***

"I have more experience with such things than I would like."
The Doctor, The Avatar of Albion.

***

London. January 16th. 2032. 06:00.

The day for Ser Eric Smith began as it always did - he woke up in a makeshift bunk that had been crammed in a corner of the old cathedral, feeling cramped but at least a little rested. It was better than the alternative: death or worse.

He rose quickly, sitting up and stretching. He jogged on the spot briefly to loosen his limbs up, and then took a deep breath as he knelt, bowing his head in silent prayer.

Like every other day, he began with a simple prayer to whatever power was listening - a thanks for his life, for the friends he had, and a plea for his friends to be protected, even if it meant he would have to die in their stead. Today, he also prayed that his liege Lord would be returned to them safely, that Eric might have the privilege of dying alongside him when the time came.

It had been two days since Hell Blazer's report about David Elliot's decision. Eric had been angry at the yellow Convie (don't use that term, he chastised himself) for letting the Avatar go - but if it had been the Avatar's choice, then Eric would not question it. Eric was a man of duty - whether or not he agreed with the Avatar's decision or not, the man had made it, and that was all.

After all, he thought to himself wryly, without him, I would not have been granted this chance.

He quickly began strapping himself into the modified Mark I Paladin armour he had been issued almost two years ago, starting with the underlying black bodyglove.

Not for the first time, he felt grateful for having the Paladin armour. It was sturdy stuff: it made some of the more esoteric changes to his system at the hands of the scientists and magi-tech experts in Scotland easier to deal with, including the magic burnout that still plagued many of the Iron Clads (especially earlier volunteers, who had been cursed with all the faults of an imperfect, experimental process). Over the back of this armour, he slung a cloak - it was something of a ridiculous affectation, he knew, but the forces fighting under the BDF banner had long since given up any pretence of uniform. Many soldiers made customisations to their equipment that made Eric's seem positively beautiful. As it was, he had been lucky enough to have his armour subtly modified over the years, to the point that with all the improvements, it seemed more like a “one point five” armour than a strict suit of Mark I.

After he had fixed the bracing frame’s components to his body, he called two technicians forward to help fix the plates and servos to the frame. Paladin armour, for all its ingenuity, was difficult to put on and if one part was not properly fixed in place, the wearer could end up crippled for life, or dead. Thankfully, after wearing them for so long, Eric and his men were very good at making sure every single piece was where it needed to be.

Once he had finished putting on his armour, he dismissed the technicians. He checked his weapons - his sword, a blade with runic enhancement that could cover it in fire (for which it was commonly nicknamed the 'flaming bastard' sword for its hand-and-a-half design) or other energy, was polished and well-kept. He noted with a grimace that his Lance rifle's ammo was running low - the semi-automatic rifle was a specialised weapon in the hands of an Iron Clad, the kick too strong for unaugmented humans. The weapon was, perhaps, inelegant, but it worked, which was enough for him.

As he finished preparing his equipment, he saw a familiar figure trot towards him slowly - it was a red-coated stallion in a battered brown leather coat, with a white mane and beard. He had a frown on his face that seemed almost a permanent fixture, and a bandolier was slung over one shoulder, a grim reminder that this pony was a warrior.

“Ser Eric,” he intoned dolefully. “It’s good to see you.”

This was Doctor Hooves, one of the Resistance’s founders, and one of the BDF’s finest assets. Eric knew the pony wasn't exactly ‘normal’ - the face he wore was not the first face he had worn when he came from Equestria - but trusted him nonetheless.

“Doctor,” he replied with a smile. “It's good to see you. Are you holding up well?”

“As well as can be expected,” the Doctor said tiredly. He scratched his head with one hoof, looking grim. “I came with a few supplies, but I suspect that our forces here are still lacking.”

Eric pursed his lips. “You could say that. I hear that EPA is still running around punching Converted.”

The Doctor snorted. “I have, at least, managed to bring ammunition for that. Mr Kraber’s modifications are all well and good, but an EPA is not designed to…” He coughed. “Suplex Crystal Golems.”

Eric snorted. “Sounds like Kraber.” He paused. “No word yet, then?”

The Doctor shook his head without speaking. Eric cursed.

“I trust that man,” he said quietly, “but I wish he'd have taken help with him.”

