Death came to Manehatten in streaks of flame.

Few noticed them, at first. A couple astronomers idly playing with their telescopes while waiting for the sun to finally go down. A few children playing in the park. The occasional pony of questionable mental stability living quite comfortably in a large cardboard box. Oddly enough, not a one of the various doom prophets roaming the streets took any notice, distracted as they were by their endless warnings of impending annihilation.

As the orbital projectiles drew nearer, however, more and more ponies noticed them, including a pink-coated former villain dawdling just outside a Marebucks Coffee.

“Hey, Spike, what do you think those are?” Starlight Glimmer asked, squinting at the balls of fire in the skies. “Meteors, maybe?”

The baby dragon crunched the upper half of a sapphire in his mouth as he looked up. He stroked his scaly chin for a moment before finding his conclusion. “I’m not sure. Maybe, but it’s kinda weird for us to be able to see a shower during the day. Hey, Twilight!”

The lavender alicorn ignored Spike, lost in the various reports she had scattered on the small table before her. Twilight, Spike, Starlight, and the other five Elements of Harmony had been sent to Manehatten a day ago, officially to help prepare the city for the impending war with the mysterious forces of Chaos. Unofficially, the trip was something of a vacation for them after the trauma of the burning of Ponyville. Most had picked up on that fact and taken full advantage of it. Rarity was over at the local branch of her boutique, overseeing the daily operations. Applejack had taken Fluttershy to the zoo. Pinkie Pie had disappeared to somewhere. Of the six Elements of Harmony, only two actually concerned themselves with the letter of their mission, for entirely separate reasons.

Rainbow Dash was still with General Fogey, putting her Wonderbolts training to good use. She helped the local City Guard prepare choke points and ambushes, and had spent hours drilling the Manehatten Volunteer Pegasus Militia. Even a week earlier, and the cyan-coated pony would have avoided such tedium like a cutie pox victim. After what happened to Ponyville?

None of her friends would say it aloud, but they had all understood the look in Rainbow’s eyes as she set off for Fogey’s office. Ponies were dead. Rainbow’s home had been destroyed. The Element of Loyalty was going to make sure Chaos paid for its crimes.

Twilight Sparkle, on the other hand, was less interested in revenge and more in duty, or rather, following orders. She was still acclimating to her role as Princess, and though she had come a long way, old habits were difficult to shake, and an order from Princess Celestia, even one intended as a cover for other matters…

The Princess of Friendship had been trying to organize the logistics of defending Manehatten since their arrival the previous day.

“Twilight!” Spike said again, this time louder.

“Hm, what?” Twilight snapped out of her chart-induced reverie. “What is it, Spike? I’m a bit busy.”

“Starlight and I can’t figure out what those things in the sky are, and I thought you might know,” he said, pointing to the sky.

Twilight looked up. She squinted, trying to get a better look at the strange objects above. A brief memory from just a couple days earlier flittered through her thoughts. A memory of a conversation with her newest friend, on just what had fallen from the sky at Ponyville…

“Drop Pods,” Twilight whispered, frozen in shock. While her body stood still, her mind raced, quickly crunching all available data. Fact: drop pods are used only by aliens. Implication: aliens are descending. Fact: the Blood Angels’ ‘spaceship’ was destroyed two days ago. Fact: Chaos still has spaceships. Analysis: Chaos is coming.

The lavender alicorn lunged out of her chair. “We have to go, now!”

“Twilight? What’s wrong?” Spike asked, his eyes wide with sudden worry.

Starlight was faster on the uptake. “Those things aren’t friendly, are they?”

Twilight shook her head. “Renato said Chaos can send soldiers down in Drop Pods, and when the Blood Angels’ Drop pods came down, they looked a lot like that, remember?”

Starlight gulped. Since leaving Ponyville, she had done her best to not think about that day.

“Come on, we have to get everypony ready!” Twilight said as she flared her wings.

Before any of the trio could move, there was a great crash and the ground shook beneath their hooves. Twilight beat her wings to regain her balance, while Starlight grabbed a nearby table for support. Spike simply fell onto his back.

“Hey,” a voice in the distance said. “What the hay is that thing?”

Twilight looked in the direction of the voice. She screamed at what she saw. “Get away from that!”

