easy lay till a breeder battalion could rotate through for their national duty.

“St-stop!” she bawled out, tears and snot mingling with the blood from her shattered horn base, “Pl-please!”

The Caribou’s only response was to smash her nose back into the straw mattress beneath them. He preferred his toys not talk. With a wave of his head, a black aura surrounded his antlers, and he sent it out to grasp a branding iron in the nearby hearth. This particular pony had one of their magical marks: a cluster of green grapes. Far too cheery for his tastes. A stencil of the Caribou National Symbol would prove far better, in his opinion. The pony obviously spotted the brand, as her bawling and struggles redoubled, hooves scrabbling and tearing at his mattress.

“Nonononononononono!”

Svoln’s muzzle curled into a snarl. Bah. The pony had no idea the honor she was receiving, to please one of His race! She could be adorning a spike right now! Indeed, she probably would join her pathetic kind in the Blood Forest soon enough. She-

“I believe the lady asked you to stop.”

Sex forgotten, Svoln kicked the mare away smoothly, ignoring her yelping tumble to the wall as he spun around, magic gripping his breech-loading rifle. He always kept it loaded and ready, and he whipped it to bare. The first crossbow bolt, surrounded with purple magic, shattered the rifle. The next two slammed into his throat, pinning Svoln to the wall of the hut. Through a quickly reddening gaze, the Caribou Commander stared in horror at the majestic, bright purple alicorn in his command hut, flanked by two pony Guards in dull golden armor. Her eyes were bright red, and cut straight to his blackened soul.

“I-I-”

His last second of life was spent watching the spiraled, dagger-sharp horn of the alicorn stabbing towards his eye.
*******************

With a resounding scream, the ponies came. This was no chant of war. No hurrah of civilized ponies marching across an open field, shining brass gleaming in Celestia’s sun. No warrior’s cry to show their foe the meaning of fear. This was a scream. Primal. A scream of revenge against a foe who had shown no mercy to them. To their families, and foals. A scream of a people who would destroy their enemy, and show no quarter. With thundering hooves, ponies armored in forged iron and beaten copper galloped across the once-plentiful fields of Ponyville, red eyes gleaming in the twilight hour. Halberds lowered, crossbows raised. Magic ready. A city of unicorns, an army of them now, resembling the ancient armies of their people. To the Caribou, who had only faced the war machine of the civilized ponies- the tanks, the warplanes, the marching armies- this was something new. And it was utterly terrifying.

Applebloom led the charge, her glowing eyes gleaming through the slit of her iron helmet, her red cloak streaming behind her like a banner of blood. Her war scream was higher than the rest, like a shield maiden of the ancient Earth Pony nomads. She thought the resemblance was fitting. As she cleared a hill with a contingent of old Royal Guard at her back, a Caribou scout spun towards them, his eyes widening in shock. Terror screamed through Applebloom, but she tossed it aside with a snarl. That was a relic of the past, of a time when she and her friends had been forced to scavenge their own country just to survive. Not anymore. She was taking it back!

“For the Apple family!” she snarled out loud, kicking up clods of dirt as she launched herself forward.

The Caribou whipped his rifled saddle around as he turned, and the twin-linked guns fired with a plume of smoke and a roar of buckshot. Fire lanced up Applebloom’s side, but she charged on, well-aware of the magic that coursed through her body. And well-aware of the time it took to reload Caribou weaponry. Her spear slammed through the stunned Caribou’s neck, and Applebloom never even slowed down, side-checking the dead soldier aside as she charged on. She had a home to retake.
*************************

The Caribou soldiers of the Section X Garrison grouped together in front of the Mayor’s Office, barking to each other in their quick, guttural language as they gathered themselves up to fire. A Ferse-hoof gun, a rotary weapon that fired a rifle bullet with each turn of a crank, was set up in the middle. The Ferse-hoof gun was the top anti-infantry weapon the Caribou military had developed, and it had worked wonders against the powerful warriors and nimble flyers of the Gryphon Kingdoms. Against ground-based ponies, seemingly armed with primitive melee weapons, they were quite certain they could hold out against them, perhaps even drive the rebels back. They had no clue what they were truly facing.

Screams and roars rose up from the streets, clogged as they were with churned up ash and smoke. The Caribou soldiers, most of them young and new on the job, looked at each other with with fearful eyes. This was supposed to be an easy assignment. Most ponies were dead, and those that were alive tended to just be weak survivors, fun enough to capture and take as spoils, or easy enough to just kill outright. They had never been briefed about a veritable army of rebels coming out of the fog!

“Here they come!”

The Ferse-hoof chattered as the first ponies charged out of the fog, spears lowered. Puffs of dust and smoke rose up with every strike, and many went down. Indeed, in the first wave, almost all collapsed under the withering fire, and the Caribou gave a rousing cheer. It died in their throats when the ponies, glowing red all over, got back to their hooves seconds later. Crossbow bolts sliced out from the fog, catching stunned Caribou with open mouths and vulnerable throats. Rifle shots rose up in their wake, and Caribou sergeants shouted frantic orders at their bucks to fire. Fire for their lives! Dark tendrils of magic snaked out to slice at ponies, only to be answered by unicorn magic, brighter colors that broke through the shaky shields to strangle throats, or explode the powder on their belts.
It was chaotic, nightmaric even. As the fog rolled in, all that remained of the Sector X Garrison force were the blood and screams, surrounded by the howls of the victors.

Author's Notes:

For anyone wondering, the Ferse-hoof is a Caribou-made gatling fun. I didn't call it gatling gun because there wasn't a person named Gatling who made it. XD