“You mean you,” the Doctor said knowingly.

“I mean help,” Eric insisted. “Yes, I’d have killed to follow him, but failing that, any help’s surely better than a suicide jump to God-knows-where.”

The Doctor shrugged. “David is a resourceful man, and tenacious. Maybe he will be lucky.”

Eric sighed. “I believe in him. But all the same.” He frowned. “Hang on a mo.”

He paused, picking his helmet up before placing it on his head. The HUD started up the moment the helmet was in place. It scanned the Doctor, a little piece of text reporting that he was ‘an unknown’, before a few pieces of text info came up. K-021 and K-031 requesting backup: Point Gamma.

“I have to go,” he said quietly. “Point Gamma’s asking for backup.”

The Doctor nodded. “We shall speak later, all being well.”

“Good luck, Doc,” Eric said, hefting his gear and jogging out.

The Doctor sighed as his friend jogged out of the church. “I hate it when people call me that.”

***

Command Post Regal, Solaminan Line. 06:30.

“How long is this city going to take to fall?” Sunny Days groaned, his face set in an exasperated scowl. Despite his very bright and positive name the yellow-orange Earth Pony had made a name for himself in the regiment as a surly and unlikeable pony.

“How long have you been in the army?” the familiar gruff voice of Steadfast asked as a large brown Earth Pony walked up to him. “How many enemy strongholds fell quickly?”

“Oh don’t you start,” Sunny Days snapped.

“You’re the one who won’t stop whining about all of this,” Steadfast replied, wandering over and sitting next to his comrade. Next to him was a gold coated and red maned Unicorn named Golden Lock, who smiled brightly at Sunny Days as he sat next to him.

The both of them were sitting on the edge of the River Thames, the enemy strongholds largely situated across the city from them. They had both been here for a week now, their regiment one of several that had been re-stationed to the British Front.

The booming sound of Arc-guns went off in the distance. The massive artillery pieces had been firing for days and by this point anything in range had been flattened. Sunny Days had spent the second day of continuous bombardment saying a curse for every shot fired.

“Yeah, well, it's just bucking annoying,” Sunny Days said with a snort.

“I think it's taking longer than it should, too,” Golden Lock put in. “We should have wiped them out days ago. I thought for sure those Chosen who’d arrived would -”

He paused as Steadfast held up a hoof, before pointing behind them. Sunny turned for a moment, to see a group of ponies crossing the ruined battlefield behind them.

They were tall, regal even. They wore armour of burnished gold tinted with red, a symbol of black wings painted onto them, matching the black of their dyed wing feathers, and protruding from their skulls were horns covered in black war paint.

“Alicorns,” Sunny Days murmured with wide eyes. “Bucking hay.”

Steadfast growled. “False Alicorns.”

“Chosen,” Golden Lock corrected. “They're the chosen of Solamina.”

Steadfast snorted. “Some chosen. They're not right - Solamina’s an Alicorn by blood. They're… messed with.”

“They say Princess Cadenza was ascended,” Sunny Days put in conversationally.

“Still not the same as putting that kind of thing in a bottle,” Steadfast said grouchily. “In the day, ponies had to win wars by grit and steel - not… sorcery.”

“The Empress chose them for this,” Golden Lock rebuked mildly. “I’m sure it's perfectly safe.”

The group turned to regard the quartet of tall, almost otherworldly ponies. They carried themselves with an almost inequine poise and dignity. Many of them had seen the Empress from a distance in drills, parades or inspections at some point in their career and she had also had a grace that no regular equine could match. Though these four False Alicorns could not completely copy their Empress’ bearing they were still unnerving to look at.

“‘Safe’?” Steadfast replied, frowning. “I can believe it's approved by the Empress. I can even believe that the things are helpful. But I don't think for a bucking minute that they're ‘safe’.”

“Well I certainly appreciate having them around,” Golden Lock interjected. “Considering some of the things we’ve seen here I would rather have them on our side.”

“I’ve seen worse,” Steadfast snorted.

“Yeah, yeah we know,” Sunny Days groaned. “White Horse knows we know. You’ve never stopped telling us.” He settled down, his forelegs in front of him and his chin touching the floor. “Oh, what I’d give for a Zeppelin.”

