Castle Midnight, Germareny. March 4th. Year 20 of the New Solaminan Calendar (2050 human calendar).

Royal Duty couldn't help but have second thoughts as he followed the roughly beaten path through the woods. Whatever this forest had been called was long forgotten, though the local Converted pioneers who maintained a few villages along the edge of the woods liked to call it Black Path Woods. It certainly lived up to it's name.

The trees were huge conifers that towered over the pony. In the pitch black of night what little illumination there was threw sharp, foreboding shadows over the trees, turning them into jagged pillars of razor sharp bark and barbed twigs. The canopy they formed was thick and ominous, blocking the light of the Moon and leaving Royal Duty to navigate the twisted path with the purposefully dimmed light of his horn as his only guide. Royal Duty knew he was disobeying orders; he was supposed to be out here, but his intentions and motives were completely his own.

Reports of Anthropony warbands had increased around the Midnight Castle and the recent attacks on caravans and entourages in the forests surrounding the Castle supported these claims. In response his majesty, Prince Blueblood, had ordered his own guards to sweep the forests and clear the surrounding area of the savage mutants. However Royal Duty, whilst one of many ponies ordered to assist in patrolling the woods, had come down into the Black Path Woods for an entirely different reason.

Slowly, Royal Duty sped up his pace pulling his thick black cloak tighter around him with one hoof before, breaking into a careful canter. The Unicorn knew he was getting close to his destination. The narrow worn path was an irregularly used route used by some of the ground patrols in this part of the woods, as well as a convenient route for travellers or anypony who got it into their head that they might want to enjoy the forest scenery in a more natural setting.

Royal Duty had never liked using these paths. Then again, he hated the woods in general, having been born and raised in the city of Trottingham before his parents had recovered their human identities and promptly ran away from Equestria. Shortly after that, Royal Duty had been raised in various encampments and settlements of the Midnight Guard before his father had gained a position in the garrison for the Midnight Castle. In all, it was not really a life that had engendered much experience with (or appreciation for) wood-craft or the supposed wonders of the natural world.

Glancing upwards once again he noticed the canopy was beginning to thin. He realised he was beginning to approach one of the wider, more well travelled, roads. He was getting close.

***

Finding his intended destination wasn’t difficult. The wreckage of the the most recent ambush had not yet been cleaned up. Destroyed carriages and the remains of ponies and other creatures littered the sides of the dirt road. Already the bodies showed signs of having been set upon by the local predators and scavengers, flesh having been stripped away and bones gnawed slightly by voracious forest creatures.

“Alright then,” he said quietly to himself, “let’s find someone that looked important.”

Picking his way through the assorted debris, Royal Duty inspected each body for any symbols that might denote high rank. Most of the corpses belonged to ‘rank and file’ soldiers as well as civilians. Even without the damage that time and the forest had done to the bodies, Royal Duty could tell that the wounds that had killed them had been brutal. Many of the corpses exhibited savage cuts that had reached all the way to the bone, whilst others bore teeth marks that no natural forest creature could make. Royal Duty winced at one body that had apparently had it’s limbs removed, forcibly if the remaining signs of damage to the sockets indicated anything. What he assumed had been the bodies’ limbs were piled close to it, many of them broken open with the marrow inside removed. Whatever had killed these ponies had taken the time to feed itself afterwards.

Looking more closely at the pony in front of him, Royal Duty noticed various emblems that denoted this pony as an officer.

“Just what I’m looking for,” he whispered, a cautious smile growing on his face.

He approached the remains and stared at them, gauging how much effort it would take to revive the pony.

“Severe damage to torso, throat’s gone so it should be safe to assume his larynx is damaged... this one might take a while,” he muttered under his breath.

Few necromancers really inspected the corpses they were raising, preferring instead to simply initiate resurrections and adjust the rituals as they went along. Royal Duty had always found that a little sloppy, and certainly a waste of energy. He preferred to know what he was doing and how he should go about it when conducting his own rituals.

Removing the debris from around the corpse he drew a small pouch from within his cloak. Carefully opening it he gently shook the bag, creating a small bowl consisting entirely of green energy with his magic. Powder flowed out of the bag and quickly filled the bowl before he stopped. Keeping an eye on the bowl of powder he formed a separate stream of magical energy and began to slowly trickle the powder out of the bowl.

