Drip... drip... drip...

Pinkie Pie stared at the glistening pellets of rainbow-colored fluid that trickled from her leg. She was starting to see more red and less of the greens and yellows, which was a good sign. There must have been at least twenty different stimulants she injected herself with, and as they began to wear off after weeks of her brain drowning in them, she was left with increasingly debilitating headaches and nightmares. She had resorted to a macabre and archaic method to purge herself of the chemicals; bloodletting.

It felt oddly sensational, the slicing of her own flesh, the sharp sting of the cool, moist air in the cut, but it didn’t bring a smile to her face. For the past several weeks, she had almost had to sit in the backseat of her mind and watch herself unravel the relationships with her friends and piece by piece mutate into something worse with each depraved quest for pleasure.

‘Rarity must hate me now,’ she thought, her thoughts drifting back to Sweetie Belle.

She held her dripping foreleg over a jar; the swirling colors not unlike the waterfalls she tasted in the rainbow factory. The thing looking back at her in the reflection in the placid fluid was reprehensible. Whiteless, black orbs for eyes, black fleshy horns on its head, and three forelegs. On the left side were two, one with a black crustaceous claw, and the one right leg had grown a sharp, lancelike shell. The creature was almost hollow, nothing but a voluminous and insatiable stomach from chest to haunches.

That thing was her, and she hated it; but it was still beautiful. The kind of dark, enchanted beauty that entranced victims to lay down their arms, but all she saw was a grotesque parody of herself.

The pittering blood was completely red now. One of her tongues brought out her bony needle and started stitching the cut shut. ‘Where does this string even come from?’ she thought. She did feel a slight tugging as she pulled out more string, somewhere where her liver used to be. After replacing the lid on the jar, she tucked it under her third leg.

’It can’t be all bad. Hey, I got another hand leg to carry stuff with.’ It didn’t do much to lift her spirits, though. Hanging her head, she absentmindedly walked into Lyra who, along with everyone else, stopped walking, scanning the wood’s mists warily. Rarity had felt something through her tzeentchian foresight, something all around them. They formed a reinforced square, weapons facing out and waiting.

“Why’re we wait’n here?” Macintosh growled. “Let’s just charge ‘em!”

“That would be a good idea, if you wanted to get killed.” said Lyra.

Rarity looked to the center of their circle where the three fillies were huddled together.

“You sure somethi’ns comi’n?” Braeburn asked.

“I haven’t been wrong yet.”

“Cuz this is your first time!” A soft, thunderous noise resonated in the distance, then another.

“Drat... I was right.” Rarity cursed, returning her eyes to the woods.

The large footsteps grew louder and faster, until at last a titanic, bipedal form emerged from the fog, slowly walking towards them. It possessed four arms, two of which had their lower parts amputated and replaced with giant hunks of metal. One was shaped as a bladed hook, whilst the other was a simple, rusty impaler spike.

Braeburn stared intently at the figure for several seconds, before finally giving a relieved sigh. “It’s fine, everypony!” he said. “It’s them beastmen. Does anypony know how to talk their language?”

More of them emerged. They were of varying size and shape, from the five-foot ungors to elite bestigors to the far more rare twelve-foot minotaurs. They were the result of the raw effects of chaos on life, warping animals and people into freaks of nature. Though they and the ponies they surrounded were filled with the taint of Chaos, relations between the more ‘civilized’ dark ones were often strained.

One of them, a mystic, wore a tattered robe that barely hung halfway down her back. A collection of tiny herbal bags and charms clattered atop a staff in its grimy claw and round its neck hung a necklace of skulls and teeth. It sounded idle growls as it, apparently peacefully, approached the group. She paused when what appeared to be the chief of the herd shouted, “Zecora! Greul meh ka dak!”

The black and white striped mystic shook her head and closed the distance, coming face to face with the chaotics who were intimidated back into their formation. She firmly locked eyes with Rarity, who tried to smile and break the silence.

She extended a hand. “Hello there. I am— HRR!”

The shaman grasped her front horn and brought her head down to inspect it. The creature jerked Rarity’s head around, studying her horns for length, thickness, and curvature. Horn style was crucial in the beastman hierarchy; the longer and more twisty, the better, and Rarity had three spiraling ones. She threw her head back up with an approving grunt.

“Quite the hoofshake you have,” Rarity mumbled, shaking off the dizziness.

Apple Bloom cantered over to her side, her head tilted to the side in curiosity. “Did that guy call you Zecora?”

The shaman knelt to the filly and patted her on the head with a dagger-tooth smile. Her voice was hoarse, but kind. “Little Apple Bloom, not a day older you be. At least there is one face that still remembers me.”

Applejack blinked in confusion. “Boy, Zecora. Whut happened to ya?”

She leaned on her staff for support, one of her legs apparently having been injured at some point, as a long three-furrowed scar across the calf showed. “A great long time have I spent in the Empire’s wooded land, where both man becomes beast and beast becomes man.” She hobbled to her hooves and turned to the chief, “Thuol kom! Ashki-azhek!” The bestigor grunted, waving his hand dismissively, and the herd moved away with him. “It seems my chieftain cares not if you heed his word.” Zecora snickered. “So if you will stay a while, I welcome you all to the herd.”

Braeburn cracked a grin, displaying twin rows of blackened teeth shot with holes and cracks. “Well, thank ya kindly. any do’s or don’ts y’all have?”

“First and foremost, always obey the larger horned host...”

While the zebra laid down the expectations of the herd, Fluttershy spotted a vaguely familiar rodent among the myriad creatures. With matted patches of white fur on scarred muscle and long ears that hung over the back of its head, the rabbit-thing held the same expression towards her and walked closer on a tranced autopilot.

She held out a claw, and it let itself get picked up and smiled brightly. A red tear of joy ran down her cheek and her breaths became giggling sobs as she cradled the creature her pet had become. He nuzzled under her chin, and she didn’t care that he was a monster. He still loved her, and he was still her Angel Bunny.

Nuln, the technological epicenter of the Empire. Over the two and a half millennia the Empire has stood, Nuln had been repeatedly besieged, conquered and destroyed, but the people always kept coming back and rebuilding it to its former glory — and beyond. It was the home of the Technikus, the Empire’s engineering masterminds. The most famous of them is the late Leonardo da Miragliano, his greatest invention being the Conqueror Steam Tank.

A great many devices and arcane machines were displayed and demonstrated before the three monarchs by the College of Engineers. The mechanical horse, heavier-than-air flying machines, and repeating handgun were marvels of their time. Thanks to the knowledge of minds from Equestria, the Technikus had managed to work out many weapon ailments and perfect designs that has been hazardous to use before. Helblaster volley gun jams were solved, and the newest variant of the Conqueror borrowed concepts from Equestrian steam cars so the long-lost design of the legendary war machines could be recovered. Full production of steam tanks had begun and, although it was labor-intensive, one was already complete; the ‘Iron Cross’, and another was already under construction.

