To gaze upon the beautiful, snow-encrusted lands of the Realm of the Ice Queen is to also gaze upon a bloodied plain of snow, violence, and barren tundra that stretches as far as the eye can see. This inhospitable land is Kislev, a kingdom that has been the first barrier between the lands of the Far North, and the fertile lands of the Far South. To live in this land is to know bloodshed and misery without end, a land that only breeds the most hardiest of warriors to combat the threats that are constantly posed against the world.

The Kislevite people are these same warriors, a race of wolf-tough and self-reliant people that are often seen by their more "Southernly" neighbors as nothing more than barbarians. But such lack of foresight into the minds of a Kislevite is ill-founded, as due to living at the very borders of madness and corruption, the people of Kislev value bravery, duty, and determination above all other traits. For living at the edges of the Mortal World and the Realm of Chaos, the Kislevites had to give it their all, lest they and their kingdom finally fall under the cruel yoke of the Dark Gods.

Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo glided on the mountain winds, their natural affinity for weather holding back the icy sting of the air. Still, they would rather be back with the others, but this was why they were singled out as the most capable for scouting their surroundings.

Rainbow Dash yawned, more from the tedium of scanning the snow-capped peaks than actual exhaustion. “Nothing… Nothing… and-ohmygosh, Scoots, look! Nothing!”

Scootaloo gave a plaintive sigh. “Yeah. Think we should head back?”

“You read my mind.”

“Pretty easy since you’re thinking so loudly.”

Rainbow Dash snorted, and grabbed Scootaloo in a headlock. “Raagh! Get outta my head, then! You wanna take the fun route back?”

Scootaloo squirmed out of Dash’s hold. “How do you know about another route? This is the first time we’re…”

Rainbow Dash smirked, then held her forelegs to either side and stopped flapping her wings. Diving backward, she threw her wings open mere feet above the ground and swooped through the undulating and narrow chasms of the terrain.

Scootaloo shot after her, wings buzzing. She pushed herself to keep up, zipping around corners with the agility of a hummingbird, sometimes only catching glimpses of Rainbow’s tail as she rounded a rock spire or crag ahead.

“You still back there?!” Rainbow shouted.

“Tight on your tail!”

“Yeah! Let’s put that practice to work— woah!”

Scootaloo’s strained to a halt before smashing into Rainbow Dash. before them was the yawning mouth of a cave.

“Check it out,” Rainbow cooed. “Maybe we can stay here tonight. Let’s scope it out.”

They found nothing of particular interest at first. It looked like Fluttershy could easily fit inside. The deeper they went, the darker it became. Before Scootaloo could comment on the the darkness, a bright flash of illumination made the cave clear as day. Scootaloo looked back to find Rainbow Dash having morphed herself a unicorn’s horn.

“Behold, the new princess of awesomeness!” Dash proclaimed, posing for an imaginary paparazzi.

“Well, your highness,” Scootaloo said, giving a mock bow. “Would you grace me by lighting the way?”

Rainbow gingerly scratched her chin. “Hmm… I shall.”

Not much further, Scootaloo noticed a reflective piece of metal on the floor and picked it up.

"You know, I have no idea how this works," Rainbow said, curiously poking her horn. "Just thought 'light' and fwoosh."

“Hey, look at this. It looks like a bit,” Scootaloo said in confusion. True enough, she showed Rainbow a tarnished gold coin. The front was stamped with a bear’s skull wearing a three-pointed helmet, almost like a trident. On the back was the thin and imposing face of a woman, regally adorned with a bejeweled crown almost as big as her own head.

Rainbow squinted. “That’s… huh. I actually haven’t seen much of this stuff around before now.”

They found more of it, littered around the floor the deeper they went, scattered helter-skelter. Rainbow Dash stopped once she saw a human skull half-buried in a pile of gold.

In any other circumstances, Rarity would have been dead a long time ago. The wind chill was surely deep in the negative degrees, and if not for the generosity of Pinkie Pie’s sisters, they wouldn’t have the supplies that only Fluttershy was strong enough to carry, nor would Pinkie herself have the heavy coat she was bundled up in. Due to her unnatural size, it looked more like a tarp than a garment.

But the frailties of mortal flesh and blood were nearly forgotten to Rarity, having been stripped away for ever-changing, incorporeal will and energy. Hunger and thirst were lost on her, but she sometimes indulged her senses with picked berries or part of a catch the others made.

She had practiced with her power extensively since leaving the Pie sisters’ abode in Nordland, getting a feel for the aether as it passed through her, saturating her body with its energy. She felt the breath of the world in the Winds of Magic. Its ancient power was there since the beginning of time, and would live on beyond the death of the universe. It gave rock farms like the Pies’ feasibility, allowed mortals to grow iron as a farmer does wheat.

The Warp was not a destroyer, but a creator. The Primordial Creator.

“Making and unmaking,” Rarity whispered to no one. Her lips barely even moved to her musings. “Like the tide on the beach, it’s merely clearing the slate for new creations; creative destruction.”

She played with her mane, twirling her bony fingers in its length and tugging it just to keep her hands busy. Her mind was split in two, one half reading the ebb and flow of the aether to keep her body in check, the other listening to Spike telling a story around the fire. Rarity leaned with her back against Fluttershy, who shielded her and the others from the biting wind. The iron giant’s body radiated a tremendous amount of heat, making her an oasis of warmth in the ice and snow.