“I hear you,” Golden Lock said, leaning on a fragment of wall. Steadfast didn't comment, simply nodding his head and also laying down beside them.

The three of them gazed over the river, looking at the centre of the human resistance. The sooner the massive, partially ruined building fell, the sooner they could leave. This war had been one of the most bizarre any of them, veteran or recruit, could remember. It had changed the world so quickly, the tactics, the weapons and the ponies, in many ways, had all changed so abruptly. None of them could possibly fathom what could come next.

***

Point Gamma. 07:15.

When he got to Point Gamma, he found that the defensive point was - in short - a mess.

As far as defensive positions went, Gamma was fairly terrible. It was a narrow street, the ramshackle ‘barricade’ that had been sat up already reduced to wreck. There were bodies all around, the usual cleanup crews overwhelmed by the sheer volume of casualties.

Apart from a handful of soldiers in bodysuits and three Resistance ponies who were sitting around, covered in dust and looking battered, there were two Iron Clads like himself, named Ser Elise McGuinness and Ser Alex Everett. McGuinness, wearing the lighter, more flexible Paladin II armour, had her inbuilt buckler deployed. She held a sword in her other hand, a shorter version of the runically enhanced sword Eric carried. Everett, meanwhile, carried a massive Hellfire Coilgun, the weapon looking bulky and ugly, but capable of tearing through almost anything brought to bear against it. His armour was battered and patched from long use - he’d been an Iron Clad long before he'd been a knight of Albion.

“Eric,” Everett said grimly. The man sounded tired - he had been through a great deal over the last few years, most notably a stint alongside a man named John Idle guarding… unpleasant things in the Scottish research compound. “Good to see you.”

“And you, Alex,” Eric replied. “Been a long night?”

Everett nodded. “Heavy Ivory Guard activity. Lots of attacks. We’ve had a time repelling them.”

“I can see,” Eric said dolefully, looking at the bodies. “Heavy casualties?”

“Usual ones,” Everett said quietly.

Eric nodded with a sigh. ‘Usual’ casualties were bad enough. He looked at Elise, who had her helmet off and was tapping a dented side.

“And you, Elise?” he asked. “How're you holding up?”

The woman shrugged, making a ‘so-so’ gesture with her hand. Eric gave her an ironic thumbs up, and she grinned, before putting her helmet back on.

Eric turned to the regular troops. “Who’s in command of this group?”

“That was Sergeant Preston, before he copped it,” one of the ponies said in what sounded like a strong cockney accent (was he from Trottingham before, Eric wondered?). He had coal-grey fur and a shaven mane, though he had a little greying goatee. “I guess I’m in charge now. Pit Miner’s me name - most everypony calls me Morris Miner, though. Dunno why.”

Eric shrugged. “Alright, Morris. Can your troops still fight?”

Morris looked at the ragged BDF soldiers doubtfully. “I ain't gonna speak for ‘em if they wanna disagree, sir, but I reckon they're knackered out.”

There was no argument from the others. Eric turned to Elise and Everett.

“Can we hold this point along?” he asked them.

“We’d need reinforcement quickly,” Everett said at once. “The Solaminan attacks have been frequent - I’d reckon another is due shortly.”

Elise just shrugged. Eric paused in thought for a moment, mulling his options over. After a moment, he turned to Morris.

“Get your people back to Point Alpha and rest up,” he said simply. “I shall call for reinforcements, and our group will hold this position until they arrive.”

Morris looked doubtful, but nodded. “If you say so, sir. Can't say I envy you that.”

He motioned to his troops, who picked their gear up wearily and began trudging back in the direction of Point Alpha.

“Are you sure we can hold this position?” Everett asked Eric quietly.

Eric turned back to Everett with a smile. “This is a narrow street - their numbers will be limited here.” He paused. “And I have faith, Ser Alex.”

Everett nodded slowly. “Faith. I… think I find that harder than I used to.” He paused. “Still no word from Point Omega?”

Eric didn't answer for a moment. He, Lyra and Hell Blazer - as well as Vinyl Scratch and Viktor Kraber - had agreed that widespread knowledge of David Elliot’s plan would not be wise. The reports available to most troops simply listed him as still missing at Point Omega, the furthest defence point.

“Nothing,” he said after a moment. “But the Avatar is such a man as cannot be slain by mere mortals.”