After the sun had passed its peak in the sky, it was time for the unveiling of the College of Engineers’ most recent project.

The massive multi-use field just outside the city had been readied just for this very event. The imperial monarchs watched knights clash their spears into one another’s shields as they jousted in an interim show. A multitude of noble orders gave their best to the game; The Order of the Golden Lion, Knights Encarmine, and Knights of the Bull just to name a few. Jousting had become more interesting over the years, as the orders had begun trading in their normal horses for sentient stallions to train.

Long horns sounded strongly from the city walls at one end of the filled lists and bleachers. A Reiksguard Knight and Knight of the Inner Circle made one last charge on opposite ends of the divider. The rapid pounding of hooves on the soil kicked up a like a rooster tail and in a flurry of splintered wood and crumpled steel, the Inner Circle warrior was thrown from his steed. The dethroned knight’s steed helped his rider to stand and hobble off the dirt, with dignity still in their stride.

The divider was removed, and a prominent Technikus member appeared in the wall lookout box. He was donned in a leather trench coat, his top hat displaying a feather and metal cog. His skin was caked in a healthy layer of soot and grime that could never be completely washed away.

“Hail, lord and ladies!” his bushy moustache said. “We have, this day, readied something we believe is nothing short of a beautiful culmination of five hundred years of military engineering! Below me, through these doors, will pass the war winner! The giant slayer! The Titan!”

The great passage under the window cracked open, a maw into blackness.

]“Heave!”

The crack of a whip was followed by a choir of exhausted grunting and moaning.

”Heave!”

The creaking of wood and thunderous rolling noise rang out as lines of people and ponies in prison garb shambled into the light, a hundred ropes in their withered hands. The cables stretched back into the dark cavern, up and up, over twenty meters high. The pullers were stamped with government seals, many of them had their eyes or lips sewn shut and all were cut and maimed, feverishly praying to the demigods in the bleachers and to their own patron deity.

A hideous iron face emerged from the darkness. Its riveted and bolted visage was something of an inventor’s worst nightmare, something even Nightmare Moon couldn’t conceive for him. The giant’s massive, armored skeletal body emerged on a huge rolling platform, decorated in banners and insignias of Nuln. The head was low on the hulking body, a huge boiler deep in its chest.

It’s arsenal was a kaleidoscopic spectrum of death and destruction. One swiveling arm sported two helblaster volley guns; the other, a rotating quintuplet of standard cannon. A copious amount of deadly helstorm rockets were arranged in great racks along its back. Dozens of crewmembers ran to and fro, scampering all throughout the humanoid machine to operate its mind-bogglingly complex systems.

The entire audience held stupefaction as the godly machine was stopped just outside the gate. The prisoners disconnected the ropes and scrambled to either side of the platform. In the head, the command crew made final checks and the captain, Mercer Strasse, shouted into a great horn to broadcast to the outside.

“My lords! We give you, Terribilis Vindicta! Let it breathe life!”

A crewman threw a valve and a huge whistling and plumes of scalding steam erupted from the monstrosity like the whistle of the steam locomotive of apocalypse. As pressure built in the pipes and tubing, its unwieldy body shook and rattled.

“Come on,” the captain growled. “Live...” The machine ground to animation, like a hunchback waking up from a standing sleep. “Two steps forward.”

After the crank of a couple more levers, its left tread rose. They pushed one lever and the foot lurched forward, the last one bringing it crashing down to the earth below the short platform. Its body recoiled, looking as if it would fall apart from the sheer force of the single step. The throng shared a gasp of terror from its slight but terrible stride, and the Technikus members howled in applause and elation that their greatest creation was finally alive. Its other leg came, producing an iron thunderclap as it touched down.

“Give me full stride!” Strasse laughed with a grin. “Let it stretch it’s legs!”

Walking was less than graceful, like the awkward locomotion of an overfat yak as the crew threw the controls in rehearsed orders to make the right joint bend at the right time. Ten thousand eyes never took their gaze away as it plodded across the arena, rocking the earth with each crushing step. The prisoners gather atop the wood platform, exchanging final prayers.

The god machine turned around with stiff movement, a flurry of crowd-stifling steam billowing from the core as it settled to face the condemned.

“Thieves! Beggars!” Strasse boomed mightily, his voice echoing about the entire field. “This day you have been condemned to be purged from this world for your crimes against Sigmar’s divine Empire! Prepare to receive His mercy!”

The crews loaded and primed the weapons. Rockets slid into their slots, cannon cartridges slapped into breeches. The inmates held hands and hooves, and prepared for salvation with weak smiles. Celestia could only look on with apprehension, knowing she couldn’t simply turn away.

“Targeting crew has completed adjustments.” the lead gunner intoned as the arms swiveled to aim.

“Excellent.”

The spectators looked on like waiting for a painting to come to life. All were infinitely eager to see the titan’s capabilities and the captain’s planned hesitation nearly drove them mad.

“Fire.”

And the rockets’ red glare followed them as they screamed from their racks, some bombs prematurely bursting in air. The helblasters thundered and sent fist-sized lead shot downrange. The rotating cannons flashed with brilliant explosive plumes, nearly reeling back in their decks.

Both the titan and prisoners disappeared in palls of smoke and dust. Limbs and body parts flew from where the inmates were, painting the ground with streaks of red blood. The thick gray and black clouds each looked like their own raging warp storms, lightning and roaring thunder erupting from both.

The salvo went on until the first magazines were emptied and the smoke choked all around. A team of pegasi swooped into the cloud, forming a great wind that quickly dissipated it and vanished as quickly as they came. The titan stood with its arms smoking, all rockets, at least of its first salvo, depleted.

Nothing remained of the prisoners or the ground they stood upon but dust, scattered gore and craters.

“Vindicta!!” Strasse shouted grandly. The crews clapped and hooted in celebration and the boiler of the machine emitted a whistling roar with equal spirit as the bleachers came alive in applause.

A soiree was held to commemorate the success of the functionality of the Technikus’ machine. The high life of Nuln, in frivolous masks and flowing, excessive dresses of different houses and families bantered about whatever ventures or gossip peaked their interest. Alcohol — as well as other creature comforts — flowed freely amongst the assembled guests, although few of them wanted to be the first to indulge out of general principle.

Despite the generally congenial and enjoyable atmosphere of the event, however, there still remained one critical component that was consistent everywhere in the Empire; the skull motif. Grim reminders such as these hang as torches, on belts, shattered at the top to house candles, and as censures that hissed flavorful smoke of different colors through various holes and openings. The fear and worship of death was omnipresent, regardless of name or creed.

The equine rulers had maintained a happy demeanor so far in the evening, but there was one guest they knew would show up sooner or later. Until then, there were many stories to be told by the engineers. Celestia managed to catch up with one who had worked on the rocket racks for the newest machine of war.