With careful deliberation he used the stream to funnel the powder into shapes on the ground, drawing various strange and arcane shapes and symbols in front of him. Even though he wanted to work quickly and find what he was looking for, old habits and the endless lessons he had been learning since childhood forced him to take slow care with every move he made.

Satisfied that the arcane circle was now adequately prepared he put the bag of powders back in his cloak and stood in front of the body. His eyes lit up as he slowly began to recite a spell. The words were ancient, unspoken by Ponykind in countless millennia. They pulled at his mind, every scratching syllable stinging his tongue. As the spell continued the powders began to glow. Disturbing and terrible colours emanated from the ring.

The symbols slowly began to undo themselves, the powder lifting into the air. At a barked command from Royal Duty the powders then began to circle the body. Spinning ominously the ring of colours then moved closer to the remains, constricting and glowing brighter. The powders flowed towards the body, sinking onto and into the ravaged stallion’s remains, all the while Royal Duty’s chanting grew louder and faster, building up to the climax of the ritual.

As Royal Duty snapped the final word of the incantation the corpse in front of jerked. It took a breath that sounded more like a strangled scream before settling once again. The corpse opened eyes that appeared milky and unfocused, it tried to wriggle it’s body but found itself unable to move.

“W...what...?” the body spoke.

Royal Duty wasted no time he immediately stamped his hoof in front of the cadaver’s face and began barking orders in an authoritative tone.

“What were you doing here?” he asked firmly.

The corpse paused for a moment before answering. “We were a convoy, sent by the Ivory Shell to Castle Midnight.” The corpse stalled for a moment before continuing. “Our master wishes us to be there to support them in their coup.”

“What coup?” Royal Duty asked. He felt furious at what he had just heard.

The corpse shuddered as the magic sustaining it began to degrade. “The coup...” It stalled yet again as if it was struggling to remember what it was trying to say. “Lord Red Ribbon and Lady Ever Essence sent us. Her Ladyship is already there.” The corpse once again paused, the magic was wearing off, the spell too complex for such a small amount of power. “More of my brothers and sisters were called for,” it said. “They are waitingggggg…”

The body collapsed as Royal Duty severed his ties to it. The spell would not have lasted much longer regardless and he had all he needed to know. The body could not lie to him, the spells prevented such a thing and whether it was wrong or not was irrelevant. His prince was in danger and none knew of it.

Royal Duty leapt to his hooves and ran back down the path he had taken. He had to make it to Castle Midnight to warn everypony.

***

In the highest tower of the castle, sitting at a mahogany desk in deep thought, was Prince Blueblood. Age and stress had taken a bit of a toll on him but on the whole he remained fit: where he had once been a young, not altogether unfit stallion who had been able (if not exactly willing) to fight when needed, now he was an older stallion, years of indolent fat transformed into hard muscle. His mane had greyed, and wrinkles could be seen around his eyes, but he was still strong enough for the task at hoof. Good thing too - he knew full well that there were some ponies in his organisation (he doubted he could really call them ‘under his command’ anymore) who would be more than willing to take advantage of any weakness on his part and replace him. He was determined to make sure that such an occurrence would never happen.

A knock at his door startled him from his thoughts. He looked up, frowning at the entrance to his office.

“Enter,” he barked, his once useful voice now grizzled and grim.

A moment later, a pair of guards, adorned with ornate silver and black armour styled in the form of bat wings opened the door, and the dark brown form of Magnus, Blueblood’s chief Lieutenant, entered, wearing his familiar long black cloak and stylised midnight black bone armour.

Blueblood never knew what to make of Magnus. The pony was completely loyal to him and their cause, and always followed his instructions to the letter. Even then his mannerisms and strange habits never ceased to unnerve Blueblood. The pony was charismatic and beloved by many within the castle as well as the villages and settlements attached to it and yet every action he took was enigmatic and every reason he gave was either vague, theatrical or unfathomable for most ponies. Added to that was his brutality - his methods were at the limit of what Blueblood considered acceptable, not limited to torture, ambushes of civilian convoys or the destruction of entire settlements. Nonetheless, he was also brilliant - it was thanks to him that Princess Luna’s most revered corpse had been retrieved, the first of many small victories over the Solaminan Guard.