Everett sighed. “Unfortunately, it isn't just mere mortals we’re up against.”

Eric sighed - Everett was referring to their enemy’s more… esoteric forces. If only he'd known that Elliot might well be doing battle with worse things still.

“I fear you're right there,” Eric said. “But, nonetheless, we must have faith.”

Everett nodded slowly. “Alright. Faith it is.”

***

Point Alpha. 07:50.

Lyra sighed as she hammered a wooden board back into place at one of the windows. She found the monotonous work boring, but also surprisingly soothing for some reason. It helped to recite facts in her head as she hammered: right now she was going through Emperors of the ancient Aquilan Empire.

“Aquilus, Imperius, Gregorian,” she chanted under her breath. “Valerian, Archimedes, Severus, Uriel, Lucian, Damien, Hermes -”

“Excuse me!” a voice asked her.

Lyra paused in her work and turned to look at the speaker. It was a man in a threadbare black suit, wearing a black shirt and a red tie. He had a receding hairline, and a little arrowhead badge on his lapel.

“I was just wondering,” the man said, “if you -”

“You're a civilian refugee, yeah?” Lyra asked sharply.

The man blinked, surprised by the interruption. “I… yes.”

“Go register yourself with Danny, then he’ll give you something useful to do,” Lyra said. “I’m afraid I’m busy.”

“Actually, I wanted to know if you needed a hand,” the man said.

Lyra paused, and sighed, feeling vaguely foolish. “Yeah. A hand would be great.”

The man nodded, picking up a board and placing it against the barricade. Hefting the hammer and nails, Lyra began hammering again.

“Where was I?” she pondered aloud. “Lucian, Damien, Hermes…”

“Who are they?” the man asked conversationally.

“Aquilan Emperors,” Lyra said shortly. “The ancient Griffons had slightly more ornate naming conventions - they experienced a cultural shift afterward, when the more northerly Griffon Lords took power.”

The man nodded slowly. “Interesting.”

Lyra snorted. “I spent twenty years learning all this stuff about other cultures. Now most of them are dead or tearing themselves apart. Feels like I could have done something better with your time.”

“Well unless you're clairvoyant, I don't see how anypony could have seen this coming,” the man pointed out. “Celestia was never this kind of crazy.” She looked at him. “At least, so I’ve heard.”

Lyra smirked. “Actually, she was supposed to be nice, at least according to Twilight.” Her smirk faded. “Then Twilight turned nuts too…”

“So I hear,” the man said. “Does anyone know why?”

Lyra shrugged. “No. Not really been a priority. Surviving, that's what we’re focused on. Why can come later.”

The last nail went into the wooden board, and Lyra stepped back, an appreciative smile on her face.

“Thanks,” she said to the man. He nodded.

“Quincy Picard,” he said quietly. “If you need a name.”

Lyra frowned, wondering what that meant, but the man was already gone. Shrugging, she looked around to see if any other tasks needed doing.

“Lieutenant!” the voice of Silent Step, one of the radio operators, called.

Lyra turned to the other mare as she trotted over, a panicked expression on her face.

“What is it, Step?” Lyra said with a frown.

“We’ve had a report from Ser Eric’s team at Point Gamma!” Silent Step reported quickly.

Lyra sighed. “Saying what?”

“He's only got himself and two other Clads guarding the point!” the radio mare said with wide eyes. “He sent the rest of the team back to Alpha - said they needed rest!”

Lyra growled. “What channel is he on?”

“Six,” Silent Step replied at once.

Trotting over to Step’s radio desk, the mare in tow, Lyra grabbed a headset.

“Albion 2 to K-01?!” she barked. “Eric, respond!”

There were a few moments of tense silence, and then the radio fizzed with static.

“Lyra, good!” Eric’s voice said, sounding surprisingly optimistic given what Lyra had just been told. “Need you to dispatch reinforcements to my location, ASAP!”

“You know we don't have any troops spare!” she said angrily. “What the hell are you thinking?”

“The troops who were here couldn't have lasted any longer,” Eric said honestly. “Asking them to stay would have been a death sentence.”

“Staying on your own with only two Clads is a bucking death sentence!” Lyra retorted. She sighed. “I can try and get troops out there to you, but you'll have to hold any enemy attacks off until those reinforcements get to you!”