“Two pounds of blackpowder, pow! Right in my face!” The technikus pointed to his scarred head, raising his mask slightly. It was criss-crossed with stitches like railroad tracks and missing half of his lower lip. “Thought my eyebrows would never grow back!”

“And how ever did you survive?” Celestia asked. “Just one pound could surely create a hole in a wall.”

“The peel of the container blew out and slapped around my face, shielding it a bit from the flame. Before I could feel the pain, I thought that evil little sparrow had returned to finish his handiwork on me for a split second!”

“Oh, I remember when one of my brightest students was taking her admission test. She had a magic spike and turned nearly everypony in the room into the most random items. Even her parents into potted... plants...” Celestia’s mind drifted for a second, but was brought back by the event’s herald coming to the top of the staircase and pronouncing,

“Announcing the arrival of her royal majesty, Queen of the Changelings, Metamorpha Chrysalis.”

The throng clapped as the drapes behind the herald opened and out stepped the queen. Celestia was actually impressed that she could pull off a human form that both looked natural, and even potentially attractive. Her organically-woven black and green silk gown wasn’t even that intimidating... perhaps even serene.

Her smile, lined in black lipstick, was slight, showing enough refined happiness to pass off as actually giving a damn. Her dress had a ‘swamp princess’ feel to it. She nodded gracefully to the herald and shook a few hands on her way down the steps while the crowd resumed its conversations.

Since the ‘agreement’ with her, Spike had been charged with being Cadence’s highest guard. In public, he was always in full armor, even his face-obscuring helmet. He kept a close eye on the queen as she approached the crystal princess. “I told you I could make it work,” she whispered confidently.

“Just try not to change back in the middle of everything.” Cadence mumbled in reply.

Chrysalis gasped slightly and put a hand to her chest. “I’m hurt, Cadence! You don’t have any trust in me?”

“I’m just a little on edge because I’m at an event with the one who imprisoned me in a castle basement,” Cadence deadpanned.

“Well, sorry for putting you in a beautiful crystal cavern and not hauling you all the way to the Forsaken Forest Hive and making you live off of algae for the rest of your immortal life!” Chrysalis replied blithely, effecting a perfect hurt expression.

Cadence put a hoof to her forehead and sighed. “Just try to at least pretend to make friends with one human.”

“No promises,” Chrysalis chortled. And with a graceful sweep of her dress, she went off to find someone to attempt to be amiable with, figuring she should start with the (somewhat) familiar and reach out from there. She spotted the bronze jaguar bust of the Emperor’s helmet, the man himself apparently conversing with a fair-sized lion-eagle hybrid who was strapped in nearly every area with weapons and various bandoliers and belts.

‘Bingo.’ she smirked, closing in slowly.

“Well, perhaps you could translate Deathclaw’s thoughts for me, miss...”

“Gilda, Gilda Bronzebeak.” the griffon said amicably, shaking Franz’s outstretched hand with a claw. “Yeah, I’ve talked with Deathclaw once before. He’s quite the character. How in the world did a a griffon like him get a tiger’s rear end?”

“It’s a bit of a long story. First—”

“Mind if I join in, your highness?” Chrysalis interrupted, walking up to the pair with a beguiling smile.

Franz’s smile sank slightly and he hesitated before stepping aside a bit. “No, not at all.”

“Nice getup you have on,” Gilda said with a smirk. “Who’d you kidnap and copy for that bod?”

“I’ll have you know I came up with this form myself,” Chrysalis scoffed as Gilda uncaringly held a paw to the side and caught a mug of hard cider from a passing steward. “I’m certain the Inquisition told you about talking about me.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t tell them you’re a parasitic leech; I got it, along with almost every other pony and griffon here. And what do you do these days?” Gilda jabbed a finger of her cup-holding paw at the queen with a look of disappointment. “Gone from conquering cities to being buddies with your worst enemy.”

“Well, what do you do? It can’t be any better.” Chrysalis said haughtily.

Gilda chuckled. “Mercs. The Karaz-A-Warhawks. Those dwarfs almost pay their stupid beards for our revolvers and lever action guns. Now we’re sitti’n pretty with the half-pints who need fast guns more than anything ‘cause the orks are going batshit ever since Grimgor’s WAAAGH!! took off. You ever seen two hundred Peacemaker rifles unload into an ork horde? It makes the Battle of the Hundred Guns look like it was done with firecrackers, and those were artillery cannons.”

“It must have been quite difficult, obtaining the dwarfs’ trust,” Franz commented.

“Oh, you have no idea. When chaos came screaming into the Griffon Kingdom’s back door, they messed everybody up. In the middle of our capital’s last stand, they brought this magic vortex whatever-you-wanna-call-it and everyone who was caught in the blast was dropped here. Everything happens for a reason, right? So I guess Chaos wants more meat for the grinder of this war.” She took a sip from the mug, and sighed. “The dwarfs wouldn’t believe a word we said, until we saved their rears at Karak Eight Peaks. We managed to hold out long enough for the orkz to get bored and move on. Heh, we were even down to our last couple of bullets.”

“And I suppose they were quite grateful for the new weapons you brought to the field, hmm?”

“Oh, yeah... hmm... It’s weird,” she said, clicking her beak. “The dwarfs have automated turrets and gyrocopters, but big, lumbering muskets. Then again, Equestria had villages still using torches and thatch roofs next to industrial cities. But, meh; badassery follows no rules.”

Cadence watched Chrysalis for a minute from a distance and, seeing her little show hadn’t yet broken down into anarchy, started to notice a slight light-headed feeling. ’The stress must be getting to me,’ she thought. ’What am I worrying about, anyway? She knows how to act. She pulled off being me for days.’

She turned to rejoin the people she was conversing with, but suddenly faltered and wobbled on a step. The dizzy feeling quickly intensified and grew into a powerful migraine. Spike knelt next to her, worry written all over his hidden features. “Princess, are you feeling alright?”

“No... no,” she muttered. “Spike, take off my crown, quickly.” He immediately did so, and discovered her affliction with widening eyes. An inky blackness was clouding her cranium like a dark storm in a crystal ball, and tiny sparkling onyxlike gemstones started advancing up her horn.

“It’s him, Princess,” he said quickly.

Now it was Cadence’s turn to shoot her eyes open in despair. “No! Not here, not now!”

“Is something amiss, Princess Cadenza?” one of the nobles asked from nearby.

“No,” she answered hastily, replacing her crown. “I’m sorry. I must leave for a moment.” She and Spike hugged the walls as they hurriedly made their way to one of the back rooms. The darkness continued to creep across her body and Spike unbuttoned his cape and draped it over her to hide it. He became uncomfortably aware that he was not an inconspicuous figure, standing a full foot taller than most men in the room and he drew more attention than he liked.