The object had slammed into the ground, its red-hot talons punching through the street. It sat immobile for a moment. Curious ponies gathered around, chatting and pondering just what had ruined their street.

Twilight shot off into the air, tearing down the street. She made a sound; whether it was a desperate warning or simply a terrified scream, she would never be sure. Whatever it was, it was too late.

The pod shook and rose, revealing ten monsters in crimson armour. The foremost among them raised a cruel, jagged sword and pointed at the confused crowd of ponies.

“And they shall taste of Lorgar’s fury!” he bellowed.

Not a half-second later, the Word Bearers raised their killing boxes, their boltguns, and opened fire.

Twilight skidded to a stop on the pavement, staring in horror as the horror unfolded before her eyes. It was like Ponyville all over again; ponies screamed and died, their bodies torn apart in bone-shaking explosions, while those who had the luck or skill to survive panicked and fled in every direction, desperate to escape the slaughter.

The ground shook beneath her hooves as more drop pods slammed down, each resting still for a moment before unleashing another band of alien murderers. The streets ran red with blood, and soon the screaming paled in volume to the drumbeat of bolter fire. Not a pony fought back; how could they, when war was so foreign a concept, and these aliens so frightening?

“No!” Twilight screamed, half in horror and half in rage.

A strange feeling rose inside the Princess of Friendship, one she had only truly felt once before. It was strangely familiar, like an echo of a dream; it was like what had flowed through her during her battle with Tirek, though somehow different, purer. Then it had come like a storm, battering her with emotions that were not her own; a lust for adrenaline, an imperative of discipline and careful thought, a hunger for battle, and a strange mixture of unchecked aggression and protective instinct. Now, only the discipline remained. She froze for a fraction of a second, her mind racing to analyze all the available data. In the time between a Chaos Marine yanking the trigger of his boltgun and the boltshell firing, Twilight found the only logical solution. She would hate herself for it, but it made too much sense to take any other path.

She turned and sped back to the coffee shop, skidding next to Starlight and Spike, who had taken cover behind an overturned table.

“What are they doing here?” Starlight demanded, her eyes wild with fear. “Why are they attacking now?”

“I don’t know, and we don’t have time to discuss it. We have to regroup with Rainbow, try and organize a defense,” Twilight responded. She fought back the tears; though her heart ached at the senseless violence erupting across Manehatten, that wave of discipline refused to tolerate them. There would be time for mourning later, when they were safe. She reached out with her magic and grabbed a blank piece of parchment from her note-pile. “Spike, take a message to Princess Celestia.”

Spike snatched a pen and jar of ink from Twilight’s note-bags. “Alright, what?”

Any other day, Twilight would have sent a report explaining what was going on in at least cursory detail. This day, however, she did not have time, as the strange sense of iron discipline reminded her. So she gave the only answer that she could afford.

“Help.”
______

“Get the ammunition loaded! Ten minutes, and we are leaving!” Davvy Modden, former Crew Chief on the Wrath of Angels, bellowed. He wrapped his hands around the case of boltshells and lugged it to the open Rhino. A dozen of his crewmates scampered around him, all occupied by the same task.

Chaplain Alessandro watched in silence, his hands resting on the handle and hilt of his Inferno pistol and Crozius Arcanum. It had been several hours since the War Council had been interrupted, and in all that time, he had not said a word that was not an order. In that frantic first hour, the local xenos had panicked like a Tau Fire Warrior surrounded by Black Templars. They had no intel, no plans, nothing. Save for the Princesses Luna and Celestia, only the latecomer, Shiny Arms, or something like that, and Fancy Pants seemed to be to any degree able to handle the situation. Yet handle it they had.

With twenty minutes orders had been rushed out, army units mobilized. A reconnaissance force of the flying xenos, pegasi, had been dispatched within a half-hour. Irritatingly, they had yet to report back.

Would that I had but five Scouts with me, Alessandro brooded. Then he would have a reliable source of information. Instead he had to rely on the word of xenos. It galled him to be so close to them; had it not been for Renato’s discovery he would have simply purged them all after the first skirmish and been done with the matter.

Or so the Chaplain told himself. He was still disturbed by the effect Celestia had on him and his battle-brothers. Many times in the past two days he had wondered just how much that played into his decision.