“We’ll do our best,” Eric said grimly. “I have faith.”

Lyra sighed. “Good for you, Eric. Just… try not to die. Lyra out.”

She signed off, and turned to Silent Step.

“I can try calling for reserves again, ma’am?” the mare suggested.

“Wouldn't work,” Lyra said quietly. “I’ll gather as many troops as I can here, try to get enough to make a difference.”

“Yes ma’am,” Silent Step said grimly. “Should also warn you - we have reports of more Guard landing in the city - we’ve lost contact with at least three teams at Points Sigma, Phi and Kappa.”

Lyra sighed. “Just… keep trying, and tell Eric help is on the way.”

“Yes ma’am, we’ll get the message to them,” Step said.

Lyra nodded and trotted off. As she did so, she passed the hunched over form of a Dead Man tinkering with a radio.

“Kraber, grab your gun,” she ordered. “You're up.”

He straightened, a sigh escaping his lips.

“Merde,” he swore, running a hand through his hair. “This fokkin’ war doesn't quit, does it?”

Lyra grinned wryly. “‘Fraid not. Now come on.”

***

Point Gamma. 09:00.

Ser Eric was standing perfectly still, head bowed and hand on the pommel of his sheathed sword, as though he was waiting. In a way, he was.

On one side of the ruined barricade, Everett was aiming his Coilgun down the street, keeping watch, while Elise was crouched behind a high pile of rubble, waiting. Both of them were preparing for an attack. Eric could hear the sound of armoured hooves marching in the distance, and he smiled behind his helmet.

“Here they come,” he said quietly. Everett nodded, and Elise gave him a thumbs up.

The first they actually saw of the Ivory Guard was a group in perfect, two by two formation marching towards them. A flag fluttered slightly, displaying a banner with the legend Imperial XXXIX Legion, V Cohort. At their head was a Unicorn with his horn glowing, a shield blocking any incoming projectiles. Their otherwise entirely alabaster armour was marked with a green pair of stripes running down the chestplate.

Not new recruits with whiteplate then, Eric thought grimly. These are experienced fighters, elites.

“How many?” Everett asked.

“Fifty, thereabouts,” Eric said after a moment’s checking, his HUD scanning the column and making the determination.

Everett nodded, and stepped out, bringing his Coilgun up. The thing hummed for a moment, and then began firing, superheated projectiles slamming into the shield with a dull thud. Eric saw the lead Unicorn tense slightly, the advance faltering.

“REINFORCE!” the stallion called. Other Unicorns moved forward, breaking formation slightly to help him, and the shield steadied.

“Keep firing, Alex,” Eric said softly.

Everett did so, his Coilgun continuing to pump projectiles out at an impressive rate. The shield began cracking slightly under the pressure. Eric motioned to Elise, who stood up, bringing a Desert Eagle out and firing at the shield as well, but still it held.

Eric growled. He activated a rune on his armour: it was designed to absorb excess magic and activate his magic-sink, making the use of his magical abilities safer (theoretically, anyway). Taking a deep breath, he raised his gauntleted left hand, and a burst of golden magic glowed and shot out, slamming into the shield and dissipating it. Eric exhaled.

The Unicorns tried raising it again, but a hail of fire from the Coilgun and Elise’s Desert Eagle quickly tore through the front ranks, preventing them from getting a stable defence up.

A cry went up from somewhere in the column. “CHARGE!”

Eric gritted his teeth. He brought his hand down, before slamming his fist into the ground, creating a shockwave that knocked a group of the oncoming ponies over as they charged. He brought his pistol out and fired, killing some of them where they lay, but their armour was tough, with strong enchantments designed to deflect attacks. Some of the others tried throwing spells at him, but the Coilgun picked them off as Everett covered his position.

Nonetheless, the enemy’s momentum carried them forward. The first pony slammed into Eric, knocking him back, but he lashed out with a punch that hit the pony’s helmet with a dull thud, the sound of cracking bones audible as the pony dropped. Another charged, and Eric grabbed the stallion by the throat, crumpling the throat armour, before throwing him into his colleagues, knocking a few over.

A spell slammed into his armoured pauldron, splashing across the rune-etched armour, leaving no damage.