In the room they stumbled into was a bust of one of the former emperors, Magnus the Pious, surrounded by artifacts and paraphernalia. Cadence leaned against the securely fastened stand, throwing off her mask and headgear as if they were burning her. There was no treatment, no prevention for what was happening, and the alicorn creep was in full bloom on her horn. When he wanted her, he almost always had her, no matter the strength of the spells Cadence used to resist.

Shining Armor forced his way through the dense throng that was held off by the crystal guards. They let him enter and he found Spike holding the hoof of an alicorn-shaped black crystal whose face was gazing up at the ceiling with an expression of horror. “Good luck, princess,” Spike murmured.

“Spike, what happened? Who is that?” Shining asked. The dragon didn’t respond and Shining quickly recognized the clothing and manestyle of the crystal. “Cadence, no!” He rushed to her and his horn flared as he tried to sense what kind of spell had done this.

Spike put his hand on his shoulder solemnly. “It’s useless, Shining. But she’ll come out of it eventually.”

Shining reluctantly let his magic die out and furiously stamped a hoof on the floor. “Grr, dammit... So, he has her now, huh?”

Spike nodded. “All we can do now is wait.”

“Then get these other people away from here. I don’t want any of them seeing her like this.”

Spike chuckled. “Yes, prince.” He went for the entrance and was a tower of force with his voice. “Back away! Make room!”

Shining returned his attention to his wife. He knew that form of black crystal. Only one pony had such control over it. “He isn’t worth it, Cadence. He’ll never change.”

The sounds of sorrowful screams and whimpers played like music on the air, and the wind carried the sweet scent of blood and tears from countless slaves and victims. These sounds were buried under the livid roar of the creature in the highest tower of the central fortress.

“She’s denied me again!” Sombra lamented, firing a seething beam of dark magic through a blubbering slave’s face and vaporizing his head. He started pacing as the settling blood mist was cleaned up. ’I’ve tried being passive, being nice. Why won’t she help me?!’

He turned to strike another target, but the last one was the last one. “My playthings break so easily! More targets!” he roared, and the slave handler bowed and rushed out.

Sombra turned to the reflecting pool and took a good look at himself, brandishing his fangs. ’Is it my look? My voice? Am I too intimidating?’ He looked back to the blood stains on the wall and the slave dragging away the other’s body. ’No, that can’t be it.’

He looked out of the window of his chamber. The daytime sky was above a blocking pall of black clouds and down below, beyond the walls, he saw an approaching caravan pulled by cold one lizards, trailing with hundreds of chained and shackled men and ponies.

A smile curled Sombra’s lips. “More slaves... Today wasn’t a total loss.” He cast his glowing gaze down on the fortress city of Hag Durlasc. Here, the truly depraved or insane thrived, where murder was the rule of law. The teeming streets were illuminated by purple-hued torches and glowing gemstones. The witch elves were out again with their blood cauldron, snatching up random slaves for sacrifices to the Lord of Murder.

’This should be mine,’ he thought, fuming in anger. ’I should be on the Witch King’s throne, not somepony to take orders from Malekith! And Cadence...’ He dreamily stares into the sky. ‘That beautiful gem of a mare, should be at my side. I ruled an empire for a thousand years... damn it, what have I come to?’

“To my service,” the rune in his crown rumbled. Sombra stopped breathing for a moment. “Kneel.” He voluntarily did so, almost burying his face in the carpet. The gem in his crown lit up and projected the shimmering image of a tall, slender figure in nightly purple and gold armor. In the black confines of its helmet shone two vicious sapphire-blue eyes, and the iron horns twisted round one another into a sharp four-pointed crest.

“H-hail... Witch King,” Sombra muttered.

For a while, the phantasm didn’t say anything, just glared at the shadow stallion. “You are all talk, my pet.” Malekith put a hand on Sombra’s head. He didn’t know if the gesture and his words were sincere, or a threat. “You know you are bested. As my gaze spans the entirety of this world, it is most amusing to watch you. If you know your place, then there shall be no punishment. Sit.”

Sombra planted himself.

“Lay down.”

He hesitated and stared at the apparition a second too long. The crown activated, electrocuting him with vast amounts of his own power. He collapsed to the floor.

Malekith chuckled sadistically. “Good boy. Roll over.”

Sombra lifted his head in anger, his own pride vying with his loyalty. “I will n— NGRAAAAAH!”

Malekith left the shock on for Sombra to squirm, looking down at his prone, spasming form with a cruel smile. “You are nothing, King Sombra. You are a dog. A worthless, powerless and pathetic creature whose only purpose is to serve his master. Your pride, your petty, pitiful desires... all of it is but fleeting memories and pieces of an even more pathetic existence.”

The apparition’s features hardened and Malekith’s voice became filled with anger, resonating in Sombra’s mind with painful waves. “I have given you life, you insolent, ungrateful creature! I have given you armies, slaves, followers, power, and prestige; but above all, I have given you purpose! Where were you, before I took you as my right hand? Adrift on a raft in the Sea of Claws! Alone, weak, and powerless, beaten by the filth of Chaos! I indentured you into my service, to act as the conveyor of my wrath and my will to this wretched world, and you dare to impugn me for my mercy and my favor?!”

The shocks abruptly ceased, along with Sombra’s fit of seizures; but the experience had exhausted him to the point that he could not even utter a reply, and merely curled up into a ball on the floor, panting and whimpering in pain. The vision of Malekith cracked a cruel grin, staring down upon the prostrate form of his servant with utter malice.

“If I ever meet this... ‘Cadence’, that you speak so fondly of, I will take great pleasure in breaking her into a thousand tiny shards.”

Twilight and Kivsin gazed into the starry night sky, lying on their backs in the clouds. The latter bat-pony pointed out constellations and regaled his master... no, friend with some unique history.

“And that one,” he motioned, “is Skrag the Slaughterer, prophet of the Great Maw. See it?”

Twilight squinted and stared into the sky, but shook her head. ”No.”

“Try tilting your head juuust slightly to the left.”

A couple degrees turn, and suddenly the ogre prophet was visible in the stars. “Oh yeah, I see it! There’s even a gnoblar falling into his cauldron.” The idea of the fate of the little greenskin made them both laugh, but Kivsin was cut short when he was overtaken by another coughing fit. He brought his hoof to his mouth, bringing it away spattered with blood. “Take it easy on the laughing,” Twilight warned. “You don’t need to be bled again, do you?” That method wasn’t a good experience for either of them. Twilight would bite him and try to draw out the toxins in his system, and it didn’t exactly taste like fruit punch.

Kivsin shook his head as his wheezing slowly subsided. “No. It’s fine.”

Twilight returned her gaze to the heavens. “So noctrals can’t manipulate weather? But you’re like a pegasus, only with bat’s wings.”

“The lack of feathers might have something to do with it,” he answered. “I’m thankful my kind can at least walk on clouds.”

