Chapter Four: Wreck the Gentle.

What doesn't kill me… isn't trying hard enough."
Roboute Guilliman, Horus Heresy: Know No Fear.

***

With a morose look on her face, she asked him:

"Do you remember…"

And he said, cutting her off:

"Everything."

She asked:

"Six particular faces."

And with tired eyes, he said:

"I remember all of them."

Uncertain she wanted to know the answer, she asked:

"And I suppose… one face in particular?"

And all he said was:

"Yes."

She asked him:

"Do you really remember them?"

And with tired, sad eyes, he said:

"I'll always remember them."

***

'I suppose (Sam began) I should start with the war.

You know a bit about the war of course, obviously. It's still weird thinking about it. I mean the thing is, we didn't know that the ponies were going to attack until Sparkle showed up with the exodus at her back: before then the government's thing was assuming it was some kind of accident, not an attack. Least ways that's what the general public were told. Then it started…'

(And he paused, trying to find the words to describe it, trying to think if any words could do it justice. Eventually, he found the words.)

'It's hell. I don't know how you remember it but that's how it's been for us. Fighting in the streets, cities falling - being destroyed by the Royal Guard or abandoned because there's not enough people left to live there safely… we've had ground invasions, Converted assaults, aerial bombardment, everything… it's been hell. We started the war with a hundred and forty million people on this island, and we're at twenty six million now.

The war has been going on for a long time. It's been eight years now. Eight years of slaughter. Killing, killing, scrambling for ammo, scrambling for resources, mining these rocks to hell or farming them to nothing…

We have some resources left, but every day they dwindle. We poured everything we had into projects like the Iron Clad project and any experiments that Twilight or the others can come up with, but none of it is enough to stop the enemy entirely, it only really slows them down enough that we're not overrun. London has become a quagmire, just like Plymouth. Nobody wants to admit it, but they keep attacking the city, and try as we might, we can't push them back. It's just a matter of time before everywhere becomes like this and we start losing ground.

That's the crux of it really. We're losing the war. We have twenty six million people left, and every day more of them die. Sure there are other things that we can do to try and stem the tide, again like the Iron Clad project, but these things are just temporary measures. We needed something more permanent in order to stem the tide and Equestrian forces.'

'And that, (Sparkle cut in), is where I came in.

My primary skillset is as a researcher. Oh yes, I can fight - quite well, actually, if I may be immodest -but I don't like fighting and it isn't what I'm best at. The others - my friends - can fight, but we're just six ponies, and much as I might wish it were otherwise, six ponies can't make the difference.

We're often hailed as being a kind of saving grace for the Resistance and BDF. Myself and my friends - the Elements of Harmony, I don't know if you know about…'

***

"Yes," Elliot said, cutting her off sharply. "I know the name."

"Right," Sparkle said, smiling slightly nervously at his irritated tone. "Well -"

***

'… we can use the Elements (she continued) to distract Solaminan forces, heal troops, and erect shields that they can't get through. A lot of the early days of the war were just that. But the Elements aren't a weapon, and even the usage we're putting them to is really pushing the limits of what they were meant for.

So I started doing what I do best: I started researching alternative means of fighting against the Solaminan Empire.'

'We have a bunch of researchers up in Scotland (Sam said, taking over), who spend most of their time trying to build weapons and defences for the war effort. We owe a lot of our more advanced equipment to them: for example, the Iron Clad project was developed in 2026, and we've over four hundred Iron Clads of various different marks running around. I'm a Mark III myself. These things really help the war effort…'

'But (Sparkle cut in), things like the Iron Clad project and the GG3 contingency and Agent Gleeson and all the other ideas and weapons we have are, like Sam was saying, stopgaps. We needed something more permanent. A weapon that would win us the war.'

***

"And how exactly do you intend to win the war?" Elliot asked, holding up a hand to pause the two in their explanation.

"Well, a military victory is out of the question," Sam said grimly, his expression resigned. "There's billions of Converted Militia at the Tyrant's disposal, and there's always the more esoteric things she sends out as well." He scowled, a fist clenching at his side. "I fought three Crystal Golems today. They're strong enough to take out an Iron Clad, as two of my colleagues found out."

There was a long pause as everyone and everypony in the room took in that information. Sam looked almost as stoic as ever, but it was clear he was repressing a lot of rage.

