The battle had suddenly stopped. Mountain looked upward at the golem, and around at the destruction it had wrought. He did not understand what had happened. Just moments before, the battle seemed to have been lost. The golem had pressed forward into them, clawing and burning the forces below. Then, suddenly, it had just stopped. There was no magic, no violence. It simply stood, as if waiting orders.

The soldiers below approached it. Each knew that this was their chance to attack it, but none of them fully understood what was happening. Many of them had come from places that had golems already. They were originally little more than fixtures in their respective cities, things that had stood as part of the cityscape for generations without moving. This one, perhaps, reminded them of those inert statues.

A cheer started to move through the crowd- -not just from the soldiers with Mountain, but across all of Equestria. The war had stopped. They had won.

Mountain did not cheer, though. Thousands of miles away, neither did Toxic Shock, even as his tactical command leaned back from their monitors smiling and laughing. He could feel that the battle was far from over.

As Mountain watched, the golem’s eyes suddenly shifted. They changed from dim red to bright, frigid blue. It suddenly raised one hand, and a beam of sparking white energy poured out through this forces, tearing their bodies and the land apart into a forest of crystalline shards. Some dodged, but so many were killed.

Mountain rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast. He looked up, and watched as the golem’s entire body shifted. It opened, and metal seemed to pour from space itself, assembling around the open wound. In seconds, it had doubled in mass- -and then stepped in two different directions, dividing into two massive creatures. One began marching off in the direction of the original, but the other began the process of division once again.

The situation, it seemed, had grown much worse.

All across Equestria, the same was occurring. The golems awoke under the rule of a new master and began to divide. Armies that had at least once maintain the illusion of slowing the golems were obliterated instantly. The ponies fought valiantly to the end against their new foe, but even then, they were losing badly. Hope began to slowly fade from their combined forces.

Shining Armor opened his eyes. He felt a powerful, cold wind blowing over his robotic body. All around him was blowing snow, and beneath him a surface of crystal. He looked up, and through the storm he saw a great crystalline ring, and he knew where he was. The spell that had been meant to kill him, but instead he had been teleported to the roof of the Crystal Palace.

He did not understand. That weapon had been designed to kill him, and it had possessed the full power of an alicorn skull. It was not just any alicorn skull, either. It had belonged to Cadence, and he, Shining Armor, had killed her. His survival was impossible; there was no way that Cadence would want anything more than to destroy the pony who had turned against her, who had taken everything from her. Yet, somehow, the blast had failed to harm him even slightly.

Through the blizzard, Shining Armor thought he saw a pair of shapes. One was black, his body made of smoke and magic. The other was taller, and for just a moment, Shining Armor thought he caught a glimpse of pink.

Then they faded. The storm slowed, and Shining Armor looked down. Below, he saw the undead subjects of the Crystal Empire looking up at him, as if waiting. He felt the presence of every one of them, and he knew all their names.

They were dead, but so was he. They were his people, his kind, and he felt that they had not gathered in anger, but rather in the ambivalent anticipation that the dead often held when something was about to happen.

Above him, Shining Armor could feel the atmosphere of Equestria still charged with familiar magic, and he knew that Equestria was in danger.

“Cadence,” he said. “Why? Why did you let me live?”

The wind responded with the sound of a distant voice.

“Save them,” it whispered. “Save our people…”

Shining Armor understood. He had survived, and he did not know if it was from the fragments of his dead wife’s love for him, or if it was to allow him to complete his penance, but he knew what needed to be done.

He approached the ring before him. Long ago, it had held the Crystal Heart above the Crystal Empire, broadcasting the power of Love to all of Equestria. It was a transmitter designed by Cadence herself to replace the previous version constructed by King Sombra. The entire purpose was to amplify the power of a population, funneling it into a single crystal.

“Brothers….sisters,” he said, standing before the ring, knowing that each and every one of them could hear him. “I have hurt so many of you…and I am sorry. But please, just for now, put that aside. We have passed to the other side, but so many still live…and they are in danger. Please. If you can, lend me your power…”

Then, speaking to himself only. “For Cadence…”

He stepped into the center of the circle, and his body was instantly vaporized as the system surrounded the only crystal it found- -his phylactery itself. Even without his body, his mind remained, and so did his magic. He felt their will funneling into him. Instead of Love or Fear, the energy of Death itself poured from all across Equestria, charging the Crystal Transmitter. They filled him with an emotion that perhaps only the dead could understand, and the entire Crystal Empire once again came into existence as a new and eternal Necropolis.