Am I already corrupted? Would I know if I was?

Such thoughts plagued the Blood Angel in his moments of inactive solitude. Which had of late been annoyingly frequent; given that the stranded Marines had no vehicles which could transport Terminator Armour, it had been decided that Renato and Paolo would remain in the xenos city and simply teleport in once a homer had been set up.

So Alessandro watched his forces prepare. They were at the foot of the mountain on which the xenos city rested, in the makeshift camp established by Cosimo. It was a pathetic defensive position, but until they found a better place, it was all they could manage to store their arsenal. Only one Stormraven, Kantor’s Blade, dwelled elsewhere, resting kilometers above in the makeshift compound the xenos had hastily assembled for the Imperial forces.

The Honour of Meros, that special Stormraven, the one modified by the late Techmarine Fario to hold jump packs without sacrificing space for more Marines, was not thirty meters from Alessandro at the moment. Chapter Serfs and former crew of the Wrath of Angels scurried about it, strapping Castello in and ensuring the newly installed Servitor pilots were ready for service. The scent of burning incense wafted through the air, though Alessandro smelled it not. He had spent centuries serving the Imperium, and though he, like all Space Marines, greatly appreciated the constructs of the Tech-Priests, he had long since lost any care for the smell of their rituals.

Soon the Stormraven would be in Orlando’s care. After the initial recon force was dispatched, that had been the first decision the War Council had made; Orlando would lead a relief force to ‘Manehatten,’ accompanied by roughly a thousand ponies coming by rail and Princess Luna herself, at the head of her Lunar Guard. Alessandro would lead a second wave of reinforcements, bringing their Rhinos and Predators.

“Holy Chaplain?” the voice of a Space Marine, Brother Severin, if Alessandro remembered the young Marine’s voice correctly, intruded on his brooding.

Alessandro turned to the Assault Marine, his hands still resting on the grips of his weapons. “What troubles you, brother?”

The Chaplain’s heart fell; at a glance he knew, as surely as he knew the sound of a firing boltgun, what had happened. The way Severin stood, the subtle shifts in stance that only the genhanced eyes of a Space Marine could perceive. Alessandro had seen it so many times, too many times, in his service. It seemed the time had come for him to execute the least glorious duty of his office.

“It’s Brother Adamo,” Severin said. “He…”

Alessandro stepped forward and laid his hand on Severin’s shoulder. “Take me to him. Then take Brother Benito and bring the ebony paint. I shall administer the last rites.”

Severin did as he was bid, silently guiding Alessandro through the bustling war camp until they came to a secluded corner. Sergeant Priam stood waiting, a Power Sword strapped to his belt. An all-too familiar clatter echoed from just around the corner of a nearby crate, the sound of ceramite struggling against adamantium chains.

“When did it start?” Alessandro asked. Severin bowed respectfully and slipped away.

Priam sighed, his tone carrying the distinct edge all veteran Blood Angels had when discussing the Flaw. “Eleven minutes ago. I sent Severin over as soon as I realized what was going on. Blasted shame, he had such promise.”

“Aye, shame. For him, and for us all,” the Chaplain replied. “If he could not control the Flaw, then that potential means nothing. It is his loss, the Chapter’s loss, and our Holy Gene-Father’s loss. Once, he may well have become a Captain. Now, there is but one final duty for him.”

“Sergeant, Holy Chaplain,” Severin interrupted. Alessandro turned to see the young Marine and Brother Benito holding the sacred canisters. “As you requested, sir.”

“Good. Now go, the both of you. Gather you weapons from Cosimo, and meet Orlando by the Stormraven. The Sergeant will join you shortly,” Alessandro said.

The Assault Marines bowed and jogged off, quite relieved to be away from their fallen brother, if only for now. It was a feeling all blood Angels knew, the accursed revilement of their brothers. It was a mixture of horror, pity and fear that was unique to the Sons of the Angel. Horror, that a brother would be so degraded in mind. Pity, that he had not the will to retain control of the Thirst. Fear, that one day, if death did not come first, that all of Sanguinius’ brood would become like them.