"Um… you see, we extrapolated that a lot of the magic holding the Solaminan forces together is being anchored somehow to Solamina herself," Sparkle theorised, taking over from Sam. "There's definitely more to her than just Celestia gone mad."

"How d'you work that one out?" Elliot asked, frowning slightly.

"I knew Celestia," was all Sparkle said in response. Tthere was another pause as Elliot raised an eyebrow at this at once simplistic and incredibly layered answer. Sparkle looked… hurt. Angry, yes, but also incredibly sad, like she had lost something precious she would never get back.

"In any case," Sam said, speaking before the pause could get too awkward, "if she's an anchor to things like the Barrier and the conditioning on the Guard and Convies, killing her would break that anchor."

"Cut off the head and the body dies," Sparkle said softly. "Kill the Empress… and the Empire falls."

"And that," Sam said with a slight grin, "is where you come in."

"Me?" Elliot asked, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"We located an arcane spell book in the archives, and in there was a spell designed to summon a mighty warrior from another world," Sparkle said with a slight smile. "That spell was, in theory, supposed to bring a mighty hero who would be powerful enough to fight an Alicorn and win."

Cut off the head and the body will die. It makes sense, doesn't it? Slaughter the Tyrant. Have her head as testament to mankind's vengeance. And you remember the fight at least, do you not?

He shook his head, still feeling the strange thoughts as they burned through his memory. The pony and the armoured version of his friend didn't seem to notice.

"That was three days ago," Sam said, leaning forward. "Bases across the country were ordered to keep an eye out and report to me or Twilight at the first sign of anyone who fit the bill. And here you are."

"Here… I… am…" Elliot repeated slowly, frowning at the two of them. "You took me from wherever I was, I can only assume without asking my permission… and you wanted me to fight your enemy for you. How do you know I didn't have an enemy of my own to fight - my world must have been at war if I can remember it."

"And we're able to send you back, hopefully," Sparkle said earnestly, "but the spell was self-selecting."

"'Self-selecting'?" Elliot repeated.

"It was designed to pick someone upon whom we could rely to stop a Tyrant," Sam explained, "without them being integral to their own world's survival. We never intended to cripple another world to save ours. Chances are, if you were summoned here you already won your war."

"But I don’t remember…" Elliot began.

"Is that it, Sun Tyrant? Corpses and tricks? Do you think that will save you?!"

"Perhaps not - but now I have your measure. You are strong - but I am eternal!"

He raised a hand to his head. "I… I don’t remember. I don’t remember…"

Elliot felt a warmth around him. The pain that had begun to well up, faded away. To his right, he saw the serene smile of Small Mercy whose horn glowed with soothing light.

"Better?" Sam asked.

"Better," Elliot said quietly. "Wish I knew what caused that."

The snow white mare looked at Elliot, sincerity in her eyes. “Don’t worry, Sam and Twilight always know what they are doing. Besides, I’m going anywhere without knowing you are 100% safe.”

Elliot sighed. “I appreciate that.”

"This is strange," Sparkle said, eyeing the man with a clinical eye. "I’ve never heard of this sort of thing happening, not in any of the books on the subject. It’s almost as if…"

She trailed off, frowning thoughtfully.

"Now hang on a second," Elliot said, raising a hand and ignoring his headache. "Even if I was summoned here because I’m some mighty warrior… I've killed a bunch of Convies and Guard since I got here. That is not the same thing as being able to fight a Sun Tyrant. And I don't remember killing any Tyrant."

Liar.

"You're right," Sam said softly. "It isn't the same. And it's entirely possible that the spell wasn’t entirely successful, especially given your condition."

"But the fact that you have an internal source of magic is proof that you’re more than a normal human," Sparkle added, "and the fact that the magic deteriorating your cells hasn’t killed you yet is proof that you’re powerful. The chances of you being our man are good."

"That being said," Sam said with a slight grin, "it isn’t like we’re gonna throw you at Solamina like the proverbial nuclear bomb."

"So what are you going to do?" Elliot asked.

Before Sam could answer, there was a noise from outside - the sound of yelling and the firing of guns. A moment later, an alarm went out.

"Shit," the armoured man said. “Stay here, all of you!”

Without another word, he ran out of the room, leaving a wide-eyed Sparkle there with Small Mercy and Elliot.

"What’s that noise?" Elliot asked.