Magnus walked halfway up to Blueblood’s desk and bowed low, his horn almost touching the floor.

“Your highness,” he greeted the Prince, his voice rich, deep and cultured. Despite that, however, every word he spoke was low and stressed, coming out as a strained, silibant hiss. After so many years of close work with the pony, Blueblood no longer visibly squirmed at the sound of the dark Unicorn’s voice, but even to this day it still disturbed him.

“You may rise Magnus,” Blueblood finally said, his own voice confident, though just as cold. “What have you come here for?”

“My Lord, I have come to ask you whether you have decided our next move.” Magnus said as he once again straightened himself, his eyes flashing with… something. Blueblood repressed the urge to shiver as the other Unicorn continued. “I am eager to bring your will once more to bear on the Solaminan Empire.”

“Your enthusiasm is laudable,” Blueblood said, his voice deadpan. “I take it by coming here you have your own ideas.”

“I would never be so presumptive as to assume my plans were superior to any you may have, my liege,” Magnus said smoothly. Blueblood raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll indulge you,” the Prince said. Magnus smiled, a soft, feral thing.

“My thanks, my liege,” the dark pony said. “I was concerned about the possibility of the Guard cracking down on various rebel groups within our land.”

“You think that’s likely?” Blueblood asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Honestly, my liege? Yes,” Magnus replied. “Solamina has been getting more desperate. Anthropony raids, the Ponies’ State and the New Resistance… these are threats that Equestria is ill prepared to face. Right now, they are surviving because our efforts - those of the various groups - are piecemeal.”

Blueblood nodded, now understanding his Lieutenant’s idea. “You mean to change that.”

Magnus nodded once. “The chief forces that act as the successors to the Old Resistance are ourselves, the New Resistance, and the Dead Men. I propose approaching these groups, uniting our efforts and finally bringing an end to twenty years of strife. I propose we unite - and crush Canterlot, Solamina and any trace of her Empire.”

“Bold,” Blueblood said quietly, thinking the plan through. “Will they join us, do you think?”

“As successors to the Old Resistance, they all swear nominal allegiance to you,” Magnus pointed out smoothly. “You need only remind them of it. Promise them you will act in their specific interests… whether you choose to keep those promises is your business,” he added with a dark smile.

“It is a plan,” Blueblood said quietly, ignoring the implication that he might betray the ponies that were technically his subjects (cynical he had become… but not that cynical). “But we have our own internal strife to deal with - the rebel groups within the Guard will not deal with themselves, and while they’re not a large threat, I prefer to not make plans while ponies stand behind me with knives in their teeth…”

“No, my liege,” Magnus said quietly. And then he smiled again. “But I can deal with those ponies.”

“You, Magnus?” Blueblood asked.

“Give me leave, my liege, and I will personally deal with the dissenters,” Magnus said. “I promise you… leave it in my hooves, and they will not trouble your efforts to secure alliances.”

Blueblood frowned. Giving Magnus leave to do anything implied leeway, and Blueblood had learned the hard way that giving Magnus leeway was… ill advised. However, Magnus was right that gathering support was the only way to end this conflict… and he couldn’t risk the dissenters, few as they were, attempting to take advantage of his absence in the middle of those efforts.

“You will not harm any non-combatants,” Blueblood said quietly. “And you will not be… excessive.” He sighed. “But you have my leave to begin… dealing with the rogue elements.”

“As my liege commands,” Magnus said at once, bowing low again.

“Very well. You are dismissed.”

Magnus righted himself yet again and turned his back to the Prince, walking past the guards without a single glance in any direction but in front of him. The doors were closed once again. Blueblood sighed, hoping that Magnus would not betray the faith Blueblood had just placed in him, would not make the Prince regret allowing him his leeway.

He shook his head and returned to work, beginning his plans to contact the other resistance groups.

***

Earth. Portal Island. March 7th. Year 20 of the New Solaminan Calendar (2050 human calendar).

The night was pitch black, as if there was nothing left but the world, and all light had simply chosen to leave - which, in retrospect, was not a bad way to describe the world that had once been home to humanity, now merely home to their killers and their remnants. The night was unusually foggy for the Pacific, as though a storm front had come in - most likely the weather Pegasi shunting it this way for no discernible reason other than laziness, hoping it would simply disperse where it lay. Nothing could be seen of the small island, the place where the portal to Equestria could be found. Nothing could be seen of the army which was setting foot upon that island.