The fire danced like it knew it was the center of attention, an actor for its audience of daemons and cursed fleshlings under the sunset. Its light reached only so far, however, illuminating those nearby in golden light and ominous shadow before falling off, leaving everything beyond their circle in a shadow-world of the vague shapes of the mountains and clouds. It reminded Spike of a tale.

“It’s an old one from Ulthuan. There were three beings who lived in a cave: an elf, a man, and a dwarf, cut off from the light of the world with only a single fire burning in a circle as their sole source of light,” Spike began, his voice deep and full. “They ate lichen that grew on the walls, and drank cool water from underground streams. They lived, but what they had was not living.

“Day after day, they stared into the flickering embers, believing this was all the light in the world. The light made dancing shapes and patterns on the walls which delighted them. In their own way, they were happy without ever wondering what lay beyond the circle of light.”

Spike paused, pretending to have difficulty remembering, and let his friends picture the scene with their own fire burning in the middle of their circle.

“One day, a mighty storm blew over the mountains, but they were so deep in the cave, only a mere breath of it got to them. The fire danced in the wind, and they laughed to see new patterns on the walls. Once it died down, they went back to contemplating the fire as they had always done.

“Soon after, the elf got up and walked away from the fire. The man and dwarf bade him come back, but he refused. He wanted to know more about the wind. He crossed cliffs and chasms and countless perils, until he finally saw the faint haze of the cave’s exit ahead.

“He climbed out onto the side of the mountain, looked up, and beheld the sun. Its brilliant light blinded him and he fell to his knees, overcome by its beauty and warmth. He feared he’d burned his eyes out, but in a little while he adjusted. He’d come out high on the mountain, the world spread out before him in all its glory; glittering blue seas and endless fields of wildflowers and golden corn. He wept at the sight, distraught that he had wasted so many years in darkness, oblivious to the glory of the world that had been there all along.

“He knew he had to tell his friends, and made the trek back to where they still sat, still contently amused by the shadows. The elf saw the dank cave for the prison it truly was, but the others had no interest in his fanciful tales of a burning eye in the sky and laughed him off as mad, returning to stare into the fire, for it was the only reality they knew.”

Pinkie Pie sniffled and wiped her watering eyes. “Please tell me it has a happy ending…”

The dragon adjusted himself to sit cross-legged. Rarity noticed a certain flicker in his aura.

“Well, the elf knew he had to save them from this un-life and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he chose to bring the light to them. He climbed back out into the world of light and began to dig. He dug until he’d widened the cave mouth. He dug for a hundred years, and then a hundred more until he’d dug away the very peak of the mountain. Then he dug downward until he broke through the cave where his fellows sat.

“They were amazed at what he saw, the light they had been missing all their lives, and the golden joy that could be theirs if only they were brave enough to take the elf’s hand and follow him.”

Spike reached out and grabbed that invisible hand.

“They climbed out with the elf and saw the truth and beauty of the world around them. They looked back at the lightless cave and were horrified at how limited their understanding of the world was. They heaped praise on him for showing them the way to the light and honored him greatly, for the world and all its bounty was theirs to explore forever more.”

Pinkie Pie squealed in glee and hugged the nearest thing she could reach. Twilight gasped as the mare almost squeezed the very life from her.

“They made it! They got out!” Pinkie eeked, heedless of Twilight’s protests.

“That’s lovely, Spike,” Rarity said, reaching over and touching his knee.

Her words were genuine, but she wanted to know the truth. Making contact with his bare scales, she read into him for the truth of the story. Only the man had followed the elf. The dwarf was horrified by the blazing eye in the sky and retreated further into the cave with the fire to live in perpetual twilight.

"Thanks." Spike held Rarity's hand in return, and looked to the others. "You girls would love Ulthuan. The people might not be that friendly, but the cities are beautiful high spires of marble and gold, and centers of culture, just like Canterlot.“

Twilight raised her hoof after having resigned to Pinkie’s nuzzling clutches.

“And the grand library in the city of Lothern has the largest collection of ocean lore in the Old World,” he continued, giving Twilight a wink. “Which isn’t surprising, since Lothern straddles both sides of the only strait leading into and out of the Inner Sea. More ships pass through there than anywhere else.”

“I’d love to go there sometime.” Twilight smiled.

Spike smiled and glanced at Fluttershy. “Once you guys are back to normal, I’ll show you everything.”

Applejack took her gaze from the brilliant star-speckled sky. A thick coating of fungus covered her body like a bear’s winter coat having grown in. For Apple Bloom, on the other hand, if not for the fire, the undead filly would be frozen solid. The Pie sisters had offered to give them each a coat or at least a scarf as well, but their plague-ridden bodies would probably end up rotting them through, so they had demurred. As it was, Applejack made sure to stay as close to her sister as possible.

“Y’all think we oughta set up here, or keep moving an’ hope to find more solid ground?” she asked.

“Oh, no need to keep going,” Rarity said, getting up with a stagger on her backward-bent legs. “Okay, just let me…”

She held out her hands and let the winds blow through her. She felt the energy running through the crystalline structure of the snow, rattling and bouncing like beads in a maraca. Heat, waiting to become so. She just needed to agitate it in one spot, and the effect would propagate.

The flapping of wings distracted Rarity. Rainbow Dash and Scootaloo landed by the fire, shaking and panting with terror.