Priam and Alessandro said nothing as they took the paint canisters, for there was nothing to be said. Though the latter had easily a century of experience over the sergeant, both were veterans of the Chapter. They had seen dozens, hundreds of brothers fall over the years. In their youths they had wept and fled, unable to stand the sight of their lost brothers. Now, after so many years and so many deaths, they knew full well that there was no escape. And where there is no escape, it was the way of the Space Marines to simply carry out their duty to the last.

Around the corner lay the source of this unwanted trouble, Brother Adamo. Alessandro stood still for a moment as he looked at his battle-brother.

Adamo’s face was obscured by his helmet, all the better to soften his frothing screams. His roars and cries were filtered by the vox, their volume so reduced as to only be heard by the ears of the Astartes. He jerked and struggled against the half-dozen chains which bound him to the crate. The chains groaned, their sound too quiet for any but the gene-forged ears of the Adeptus Astartes to hear, against the pressure; a Space Marine was mighty in sanity, and it only swelled in those of Adamo’s ilk. His fingers flexed and twitched, grasping for weapons that were not there. Everything he could wield as a weapon save for his own two hands had been removed from his reach.

Though he had already known, it was always crushing for Alessandro to see it with his own eyes. Knowing his duty, he spoke the words, the proclamation of final condemnation that the Chaplains of the Blood Angels and all their Successors knew.

“Brother Adamo, you have been lost to the Flaw, to the Black Rage which burns within us all,” he recited as he had so many times before. “In the Name of Sanguinius, I now welcome you into the company of death.”

Priam and Alessandro approached their brother and raised the paint canisters. It was a ritual they both knew well, to paint a brother’s armour black. It was slow, difficult as it was to paint a Marine in the throes of the Rage. Adamo struggled against them, mumbling and screaming inside his helmet. Soon his words would be heard, but not now, not when there was still a chance to hide the Flaw from the xenos. It was a secret that was only for Blood Angels to know; as long as he could, Alessandro would keep the xenos from learning of it.

As Priam and Alessandro worked, Adamo frothed in madness, his battle-cries and demands for blood broken up by brief snatches of seeming lucidity.

“Russ? How did you come here?” Adamo said, staring at Alessandro. The fallen Marine shook his head. “It matters not, come! Horus waits above and Father rises to meet him. With me, brother! He will need our steel ere the end!”

“Yes, Brother,” Alessandro said. To his knowledge, there was not a single Chaplain who did not in some way sadly humour the madness of the Death Company. “Horus awaits, and soon you will face him. Give us but a moment to finish your armour and retrieve your sword.”

Adamo gave no reply but a scream, followed by a furious hiss about something burning against his wings. Alessandro and Priam ignored the comment; it was simply further proof of what they already knew, that the Black Rage had taken yet another brother from them.

At last they finished and stepped back. Adamo was a grim sight, coated in black; only a couple crosses remained as any evidence of the former crimson of his armour. No longer was he a noble Space Marine, a defender of humanity in its darkest hours; such a fate was lost to the rabid Marine. Yet, as the Sons of Sanguinius had long ago learned, even one as lost as he could yet serve one final duty. Adamo would be a monster, a weapon aimed and fired at the enemies of Mankind. He would fight, he would kill, and he would die, and in doing so redeem himself.

“Priam, make sure he reaches the Stormraven unnoticed. Chain him to his seat, and unleash him when you arrive,” Alessandro said. “And arm him with a Power Sword and Plasma Pistol. Though all he could have been is lost, he is still our brother, and deserves this last chance to smite the foes of the Emperor.”

“Aye, Chaplain,” Priam said simply. He turned back to the new Death Company Marine and whispered a prayer. “O Emperor, father of noble Sanguinius, hear me. Let me die in battle ere the madness takes me, that my brothers may not be forced to see me so.”

Alessandro laid a comforting hand on Priam’s shoulder. “Fear not, brother. Whether death or the Rage takes you, you will serve the Emperor well. And your brothers will endure, as we have endured. The Flaw is our curse, aye, but never forget that it is also our strength. All must one day succumb, but the Sons of Baal are strong. We, you, may yet delay this end. And one day, maybe Corbulo will succeed. Until then, hold strong, Priam, and remember that above all else, the Emperor Protects.”