"An attack," Sparkle repeated. "And from that alarm… a big one."

***

True Grit was waiting for Sam when he reached the base’s perimeter. The Unicorn looked stressed but somewhat eager for action.

"About time they showed up!" he yelled. "We’ve got a squadron of Guards, about thirty militia and at least five Crystal Golems inbound."

"Bollocks," Sam said, stepping up to the line. Sure enough, beyond the barricades and overturned cars, he could see Guards approaching, flitting between cover like professionals.

The Royal Guard trained their troops to move in ranked formations - magical shields up and spears down as they marched at their enemies - but any squadron that had fought more than one battle quickly decided for itself that such tactics were best abandoned in favour of a careful advance, picking their armoured way through cover while laying down suppressing fire and throwing up shields.

"Grit!" Sam called over to the Unicorn. "How many troops do we have?!"

"Here?" Grit asked. "You, Irons Twenty through Thirty, about fifty regulars and some P220a gunners. Applejack and Rarity had some more troops landing but they’re at the back of the line."

"Then we’ll have to do," Sam said. "What about air support?"

"Gimme a sec," Grit said, tapping a hoof to his comm. "Ground base to Grey Leader, come in Grey Leader, what is your ETA?"

"This is Grey Rogue," came the familiar, tempered-arrogance filled voice of Rainbow Dash. "Grey Squadron ETA is five minutes. Will have Grey Leader do her thing upon arrival."

"Glad to hear it, Rogue," Sam said with a smirk. He tapped his own earpiece. "Iron One to Iron Twenty. Report."

"Iron Twenty," came the professional sounding voice of a man named Thornton.

"I want you all on the front line," the leader of the Iron Clads said. "Need to hold them off and I’m betting they’ll throw the heavies in sooner rather than later."

"Gotcha," Thornton said. "Will set Twenty Three and Twenty Four in sniping positions to cover our asses."

"Confirmed," Sam said. "Move it."

A moment later, eight armoured soldiers appeared, most of them armed with Lance rifles, though one had a hellfire gun in his arms. The leader, the dark haired and bearded Thornton, nodded at Sam as they approached.

"Command sends greetings," he said. "They’d have sent more but Eric wanted more troops in Plymouth."

"Course he did, Greg," Sam smiled. "No matter. We’ll do here."

Thornton looked around. "Alex? Elise?"

Sam shook his head, and Thornton swore sharply under his breath.

"We’ll make them pay double for that," he swore.

"Agreed," Sam said, "but keep it cool. Remember, this is about holding the line, not killing the pastel ponies."

"Especially since some of us are on side," True Grit added. Thornton looked at him with a smirk.

"I’ll do my best to remember that," he said. Sam couldn’t tell if he was joking or not - Thornton had been HLF in the bad old days, before the Barrier’s destruction of most of the world had made distinctions like that meaningless. While the HLF remnant had accepted the Resistance, there were always… tensions.

"This is Twenty Three," a female voice came in through the comm. "In position."

"Gotcha Eleanor," Sam said, turning back to face the approaching enemy. "Do you have eyes on the handlers?"

"Negative," the woman said. "Twenty Four, anything?"

"Also negatory," the voice of a man spoke. "They’ve been wising up to that trick since the first battle of London."

"Good times," True Grit said with a sharp laugh. "They’ll show up eventually."

"Hope you’re right," Eleanor asked. "I don’t fancy fighting those things up close when they don’t die."

"Well, here’s hoping," Sam said quietly. "Grit, give them something to think about."

"Alright!" True Grit yelled to the defenders surrounding him. "Minigunners, fire at will! Exposed targets or Guards first, the Militia are softer and squishier up close!"

At once, gunfire rattled out as P220a’s and human riflemen fired at the oncoming force of Equestrians. Any exposed ponies out there immediately took cover, but some weren’t fast enough, falling with holes blown through their bodies or in their heads. Spells lashed out from the ponies, one or two impacting with enough force to send soldiers and Resistance ponies reeling, shrapnel lodged in throats and chests. Sam himself aimed his Lance rifle, taking out pony after pony with the 8x97 millimetre rounds, heads practically exploding from the force of the impacts. Spells flew back in the direction of the defence line, killing the odd soldier, but the defenders were bunkered and entrenched, allowing them a small advantage.