Twilight curiously looked at his wings, a natural shape, then her own which burned like a campfire lit in hell. She slowly flapped them, and they whooshed like massive tarps. What if this couldn’t be undone? What if she and her friend would have to live with their deformities forever? But also, was it all bad? She and her friends had gained so much power. All they needed was to be able to control it, and who knows what they could do.

‘No. Look at us... we’re falling apart.’

As if sensing her thoughts, Kivsin’s voice broke through her reverie. “Do you...” he paused, as if searching for the right words to say. Twilight tilted her head, regarding him with curiosity. “Are you going to try and... well, become a normal pony again? If that’s even possible, I mean... Sorry I asked,” he said quickly, wincing.

The flaming alicorn blinked in surprise, then turned her eyes back toward the starry skies above. “I... don’t know, honestly,” she mumbled in reply. “I mean... sometimes I like being this way, if only to have wings and access to all new kinds of magic. I mean, I would have been lucky just to be able to turn an apple into an orange, but now it’s like second nature and without any limits.”

Twilight bit her lip, sighing deeply. “But, that’s the thing, too... that scares me. Not having any limits, I mean... I know I’ve always been one to keep looking for new answers, new paths and new spells, but now, for the first time... I feel like I don’t want to know the answer, because I’m afraid it might actually end up hurting somepony, or just making a tree spontaneously combust. The Doctor told me how I acted when I lost it in Sylvania, and that’s not the monster I want to risk becoming.”

Kivsin nodded slowly, his expression accepting yet grave. “I understand. I guess I had a fear of my limits, too... except that was because I knew that if I crossed them, I’d only end up with another dose of toxin in my bloodstream.” He gave a weak chuckle. “Actually, we’re kind of reversed; I know it was mostly owed to bad luck and my own situation, but I can’t really remember ever having a desire like that, since I was too preoccupied with trying to stay as small as possible just to try and avoid the next lash of the whip.”

He sighed, and a moment of silence passed between them. Finally, he continued. “I envy you, really. Even though you’ve been through a lot yourself, you never really wanted to go back, and always kept focusing on moving forward and trying to get back to normal. But what is there for me? I don’t even remember what I did before being sucked into the blackguard, but you had a life, family and still have friends, something to get back to. That, especially...” he trailed off, his eyes turning wistful as a tear rolled down his cheek.

“It’s not like you’ll have nothing when this is over,” said Twilight. “I’ll still be there, I’m not sure what we can do about your relationship with Octavia, and I can even introduce you to Spike if he’s still around.”

“Spike?” Kivsin asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Yeah. My... my number one assistant,” she mumbled, more to herself than anyone else. “Back when Ar... Chaos came to the town where I was staying, me and Spike got separated when I was captured. I still don’t know what happened to him after that, or if he’s even alive, or if they turned him into some sick monster—”

“Hey,” Kivsin interrupted, laying a hoof on her shoulder. “If you got out okay, I’m sure he managed to find his own way out, or hide until they all left and moved on. I’ll bet he’s just fine... and he’s probably looking up at the same sky right now, wondering the same thing about you.”

A tear escaped from Twilight’s eyes, visible only for a moment before it was sizzled away by the brilliant radiance of her body’s flames. “I don’t know...” she said at last, laying a hoof across her eyes.

“What does your heart tell you?”

Twilight flicked her head to the side in surprise, blinking several times as she beheld Kivsin’s mouth turned upward into a reassuring smile. For several moments she just sat there, staring into Kivsin’s vertical-slit eyes which held nothing but calm, stoic determination and friendship.

“I...” she muttered, her gaze momentarily drifting to the cloud beneath them as if the answer lay there. “He’s alive.” she said slowly, then nodded to herself with a smile of her own. “He’s alive.”

Just then, a strange sight shot out from the clouds in the distance, like a projectile launched straight up. When its speed bled out, two flaps at its side snapped open and it lazily glided to land on the clouds.

‘A beastman pegasus, maybe? I wonder if he’s still got memories and hasn’t been completely corrupted...’ Twilight thought, getting up from her prone position and waving to the figure. “Hello!”

The hunching figure snapped its head toward them. Closer now, she could see that it had no visible mutations, nor even horns or extra appendages. It stared at them for just under a second before coiling its legs and springing back up into the sky.

Twilight drew in her breath sharply. “Kivsin, after him!”

The black guardspony shot up like lightning, quickly catching up to and grappling the pegasus by its hind legs. They went bouncing and tumbling from cloud to cloud, until at last Kivsin managed to get a constricting grip on his target and held him down on another cloud. The pegasus grunted obscenities at his captor and, when Twilight caught up, she illuminated her horn to see who he was.

Dark rings around his eyes, a pale grey-brown coat and eyes full of contempt, she recognized him instantly; the Doctor. But he had wings! Twilight’s mind sputtered about in disbelief, trying to come up with something to say.

“How...?”

The pale Doctor looked up at her, giving a weary, frustrated sigh. “Go on, get it out of your—”

Twilight telekinetically grabbed and jerked him up to her level, twisting and examining him like a filly’s doll. “You have wings! Wings! What is this!? Are you starting to mutate, too?!”

“Would you— gah... please— argh... put me— aack... DOWN!”

She stopped manipulating him like taffy and set him down, trying to contain her thoughts that were already bursting with questions. “You done?” he asked, rolling his joints. The alicorn slowly nodded. “Good, and no. Now go away.” He took off, but Twilight reached out and grabbed his hind leg.

“Wait! How did this happen? Why— *whack* Ow!”

He kicks her hooves off in disgust. “Don’t touch me!”

Twilight wrung her hooves tenderly. “Doctor, I know I’m on fire, but I’m not actually hot.”

“I know. It’s just... Leave me alone.” He flew away, but Twilight persisted, trailing right behind.

“Doctor, if something’s wrong then you should talk to somepony about it. Even you told us that Chaos gets stronger in us if we bottle up feelings.”

“I’m not repressing anything, now leave me alone!” He pumped his wings, but this time Twilight had him by the tail in her magical grasp. She planted him on the cloud and crossed her hooves, staring into his eyes with stern admonition.

“You’re not going anywhere until you say what’s wrong,” she said slowly. “I’ve got all eternity.”

Whooves smirked. “So do I.”

“Mmm, no.” She pulled him closer and brought her mouth to his neck, extending her sharp white fangs. “I’d say about thirty seconds.”

“You wouldn’t dare...”

Her teeth brushed against his fur. “Try me. I haven’t had anything to drink yet today, and I am just dying for a taste right now.”

He remained stolidly silent, but his lower lip trembled as Twilight stared more hungrily at the veins showing through his tensing neck. The tips of the fangs poked his flesh. “Say it.”