“Move! Dragon! Skulls! Oatmeal!” she gasped out.

Fluttershy slammed her fist on the ground. “Rainbow, calm down,” she growled.

“Oatmeal?” Applejack asked. “You feeling okay?”

Rainbow Dash swallowed heavily and took a moment to control her breath. “That’s what happens when I go to work hungry, but it’s not the point. Everypony, we gotta get outta here; Scootaloo and I found a dragon cave and it is nothing like the dragons in Equestria!”

Spike jerked up ramrod straight. “You’re sure it’s a dragon cave?” he asked levelly.

“We didn’t see the dragon, but unless bears recently got a taste for crowns and gold and junk and started leaving giant scales and skulls lying around, then I’d say it’s a dragon!”

Spike was first to rise. He secured his belt and greatsword, and spoke in cold, clipped tones. “We’re getting out of here. We keep going east.”

The possibility of a dragon attack brought them to follow and pack up without question. Fluttershy let her friends climb onto her back, and set off quickly.

Spike had told them of the dragons of this new world. They thought even less than their Equestrian counterparts. They were completely animalistic, and highly territorial.

“Maybe it's still in its cave,” Scootaloo said. “I don’t think I heard anything inside.”

Rainbow Dash was warily scanning the sky. “Yeah, maybe.”

Fluttershy took calculated steps to negotiate the terrain, but lost her footing on a slope whose true steepness was hidden by the snow. Fluttershy slid down with a hideously loud screech of metal on rock, digging her claws into the face to slow herself. At the bottom, she glanced up at eight parallel scars in the rock face before moving again with greater haste.

“Damn, damn, damn!” Spike seethed as he watched the gashes. The scars were widening, branching out in cracks until the slope section collapsed into the blackness of a hollow interior. A cloud of dust blew out like a volcanic vent.

A moment later, a serpentine shadow-form crawled out of the hole and perched just above it. Its eyes were virtually a luminescent yellow, glaring through razor-thin slitted pupils.

Fluttershy stopped cold, planted herself firmly, and looked back at the creature.

“Fluttershy, keep movin’, Applejack called out. “We can get more distance ‘tween us and him!”

Fluttershy, who had stared down great wyrms as a mere pegasus, growled menacingly at the dragon as it predatorily descended the slope toward her. Her eyes illuminated it like dull headlights in the darkness, a slender body of silver and blue scales and wide, webbed wings.

She and the dragon circled each other, the former leaning to let her friends hide on the far side of her body.

“Fluttershy, don’t do this,” Rarity said, her voice low. “We can just go and show it we don’t mean trouble.”

“The last thing you do is turn your back on an animal poised to fight,” Fluttershy muttered back in a grim tone.

“But this is just posturing! It’s not going to back down—”

“Shut up!”

Fluttershy continued staring down the dragon, her eyes glowing brighter with each passing second.

“W...What’s she doing?” Applebloom asked shakily. Her head was forcibly curled against Applejack’s chest.

Rarity peered over Fluttershy’s back, watching her friend slowly close the distance. The dragon had all but laid itself down, its eyes laser-focused on Fluttershy’s. She gingerly ran her claw across its face, then scratched under its angled jawline, and its tail swished back and forth.

“That’s right… you know we don’t mean you any harm,” Fluttershy whispered. “You’re going back in your cave now, okay? You’re going to forget we were even here—”

The dragon suddenly shrieked and jumped back. Startled, Fluttershy glanced at her finger to find blood on its sharp edge.

“Get off! Get off!” Fluttershy bucked to shake her friends off, just as the dragon’s chest heaved and it roared out a torrent of flame.

The others could only take cover as Fluttershy was engulfed in the firestorm. Scootaloo covered her ears at the tremendous noise, and breath was stolen from them all in the radiant heat.

Fluttershy charged through the angrily licking fire, her body glowing red. The dragon leapt back, beating its wings, and was quickly out of Fluttershy’s reach. Without missing a beat, she raised her foreleg, and the palm of her claw opened up to reveal the deep bore of her hidden cannon.

BLAM!

The warp-powered shot screamed out from the barrel with a thunderous roar, but merely sailed past her target’s sinuous neck and arced off into the sky. She tried firing again, but there was only a pulse of pain through her leg.

”Everypony, around me!” Rarity yelled at the top of her lungs.

Spike, Rainbow and Applejack were the first to respond, the latter two taking hold of Scootaloo and Apple Bloom and rushing them behind a spiral outcropping of rock. Twilight stayed out just long enough to magically lift Pinkie Pie, who had rolled off in the confusion and become trapped in a runaway snowball barrelling down the slope, and all but hurl her behind the rocks, shattering her icy prison in the process.

It wasn’t a moment too soon. The dragon swooped down low, breathed deeply with the sound of a giant bellows, and pierced the night with a hellish torrent of fire.

Just as the rest of the party made it to cover in some way, Rarity hastily put up a shimmering shield around her, Sweetie Belle and the others huddled behind the spire. The young ones screamed as the pulsing, hungry flames coated the barrier, the extreme heat radiating down and stinging them to the muscle. Rarity nearly screamed from the strain, as it was taking every ounce of power she could put forward to hold back the furnace-heat.

Before the beast could pull up, Fluttershy’s second hellcannon shot boomed out and struck it in the shoulder, solid enough to detonate. The screaming explosion of Warp energy threw the dragon off balance, causing its flaming breath to terminate in a roar of indignation as it struggled to level off.

