Starlight stood in her camp on a hill, watching as the raiding party finally, at the crack of dawn, came within eyeshot just a mile away. She'd grown tired of waiting, as it had taken two weeks and three days for all the raiders near the Byzuntam-Athon highway to gather their numbers and build their siege equipment. “Siege equipment” may be a bit generous – it was a basic battering ram. No more was necessary, though. Lesbos had just a simple mud palisade with a wooden gate. Captain Blowhard led the band of brigands with his own contingent of about sixty costumed buccaneers, who stood out among the more practically outfitted crowd. Each group of ten to thirty raiders had its own captain among them, who could always be discerned by a bobcat hood, a horned helmet, a feathered band, or some other such crude adornment on the head. It was clear that Blowhard was only the leader of this raid because he had the biggest gang of brutes, and even then, it was mostly nominal. It was a loosely organized bunch of, not six-hundred, but more like eight- or nine-hundred.

Starlight groaned. "Took 'em long enough, didn't it?"

The Wanderer walked up beside Starlight. “Let me see...”

He stared at the raiders in silence, the look in his eyes blank as usual. She looked up at him to see if she could find clues as to what he was thinking, but his frozen demeanor revealed nothing. However, even though his face did well in hiding his thoughts, and his helmet was superb in hiding his face, she'd been with him long enough to guess that he was probably evaluating their effectiveness as a fighting force. A distinct expression would tell her what conclusion he'd likely came to from such an evaluation, but alas, she had to ask him directly.

“So, what do you think? Do we have this in the bag?”

“I would not be so sure.”

“You think we could lose then?”

“That is a strong possibility.”

“Why do you say that?”

The Wanderer looked to Starlight. “They have a highly decentralized command structure. They are undisciplined. Their equipment is sub-par. They are attacking a fortified position where they will be bottlenecked at the gate. Their leadership is inexperienced. Need I go on?”

“They have a three to one advantage.”

“Numerical advantage means nothing when space does not allow its exploitation.”

“Well, it's just militia. Just how much better than raiders can they possibly be?”

“The Wasteland has no shortage of veterans. Even a militia can be quite potent.”

“I don't see why.”

“Because you are an Equestrian.”

“Well, what does that have to do with anything?”

“When you think of a conscripted force, you think of timid little boys, none of whom have had even a playground scuffle in their lives, drilled with toy swords for a week then sent off to battle in the hundreds of thousands to scare off Changelings, Griffins, Zebras and other such scum that only they are incompetent enough to require greater numbers to fight.”

“Oh, I get it. Militias here are better than in Equestria because this place sucks.”

The Wanderer looked back to the raiders to the distance. “That is one way to put it.”

“So do you think we'll win this, or not?”

“It could go either way. It is dawn, and the gate is on the east side of the town. The sun favors the raiders for the time being, and the militia is likely tired from interrupted sleep. If raiders are good at anything, it is capitalizing on the element of surprise.”

A moment of silence. “And what do we do if we lose?”

“I do have a secondary course of action in mind.”

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“You do not want to know.”

She put a hoof to his face, then locked her eyes with his. “Wanderer. You know you can trust me, right? Haven't I done enough to earn your trust?”

“Indeed you have,” he said as he put her hoof down with his own, “which is why I would trust you to trust me as well. Now, no more words.” He turned to the gate. “It looks like they are just about ready for their first assault.”