“No,” he spat. Twilight put some pressure on it and a red drop started to form at one of the fangs. For a moment, she felt something, an uneven pulse inside him. It took a fraction of a second for her senses to put it together. “Fine! Just get off me!” he shouted. Twilight took a quick lick at the blood, tangy and slightly sour, before releasing her magic hold. He wiped off her spit with obvious distaste.

“Doctor, what’s going on with your pulse? Are you sure you’re not changing like I am?”

The stallion puts a hoof to his chest. “Oh, that. No, I’ve always had two. Let’s get this over with. I hurt somepony, okay? And Pinkie Pie made me remember when she apologized.”

“Who was hurt?”

“Somepony I used to know. She... she used to be my best friend.”

Twilight grinned like a filly in a candy shop. “Now we’re getting somewhere. What happened between you two?”

The next ten and a half minutes were filled with terms Twilight had no hope of following, but by the end, The Doctor’s demeanor had made a complete turn around.

“Then the Blood Gorgons burned the entire planet and she couldn’t take it anymore, the stress, not knowing if today would be her last day alive and that I would outlive her and... she left me. She’s on this world now, and I guess I’m trying to protect her more than anything.” His fuller colors slowly re-emerged as the revelation washed over him. “Yes... This is for her! I won’t let Chaos succeed and take her! Thank you, Twilight, for helping me realize this!” He blinked, then shook the slackjawed alicorn whose mind was still trying to comprehend the beginning of his story.

’What’s a land raider? What’s a TARDIS? How did this Vance Stubbs guy misplace a hundred Baneblades!? Whatever those are.’ The wobble of Whooves’ shake snapped her out of it. “What? You’re finished? Hey, your colors are back!” She craned her head backward and let out a breath. “Wow. That was a lot you guys went through.”

“And look where my follies got her. Now I have to make right for it. I don’t even think I’ve accepted Pinkie Pie’s apology yet!” And with that, he dove down to the migrating herd.

“Boss! We go’a git outta ‘ere!” an ork boy cried out as dust kicked up in numerous plumes all around him, accompanied by a chorus of loud ricochets and the occasional splat of a bullet finding its mark.

The hulking green brute in charge spun around, swinging his choppa in a gory arc to sever the head of the boy in one clean swipe.

“We ain’t goi’n nowhere’s!.” he boomed, turning back around to face in the general direction of his enemy. “Dere’s still a foight ta foight, an oi’m gonna WIN—” The Warboss was cut off as a shard of lead ripped through his skull, right between the eyes.

Spitfire lowered her smoking sniper musket, smirking in satisfaction. “Keep up the fire! Drive them back!”

In the near distance was the mountain city of Karak Raziak, or what was left of it. After weeks of bombardment by rock lobbas and doom divahs, the orks had reduced the outer fortifications to smoke and rubble. At the mercy of the winds, Cloudsdale had been carried over the titanic World’s Edge Mountains to this very spot, nearly by divine providence. The floating city’s batteries of cannon ripped into the milling sea of orks, engulfing the world below in dust and blood; for when the Holy City went to war, it brought thunder and lead lightning.

The onslaught of boyz began to slow down as they clambered over the outer rim of fortifications. Lacking the wits or the desire to take cover, greenskins died by the hundreds from the combined force of allied cannon and constant volleys of musket fire, falling as rain into their ranks.

Having lost their momentum, and with the constant cry of the Waaagh!! dying down in intensity, many orks began to stop entirely and cast about in confusion for orders and encouragement. Seeking any kind of direction, two lanky goblins eventually stumbled upon the corpse of the former Warboss, staring in shock and disbelief.

“Da boss is dead! Da boss is dead!” the first one cried out in dismay.

“I gots his socks,” the second said as he rubbed his hands together, smirking viciously. He didn’t have time to entirely replace that expression as an iron-clad boot drove into his face, crushing his nose four inches into his skull and sending him flying across the battlefield.

Before the remaining goblin could retreat, a meaty, green hand snagged him from behind, jerking him upward and level with a snarling face full of sharp teeth. “Dead? Whaddyu mean e’s dead?!” the boy yelled, spittle spraying onto the smaller greenskin.

“Dead! Dead!” the goblin screeched hysterically. “Reegor morrtiz, faytallity, ca-ca-cadaveriffiiiiiAAAA—” The boy swept an arm around and crushed him to his midsection, using his free arm to twist the goblin’s head off like a pickle jar.

As the boy was splattered with red blood, his face twisted into a rictus grin of triumph as he walked over beside the body of the fallen Warboss. Reaching down, he grabbed the massive choppa with both hands and lifted it high over his head.

“I is da Boss now!” he roared, “C’mon, Boyz, letz get up dere ‘n chop up all them stunties! WAAAGGH—”

“Nawt so fast!” another ork stepped up, easily reaching up to the other’s height. He shook his own blood-soaked choppa in the boy’s face. “I ain’t takin’ orders from no boy ‘s no bigga ‘den me! Why, I tink I autta be da—”

With a bestial roar, the first boy swept the oversized choppa towards him in a vicious overhead arc. He struck out with his own weapon, clashing against it with a steely clang! and causing several sparks to fly. He gritted his yellowed teeth, swinging his other choppa wide; it failed to strike home, but did cause his opponent to disengage.

Fights like this raged all across the Ork lines, confusion and dissension running rampant as the largest orks and big ‘unz fought each other to fill the place of their fallen warboss. The remainder of the Karaz defenders, seeing the faltering enemy, surged from the gates and into the reeling greenskins with a collective roar of fury and vengeance. Beaten, broken and leaderless, the orks stumbled back over the ruined fortifications and a field filled with their dead as they retreated to the Darklands.

In mid-rout, one boy stumbled upon a glinting handgun that caught his eye and he picked it up. He rolled his apish jaw figuring it out and cranked the lever at the side. Bang! bang! bang! bang! He almost dropped it in surprise and cracked a most elated grin.

“Ooo! Dis ‘ere’s mine!” He let off a couple more shots until it was empty and snatched up the rest of the ammo from the dead owner. “Yeah! Dakka dakka dakka! Da boyz is gunna loves dis!” He ran off with the rest of the horde, clicking his heels.

Seeing that the battle was near its end, Spitfire took off to the tower network from which the city’s forces were directed. Inside was choreographed chaos, scribes and logisticians running helter skelter around the cramped space, papers floating thick as dustmotes in some places. “Soarin, how are the lower batteries?”

He took up the most recent message from the desired area, wincing slightly as he read. “Ten gunners were killed by spear chukkas... and one gun was damaged by an incredibly lucky shot. Also, there’s been a sighting of the changeling daemon; it unhitched an ammo caisson and it all went rolling off the walls, and made four guns misfire and explode.”

“Lightning Dust will be after that Dash since she’s off probation,” she chimed, hopping down from the windowsill and throwing her gun over her back. “It looks a lot more organized in here now that you’re back.”