The first of them to step upon the isle was a vaguely male-looking humanoid figure. It had something resembling a face, and it's body, though metal, vaguely resembled a man. It moved fluidly, but far too gracefully to have ever been mere flesh and blood. It was holding in it's hands a pole-like device, at the end of which was a sphere: it's weapon. This figure looked around, surveying all that could be seen, before holding up and a hand and signalling to someone.

A moment later, twenty more identical figures, wielding identical weapons, appeared. They stood in two rows of ten, with the twenty first - the first figure - standing at the edge of one row. And then she came.

She was humanoid and feminine, her body magically enhanced steel plated with verdigrised copper to make her appear turquoise. Her face, such as it was, consisted of many thousands of metallic muscles designed to simulate a real face's musculature - the face was uncannily similar to the face she had worn as flesh and blood, the eyes wide and the mouth prone to smiling, but where that face had been warm and compassionate, this face was cold and calculating. Upon the crown of her head was mounted a crest reminiscent of a mane, white as snow - it had been her true mane, the only part of the old body she had been willing to retain. She looked around, her glowing eyes studying the small island dispassionately.

For twenty years she had prepared for this moment. The moment where she might enter Equestria again, not as a frightened mare but as a conqueror. When she had fled, it had been as a pony, a creature of selfish desires and naïveté in equal measure, unwilling to see the hard choices made by her or anyone. Now, she was so much more.

"Captain," she said, her voice quiet and yet resonant at the same time. "I want your troop to secure the portal from the guard contingent present here. Is that understood?"

"Perfectly," came the tinny reply of her Captain, the twenty first man, his voice deeper and more masculine than hers but lacking the resonance. "You may consider the objective ours, Lady Lyrium."

At once, he signalled to his troop, and the twenty one steel figures moved on. The figure he had addressed as Lady Lyrium raised a hand lazily, and suddenly, even more figures appeared from the fog, some identical to the twenty one who had just left, and some more elaborate. The metallic muscles of Lyrium's face twitched as she gave a cold smile.

Her time had come.

***

Equestrian Military HQ, Canterlot. March 7th. Year 20 of the New Solaminan Calendar (2050 human calendar).

High Commander Twilight Sparkle was not a happy pony.

Guard Captain Strong Hoof had never particularly liked working with the commander, though the pale grey Earth Pony had done so successfully enough for five years, ever since receiving this promotion. She was… temperamental. She tended to use her own Archmagi in battle, and ignore the plight of regular troops. She was headstrong, emotive… in short, everything Strong Hoof had been taught to not be as a commander by his father, the now retired Commander Steady Hoof. Nonetheless, the Unicorn mare was granted authority by Astra Solamina herself, and though Hoof might disagree, he would never dare openly question the commands of his Empress. To do so would be... unthinkable.

He shook his head, trying to clear a sudden, slight itching in the back of his mind, as Sparkle began speaking to the assembled officers of the Solaminan Guard, some thirty or forty officers assembled for a special meeting.

“Let us be clear, fillies and gentlecolts,” she said to the group, her voice grim and harsh. “Equestria stands upon the brink of chaos. It is our efforts, and our efforts alone, that prevent rogue elements like the mutants, the rebels and the traitor Blueblood’s Midnight Guard from gaining a true foothold over Equestrian soil.” She paused, narrowing her eyes at the group. “That being said - why have we made NO PROGRESS AT ALL on the capture of the traitors yet?!”

“High Commander Sparkle,” Commander Freedom Heart, ostensibly the highest ranking Royal Guardspony currently in service (since Sparkle was technically outside the chain of Guard command), “the traitor Blueblood’s forces are largely sequestered on Earth, and with the stalling of the Converted colonisation programs…”

“Commander Heart, are you giving me excuses?!” Sparkle snarled.

“No, High Commander, I am giving you an explanation,” the stallion replied, somewhat boldly considering who he was talking to. “The Guard have been stretched too thin. The so-called Ponies’ State has launched more attacks on Equestrian soil in the last five months than any faction has in five years, Anthropony presences are known to exist in at least seven different locations across Equestria, including the Everfree itself, and the New Resistance…”

“These are excuses, Commander!” Sparkle yelled. “I don’t want you to ‘explain’ why you are failing, I want you to stop failing, do you understand the difference?!”