The ram was lined up to the gate, with somewhere around two-hundred raiders making the first strike. At the Captain's orders, it was rolled up as rocks were being flung at them from over the wall. As they lacked accuracy, the majority of them dug into the sand or bounced harmlessly off the ram's roof, but some of them managed to land on a head or spine, which put whoever they hit out of action in any case. The raiders looked upon their fallen comrades with cold indifference as they inched closer to their first milestone. A large stallion wearing a winged helmet led the charge from the front, keeping his composure and his toothed grip on his sword through even direct hits to the head with solid rock. After some time, the ram got to the gate. The large stallion leaped on top of the ram and brandished his sword, letting the rising sun give it a near-blinding shimmer that inspired those raiders around him. The gate crunched at the ram's repeated slamming against its face; each crunch echoed through the air. As the gate loosened, one could see glimpses of the large plank that sealed it from the inside. The gate's collapse soon followed, and not two seconds after, a ballista bolt from the other side punched through the large stallion's chest and sent him flying off the ram to writhe in the sand. But this did not deter the first wave of raiders as they funneled into the gate. They fought. The fighting lasted some time, with nothing discernible happening from behind the walls except for the clanging of metal and the anguish-filled screams of the wounded and the dying. The Captain and everyone else whom he'd kept in reserve watched as the first wave slowly withered away. It wasn't long until they, reduced to just under half their number, turned their backs to the fighting and ran off in a state of disarray, back to their little forts along the highway.

“One bad attack isn't the end of the world, right?” Starlight asked the Wanderer.

“Of course not,” he replied, “it would be foolish to expect a decisive victory in the first act. I remember being involved in a few sieges, myself, back in my youth. Those were good times.”

The Captain called fourth the second wave, slightly larger and having a few squads of pegasus raiders who carried in their mouths deep bowls filled with tiny cast iron caltrops. As most of the raiders swarmed the gate just like those before them, the winged ones flew above the walls and dumped their caltrops on specific points behind the walls, likely behind and on top of the defenders' ranks. This wave fought much longer than the previous one, to the point where they showed no signs of stopping even as the sun rose higher and the sky turned blue. However, at some pivotal event that nobody outside the walls could witness, the second wave turned tail and scattered back out of the walls. Nobody knew how many more armed citizens were left in Lesbos, but there were only four-hundred raiders left dedicated to fighting, and the majority of them were gorging themselves on all the booze they could carry in their flasks. Some raider chieftains got themselves an audience with the Captain, himself, all of them giving him a particularly angry piece of their mind. The Captain, staying steadfast, stomped a hoof on the ground and said some choice harsh words, prompting a couple chieftains to abandon the raid with their subordinates. But the rest stayed, probably in the hope that the militia was on its last leg.

“That idiot better have a trump card ready,” Starlight muttered.

The third and final wave stormed the town, with the Captain leading from the front. Foolhardy as he may have been, it couldn't be said that he wasn't brave. Fighting continued on until well into the afternoon, with the sun sitting in the west rather than the east. Starlight felt as if her nerves were tying themselves into knots, so worried she was about this turning out poorly. She looked back to Sucker Pop, who'd occupied herself with chewing on the loose flaps on the tent. Strangely enough, biting a piece of cloth didn't look like that stupid an idea to her now, but she considered it best to maintain her composure, at least outwardly. She turned her gaze to the battle again, just in time to see the Captain, himself, being launched up from inside the city with a ballista bolt impaling his belly, landing square on his spine atop the mud-brick wall. Starlight could practically hear the bones crunch from where she stood. Following this was a massed retreat of all the raiders who still yet lived. There was not a single raider left who would threaten the city of Lesbos. The plan had failed.

Starlight pounded the earth beneath her with a hoof. “Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!”  With her veins searing with anger, she shot a cutting glare at the Wanderer. “Your stupid plan didn't work. Three to one, and they… ugh. What happened!?”

“What I had halfway expected to happen. Such a pity. It looks as if I will have to take control of the matter myself.”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“In all my years, I have only had to do this a single time. Now, I must do it once more.” He walked away from Starlight, in the direction of Lesbos, and looked back at her. “For your own sake, do not meddle in this affair.”

“You get back here,” she barked. He ignored her, looking forward and continuing on his way. “Do you hear me?” she yelled, “I said GET BACK HERE NOW!” She felt a tap on her side. Snapping her head in that direction, she saw Sucker Pop's deeply concerned face.

“What's wong, mommy?” she asked.

“What's wrong? WHAT'S? WRONG? You little brat, I AUGHTA-” She had a hoof ready to whack Sucker Pop in the face, but strained to stop herself at the last second. There was no sense in taking her anger out on this poor marechild. With a sigh, she let her hoof down and looked to the ground.