“It was hell when I came in! How did anything get done around here with everypony running around like chickens with their heads cut off?”

“We made due with what we had. How does it feel to be back in the position?”

“Fits me like a glove. You sure you should be up here? Aren’t the orks still there?”

“Barely,” snickered Spitfire. “They’re being mopped up now. Wish you coulda been out there. I shot their warboss’ head clean off. If that were Grimgor Ironhide, the Empire could send a single army and wipe the Darklands clean of the orks before they could get another boss.”

“Wishful thinking,” Soarin chortled.

“Yeah, I guess. I should probably still be there to see that the populace of Karak Raziak is still in one piece.” She climbed back to the window and looked back. “Just make sure this place doesn’t burn down,” she joked.

“I can’t do much of a worse job than you,” Soarin shot back, smirking. “Go on.”

Spitfire vanished with a flap of her wings and Soarin returned to the piles of reports cluttering the room. He saw a formation of griffons fly by outside the window and laughed a bit, saying to no one in particular, “You can’t keep griffons out of the mountains, even in another world.”

He blinked. Soarin’s eyes continued to stare off into the space beyond the small, yet graceful arched portal, as if expecting the same griffons to pass by it once more. By the time he was finally able to peel his gaze away, he realized he had been staring for the better part of a minute.

“Wait...” Soarin muttered, his face screwing into a frown. “Griffons...”

Looking back to the window, he found that it was no longer empty; almost just outside, there was a young griffon with a curious expression on her face, standing on a fair-sized cloud and looking around. Before Soarin could question what she was doing so close to Cloudsdale, a sky-blue shape pierced through the cloud in front of her like a feathery needle, causing the griffon to fall back on her hind leg in startled surprise.

“Hah! Gotcha!” said the shape, which made a graceful landing on the cloud and revealed itself to be a young pegasus filly with a rainbow-streaked mane and tail. She smirked triumphantly as the cloud’s other occupant gave a hearty, playful chuckle.

“Heh... heh, alright, ya got me, Dash,” said the griffon. “Ya know, you get such a freaking unfair advantage out here, just ‘cause you blend into the sky like a chameleon.”

“Heh, nah; you just can’t keep up with the fastest flyer in Equestria, Gil!”

“Gil—?!... …Huh. Heh... you know, that doesn’t actually sound too bad...”

“Heh, I know, ri—”

“But I’m only gonna let you say it, Dash,” the griffon interrupted, giving a wink and smile to the pegasus. “I got a reputation to keep, too, ya know.”

‘Heh... Gil... yeah, that is a decent nickname for Gilda...’ Soarin thought with a nod, then frowned again. ’Wait... Gilda...? How did I know that name? And... did she say Equestria?’

Returning his attention to the interaction, he discovered that the griffon in question was sitting right across from him, not two feet away. She lifted a forepaw and offered it forward, and for reasons he could not understand, he raised his own hoof and placed it against the outstretched limb. But what Soarin could really not understand, was why the color of his foreleg had changed to sky blue.

“Best friends forever, right, Dash?” the griffon asked, staring into his eyes with a warm smile.

“Yeah,” he unconsciously replied in a voice not his own. “Best friends forever.”

Before he could try and understand the meaning of what was going on, the image of the griffon and the pure crystal sky around them changed to become oily black, Gilda’s face and form all seemingly melting away like candle wax. As he looked around in horror and confusion, he doubled over in pain as his eyes felt like they were being sliced.

Through the haze of stabbing pain, he became aware of a concerned voice, and a presence just off to his left. “Sir? Are you alri—”

“Shut up!” he blurted. He snapped his head around as if there were dozens of horrors all around him. He stumbled into one of the back storage rooms, screaming at the growing crowd of concerned staff to not come any closer.

The endlessly shifting shadows taunted and cursed him with growing intensity, and he crushed his ears trying to hold them shut against the noise. The world around him rattled and melted into howling faces and mouths and still the piercing shrieks stabbed his eardrums. A painfully intense itching sensation burned his scalp and he feverishly scratched away, but it only got worse and worse. Whatever it was, he could feel it expanding and it soon came into view; a mane of many colors, a vibrant array of red, green, yellow and blue. One of the shadows formed a thick claw and grabbed his throat, crushing down harder and harder. It muttered, “Middenheim...” before twisting his neck, and he fell to the ground limply.

“Soarin!” Spitfire shouted in his face, shaking him about with her hooves at the base of his neck. He gasped and looked to each of the frightened faces in front on him, ending with Spitfire who smiled in relief. He pulled his mane down and breathed easy that it was still one color. “What in the name of Celestia’s sun did you see?”

Soarin felt like his brain had blown a fuse, and he gritted his teeth in frustration as he tried to remember. All he could come up with was, “...Middenheim. Something about... Middenheim.”

Spitfire blinked, her eyes knitting together in thought. “The princesses are going to there...” she muttered, then turned to one of her soldiers. “Tell the weather crews to go on navigation duty, and set a course for just outside of Middenheim.”

“Spitfire, it was just an episode,” Soarin tried to reassure her, still holding his pounding head. “No reason to start actually controlling the city’s movements.”

“What else was there?” she asked, her expression intense and focused.

“I... I found this rainbow mane coming out of my head—”

“Enough,” Spitfire cut him off there, her face hardening in steely determination and anger. “We’re going to Middenheim.”

Rarity had been having a series of spells of madness, getting more and more frequent as they moved west. At first it was just a couple slips of the tongue, mispronouncing or blurting completely random words. But now, she was a raving husk of a mare, constantly wide-eyed and howling in the most unintelligible garble even Zecora couldn’t translate. The chief of the warherd was on the verge of simply ending her, but they found a better solution, tying her up and stuffing a rag in her mouth. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle sat on her like a log and watched a favorite pastime of the beastmen with the others; tribal fights.

“Come on, ‘Shy! Tear him a new one!” Big Macintosh barked.

The minotaur who kept referring to itself as 'Iron Will' jumped aside as Fluttershy charged, her momentum getting her facial blade stuck in a tree. The mutant thought he should be nice, helping dislodge her head; and then bashing it into the trunk again and again. He sent her face smashing across the side, ripping off a chunk of wood. Fluttershy’s horn was bent, some segments of her neck had buckled, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She immediately got back up and blocked one of the minotaur’s arcing claws, then the other with her other paw. He struck out with his remaining two and sank them deep into her leg joints, roaring in her face and prying them outward.

Pop! rrrrrrr... pop, pop!

Cracks and tears formed in her joints and the whole limbs came off soon after, trailing with clattering piping and loose bolts. Fluttershy fell back, twisting and snarling to get back at him.

He laughed. “YEAH! Iron Will wins again!” He flexed his swollen muscles to the spectators who howled in adulation. Fluttershy had inflicted her own damage, creating four deep parallel scars across his chest and dislocating two of his arms. He limped, kicking her severed forelegs back to her. “Not bad, little lady, but no match for Iron Will!”