“I understand,” Heart said. And then he frowned. “Do you understand, High Commander, that the Guard no longer have the resources to combat the threats levelled at us? With the Solaminan Church having absorbed the militia, we simply do not have access to enough troops to battle every single threat, and with the honourable Warm Embrace refusing to cede any control of her forces to our commanders, we do not have the resources we need. That is the simple truth, High Commander.”

“What, then, do you suggest, Commander Heart?” Sparkle asked dangerously.

“We need more soldiers and we need them quickly,” Heart said simply. “I suggest raising a new Equestrian Militia, separate from the Church, that would give us numerous troops to use and quickly.”

Sparkle seemed to consider this plan. She turned to an adjutant that stood, waiting quietly at her side.

“Begin collating a checklist of everything we will need to organise a new Militia,” she said sharply. The adjutant bowed silently and began doing so. Sparkle turned back to Heart. “You’ll have your Militia. When you do, I expect significant progress in defeating the enemies of Her Glorious Majesty, is that clear?”

“Crystal, High Commander,” Freedom Heart said coldly.

Without another word, High Commander Sparkle left the room, her adjutant trailing behind her. Freedom Heart sighed heavily.

“Alright ponies!” he yelled. “Move like you’ve got a purpose, start organising your troops - get some trainers selected, we’ll need them if the Militia’s gonna go anywhere!”

Most of the officers moved off, murmuring amongst themselves. Freedom Heart motioned for Strong Hoof to wait.

“Your opinion of High Commander Sparkle?” he asked quietly.

“Not worth spit,” Hoof said at once. “She might have been good for the Human War, but this isn’t that war and we don’t have the advantages she had then.”

Freedom Heart nodded. “What with the Converted Crisis, I don’t think we’ve got any idea as to how to proceed with this conflict.”

“If it was just one conflict, that would be easy,” Hoof said quietly. “But we’re fighting five wars at once, and that’s without maintaining the wall!”

“I hear that,” Freedom Heart said heavily. He sighed again. “Get to work, Hoof. We’ll talk later.”

“Sir,” Hoof said quietly. He saluted and headed off, leaving the Commander to his thoughts...

***

Portal Guard Outpost, Portal Island. March 7th. Year 20 of the New Solaminan Calendar (2050 human calendar).

Guardspony Restive Blade was always an itchy sort. His dark yellow fur and brown mane were damp in the deep fog that surrounded the fort, but that wasn’t really the reason he felt so… restless.

He hated just waiting around for something: his cutie mark was a blade, and his destiny - so he understood it - was to fight the enemies of Equestria wherever they were, a destiny he was eager to begin fulfilling. So you can imagine his assignment to the Portal Island Garrison really excited him. It wasn't that he didn't understand how important all this was, how important holding this island against various hostile elements was. It was just... he didn't like the job. It was dull. There was nothing to guard here - if there had been, Restive was sure that there would have been more than a token garrison of twelve ponies. If that wasn't bad enough, the garrison sergeant, one Willing Steel (a bucking Convie, as if being on this island wasn't bad enough without being commanded by one of that notoriously unstable breed) was a plot-hole, always making the ponies do drills.

At this moment, Restive was watching the courtyard Guards march around the courtyard, at the centre of which lay the Portal itself. He was, at least, grateful he wasn't one of those ponies. His job - standing on the wall - was dull, but at least he got to rest his feet for the moment.

"Hey Sarge," one pony, a particularly cynical and combative mare by the name of Under Over, asked as they marched around the courtyard. "The fog's thick tonight. Maybe we should call it a night."

"I know the fog is thick," the gruff voiced Sergeant replied. "Just stay alert. It's perfect weather for an ambush."

Standing atop the garrison wall, Restive Blade sighed. "Ambush by what, sir?" he called down sarcastically. "There's nothing on this bucking island to ambush us for!"

"There's the Portal, Guardspony Blade," Willing Steel replied irritably, indicating the glowing purple... thing, housed within rock. "None of Equestria's enemies must get into the country, is that understood?!"