It was a second too late. The dragon hit the frozen ground at a rough angle, and its claws bit deeply into the rocks, leaving twin furrows behind as the beast scrambled to take off again.

Rarity dissipated her shield. Her knees buckled, and she slumped into Applejack’s support behind the smoking, red-glowing spire. With her hoof held right under Rarity’s nose, Applejack’s putrid smell kept her from outright passing out.

“Sis! Sis!” A terror-stricken Sweetie Belle put both hooves on Rarity’s shoulders, holding her steady. “Are you—”

“Twilight!” Spike shouted over the boom of the dragon’s fall. He drew his Hoeth greatsword and leaped into the air in one swift motion. “The wings! Cut its wings!”

Rainbow Dash was way ahead of him, but appeared to be following her own plan. She had launched after the hulking form of the dragon as soon as it had terminated its strafing run, and even now had gotten behind its ear flap without being noticed in the chill night wind.

”DISTRACTIOOON!!” she screamed right into its ear, then bit the leathery cover with a mouthful of fangs and flew off in the form of a mosquito as the dragon brought a claw to slap the side of its head. She grew back to full size and zipped around it, darting back and forth, avoiding its grabbing, swatting claws.

Even so, the dragon had by now more than regained enough control to bank hard to the right, coming around for another pass. The fury in its eyes could almost be seen through the blinding gusts of snow it was kicking up.

Fury that turned to sudden surprise as Spike’s armored form pierced through the gloom, flying straight toward its head.

With no time to register this new threat, the dragon simply opened its toothed maw wide and met his charge. Spike swerved out of the way of the deadly bite at the last possible second, rolled over in midair, and stuck his sword straight up.

The great elven blade brutally ripped through the webbing of the dragon’s right wing from front to back in a bloody arc. Suddenly robbed of much of its aerial control, the dragon barely had time to scream before it listed right, and turned into a nosedive.

Twilight took aim, her horn surging with dark energy, but the spin of the dragon’s descent left little opening to shoot a weak spot. As it slammed into the snowy mountainside, a wall of white powder blasted out, ruining what little visibility there was left. Twilight fired blind into the cloud, hearing no shriek but an explosion of rock being thrown skyward.

The hail of debris forced Spike to land, and he warily walked wide among the smoke-snow cloud, listening to the beast’s groans and hisses.

In but an airy swoop, the shoulder of a wing shot from the fog and struck him square in the chest. The massive blow was mostly absorbed by the lamellar chestplate and his own toughened scales, but it still caused him to grunt mightily as he was hurled back into a snowy pile.

Spike scrambled to free himself, breathing flame onto the snow to melt it faster as the serpent rapidly approached him through the fog, jaws widening to reveal rows of yellowed, blood-caked fangs.

Seeing the advancing wyrm triggered something primal in Spike then, causing him to act without thinking and breathe a mighty cone of greenish flames in the dragon’s direction. It was pure draconic instinct; deter and threaten competition with shock and awe.

And it worked. For just a split second, the dragon flinched and paused, and a flicker of surprise passed over its eyes as it seemed to realize the nature of the creature it was facing. That didn’t stop it for long, however, and soon it was advancing again, ready to crush Spike in its cruel jaws.

It was then that a hundred ton avalanche of iron barreled out of the snow-choked night and crashed into the great wyrm’s side.

Screaming with rage, Fluttershy grappled the beast with both claws. In the span of a second, they were a screeching, tangled cyclone of wrestling limbs.

Spike looked on in dismay as the two titans clawed and bit at each other savagely, meeting blow for blow until one gained purchase on the other. Coiled around Fluttershy’s middle, the dragon dug its claw into the side of Fluttershy’s metallic face and carved out deep scars before the juggernaut thrust her claw at its neck.

With a dull crack, the dragon spasmed, spurting blood from a grievous wound over five handspans wide. Its roars turned to gurgles, then finally ceased as it went limp.

Fluttershy wrenched its claw out of her lower jaw and let the beast fall. She stared at the body for nearly a minute, huffing in exertion.

And then she lifted her head towards the sky, and screamed.

-------------------------

Fluttershy maneuvered herself into the hole in the slope and onto the cave floor. The others followed her in. The fading outside light was replaced by luminescent crystals embedded in the walls.

An uncountable bounty in gold and coins shimmered as a carpet, marbled with gemstones and pieces of mortal armor and skulls from Northmen and Kislevites alike mounted on stalagmites.

Rainbow dash whistled in appreciation. “Wow, sweet pad.”

“This don’t feel right,” Applejack said, shaking her head. “Just up and taki’n its home.”

“It’s not like we’re gonna steal anything we don’t need,” Rainbow responded. “The northmen are probably so crazy they’ll only take payment in teeth or rocks, or something.”

Unnoticed, Pinkie Pie paused from scooping coins down her throat, and hastily swallowed her current mouthful.

Fluttershy scooped up a clawful of treasure, letting it run through her fingers like liquid gold. “Rarity, could you use this to patch me up?”

Rarity picked up a coin. She bent, flattened, and tested it for malleability. “I believe so. Come, lie down.”

As Fluttershy set herself end to end, Rarity saw the true scale of the task: Leaking piping, exposed inner workings, and the left side of her head was all but torn open. Fluttershy needed a total renovation.

“Okay, er… I’m going to need help. Spike!”