Suddenly, a spear fell from the sky, impaling one of the soldiers near Sam. He cursed and looked up, seeing Guard and Militia Pegasi flying about, throwing spears and the odd potion bomb down at the defenders heads.

"Keep firing!" he yelled, before putting his hand to his comm. "Grey, need you now!"

"Hold your horses," came the voice of Rainbow Dash. "We got this."

***

Rainbow Dash, a grey flight shirt over her body and a pair of HUD goggles over her eyes, sighed slightly. Ahead of her was a formation of Royal Guards flying over a position that, from the looks of it, wouldn’t hold out for long. Iron Clads aside, there just weren’t any soldiers there capable of taking on the Golems she could see. Still, Grey Squadron would hold the air, if nothing else.

"Ok, everypony," she said, "this is Guards and Convies - we know the drill. Sound off!"

"Grey Leader, standing by," Lightning Dust said, sounding amused.

"Grey Two," came the too-calm voice of a mare called Mellow Air. "Here."

"This is Grey Three," the voice of Dew Drop, a pale grey mare who had come to the Resistance years ago, said. "I’m ready."

"Grey Four here," the too-eager voice of a stallion named Dark Wing spoke. "Give me something to kill!"

"Grey Five, here!" the cheerful voice of a white Pegasus mare called Bright Wonder spoke. She was often compared to Pinkie, and while she wasn’t as random as Rainbow’s friend, the comparison was fair. The two of them actually tended to get on quite well.

"Grey Six, standing by," the gruff voice of a Thestral named Fell Spear spoke next.

"Grey Seven, on station," an eager stallion named Swift Strike called in.

"Grey Eight, I’m here," a softly spoken Pegasus mare named White Blossom said.

"This is Grey Nine," came a taciturn stallion’s voice. Solid Hoof was not the sort to say five words when none would work.

"Grey Ten, standing by," came the sharp, professional voice of a mare named Dream Flyer.

"Grey Eleven here," came the arrogant tones of a stallion named Rock Hurricane. "Send these bastards my way."

"Grey Twelve, here," the too-quiet voice of a mare named Lily Picker finished.

"Ok," Dash said. "Dust, take the lead."

"Gracious of you," Lightning Dust said, sounding mock-annoyed. Years ago - when they were both still children, really - Lightning Dust and Rainbow Dash had been rivals. Now, they were comrades, all past disagreements rendered irrelevant by the war. "Ok - one flight, on me, we’ll punch through the centre. Two and three flights, flanks. Four flight, follow one flight and pick off stragglers. Rogue, do your thing."

Rainbow smirked. Lightning tended to know better than to tell her what to do.

"Ok," Dust said. "On my mark, execute. We clear?"

A chorus of acknowledgements came through the comms.

"Mark!" Dust snapped. A moment later, her ponies snapped to their duties, and she aimed straight for the line of Guardsponies in the air.

Rainbow, on her own, swept one of her wrist-blades out and rammed into a group of Guardsponies, lashing and hacking through wings and limbs and sending them all careening to their deaths. She grinned and flew past another formation, clipping the wing of one of the stragglers. A Militia pony flew at her, but she dodged the ill-timed assault and kicked out, sending him flying to the ground at full pelt.

"Grey Rogue to Iron One," Rainbow said, grinning. "We have the sky."

***

“We have the sky,” Rainbow Dash reported.

“Good,” Sam said, firing his rifle as he did so. He scowled. The enemy were getting closer. “Golems are inbound down here - can you act as a spotter for the handlers?”

There was a grunt of effort from the radio. “That’s a negative. You’re on your own for them - we’re way too busy up here!”

Sam swore under his breath. “Thanks anyway. Good luck.”

“You too,” Dash said, and then she was off the comm.

Sam fired the last round of his Lance Rifle’s ammunition, before drawing his sword.

“They’ll be at the line in twenty!” True Grit was yelling, his horn glowing green and a blade held in his telekinetic grip. “Brace for close combat!”

All along the line, soldiers of both races drew their close-combat gear - blades, bayonets, swords and even the odd kitchen implement (there were some desperate folks in this war). He saw Thornton draw a sword, as members of his Iron Clad team did the same.

“Stand your ground!” Thornton yelled. “Whatever happens, they do not make it past this line!”

Sam gritted his teeth as the ponies charged. He hoped that whatever happened, Elliot would manage to survive - if he was the one they needed, it was imperative he survived.