“Is thew somethin' I can do fow you, mommy?”

She looked back up to see Sucker Pop's still worried expression. “I'm sorry, sweetie. You know, I hate not knowing what's going on. And I don't know why he won't tell me what this thing is that's oh so secret that I can't know anything about it.”

“Don't you twust him?”

“It's just… what if he doesn't come back? I'd have nobody to get me the Gem. I'd have nobody to tell me the things I need to know about the places here. I wouldn't even have anybody to get me back to Our Town! And… and… and…”

“You'd miss him?”

“No!” She paused. “Well… I… I just might. I just might miss the old bat. I never thought I'd say that about anyone. You know, at first, I was planning to… ever so gently drive a metal cutting implement into his backside once I'd taken the Wasteland for myself. But we work so well together, and he's been really open-minded about this whole equality thing. Plus he knows the Wasteland a lot better than I do, and a few other things as well. Maybe I would feel better keeping him around.”

Sucker Pop gasped, and as she grinned, her good eye lit bright as the stars. “Does tat mean I'ww have a daddy?”

“Well, I don't know if I'd go that far. But I'm not in my twenties anymore, and it's not like I'm getting any younger. Time will tell, I guess.” She looked out to the town of Lesbos. In she distance, she could see the Wanderer standing motionlessly in front of it, still as the rocks and hills around him. She did wonder what he was doing, but he warned her not to interfere, and her eyelids were getting heavy from all this suspense. “I'm gonna go take a nap now. Don't talk to strangers, okay sweetie?”

“Okay, mommy.”

She dragged herself into the tent and slipped into her bedroll. Closing her eyes in the cool shade gave her a rush of relief. Rest was sorely needed.

The Wanderer had stood still in front of Lesbos for a bit over half an hour, waiting for Starlight to come to him on the likely chance that she didn't heed his warning. After all, once he'd committed to this act, there would be no turning back, and he would have neither control nor awareness if she was foolish enough to get in his sights once he'd delved into Blütfury, a state of utter madness and rage that only stopped when no other living creature could be seen, heard, felt, smelled, or tasted. The Academy taught all its budding Legionaries this technique in case they were captured alive in battle and put into interrogation. It required many hours of deep meditation, but once it was engaged, the Legionary did not know fear, nor pain, nor fatigue. Indeed, it has been said that Planetvoid, himself, was in Blütfury when he slayed one hundred Equestrian warriors entirely on his own. The concept of Blütfury was simple: Either the Legionary, after having slaughtered his captors wholesale, could escape and return to his Legion; or he would die with any information he could have possibly provided to the barbarians, and cause a great deal of damage in any case. However, the Wanderer was applying it a very unorthodox manner. With Blütfury, he intended to singlehandedly raze Lesbos to the ground and eliminate as many potential witnesses as possible, then pick up the Staff from the town ruins.

Once he was sure that Starlight wasn't coming, he closed his eyes and, in his mind, pictured a sight of entirely nothing but a deep red, and endlessly repeated the simple mantra: Blood. Fire. Death. He kept a rapid breathing pattern, inhaling or exhaling with each part of the mantra. He kept his muscles as still as possible. There was no deviating from this precise mental and physical routine, and even the slightest error could nullify any progress made into Blütfury. The Academy was the only institution in the entire world that could teach the level of discipline needed to successfully reach this state of mind. He could not keep track of time passed, nor thirst felt, nor any of his surroundings. His mind had to entirely consume Blütfury. And once his mind had consumed Blütfury for long enough, it, in turn, consumed his mind. At that very moment, Blood, Fire, and Death, were all he knew.

At the dead of night, Starlight was jolted out of her nap by explosions. 'Oh, no!' she thought, 'Is this the apocalypse?' She stuck her head out of the tent to find Sucker Pop ogling at the town of Lesbos, which was consumed in flames, and buildings were obliterated in quick succession by explosions.

“Sucker Pop,” she called out, “what's going on over there?”

“Wook mommy! Fiyewooks. Mastew make fiyewooks.”