Rarity went around Fluttershy to where she could sense Spike’s presence. He was furthest from the juggernaut than anyone else, studying the bone-littered armor sets collected by the cave’s previous owner. Rarity stopped cold when she saw his aura burning a deep blue. His movements were half-hearted, as he lazily picked up a helmet or a broken axe and barely turned it over once before replacing it.

“Spike?” Rarity said, and slowly approached him.

Spike hastily put one of the helmets back, and wiped his eyes. “Gods’ blood… Can Fluttershy hear us from here?”

“I don’t think so. Evidently she didn’t hear you just say that.”

“Hey, Fluttershy, can you hear me?” Spike said quietly.

Fluttershy didn’t react, but coughed harshly and spat something neither Spike or Rarity could see into her claw.

“She’s not getting any better, Rarity.” Spike’s face turned grave. “She could have controlled the dragon, handled it like any other angry animal after she tackled it. That’s what she used to do, isn’t it? But she killed it! It could have lived.”

Rarity considered the flashes of crimson she could see over Spike as he spoke. Anger, but also uncertainty. She nodded in understanding, and moved to take a seat atop a pile of Kislevite gold coins. “You have to give her credit for at least trying, Spike. She did try to calm it down at first.”

“Right,” he droned. “And she just happened to forget that her claws aren’t meant for scratching chins.”

Rarity raised an eyebrow. “I think we should be grateful she turned out like this and not completely lost. You saw her after she killed the dragon, Spike. Fluttershy was not enjoying herself at all.”

Spike threw his hands in the air. “And what, do you want to give her a medal? A ‘not as bad as you could have been’ award? There were thousands of dragons in Equestria; who knows how many are left in this whole world? One thousand? A couple hundred? This could’ve been the only dragon cave for two hundred miles!”

“And the only way we’re going is north,” Rarity pointed out. “What were the odds we would stumble upon a dragon’s lair?”

She stood and picked up a horned helmet which had the star of Chaos set in brass on its forehead. “The further north we go, these are the kinds of people the dragons would be living amongst. How many would be as secluded and to-themselves as this one was?”

Spike’s expression turned to a thoughtful grimace. “Not many.”

Rarity nodded. “I remember you telling me of Galrauch, that sacrifice he made for his master. If there are dragons in the far north, they probably didn’t get the choice. Living with the influence of Chaos picking at their brains and bodies for decades, centuries. Dragons in the north would be monsters who have had their true selves destroyed. I swear, finding this cave must be a one in a billion fluke, and you know Fluttershy wouldn’t go around looking for trouble, especially with us around.”

Rarity swiped her hand toward the ground, and psychically cut a clear line in the rock floor. “So I say, come tomorrow when Fluttershy crosses this line, not another innocent dragon will die by her claw.”

Rarity gave Spike the helmet, and he looked to the iron giant.

“Hey, Fluttershy, catch!”

Despite the damages, Fluttershy’s reflexes weren’t dulled. She caught the helmet and studied it for a moment.

“What do you think of it?” Spike asked.

“This is from one of those chaos men, isn’t it?”

“Yeah?”

Fluttershy ground the helmet like wet paper between her fingers and threw it back, where it landed and bounced in a crumpled, unrecognizable heap.

“It’s crummy,” Fluttershy rumbled. “That dragon did a good job killing everyone that came by. I wish we never found it so it could keep doing this—”

Fluttershy turned over in another coughing fit.

“Good enough?” Rarity said, turning to Spike with a wry smile.

“For now. I’m guessing you need help fixing her?”

“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

Spike rolled his eyes, considering. “Alright.”

Rarity hopped up on her toes to peck Spike on the cheek.

“Oh, you’re the greatest,” she cooed.

The night was spent in labor between Spike melting down large quantities of the treasure and Rarity and Twilight forming and using it to salve Fluttershy’s wounds. Her form assimilated the foreign metals eagerly. Even as morning light shone through the hole in the ceiling and Spike had resigned to rest hours before, Rarity and Twilight put the finishing touches on a thick mark of the Blood God which Fluttershy fit into the last of the gap in her chest.

Chrysalis didn’t like the smell of humans. Their oily, musky odor, punctuated by the stench of sweat. But they were a fascinating species. Their culture, architecture, militaries, all piqued her interest. Between their tender scenes of domestic life, monumental architecture and fortress cities, and and their eagerness to industrialize with Equestrian technology, they were certainly good at adapting.

The train she traveled with now had no such grace. All but one, at least. He was her favorite, emanating a pure love she hadn’t tasted for over a decade. On the route, she double, then triple checked that there were drones tasked with finding his family. A couple more couldn’t hurt to feed the hive. This one was like a treat, keeping her spirits up as they crossed from Middenland to the blasted barren stretch of rocky plains before the Middle Mountains. As queen, she felt it was justified to have a little sweetmeat like him to herself. More were coming, after all.

“Home, sweet home,” she trilled dryly.

The massifs reared up as if they were the wall at the world’s end. Like a gaping maw in the broad face was a sculpted cave, hexagonal in shape, and stained with rivulets of a glossy, black substance.

Chrysalis tugged on the chain, bidding her favorite to hurry. “It’s almost over. For both of us.”

He’d grown an unkempt scruff on his face, his shock of brown hair matted and slick. Chrysalis never made it a point to get to know his name. They wouldn’t be in the waking presence of each other for much longer, anyway. He didn’t respond to the queen, and had to jog to keep speed with her longer stride.