“As if,” Eric muttered, turning to the stallion who had tried it. He grabbed his Lance rifle from his back and started firing at the Guards, the magically augmented rounds punching through even the elite Ivory Guard armour. He fired round after round at them, until the hammer slammed on an empty chamber.

No more ammo, he thought with a grimace. He dropped the rifle and drew his sword with a smooth motion, as a pair of Ivory Guard charged at him with their spears pointed forward at him. He parried their stabs, before bringing the sword down on one’s head, cleaving it down the middle. With a grunt of exertion he pulled his sword free, swinging downward at the other Guard and snapping the haft of his spear in two, before stabbing him.

Nearby, he saw Everett still firing his Coilgun, spells splashing around him. A concussive spell impacted near him, stunning him, and a pair of Earth Ponies rushed him. Growling, Everett lashed out with the Coilgun, knocking one back. The other pony managed to knock him into the wall of the street, but he brought the Coilgun down on the pony’s head, cracking both the pony’s neck and the gun’s casing. Dropping the useless piece of equipment, Everett drew his own sword.

Elise was happily alternating between firing her Desert Eagle and duelling Guards, her shorter sword more suited in some ways to this tight street. She ducked and weaved through the Guards, her sword slicing, her pistol finding its mark through the smallest of gaps in her enemies’ armour.

Eric parried another stab, swinging his sword around in a decapitating arc. Another Unicorn charged him, swinging a sword, and Eric blocked two of the strikes immediately, before the Unicorn managed to stab past his defence and into his right arm, causing sparks to fly from one of the servos. Reflexively, Eric dropped his sword, and the Unicorn’s horn glowed, before a shove of kinetic magic threw Eric backwards.

Eric growled, leaping back to his feet. He saw his sword lying on the ground, and advanced towards it. A Unicorn charged him, but he lashed out with his undamaged hand, sending the thing’s neck into an impossible angle. His rolled his right shoulder, feeling auto repair functions try to reroute through another servo, and with a grin he raised his right hand, another glow of magic sending a blast that vaporised an Earth Pony’s head. Another spell splashed on his left pauldron, and he felt the metal buckle.

“Eric!” Everett called out, and Eric turned to see his comrade throw his sword at him. Reaching out, Eric grabbed the weapon and activated its flame rune, causing the length of the blade to begin glowing with fiery energy. He grinned beneath his helmet and lashed out, carving through first one pony, then another. He reached his own sword and grabbed it, activating its electricity rune, and the sword began crackling with blue energy. With a flourish, he charged into another Unicorn, decapitating the stallion with a slash, before his fiery sword embedded itself in a mare’s shoulder.

He heard Everett grunting with effort. Turned his head a fraction to see his comrade’s right arm being sliced clean off by a Unicorn sword. He saw Elise charging in, cutting the Unicorn mare down in an instant, but Everett’s injury was still severe, even in the suit would try to auto-compress it.

He spun his swords in his hands, facing the remaining enemy alone. Another group was approaching - another fifty or sixty, his HUD helpfully informed him, from their armour part of the same Cohort - and Eric breathed in, readying himself.

And then a cry came from behind him.

“Come on, maaifoedies!”

A man in a black trenchcoat belted forward, a battered MG3 in his hands, blazing away. Behind him came a group of battered BDF soldiers, their guns firing as they moved to take up defensive positions. A few ponies were with them, a P220 minigun team setting up near the barricades.

Something flew overhead, and Eric saw a man in what looked like modified Paladin armour, a metal quarterstaff in hand, land amongst the Guards, clearing a space. He held up a hand as spells flew in his direction, only for a mint-green shield to block them as Lyra dashed forward, a long dagger held in her magical grip, slicing hither and thither.

Eric grinned, hacking through another Earth Pony that tried to attack him. He had known he could count on Lyra.

Spells flew back at the reinforcements, a couple of BDF troops falling with holes charred through them, but the influx of reserves had clearly broken the assault’s momentum.

At the rear of the Solaminan formation, a cry went up. “PULL BACK TO THE RALLY POINT!!”

And like the well-crafted war-machine they were, the Solaminan forces pulled back, hooves traipsing in unison even as they took fire, Unicorns putting shields up to take the worst of it.