Then the wave of magic burst out, spreading all throughout Equestria, reaching into the bodies and souls of those who had been lost: the command to rise.

From the ruins of Baltimare, the ash suddenly started to drift. The ghostly soul of a little filly pulled her way out of the ground. More shapes rose, standing, pulling their way from the remnants of their former bodies, all of them responding to the command of the Lich King. Then they burst through the ground, pouring out of the surface, swarming out by the millions and flooding the air with their silent presence as they drifted into the battle.

In the city of Cloudsdale, countless millions of dried, dead ponies suddenly awoke. Their bodies shifted under the force of the magic, and they lurched back into partial life, their sunken and blind eyes opening. More than anything, they wanted to become rainbows- -but there would be time for that later.

Each one pulled itself off the hooks that held them. Those that had wings caught some of those who fell, but more splashed down into the ocean. None of them cared much. They could not be injured; they were already dead. Each of them began moving across the land at the call of their new master.

In the depths of Gene Ward, the equidroid Micron placed his final bag of supplies into the pile. Then he gently lifted the glass cylinder that contained the severed, still-living head of Ivan Yuloff. His former associate had been badly wounded by their only successful product, and he had been anoxic for a long time- -but he had lived. His eyes flashed around the room wildly, and his mouth gasped in the greenish yellow liquid as he tried to speak.

“Be careful with this one, please,” said Micron to his one employee.

“Sure thing,” said the other pony, who was helping him load the bags onto the transport outside. The investors had been more than generous with their funds, and Micron had finally had the money to hire an employee- -but not a particularly good one. Whipcracker was missing his front legs and both his eyes, all of which had been replaced with third-rate and barely functional cybernetic replacements. Micron did not know what background this pony had come from, and he had not asked. He just needed a pony who would work cheaply until he began producing new bioarmor weapons. Then, perhaps, Whipcracker might even get a promotion.

Micron turned to the dark and feces-stained halls of Yuloff Four B, and mentally bid them farewell. He was leaving for a brand new operation in the city of Nagoya where a new laboratory was already waiting for him- -compete with pens for all his fluffy friends.

Then, suddenly, something thumped somewhere within the facility. Micron and Whipcracker both froze, and then looked at each other. Another thump caused them- -and even Ivan Yuloff- -to turn toward the source of the disturbance: the large metal door of the freezer where they kept the frozen bodies of all the failed clones that had died.

“Is there…a live one in there?” asked Whipcracker.

“No,” said Micron. “No, there isn’t…”

The door suddenly burst open, torn off its hinges by the torrent of undead clones that poured out into the hallways. They struck the wall across from them and turned like a river, a massive wave of dismembered bodies and rotting fluff pouring toward Micron and Whipcracker.

“Fwuffees save Equestwia!” they called in unison.

“No!” screamed Micron, pointing. “You get back in that freezer right now, or so help me I will put convert you to soap!”

His threat fell upon deaf ears as he was swept away in the tide of undead flesh.

“No!” cried Whipcracker, trying to swim away. “Why does this keep- -hmmf!” His statement was stopped as his mouth was suddenly filled with a number of tiny half-frozen brown foals.

A blast of magic rocked the battlefield, and the griffons overhead were impaled on the sudden surge of spikes that shot upward from the ground. Gelton rolled sideways, avoiding the impact. He raised his rifle and fired several shots into the blue-eyed golem that stood before him.

“Onward!” he cried. “Cowards! Dweebs! Fight like griffons!”

He forged forward through the feathers and blood of his dying force. Even with only one wing- -especially with one wing- -he would not back down, and he would not stop. In his heart, he knew that this charge was suicidal, but he knew that he would die with honor. Death did not concern him anyway. He was the last living descendent of Gelda the Dweebslayer, and yet with just one wing he could no longer fly. Dying bravely was one of the last things he could hope to do.

Another blast of magic poured past him. This time, he was not able to dodge it completely. One of the arcing, electrical bolts of energy struck directly on his position- -but to Gelton’s surprise, it was deflected.

He looked behind him, and saw a tall unicorn standing behind him. His face was little more than a skull, and his body made partially of metal, his horn glowing with sickly yellow energy. Gelton knew a cyborg when he saw one- -and this creature was not a cyborg. From the little bone-like flesh that was visible, he could tell that it was quite undead.