Priam turned to the Chaplain and nodded.

“Be well brother,” Alessandro continued. “Now, take Adamo to his final battle. I cannot be there this time, and so the duty of shepherding him must fall to you. Let his death buy for us the blood of the heretics.”

There was nothing more to say, and both Marines were old enough to understand that. Priam nodded again and set about carefully unbinding Adamo, keeping the Marine in check with a half-hearted rendition of Roubute Guilliman.

Alessandro left. His heart was heavier now, but he had duties yet to perform. Battle was soon to be joined. As a Chaplain, Alessandro believed that war was the highest song of praise one could offer the Emperor. Though Adamo’s loss was tragic, the battle still lay ahead.

And deep in his bones, Alessandro knew it would be a bloody day, however it may turn out.
_____

On the edge of Manehatten, just a couple blocks from the train station, Lieutenant Flash Sentry of the Crystal Guard was in a tight spot.

Just a couple hours earlier he had volunteered to lead a reconnaissance force to the city. Twelve pegasi, all trained as scouts or hunters, hastily assembled by order of the War Council. The plan had been to fly in low, get a quick view of the situation, and then retreat with whatever information they could gather.

That plan had lasted all of fifteen minutes after their arrival.

Now, after hours of desperately dodging alien fire and hastily fleeing down blood-soaked streets, Flash and the other five surviving scouts were bunkered down in the ruins of a confectionary, trying to avoid a very messy death at the hooves of the alien invaders he had been told were called ‘Word Bearers.’

“Surly, get that table over here now!” Flash hissed at the brown-coated pegasi. “They’re almost through the wall!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Sergeant Surly, a member of the Solar Guard, mumbled as shoved the heavy table across the old wooden floor. The solitary lightbulb in the rom flickered as the room shook under another explosive volley from the Word Bearers.

Flash took a peak through the makeshift barrier they had cobbled together. He groaned. “Great, now there’s eight of them. Luna curse them, where are they all coming from?”

“Fire in the hole!” Hot Fumes shouted. Everypony in the room dropped to the ground as the mare fired threw a makeshift explosive at the Word Bearers. Fumes was a member of Flash’s usual squad, and had always had a knack for explosions. Most days, it was an eccentricity that Flash tolerated because of the mare’s otherwise exceptional conduct.

This day, Hot Fumes’ ability to make bombs out of almost anything was all that was keeping them alive.

The world beyond their deteriorating wall burst into flames as the bottle shattered. Flash heard one of the Word Bearers shout something in a language he couldn’t understand, and the fusillade stopped for a precious moment.

Within a few seconds, however, it had resumed. The building shook, dust falling from the ceiling as their supports were blown apart.

“Leftenant, we need to get outta here now,” Red Ensign, a mercenary from Trotonto who had been hired by the Equestrian Army just a couple weeks earlier, said. “I’m surprised the wall has lasted this long, and I don’t think it’ll last more’n a minute now.”

“I know,” was all Flash Sentry could say. He crawled away from the barricade and stuck his head into the back room. With all the debris and furniture they had moved to create the wall, the path out was surprisingly clear. He snuck back to the squad. “Alright, here’s the plan. Fumes, I need two more blast-glasses. When I give the order, throw them both. While the Word Bearers are distracted, we’ll back a break for the back door, try and escape down the alleyways. Got it?”

Surly groaned, but still nodded with the rest of the team.

“Bombs ready, Flash,” Fumes said, a bottle in each hoof.

Everypony tensed, ready to dash at a moment’s notice.

An explosion tore open half the makeshift wall, leaving the ponies hopelessly exposed.

“Fumes, now!” Flash shouted.

As fire wreathed the street, the ponies fled, dodging enemy fire with every step. Red Ensign was the first through the door, bursting it open with his heavy-set northern physique. The rest of the team followed closely behind. A moment later, Flash took the lead, guiding the pegasi down the narrow alleyway they had found themselves in.

They ran around several corners, and amidst the adrenaline not even Flash could quite tell how much time had passed. The flight came to an abrupt end after what seemed to be almost a minute, when one of the team slipped and hit the ground hard. There was a sickening crack as the mare slammed into a wall edge.