With that thought in mind, Sam swung his sword to meet the first pony to reach the line. Elliot would survive. Britain and the human race would win.

***

Elliot looked out the window to the battleground outside. There wasn’t much he could see, but he could hear gunfire and yelling.

"Why am I waiting around," he murmured to himself. "This is a battle, and I’m a soldier."

You’re the soldier. The knight to protect a realm. Your place is out there. Not in here cowering like an invalid. Get out there. Get out there and protect your people. Get out there and show them your power.

“What’s wrong?” came the quiet voice of Small Mercy.

“My place is out there,” he said, frowning at her. “Not hiding in here like a child.”

"Mr Elliot," Sparkle said, frowning, "your place is here. We don’t know what’s out there, and we need to run tests, we need to…"

“I need to fight,” Elliot said simply. “It’s why I’m here, isn’t it? It’s why you brought me here. You think I’m the man to kill your tyrant. How the hell am I supposed to be able to do that sitting on a shitty sofa?”

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Twilight,” Small Mercy chimed in. “You could suffer another mental episode while out fighting. It’s best to be sure you’ll be safe and in control first.”

“It’s not my job to cower in here,” he said, and he checked he had his hand cannon. “Are you gonna stop me?”

“Please Elliot,” she pleaded. “Think about it. If you get killed, then what?”

“Then…” Elliot began, and he paused.

After everything we’ve done… everything we had to do…

“Then it’ll be time,” he said simply.

With that, he walked out of the room, leaving the two ponies alone and dumbfounded.

***

Sam cut through another Royal Guard and grinned slightly. “Come on then!”

All around him, Militia, Guards, BDF and Resistance ponies lay dead. The fighting hadn’t yet pushed past the first line of defence, but there were so many Guards and Militia pushing at the defenders that something had to give.

He could see Thornton with a Hellfire weapon firing into a group of Guards and Militia, the heavy weapon tearing through the ponies like tissue paper. He was laughing maniacally, as though he were finding this incredibly fun.

Sam suddenly found himself being grappled by an Earth Pony dressed in the golden armour of the Guard.

“Bucker!” the Guard hissed. “I’ll tear your damn throat out -!”

Before the Guard could finish, Sam threw him over his shoulder, making him hit the ground with a metallic crash. Groaning, the Guard was too slow to stop Sam from impaling him with his sword.

Leaning heavily on the weapon, Sam briefly closed his eyes, before keying a button on his wrist interface that sent endorphins and other stimulants racing through his system - this was the technological side of the Iron Clad project, and while it wasn’t something he liked indulging in… sometimes it was necessary.

Suddenly a shout went up that made Sam’s blood run cold.

“Golems!”

He turned back to the defensive line, and his eyes widened as half a dozen golems, some still healing from missile and bullet damage, crashed towards the defenders.

“Grenades!” he yelled. “Blow them apart!”

A dozen or so grenades and other missiles flew out at the pack of constructs. The explosives detonated almost simultaneously with a cacophonic blast and smoke, dust and debris was kicked up by the impromptu barrage.

But despite the force the explosions, the golems kept coming, shrugging off whatever damage had been done to them - some of them regrowing entire limbs and other parts of their bodies if the damage was great enough. Though none of them had faces, Sam almost felt like the crystalline beasts were looking directly at him.

“Bollocks,” Sam swore. “Iron Clads, brace!”

The Iron Clads - none of whom had been killed in the previous melee - gathered together, their swords, bucklers and other weapons ready.

“These things are tougher than they look!” Sam said. “Don’t underestimate them!”

“Roger!” Thornton said. “Twenty Three, Twenty Four, you have authorisation to start laying down heavy fire on any location you suspect to harbour their handlers.”

“Roger that,” came the voice of Eleanor. “Will bring out the big guns.”

Sam threw Thornton a quizzical look.

“We brought a Thunderbolt with us,” Thornton explained matter of factly, “thought it would be useful at some point.”

“Unstable,” Sam pointed out.

“Desperate times,” Thornton replied, hefting his sword.

A moment later, two missiles shot over their heads, leaving sparks of some sort of energy trail behind them. The explosives detonated in the ruins behind the main Equestrian lines, obliterating one building and pulverising dozens of ponies, and one of the Golems, still halfway through repairing itself, suddenly stopped and collapsed, dead.