She dashed out of the tent and next to Sucker Pop. Within the booms, bangs, and screams echoing from the town, she could make out a crazed mantra, booming, echoing in a familiar bass. “BLOOD. FIRE. DEATH. BLOOD. FIRE. DEATH. BLOOD. FIRE. DEATH.” She felt her jaw try to touch the ground, and all words pour out of her mouth before she could turn them to speech. So, this was it? This was Plan B? Kill everything? She was expecting something a little more… well, nuanced. But she supposed 'kill everything' worked, too, although she didn't know why it had to be kept a secret. Maybe that chanting had something to do with it. It really did look like the apocalypse down there, and it was probably wise not to get involved. It was a while since she got to see a good firework show.

As the red haze began to melt away, the next thing the Wanderer saw was the headless body of a great, muscled grey stallion draped in a blood-soaked toga fitted with patches of purple cloth. He thought it strange that a Byzuntonian should wear a toga of any color, let alone part purple. Maybe it was just a coincidence that he chose purple. Purple was the Kaiser's color, and only the Kaiser was allowed a toga fully colored purple, with the penalty for anyone else wearing one being crucifixion. He moved his eyes and head around to evaluate his surroundings. There was the crackle of burning wood in the air, and the smell of rot and ashes. The first thing he saw was a desk, in the corner of the room. On there, he saw a half-full bag of coins, an Imperial seal, a Federation seal, and a written note. With his magic, he picked up the note and read it:

To: Our Glorious Kaiser Shattered Dreams

From: Your Great-Great-Great Uncle Igneous

Please forgive my crass informality and lack of Reichschpeak, but I don't have ample time to write this. My town is under fire. We were attacked by a large contingent of raiders and other assorted criminal scum. Ingrates! Our guilds buy their slaves for a fair price, not even counting lobotomy costs, and look how they repay us! We could just barely repel them. But no, that is not the worst part. No. It is far worse: We have a traitor in our midst. As I write this, he is demolishing what little remained from the raider attack, no doubt in a state of Blütfury, and he is fast approaching my own office. Now, I am elderly, and I am in no condition to defend myself against a berserk Legionary, so this letter will be the last one you ever receive from me, if you do receive it. I implore you, dearest nephew, to sic the Secret Service on this heretic. He is n

The letter stopped there. The Wanderer burned it to cinders, knowing full well how dangerous it would be to have the attention of the Kaiser this early. He concluded his business on the desk by stuffing both seals in the bag, and tying the bag around his ne-… there were intestines wrapped around his neck. Like a scarf. He levitated this health hazard off his neck and tossed it carelessly aside, watching it plop down on the floor, then tied the bag around his neck. He looked even more around the room. To the right side of the desk was a window. It looked like he was on the second or third floor of the building, as he had a pretty overhead view of all the carnage he'd wrought to the town. Corpses and all the gory bits which littered the streets were illuminated under the night sky by the blaze of the burning ruins, and there was not a single survivor in sight. Just as planned, although he couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself. On the left side was Uncle Igneous' plucky young wife, clearly violated in all manner of unspeakable ways. One thing of interest was that, unlike Igneous, the wife was not of the Imperial build. No, she was too small and petite. Byzuntonian, clearly. Looking around more, he could find some damaged books and art pieces scattered throughout the room, but not the one thing he was looking for. The Staff. He turned around to the hallway which led to this room, and crossed it with deliberate step, ever on the lookout for hidden doorways and latches. He kicked a great many doors open and ransacked a great many rooms, making sure to collect any coins he found in the process.

After a prodigious amount of looting, he descended the stairs down into the first floor, where he found a very surprising sight: a survivor! Yes, a tiny little unicorn filly in short pigtails, who levitated a shining bronze scepter which depicted a hand clutching a meteoroid. Quickly scanning this filly, he noticed something about her mark: she didn't have one. But there she was, staring him down with furrowed brows and biting glare. If there ever was a mark for moxy, she would have gotten it by now.

“Greetings, little filly,” the Wanderer said to her.