“Gah! My leg!” Soft Wind, the least experienced surviving scout in the team, gripped her left rear-leg in her hooves, rocking back and forth on her flank. “I think it’s broken!”

“Well buck me,” Red Ensign said. “Anypony got any medpacks left? Anything? No? Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

Grumbling quietly, Red Ensign began cobbling together a makeshift splint out of garbage, debris, and what he could scrounge from his pack.

“Surly, Blusterwind, you’re on look-out. Fumes, get over here,” Flash Sentry quickly ordered. Blusterwind, the last survivor, nodded and glided back down the alleyway while Surly trotted ahead. Flash groaned; a wounded pony was the last thing he needed now.

“What you need, Flash?” Hot Fumes asked.

“A miracle,” Flash answered. He sighed. “We’ve got to get out of here. The princesses need to know what’s going on, and that almost none of our weaponry works on these guys.”

Fumes fell back on her rump and tapped her chin. “But we don’t know where we are right now, we’re probably cut off, and trying to fly out will just get us all… Well, Grin didn’t look good after that.”

Flash flinched as he recalled how Grinning Berit had died. The poor stallion had tried to fly over the Word Bearers, only to get torn apart by massed fire. Flash doubted they could find enough to bury him now.

A clatter of hooves told Flash that whatever plan he might have had would need to be quickly enacted.

Surly barked his warning. “Word Bearers coming this way! Boltpistols and chainaxes, and a couple had really weird, oversized hooves, er, hands.”

Just a moment later, Blusterwind burst around the corner. “Word Bearers, prob’ly the same group what had us pinned. Can’t get out this way.”

“Well, horseapples,” Red Ensign grunted out as he finished bandaging Soft Wind’s leg. “Got to start getting paid in advance for these jobs.”

Flash Sentry’s heart plummeted. So this is how it ends? They were cut off in an alleyway; no way to escape, and no way of reliably harming their foes. The yellow-orange stallion turned his gaze to the sword hanging on his side. The weapon had been a gift from Prince Shining Armour for his help during the Sunset Shimmer incident. Apparently, this Crystal Blade had been intended as a gift for one of Sombra’s generals before the War With Sombra. Shining Armour had found it collecting dust in an armoury. So far it had proven the closest thing they had to a reliable defense against the Word Bearers; its blade was almost unnaturally sharp, and if he could angle the blow just right, Flash could slice through almost any armour, or so it seemed.

He gripped the hilt in his mouth and drew the blade. If he was going to die today, he would die standing.

“Get ready, ponies,” Flash mumbled as coherently as he could. “We’re making our stand here. We can’t run, so we’ll fight. Who’s with me?”

The pegasi were silent for a moment. It was a dreadful moment; the air was filled with far-off screams, the crackle of a burning city, the deep intonation of the Word Bearers’ chants, and the crescendo of approaching alien hoofsteps.

Red Ensign was the first to speak. “Ah, what the hay. I’ve got nothing better to do today.”

“Bombs ready, Flash,” Hot Fumes said with a grin.

The rest of the ponies followed suit, mumbling an agreement of some form, save for Soft Wind, who could only look mournfully on.

“What’s the point?” the wounded mare asked, tears forming in her eyes. “We can’t hurt them, and even if we could, they’ve got those boxes that spit fire, they could kill us all before we even get close. Why bother fighting when we can’t win? Why bother struggling when we’re all just going to die anyway?”

Before Flash could muster a suitable response, a sudden blur of pink fur appeared in the midst of the pegasi.

“Silly filly, you’re not going to die! Well, we’re all going to die someday, but you’re not going to die right now, unless you’ve got some horrifyingly dangerous condition that you haven’t told anypony about and your heart is about to just explode inside your chest like badly baked pie…”

Flash Sentry quickly recognized the strange interloper as Pinkie Pie, the Element of Laughter and one of Princess Twilight Sparkle’s best friends. Shining Armour had said that the Elements were all in Manehatten, but Flash had not expected to actually find any on the scouting mission, let alone for one to simply appear out of thin air.

“Miss Pie, excuse me, but what do you mean?” Flash asked.

Pinkie Pie laughed and smiled. “Just what I said, Flashie! Help’s coming, just you wait! Give ’em about ten seconds, then you’ll be fine. But watch out for the one in black! He’s a meanie.”