She and her favorite were far ahead of the rest of the guarded train, and as they approached the mouth of the cave, a lookout changeling chirped with a smile and flitted closer, glaring hungrily at the man. Chrysalis held the palm at it, and it backed off obediently.

“Patience. We’re here.”

Chrysalis looked back at her favorite. She could taste his fear as he looked around, and she did too, the deeper they went. He may have been fearful, perhaps in awe, but to Chrysalis, the hive was lackluster. Throbbing bioluminescent orbs caked the walls, glowing with varying intensity. The air smelled like home, the scent of the biomass processing pools deeper in the mountain, and the whole rest of the hive blowing back up the natural ventilation shafts. To her favorite, it must have smelled gag-worthy.

The worker drones themselves were miserable little things. Mutations and malnutrition had permeated them all. Many of their chirps sounded like the clacking of wet coconut-halves.

“Have you ever heard of the Skaven?” Chrysalis asked him. “We took this place from them. We’ve been in the dark for a long time. You’re helping a good cause.”

He didn’t respond beyond continuing to gasp for breath.

“Right. Water, food; you humans need those, don’t you?”

She dropped the chain into the hoof of a changeling who heard her telepathic call.

“Get this one some clean water, and plug him in,” she said.

The man had looked up at the mention of water for a moment before the changeling yanked on his chain with a gurgling click of its mandibles.

Chrysalis didn't watch him get handled away. There was no time for sentiment, and there was much to do.

Her throne room was simple; she wasn’t consciously looking at it much to care for appearances, nor was there anyone to marvel at what would have been majestic architecture if she had any reason to try.

She sat on an undecorated, stone throne, and looked out at blank rock walls, caked only with glowing lumen hearts.

What am I queen of? she thought. Mutants, the starving. And going from feeding off toxic maniacs to prison refuse and the lustful is an upgrade.

She chuckled mirthlessly. This was the bottom, right? The only place left to go was up. With all of the prison transfers, the hive would at least have a reliable food supply that wouldn’t be a ‘pick your poison’ ordeal. From there, once a foundation of logistics was built, they could expand. The Middle Mountains were virtually unowned. Only one barrier stood in the way.

The Brass Keep, she said under her breath.

An ancient Chaos stronghold in the center of the mountain range. It was the only thing which kept Imperial citizens from colonizing the mountains on threat of certain plunder. To take it would give Chrysalis and her Changelings unchallenged dominion over the entire range.

She sifted through the knowledge of the hivemind for geographic information. From a number of field agents, memories of maps and faraway glances of the Keep flashed into her mind. Thirty miles east, built into a valley-side. No doubt there would be underground catacombs built deep into the mountainside, a great obstacle.

That was, of course, assuming Changelings weren’t already well-accustomed to underground fighting.

The element of surprise would only last so long, though, before the tunnels would be surrounded within the fortress. There needed to be an outside attack, with the means to get to the enemy on those high walls.

Mortars, cannons, and a lot of soldiers.

Chrysalis sent the list of preparations to the hivemind for thinking-over. She had a new brood of drones to design, still. And then she needed to request help from Franz to take the Keep, and decide how exactly to do the taking.

She got up and started to pace. She thought about Ditto, whether to telepathically use his body to talk to Franz again. She thought not; better to have her representative speak by his own mind. he was a good speaker. She paused and scratched the back of her head, but grunted in frustration as she couldn’t reach the itch under her chitinous plating.

Mind.

Chrysalis remembered the old Ditto, his wit and jovial mannerisms. Despite his name, he could be quite a naysmith, making it his job to disagree and explain deficiencies or alternatives. It made him an acquired taste among his friends, to be sure, but Chrysalis couldn’t help but miss that kind of spirit in her court. Especially given the silent, all-embracing society she ruled over now.

She thought of her people before their fall. Vibrant emotions, enlightened culture, sentience, and openness to the world. Could they ever return to that?

She shook her head free of the thought. That would be masquerading as ghosts, a race and a nation that went up in flames. Ditto, as he stood now, was a phantom of the old. She couldn’t resurrect the dead, but she could try to bring their successors security. The Brass Keep was the next step.

A wash of pleasantness cascaded down her jagged horn, buzzing in her muscles as if in response to a gentle massage. Her favorite was finally in his pod. Energy and vitality filled her being, she drank deep of this sustenance, and smiled.

“Franz, you owe me,” Chrysalis said to the dark, empty chamber.

In her early days of ruling the Crystal Empire, Cadence found it difficult to integrate into their culture. They still followed ancient gods that had been forgotten since their thousand-year disappearance. Cadence attended the important ceremonies out of deference for the ancient city and its ponies. But fighting through the warp itself, the hell-pit the Shadow King hid the Crystal Empire in in the first place, her perception was shattered.

“Princess Cadenza, the King is ready for you now.”

Cadence finished her prayer for Asuryan’s protection, and to keep the hand of Khaine from her shoulder. She stood up. The echo of her glassy hooves and creaking of her cot echoed in the near-bare space she was given.

She didn’t know what to think of her situation. She was a prisoner of war, a hundred miles from friendly territory in Graennae, the hub of the Dark Elves’ colonies on the other side of Norsca. However, her treatment didn’t speak to the legendary cruelty the Druchii were capable of.