Those in the crowd who placed bets of teeth or food paid up, or beat the living daylights out of those they owed to if they had smaller horns. Lyra and Angel came to her, maneuvering the joint of Fluttershy’s leg back into the socket. The unicorn snapped a torch's flame onto her fingers and started welding the limb back.

“That was incredible,” she said. “I swear if you had one more second when he was on his back, you could have just punched him right out!”

“This isn’t over,” Fluttershy growled. “I'll fight him again and again until one of us is dead!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’ll lose steam in a minute and be braiding a gor’s mane before you know it.” Angel socked her shoulder and growled. She swept a flaming hand at him, just missing as he jumped back. “Go ahead and try that again, furball.” He didn’t, and grudgingly continued holding Fluttershy’s shoulder in place.

Just as the weld was finished, the giant yelped and her claw jerked upward, landing on her chest. She wiggled the blades a little and grinned. “The other one. Now.”

“You should be a little more appreciative,” said Lyra, snapping her flame out. “I could just leave you here, and—” An iron claw slammed on the ground next to her and she jumped back as it swept at her, grabbed and held her above a scowling maw of red saliva and five-inch canines.

“That’s not your decision. The only reason I’ll let you live is because Rarity’s welding job on my last injury looked like puke.” Fluttershy tightened her grip on the unicorn, squeezing the air out of her with almost no effort. “I could just cut you up and grind you into a pulp right now.” She snapped a mock bite at her like a beartrap. “As far as I care, you’re my little mechanic, now FIX IT!” She held Lyra to the side of her other empty joint and turned to her pet with slightly softer eyes. “Angel, help her.”

As soon as Fluttershy loosened her claw, a red-faced Lyra gasped and the first thing she said was, “Hurry up, fuzzball!” Angel slipped the ball joint in place and Lyra quickly got to work. About halfway through, she thought, ’Is she still looking?’ She peeked up into a bloodshot eye burning a hole in her head. ’Yep.’ Just then, a snapping bolt of lightning shot past her head and she looked to the source.

“They’re here!” Rarity frothed, her horns raging with uncontrolled energy that incinerated the cloth in her mouth. ”They’re on top of us now!” No one seemed to pay her any mind, however, and she felt frustration boiling up within her like molten lava.

“IT’S VANGA!” she screamed, and all went silent.

There was an airy whooshing noise, then the sound of metal cleaving into flesh. One of the gors fell with an axe in its skull. Massive barking dogs, eyes as white as death shot through the fog and pounced at more beastmen. The warriors of Khorne came thundering, howling their litanies to the Lord of War and crashed into the unprepared mutants.

“BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!” an iron-clad warrior roared before sheathing his sword in the belly of a bestigor.

“Yes! Victims!” Fluttershy cackled as she dropped Lyra, brought up the hellcannon on her claw and fired, vaporizing two cultists in a seething fireball. She spotted the Crimson Hand’s warlord mounted on a chaos warrior stallion, his eyes fixed on Big Macintosh who braced himself to charge.

The Doctor immediately fled into the trees with a couple of khornate pegasi armed with cruel blades on his tail, hoping to lose them in the foliage. His ears flattened in surprise as two arrows whizzed by his head, burying themselves into the heads of his pursuers. Before he could figure out what was going on, a thick net swooped down from above and yanked him amongst the lower limbs of the trees. He was met by different faces than Vanga’s men; all of them appeared to be ponies wearing imperial-style armor, but some had badges that read ‘For the Founders’ on their shields and seals.

“Captain Fellblade,” the pegasus soldier holding his net said. “This one is not mutated.”

A dark green stallion inspected him, finding no extra limbs or eyes, no fangs or snarling snout. “Regardless, it’s still a monster.” The apparent leader opened a gap in the branches and looked down. “I see the target. Flaming alicorn. When the time is right, we take out who’s left. Kill Vanga’s troops and the beastmen. Capture the other ponies.”

“Aye, sir.”

Fellblade turned his attention back to the Doctor. “It really wasn’t that hard following you once we found the trail you and your friends kindly left behind. Slime trails, burned trees, giant footprints from your juggernaut. You’ve got to be the worst warband I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re not a warband!” The entrapped pegasus shot back.

“Oh, really? Tzeentchians, Nurglites, Khornates, and Slaaneshis together, and you’ve already rampaged through one village in Sylvania already; though I’ll give you credit for that one. But it seems to me like you’ve got everything but a flag or banner.” he smirked. “Too bad you’ll be getting shut down before too much longer.”

“To be completely honest,” Whooves mumbled, “you couldn’t have come at a better time.”

The captain peered back down, squinting his eyes toward one particular spot in the carnage. “Where did the pink one get a cannon?” The gun in question blasted out a torrent of burning streamers and balloons, which exploded on impact with the cultists.

“Excuse me,” Whooves grunted, trying to wriggle around to better look towards his captors. “I’m sure you gents would listen to reason—” wham! A soldier smacked him with the flat of his halberd, and he knew no more.

The frenzy below whipped and swirled like a chaotic ballet. Rarity had vaporized her binding ropes in another power spike and went off with the full fury of her living nightmare, gripping a cultist’s head and crushing it like an eggshell. The same gory fist was then charged with magic and punched into another’s chest, popping the cavity into a cloud of dust.

“Sweetie Belle!” she screamed through the carnage, being answered by a terrified shriek. The white filly fled from a pursuing chaos warrior, who caught her tail under his boot and raised an axe to strike, but was intercepted by a bolt of warp lightning, making him stumble to the side and Sweetie bolted for her sister.

The armored monolith barely had time to recover before a skeletal fist struck him in the face, crushing his helmet in. “Don’t you ever, *bang* ever, *bang* hurt my sister!” The khornate dropped his axe and Rarity took it up, burying it deep in his chest. It gave a ghostly moan before collapsing. Rarity quickly knelt down to the filly, inspecting her for injuries that so far were only some scratches and a shredded tail. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

“Yeah...” she sobbed, throwing her forelegs around her sister. “Yes.”

Rarity gently patted her on the back and said softly, “Stay close to me, please... just stay close.”

Another howling mutant leapt at them, but was tackled from the air by the rotting corpse of Applejack who shifted her leg into a molar axe and smashed their head in. “Would y’all finish yer love fest ‘n help us!” A blade came plunging through her abdomen. She swung around and knocked her weapon into the assailant’s shoulder, snapping his arm, and jumped on him, chomping a huge bite out of his face.

“Everypony have their target?” Fellblade asked, turning back to his men. The group leaders nodded, and the others gripped their weapons tighter. “Good. Cutie Mark Crusaders, steel yourselves and die well! Attack!!”

Author's Notes:

I'd really like feedback on this fic, so I can know what is right, what's wrong, and what readers think of it. cheersreehc