More poured forward from behind it. A few were like it was, built from metal and undead flesh, but many were simply thin, blankely staring ponies- -and far more were translucent, silent ghosts.

The griffons who had been impaled by the spikes crystal suddenly jerked, pulling themselves upward and dragging their bodies off the magical formation that had killed them. Their skin was pale, and their eyes blank and dead- -but as they dropped to the ground, they still raised their weapons and confined to fight even after their souls had passed.

The undead swarmed forward past what was left of the living forces. The golem struck at them again and again, but there were too many. They swarmed over it, clawing at its eyes and body until they had torn it apart, forcing it to fall to the ground below.

Gelton stared at this sight, unable to move as the army of the dead flowed past him. He wondered for just a moment what kind of war was so severe that the dead themselves would be forced to rise to join the fight- -and then joined them himself, charging forward into the fray alongside his departed comrades.

In the mists of Vulcan Colony, the Grand Magus stood on the precipice of the mountain. Below, he watched as the golems climbed the rocks, moving steadily forward. They had bypassed the security perimeter and survived the spells associated with it. Spike knew that something was wrong with them. He knew Thebe, perhaps better than any being in Equestria could, and he knew the magic of his oldest friend. These golems did not feel like her. They were different, filled with something far more deadly, driven by a paradoxically clinical madness. They were coming to destroy Draconia.

It came down to Grand Magus Spike to protect his people. He pressed his hands together, and cast a powerful spell, surrounding himself in green fire. His strength was great- -but for a dragon, he was still so young. More than anything, he was afraid. He knew that he might not be strong enough, but that his people were relying on him- -that they looked to him to protect him.

“They need me to protect them,” he said, trying to justify what he was about to do.

“No,” said a voice behind him. Spike turned to see Incindiary approaching from the darkness of the caverns. Standing beside her was Scorpan, bandaged and pale- -but still walking, and still smiling weakly. Behind them were the others, those that had chosen to live by the Draconian Code. “We protect each other,” she said.

She stepped forward and stood beside the Grand Magus. She repeated his spell, casting her own violet flame and adding it to his. The others did the same. Each one stepped into the defensive line and added their strength to his. The young, the old, the weak, and the strong among them joined togather, and the spell grew exponentially.

Then something strange shifted within the spell itself. A wave was passing over Equestria, and Spike felt it hit him. When it did, part of his own fire flashed red, and he felt a presence that he had not felt in centuries. He did not look, but somewhere behind him he felt the energy of a blind, one armed dragon smiling over him, watching from the shadows.

Together, they engaged the spell. Behind them, Scorpan watched as the Draconian golems that lined the hall stepped forward, lifting their shields and drawing their great stone shields for the first time since Crimsonflame had awakened them so many years ago.

Their immense stone bodies turned at the command of the Draconians, and they stepped forward as the first of Thebean golems crested the precipice of the mountain, glaring at them with its icy blue eyes.

Spike smiled. He had always wondered if the ancient, original golems of stone were stronger than the steel copies that Thebe used. He only wished that Rainbow Dash could use what was about to happen- -it was the kind of thing she probably would have liked.

All across Equestria, the tide of battle began to turn. The forces of the dead poured forth, their souls rising from Tartarus to join the fight. Fresh corpses pulled themselves free of their graves, and where cities had been leveled the countless billions of ghosts of the slain came forward. The golems were outnumbered and outmatched by the combined forces of the living and dead, and Equestria was winning against Five’s power.

In the midst of this planetary battle, a yellow pony climbed to the top of a grassy hill. She moved slowly, knowing that there was no need to rush, until she finally reached the summit. She looked out over the land before her, at the world burning below where so many ponies believed that they were winning.

The pony pulled back her hood, revealing her wide, crimson eyes. Carefully, she produced a violin and, all alone, began playing a slow song. To the untrained ear, it would have sounded deeply sad- -but to her, it was a happy song. Happy because the ponies were wrong. Their understanding was limited. They saw the war turning, the golems defeated, Thebe falling.

Satin Veil, however, saw the greater picture. Yes, the souls of so many had been taken from her- -but it was only a limited cost for what she was about to gain. The song she played was happy because soon, the souls of every pony in Equestria would fall to her.

So she watched, and played the violin as Equestria burned, and waited with grave anticipation for its eternal end.