“You big bully!” she shouted. “You killed my family. Tell me why.”

“I do apologize. All I wanted was that scepter which you now carry. Now, if you are a good little girl, then you will relinquish the scepter to me, and I will end you mercifully.”

“No. This is daddy's scepter. I'll guard it with my life!”

“You do understand that you only make this more difficult for yourself, correct?”

“Do your worst. I loved daddy, and I love his scepter.”

“I see. Have you ever heard of 'death by irony'?”

“What? Iron? You're killing me with iron?”

“Hmph. It is a shame that you are so lacking in education. Suffice it to say I am killing you not with iron, but rather, with bronze.”

With that, he snatched the staff out of her magical grip with his own, and made a powerful swing at one of the filly's legs with its heavy tip end. She collapsed, wailing in pain and tears as her assailant continued bashing her legs. One after another, the Wanderer took swings at her limbs, taking care to pause with each one to let her appreciate them in their fullest. Once movement in the limbs ceased, he turned his attention to the ribs, which audibly cracked with every whack. It was at this moment that, inside his helmet, he smirked ever so subtly. Sure, he was doing his torture in such an uncouth fashion and not with some grand Dark Arts technique, but the greatest joys in life are often the simplest. However, he eventually ran out of bones to shatter, and as much as he liked the idea of just leaving her there, it wouldn't be practical. So he bashed her skull in until her cries vanished, and her brains oozed from cracks in her head. This might have made the staff a bit messier than it could've been, but he was going to clean it up anyway. And his armor too, since neglecting to scrub blood stains off one's metal suit always has been, and always will be a great way to attract unwanted illness and rust. So he started his ascent back up the stairs to do just that, then rest in Uncle Igneous' bed for the night, figuring the town hall might as well have had one last use before he demolished it.

Yet another explosion woke Starlight up from sleep. This time a little past dawn the next day. Her vision was a bit blurry from eye crust, but she saw Sucker Pop wake up in the bedroll next to her.

“Mownin', mommy,” said Sucker Pop.

“Hey there, kiddo,” Starlight replied.

“Mastew come hew now, yes?”

The Wanderer said, from the other side of the tent, “I am present.”

After cleansing her eyes of crust with her magic, Starlight exited the tent and turned her head to him. There he was, with the scepter levitating next to him and a large bag around his neck. The bag brought attention to his armor, which glistened in the sun even more than it usually did, and was near-completely free of sandy dust and even the red and black paint that it had for as long as she'd remembered, letting the dual lightning bolts on each flank shine in their blazing white glory against the less lustrous gray plates.

“Oh, look at you!” Starlight said. “My chivalrous knight in shining armor has returned from his quest to bring back the magical plot device. Did you have fun?”

“I did.”

“Without me.”

“I hope the slave was good company, at least.”

“She was, as always.”

“It turns out Captain Blowhard's motley crew were quite close to taking the town for themselves. Driving them out was a last ditch effort for the town mayor.”

“Hm.”

“Interesting fact about the mayor. He was an Imperial. And not just any Imperial, either.”

“Oh? And just what was so special about this guy?”

“He was a relative to the Kaiser.”

She chuckled. “Well, that settles it, Wanderer. You are now officially a traitor. I hope you're proud of yourself.”

“Even Celestia and Luna were traitors at some point. It just means we are making progress.”

“Way to put a positive spin on committing high treason.”

“Says the one who founded a renegade town full of brainwashed cultists,” he said with a playful poke at her chest.

“Hey! They're not cultists. They're fanatics. Big difference.”

“Cultists, fanatics, same thing.”

Placing a hoof on her chin, she feigned a ponderous look. “Hmm… well, I guess calling them cultists wouldn't be a complete lie." She paused. "So, about this scepter. Where is the Brotherhood supposed to pick it up from us?”

“Athon. Crimson Light brothel. Comrade Bright will be there to pick it up.”

“Bright? The guy who can barely talk?”

“The very same.” Next Chapter: Chapter 13 Estimated time remaining: 5 Hours, 41 Minutes