The immediate threat defeated, Eric pulled his helmet off and took a deep breath, relishing the non-filtered air. With a frown, he strode over to Everett, kneeling by his injured comrade.

“Alex?” he asked softly.

Everett pulled his helmet off with his one hand, grimacing in pain, his skin ashen. “I’m alright, Eric. Just… bit woozy. Meds are pissin’ with my brain.”

Eric sighed. “Look after him Elise.”

Elise gave a thumbs up, nodding. Eric turned, and walked past the barricade. Kraber was checking his weapon over with a frown, the old LMG looking as though something had come loose. The armoured man with the quarterstaff was walking back to the barricades, taking his helmet off as he did so, revealing dark skin and a shaved head. He threw Eric a salute.

“X-09, Greg Nox,” he said chirpily, holding out his hand.

“The Aeronaut, yeah,” Eric replied, clasping the man’s hand. “Eric Smith.”

“The first Knight of Albion, I know,” Nox said cheerfully, grinning. “You're something of a legend. Nice holding.”

“We did our best,” Eric said amiably. He noticed Lyra trotting towards him, her expression thunderous. “Excuse me.”

Nox nodded and walked off, as Lyra reached Eric.

“You're an idiot,” she said without preamble.

“I held, didn't I?” Eric retorted.

“Barely, and not for long,” Lyra said. “There were troops here! You didn't need to dismiss them!”

“If I’d let them stay, they'd all be dead,” Eric said quietly. “I couldn't let that happen.”

Lyra scowled. “White Horse’s manure, you are a moron sometimes, Eric Smith! We are always going to lose people, but now you've forced me to pull a bunch of troops from Alpha’s defence -”

“Lyra!” Eric cut her off, holding up a hand. “I know. And I’m sorry. But you and I know he’d make the same call.”

Lyra’s scowl deepened. “Don't remind me.” She took a deep breath. “You're as bad as each other, you idealistic pair of idiots.”

“He told me you were idealistic once, too,” Eric said with a smirk.

Lyra didn't reply. She sighed, slumping onto the floor. Eric sat next to her, a little awkwardly given the armour.

“I wish he was here,” she said quietly. “Even before the whole ‘Avatar’ thing, him being around made me feel better.”

“I know what you mean,” Eric said. “He's such a strong presence…”

“Not just that,” Lyra said softly. “I…” She trailed off, and signed again. “Come on. We need to prepare for the next assault - they’ll be rallying as we speak.”

Eric nodded, and stood up.

The day had only just begun.

***

Point Alpha. 10:00.

The Doctor grimaced as he helped another pony stand up, the injured stallion nodding gratefully as he trotted over to a makeshift medical bay. The old pony shook his head - there was so much to do, and so little time. He smirked mirthlessly at the irony of that - no time, and he, a Time -

Before he could finish the thought, a flare of light erupted in the middle of the room, solidifying into a solid, two dimensional portal, not unlike a pool of water - if a pool of water could be suspended vertically. The Doctor’s eyes widened in shock.

Several troops immediately aimed their rifles at it, panic-stricken looks on their faces.

“Portal attack!” someone cried. “Ready yourselves!”

“Motherfucker!” Vinyl Scratch sword, her horn glowing as she readied some spell - it was impossible to tell whether it was defensive or offensive, but knowing Vinyl, it was probably the latter.

The portal stayed stable for a long moment, no sign of anything coming through. The Doctor took a small silver device from his bandolier and pointed it, a red light buzzing. He glanced at the device as though looking at readings, and frowned.

“It's got a different quantum signature,” he declared.

There was a momentary pause.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Vinyl asked.

The Doctor clucked his tongue. “It isn't coming from Equestria. Or at least, not your Equestria.”

This was met with more silence, as the soldiers surrounding the portal gave each other uncertain looks. Before they could say anything else, though, a pair of figures began to emerge from the portal. The soldiers raised their weapons again - and then lowered them from shock.

A pale, dark haired man in a battered shirt, trousers and boots was standing there, a slight smirk on his face. Next to him was a midnight-blue Alicorn in purple and black armour, a sword girt at her side - impossibly, she seemed to be Princess Luna.

“Uh, hi everyone,” David Elliot said with an awkward wave. “I’m… well, I’m back. And I brought a friend.”

***