“Iron One to all forces!” Sam said, raising a hand to his comm. “I think we got the handlers! Fire at will!”

“Eleanor,” Thornton added, tapping his own comm, “fire another couple of volleys. Need to be sure.”

As the first golem - a vaguely minotaur shaped one, like the one that had killed Elise - reached the Iron Clads, another volley of missiles shot over their heads, destroying yet more of the ruined city. Sam couldn’t get too excited though - the first golem lashed out at him, and he barely dodged the blow. Yelling, Thornton jumped at the thing, using his sword to carve a chunk out of the thing’s chest, only for the thing to grab him, smash him into the ground twice and then throw him through a building. It turned back to Sam, lashing down, and Sam brought his blade up to block the blow, grunting at the blow knocked him to the floor. He scrambled backward, trying to get away from the thing…

Suddenly, a bullet ricocheted off of the thing’s chest. Both the Golem and Sam turned to look at where the shot had come from.

Standing behind the main line, hand cannon in hand and grimacing in concentration, was Elliot. His green coat flapped slightly in the wind, and he was firing directly at the thing.

“Come on you bastard!” he yelled, raising his hands wide. “Come at me!”

The thing growled, an unearthly, terrifying noise, and paying no more mind to Sam, the thing charged at Elliot.

“Dave, move!” Sam yelled, eyes wide. David didn’t move, however, instead standing his ground. A golden glow began to surround him, and his eyes glowed with energy. A low growl escaped his lips, and he brought a hand up almost as if he intended to stop the golem with naught but his fist…

And then there was a flash of golden light, bright enough to overwhelm even Sam’s HUD. He blinked, smacking the helmet to try and clear the picture, and then, frustrated, he ripped it off… to find himself looking at an impossibility.

The golem had brought its weapon down on Elliot’s head as if to smash him in two, but he had intercepted the weapon… with a sword. The sword was almost as long as Elliot himself, if not as long or even longer. The hilt was made of what looked almost like black marble, set with a single clear diamond in the hilt. The blade itself was silver, and gleamed with some sort of internal power that made it almost luminescent.

And standing where Elliot was, there was someone who must have been him, judging from the furious features, and yet couldn’t have been. He was clad in armour, like some sort of knight. The armour was dull steel coloured and battered, as though it had seen the wars. Behind the figure flew a tattered cloak, bullet holes and burns visible in it.

“You have made a mistake,” the figure said, looking up at the golem. “It will be your last.”

He pushed backward with his sword, shoving the golem backward with inhuman strength, before leaping what must have been six foot straight into the air, and bringing his sword down in an overhand blow that split the thing in two. With a shockwave of magical power, the two halves were blown away, and the armoured figure strolled past them toward the defensive line.

“Dave?” Sam asked, shocked, standing up and watching him with wide, astonished eyes.

The figure ignored him, instead stepping over the defensive line and marching out to meet the golems. Sam followed him as far as the defensive line, then stopped, unsure of what to do.

The first, another minotaur, swung at him, but he caught the blow and then removed the thing’s arm, before cutting it in half at the waist. He spun around, blocking a blow from the last minotaur shaped golem, before lashing out to his side at a charging pony-shaped golem and slicing its head in two down the middle. He returned his attention to the minotaur golem and shoved backward before spinning and removing the front legs from the last golem, another pony-shaped one. Finally, he returned his attention to the minotaur-construct, and in three swift moves removed the creature’s weapon arm, then brought it to its knees, before removing its head.

“You are done,” he said quietly. he turned to the oncoming ponies, all of whom had stopped, staring at this figure. “Do you understand now?! Do you see what you face when you face humanity? Surrender! Turn tail and flee! None of you will survive what is coming for you!”

The ponies seemed to hesitate for a moment, before turning tail and retreating from the battle, some of them dropping weapons and actively running as they did so.

“As I thought,” the armoured figure said quietly, before turning back to the defenders. True Grit came to stand next to Sam, who was watching with shock at the slaughter and rout he had just seen.

“What the buck are you?” True Grit asked, eyes wide.

The figure looked at True Grit and then at Sam, and when he spoke his voice was quiet yet resonant.

“I am the Avatar of Albion.”

***

Author's Notes:

With thanks to RoyalPsycho and The Void for their help :-)

PS: ... despite being a university student, apparently I can't count to three. Yay. I think someone burned out my threes. Five points if you get the reference.