She passed the narrow doorway of the dark chamber, into the sickly green light of wyrdstone crystal fixtures in the walls. Two silent Executioners accompanied the palace aide, who held out an embroidered pillow upon which rested a gold and silver headpiece.

“Your crown,” he said. “We found it among your items.”

Cadence put it on without acknowledging him, and he led her through the palace’s halls.

Cadence figured something must be terribly wrong in Graennae for her to be treated with such respect. The king must need her for something, needed to get on her good side, but such attempts only steeled her heart more to such pretending generosities.

Much of the palace was like a massive cathedral of polished black crystal. To any foreigner, they would think it must have taken a hundred years and millions of manhours to sculpt such architecture. Cadence, however, felt the dark magic within each geode, flowing through the superstructure and holding it together with the will of its singular architect and mason.

Hanging from high fixtures, banners of Druchii heraldry and carved glass mosaics told miniature stories and histories of battles fought, honors disgraced and avenged, and a revolution in the making.

Cadence didn’t have the chance to look at the last one more clearly, as she was led to a spiral staircase. The aide stood aside.

“Just upstairs,” the aide said, motioning to the steps.

So little security, Cadence thought. Or at least, that’s what I’m meant to think.

Cadence glanced at the aide’s stoic, pale expression before going up. She didn’t know what to feel. Fear for herself and the Phoenix Guard who had accompanied her, or anger for the king thinking she could be won over with modest treatment. As she reached the open door at the top, she felt little but contempt for the being she knew to be beyond.

The air felt much cooler the moment she walked in, augmented by a light breeze which fluttered the drapes to the floor’s balcony. The room itself was surprisingly not a dark crystal chasm like the rest of the castle. A large gyroscopic globe on wheels sat in the corner, and baubles and miscellany from around the world lined glossy hardwood bookshelves.

King Sombra sat on the far side of a mahogany desk, watching her with intent, but little else Cadence could immediately identify. The light around him seemed unnaturally dim, as if his very form absorbed the glow of the smokeless green-burning braziers behind him.

“Princess Cadenza. Please, sit.” he said evenly. “I won’t waste time with chit-chat, as I’m sure you have many questions. Ask away.”

Cadence felt something in his deep voice, which rumbled like distant thunder. No harshness or malice, but a waver. Even his dark red eyes were without the telltale sickly green and purple smoke of dark magic. He may have swallowed his pride, she thought. Even so, Sombra sat tall, refusing to fall any further.

“What have you done with my soldiers?” Cadence said before she even touched her seat.

“Were there forty of them?”

“Yes.”

“All alive, then. Though, one with quite grievous wounds I've done some to rectify. They’ve been given the free space in the garrison barracks. Their weapons, properly appropriated to avoid any incidences.”

Cadence internally cringed at the thought of what he might have done to 'help' the wounded guards-pony.

She turned her head slightly. “The barracks?”

“You were expecting a prison, or perhaps torture chamber?” Sombra chuckled. “It would be unbecoming for what I have planned.”

Cadence snorted as Sombra set three scrolls between them. He sighed.

“Everybody wants to rule the world, hmm?” He glanced up at Cadence, half-expecting her to understand. “Between the Norscans, Skaven, Northmen, and no doubt the wrath of the Witch King to come for me, then perhaps you as well, we have no choice.”

Cadence raised a brow and looked to the rolled-out scrolls. A Mutual defence pact, sphere-of-influence acknowledgement, free flow of arms and goods, and more.

“What do you mean, that the Witch King would come for you?” Cadence asked. “That banner…”

The faintest hint of a smile showed itself on Sombra’s face. “Oh, you saw that one? Well, I cannot call myself a king without a kingdom.”

“And you’re just walking out with the colonies?” Cadence asked in disbelief.

“The colonies are walking out,” Sombra corrected. “When he sent me to keep tabs on his back yard, he broke one of the most important tenets of a cutthroat state like Naggaroth, which is to never give anypony autonomy. I found Graennae nearing ruin, its villages and towns beset, crops and stores burned or looted by the Norscans, its defenses on its last limbs.”

“And what, you swooped in and saved the day?”

“Back an animal into a corner and it will fight like a daemon for survival. That’s how the colonists lasted this long. I was sent with reinforcements and fresh meat dumped out of Naggaroth to be forgotten here. I made the most of my time, improving frontier defenses, blocking natural choke points with crystal walls, impervious to mortal arms.

“Even for all I was doing, they don’t think other races are worthy to even speak to them, let alone rule them, so you can imagine how I was received, and had to pay their political games. The ‘reforms’ were quite unpleasant for many.

“The discontent was already there. Malekith dumped people here to breed like insects and send back taxes that would be used to fight wars elsewhere.” Sombra put a hoof to his chest. “But after order was reestablished, I convinced them that I was here for them, that I was also flung here to be fed upon by his power. They just needed that nudge to secede.”

“And now, after stabbing your benefactor in the back, assaulting my train, and forcing me here, you want to pretend we’re having some form of rational, even negotiation?”

Sombra shrugged. “I know you would never think that I wanted to negotiate. You would probably think that my letter was laced with poison or the diplomat was carrying some blade that could break your exterior. You think I’m the Evil Emperor—”

“You are,” Cadence interrupted.

“I was.” Sombra fought the impulse to bare his teeth at the indignity of being cut off. “Having your body blown apart and scattered to the far reaches of the arctic by your replacement tends to makes one think.”