“Who are you talk…” Flash trailed off when he realized that Pinkie Pie was no longer there. He turned to the other pegasi. “You saw that, right? I’m not going crazy?”

Surly grumbled something unintelligible through the brick he had lodged in his mouth as a makeshift weapon. Red Ensign simply laughed.

“Not anymore than the rest of us,” the Trotontonian said with a grin. “Now, what’s this about help? Think the Princesses got the relief force together?”

As though in answer to the question, a new sound tore through the air, overpowering the clatter and screams of the slaughter. It was as though the air were being torn apart by some sort of sharpened club. A moment later, a mighty, unending roar became audible. Both sounds grew louder and louder, and then were joined by a third sound. It was like when the Word Bearers fired their boltguns, only this seemed a dozen times louder. Roars of rage and pain echoed around the corner, soon to be followed by the clattering of metal and alien stone on the pavement.

The pegasi looked to each other for a moment.

“Hot Fumes, cover our rear,” Flash ordered. “Surly, Blusterwinds, take Soft Wind. Red Ensign, we’re on point.”

The ponies fell into formation and carefully advanced towards the strange sounds. Before they had taken five steps, the roar of flames shook their ears for a moment before falling silent. In that same moment a single voice boomed.

“Offer your final prayers, heretic! This day you face Orlando of the Blood Angels!”

Then came a clashing of steel and alien stone. The fray raged for a brief moment, and then simply ended. There was shouting and screaming and the roaring of chainaxes, and then it was over. A last of roaring flame and the return of the air-tearing sound, and as much silence as could be found that day fell.

Flash Sentry cautiously trotted around the corner. He saw before him a sight that on any other day he would have found disgustingly gruesome, but that this day he found strangely comforting. Five of the alien Blood Angels stood before him, surrounded by the bloody remains of their foes. Alien armour was torn open and the invaders’ blood flowed freely into the street. Boltpistols and chainaxes were scattered about, each strangely attached by chains to the arms of their former wielders. The Blood Angels had not a mark on them save for the spattering of blood.

The Blood Angels standing before Flash Sentry were quite a sight; three were clad in the common red armour Flash had seen most of their kind wearing. One of these carried a tube, a meltagun, if Flash remembered the briefing correctly, while the other carried what seemed to be a cut-down version of the same weapon and a glowing blue sword. The last of the red-armoured ones carried a sheening brass sword and a hefty shield. With these three also stood a warrior in armour as white as the snow which surrounded the Crystal Empire, a blood-red sword in one hand and a golden cup in the other. The last was clad in enough gold to make a Solar Guardspony feel inadequate, with two massive white wings stretching out from his back and a massive blue sword in its hands.

The shieldbearer turned to face Flash. It spoke, its voice taking on a strangely heroic quality, albeit one muddied by the strange metallic accent all the Blood Angels seemed to have.

“Hail, xenos! Banish your fear, for the Sons of Baal have arrived,” he said. “I am Orlando, Champion of the Fourth Company, here to command the speartip of the assault.”

“Lieutenant Flash Sentry of the Crystal Empire, at your service,” Flash recited the response by rote. “And currently leader of the scout team.”

The white one chuckled. “So you’re not dead after all? Seems you lot are hardier than you look. Bit lack for recon, though.”

“We were delayed,” Flash explained as he and his team trotted out into the street. “Spent hours just trying to stay alive.”

“Well you’ve certainly done that,” Orlando said, taking a step forward. He gestured up the street, towards the centre of Manehatten. “Tell me, are you up for a bit more? We’re the vanguard, and we could use all the blades we can find.”

Flash looked back at his fellows scouts. They were weary and worn. Soft Winds was too wounded to be of any use in battle. He turned back to Orlando. “I’ll come with you. The rest of my squad can pull back to the forward operating to liaise with command.”

“Oh no,” Hot Fumes said, storming up beside Flash. “You are not going back in there without me.”

Red Ensign trotted to Flash’s other side. He shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve nothing better to do today, leftenant. Count me in.”

“I suppose I should come as well,” Blusterwinds said, joining his fellows. “It’s what Grin would’ve wanted, I think.”

Flash turned to Sergeant Surly. The veteran shrugged.