"What enemy?" Restive asked rhetorically. "The only enemy out here is the pneumonia we're all gonna get if we keep standing here."

Before Willing Steel could admonish him further, there were several turquoise flashes. There was an explosion somewhere, yells of pain, and suddenly ponies were screaming. Restive ducked as flaming debris started impacting near the wall, and - panicking slightly - he covered his eyes with his hooves. What was going on? An attack? But that was impossible! Who would attack them? Who was left?!

For a moment, he heard shouting: Willing Steel was screaming... something, and he could hear other Guards yelling. Then there were more noises, something that sounded like spells and the clash of steel, and then... silence.

Risking the chance to open his eyes, Restive Blade looked down into the courtyard. What he saw boggled his mind.

The other Guards had been slaughtered. Under Over was missing, as were a couple of others, but Willing Steel's body was ripped in two, his entrails spilling out onto the courtyard floor, and the rest of the bodies that were visible were in little better condition. There was no sign of any of the attacking force having been felled, and for a brief, foolish moment, Restive Blade thought that maybe the wraiths and other ghosts ponies kept saying were on the old Human Isles were real.

"Pull yourself together," he admonished himself. He was a trained Solaminan Grenadier. He grabbed his launcher, a bulky weapon powered by magical charges that could be reloaded into it, and looked around. That's when he saw her.

Under Over was being held up by a tall metallic-green figure - a human figure! Restive had never seen a real human (he had been born during the war) but he knew the shape from history lessons. The figure was bipedal, had hands and feet, and appeared similar to a human mare. She had her hand clamped on Under Over's mouth, the struggling mare going slowly limp under the humanoid's tender mercies.

Before Restive's very eyes, a sort of grey-silver fog emerged from Under Over, who stiffened slowly, the light leaving her wide, staring eyes. At the same time, a metallic figure began emerging from nowhere, almost as if it was being assembled from the air itself: legs, waist, torso, arms... all of them were being added by metal pieces that seemed to be forming from nothing. As Restive watched, the smoke that had emerged from Under Over entered this figure, just as a head with a cold, expressionless human face clamped onto the body.

Suddenly, the eyes of this face began glowing, a harsh green light staring out, filled - though Restive could never have told you how he could sense this - with a cold, cruel intellect. The turquoise figure dropped the limp body of Under Over, her eyes wide and sightless, and turned to this new metal creature.

"Can you hear me?" the turquoise figure asked, it's voice feminine, cold and resonating with something the terrified Restive Blade couldn't quite identify.

"Yes," came a tinny voice from inside the iron body... a voice not unlike that of Under Over, except horribly changed, all the former sarcasm purged in favour of... docility?

"And you know me?" the figure asked quietly.

"You are Lady Lyrium: mistress of the Iron Men, my mistress" the Under Over figure said at once, as though this were knowledge it had been born with.

"And you understand what we are trying to do," this Lady Lyrium said.

"Yes," the Under Over figure said. "You seek revenge for humanity. Revenge on the pony race."

"And you will help me," Lyrium added, the words less a question and more a statement of what categorically would be.

"Yes," the Under Over figure said at once. "I will."

"Good," Lyrium said, a metallic smile appearing on her features. She turned to the rest of her troops, and began barking orders. "Begin the advance into the portal. Kill everything you find on the other side, or take it for our own!"

As Restive Blade watched, first dozens, and then hundreds of metallic figures began a steady advance through the shattered gate of the Guard outpost, marching straight into the Portal. The last two to go through were the figure that had apparently once been Under Over and the figure of Lady Lyrium.

Alone now, Restive Blade shivered. He had wanted action. He shivered in fear, but couldn’t help but laugh, a slightly unnerving, terrified sound.

He had certainly gotten what he wanted.

Author's Notes:

Well here it is, the beginning of my first published fic. I came up with the idea for this several months ago when Jed R, The Void and myself were about halfway through writing the Avatar of Albion after enough supplementary material had been gathered for me to actually come up with a few different ideas. The fact that I first described this as a darkfic probably helped sell it.

Admittedly this story does require prior knowledge of the Avatar of Albion story but that is mostly confined to establishing information. On the whole this is very much it's own story and hopefully won't be too difficult to follow.

If I'm lucky and all goes to plan this should prove to be a story as epic as the fanfic it was spun off of.