“So, what do you think?”

“That I have been going about it wrong. And that now is the time to be making allies, not enemies. The Winds of Magic are blowing strong from the north, as if their twisted gods are breathing through the very veil between the Warp and Materium. My dabbling in dark magic has made me more aware of this power than most; I feel it. The north is readying for another incursion, and common defence of our lands would be as good for morale as for an actual bulwark.”

“And why should I trust you?” Cadence asked pointedly.

Sombra smiled slightly, showing a little of his carnivorous teeth. “I’m not asking for your trust. Only your help.”

Cadence picked up one of the documents, reading its title: Treaty of Non-Aggression between the Graennean Kingdom and the Norscan Colonies of the Highborn.

Her brow creased into a thin line. This was dangerous work. Even if she did sign such documents, even if Sombra could somehow get his subjects to stomach the idea of working with their much-hated kin, she wasn’t sure she could do the same with the High Elves. Maybe the border colonies took a more liberal outlook than most when it came to dealing with other races, but...

Cadence glanced up from the paper. “I’ll need to read these first before I agree to anything.”

“Very well.” Sombra nodded. He idly rolled a red gem around the desk top.

To any mortal commander of warriors, they understand three things an army needs: to be bred, fed, and led. Undead warriors only needed the last

The dead were perfect soldiers. Unflinching, utterly loyal, no need for food, water, or rest. They were a tireless machine that could only get stronger as the enemy weakened.

Nightmare Moon hadn’t felt so powerful since the day Luna let her in. Her new host was weaker, but still strong, and his flesh was malleable so she could make him fit her stature.

The power of the undead flowed free in Sylvania; the Nightmare could feel it with every step. The dead awoke at her will. She picked only the best bodies she could find, putting zombies and peasant corpses back to rest. She had resurrected enough long-dead knights and elite warriors until she had a sizable entourage in motley uniforms from around the Old World. Kislevites, Northmen, Imperials, even a handful of Bretonnians, all had at one point fought on Sylvanian soil. Years of dormancy would have certainly dulled their reflexes, but their endurance would more than make up for it.

Former chaos warriors stood tall and thick through the shoulders with their oversized axes and swords, and thick tower shields. Other skeletons were in rusted and punctured armor with insignias of knightly orders, the Reiksguard, Knights Panther, even the Winged Lancers.

While Nightmare Moon could see their bite, she wouldn’t accept their filth while making acquaintance with the Vampire Counts. At the nearest stream, she willed the skeletal warriors to clean their gear and bones.

The Nightmare watched them from the shore in quiet amusement. Those who were once mortal enemies, now bathing side by side. It seemed like only in the sterile serenity of death could their forms be put to more productive ends.

When she sensed the approach of foreign necromantic magic, however, her good mood was ruined.

Riding up from the path, six figures were seated on armored skeletal mounts whose eyes and breath was green fire, pouring endlessly from grinning equine skulls. The riders were in crimson plate, sharp to the edges, and with faces pale and tight as a corpse shortly after the setting-in of rigor mortis.

The Nightmare’s warriors hastily took up their weapons, the chaos warriors presenting a solid shield wall before their patron.

“Necromancer,” the apparent leader of the riders bellowed from the far shore. “You ply your craft in the shadow of Sylvania! With the will of the true master of the Empire in my blade, I say, state your purpose!”

Nightmare Moon smiled, and her warriors parted at an unspoken order to stand at ease. “My business is to answer an invitation from your lord, Manfred von Carstein.” In a pulse of dark magic, she teleported before the riders, standing well taller than their skinless mounts. “Your lord seeks an audience with the Empress of the Nightmare Forces. It might be to your benefit for him to see you personally delivering the subject of his interest.”

The knightly leader steadied his suddenly fidgety mount in the Nightmare’s presence. Nightmare Moon toyed with his mount, slipping her will into its form to fight with his necromantic magic. He himself showed no fear, and in a few moments got his horse under control. With a few side glances to his party, he motioned his fellows to set off.

“It will be a two day ride,” he said.

“Fine with me.”

Ditto’s news from Chrysalis opened up many possibilities. To take the Brass Keep would be a tremendous boon to the morale of the Empire’s people. It would be the scouring of a stain on the land, laid there thousands of years prior. It would also be one of the first times the Empire had gone on the offensive in a long, long time.

And with the Steed of Apocalypse on the loose, a blow to chaos forces in the Empire’s borders was desperately needed.

But if it was going to be done, it was going to be done right. Karl Franz had personally chosen the man to lead the ground assault, general Brochuss, a hardy Hochlander whose will and hatred of the Adversary has given him new purpose after the razing of his home province. This was a man who would prosecute the foe without hesitation or mercy.

There was also the matter of planning. Being unmolested for millennia, what was founded as an outpost may well have become a mega-fortress by now. The numbers of men, food, supplies, ordnance and munitions needed to assault such a position would demand a tremendous supply chain—unless it could simply be carried with them.

“Your highness, the boarding ramp is ready.”

Karl Franz clapped the book he was reading shut, shelved it, and put on his greatcoat.

“Have you ever been in Cloudsdale before, boy?” he asked. The aide looked to be no more than eighteen years of age. He flinched at the question.

“N-No, my lord. First time.”

Franz smiled and slapped him on the shoulder. “Then here’s to new experiences. I hear it’s like walking on mattresses.”