“I’m certainly not coming,” he said. “Somepony’s got to get Soft Wind here back to base, and my orders are fulfilled. I’m not coming back to this Tartarus-hole unless Celestia herself says so.”

“How about Princess Luna?” Orlando asked off-handedly. “She’s leading your forces right now.”

Surly simply shrugged and started off, grunting under the weight of Soft Wind.

Orlando turned his attention back to Flash Sentry. “Four winged equine xenos. Never thought I’d be storming a city like this. But if the Chaplain says play nice…”

Flash walked up beside the Blood Angel. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

The white one chuckled again. “Aye. There are heretics out there, just waiting to slake the Knife’s thirst. For Terra and Baal!”

The Blood Angels repeated the cry and began their march down the bloody street. Flash Sentry turned to his fellows. He nodded and the lot of them smiled. The Blood Angels were not the only ones with a battle-cry.

“For the Princesses and Equestria!”

Author's Notes:

A/n: If anyone has a better name then “Trotonto” for Equestrian Toronto or Equestrian Canada, suggestions would be very much so appreciated.

Rolled results for the fight at the end: 4 killed by Hurricane Bolters, 2 by Twin-Linked Assault Cannons, 1 by Hammer of Wrath, 2 by Brother Placido (the one with the Inferno Pistol and Power Sword), and the Sarge was gutted by Orlando in a challenge. Chaos never got to strike back.

For reference, this was a squad of Berzerkers. Blood Angels dominate on the charge.

I feel here is a good place to say that for purposes of the simulated battles, I’m counting the Blood Angels as part of a Baal Strike Force, that is, they benefit from the Red Thirst for +1 Initiative in the charge. When I roll Alessandro’s Warlord Trait, it’ll remain the same for the rest of the story.

Also, hooray! Games Workshop FAQ’ed our Dreadnoughts with +2 attacks! Castello just got a lot more dangerous.

And for those who might care, I have a little gift: statlines for the Equestrians! Starting this chapter, I’m going to include homebrew 40k rules for the forces of Equus. I’ll release them in the chapter a new character or unit first appears in battle. When the story’s done I’ll see if I can cobble together a fan codex or something. Feedback on balancing and point-costing would be greatly appreciated.

This week we have 1 Elites and 1 Troops.

Pegasi Flight Squad 40 points (Troops)

Pegasus Warrior: WS3 BS2 S3 T3 W1 I3 A2 Ld6 Sv5+

Pegasus Sergeant: WS3 BS2 S3 T3 W1 I3 A2 Ld7 Sv5+

Unit Type: Jetbike

Unit Composition: 9 Pegasus Warriors, 1 Pegasus Sergeant

Wargear: Equestrian Steel Armour, Pegasi Wings

Flash Sentry 45 points (Elites)

Flash Sentry: WS3 BS2 S3 T3 W2 I3 A2 Ld8 Sv5+

Unit Type: Jetbike

Wargear: Equestrian Steel Armour, Crystal Sabre, Pegasi Wings

Special Rules: Stubborn, For the Princess!, Crystal Pony, Independent Character

For the Princess!: if Flash Sentry is part of a squad which also contains any model with the Princess of Equestria special rule, then he must automatically succeed on any Look Out, Sir! Roll to redirect a wound from the Princess. If he suffers a wound in this manner, he may take a 5+ Feel No Pain roll against the wound.

Crystal Sabre: A gift from Prince Shining Armour himself, this ancient weapon was once intended as a gift for one of Sombra’s favoured generals before his fall to darkness. Though it was never used, it is still imbued with the magic of the Crystal-Smiths.

It has the following statline: S User, AP5, Master-Crafted, Rending.

And the special rules:

Pegasi Wings: this rule causes the model to count as being a Jetbike

Crystal Pony: due to the unique relationship between the Crystal Heart and the inhabitants of the Crystal Empire, the Crystal Ponies are able to temporarily take on a more durable form when imbued with sufficient love. Once a game, at the beginning of the controlling player’s turn, a model with this rule may choose to turn Crystal, gaining a 5+ Feel No Pain until the beginning of the controlling player’s next turn.

And the wargear:

Equestrian Steel Armour: gives a 5+ save