The empty seats in the Rhino weighed heavily on Marco’s hearts.

It was a strange thing. He was a Space Marine, a proud son of Baal. For decades he had served the Emperor, and in those years he had lost many battle-brothers. Some had been little more than acquaintances, others, the dearest of friends. Every one had been a loss, both to the Chapter and to Marco himself. Yet in all those years, none of those deaths had hung over him like those empty seats.

It was the oddity of the filled seats, perhaps, that left him so disturbed. In all those years, he had never ridden into battle with an incomplete squad. The Codex Astartes set the deployment of squads at five or ten Marines. Squad Murata currently had seven. With the Holy Chaplain accompanying them, they had two empty seats in the vehicle. One for each heart in a Space Marine.

Marco double-checked the tank on his heavy flamer. For the fifth time since they had left the xenos city.

A ceramite-clad hand clapped on Marco’s pauldron. He flinched at the unexpected contact, his emerald-eyed helm swinging around. He froze in surprise as his genhanced eyes fell on the Chaplain Alessandro himself.

“Be of good heart, brother,” Alessandro said. “Your brothers stand at the Emperor’s side. Balance your humours, and let your mourning end. They are dead, and we have wept for them. Now, our duty calls, and we shall ride to glory and vengeance on the wings of the Angel.”

“Chaplain! I…” Marco stammered. “How…”

Marco could swear that beneath his skull-helmet, Alessandro was smiling.

“We are the Emperor’s Proud Sons, Brother Marco, but we are still born human,” Alessandro said. “And I have led our brothers into battle long enough to recognize the scent of melancholy when it rises.”

With that, the Chaplain returned to his seat. Veteran Sergeant Dabriel chuckled softly.

“Ah, this brings back memories,” Dabriel said. “You know, lad, the good Chaplain gave me the same speech, once.”

Alessandro huffed and walked over to the command panel, keeping a close eye on the auspex scans.

Dabriel leaned forward, the emerald lenses of his helm almost gleaming with enthusiasm as he began his tale.

“It was forty-three years ago, now. Most of you would’ve been too fresh to see service. I was fresh out of the Devastators, just like you, Marco,” he said. He stroked the beak-like snout of his Mk. 4 helmet. “In fact, I was on… Say, let me see your…”

Dabriel snatched the heavy flamer form Marco’s hands, turning it over and inspecting the weapon. A moment later, the sergeant shrugged and returned it.

“Sorry, I was just wondering if it was the same one,” Dabriel explained. “Anyway, I was on flamer duty, and we were deploying to Armaggedon.”
Brother Severo sighed, tapping the butt of his meltagun against the Rhino’s floor. “Sergeant, we all know what happened on Armaggedon. How could this possibly relate to us here?”

“Do be quiet, Severo, and be not so flippant with that gun” Dabriel replied. “We had successfully deployed to the planet’s surface, and were rushing to what we thought was Ghazghkull’s headquarters, when out of nowhere…”

Dabriel’s story was interrupted by a beeping form the auspex. Squad Murata turned to listen, their gene-forged ears picking up every micro-fluctuation in the sound.

Chaplain Alessandro groaned. He gestured to the squad. “Dabriel, Marco, Jagus, with me. It seems we have guests.”

Dabriel sighed. “At this rate I’ll never finish the story. Ah well, up and at it, lads.”

Marco followed dutifully, hefting the heavy flamer and falling in line behind Dabriel and Alessandro. Jagus, a longstanding fixture of Squad Murata, came last. The hair on the back of Marco’s neck bristled as his battle-brother slipped out of view. He couldn’t explain why, but something about Jagus this day left him… uneasy. Jagus was quiet, and prone to the occasional eccentricity, but in the admittedly short time Marco had known him, he had never seen Jagus as… twitchy as he had today.

Probably just not used to fighting without Tonio’s bad jokes, Marco figured. He forced the matter out of his mind as they exited the Rhino.
For a moment, Marco wondered just who these ‘guests’ could be. That passing question was answered but a moment later, as two of the local xenos slowly approached them. With the precision of his genhanced sight, Marco took full stock of the pair. One was of the winged sub-species, while the other was of the simpler stock, devoid of any special characteristics. Of note, however, was that the normal xenos was clad in the golden armour the local ‘Solar Guard’ seemed to favour.

The xenos commander, Shining Armor, if Marco recalled correctly, trotted up.

“By the Sun, Sergeant Surly? Is that you?” Shining called.

The Solar Guard barked a response. “Darn right, Captain. Can I get some help here? I’ve got wounded.”

Shining nodded to a pair of its guards, which rushed off and relieved Surly of its burden.

“Grab some soldiers, have them escort her back to the bridge,” Shining ordered its guards before turning to Surly. “What happened to you? We thought you were dead! Where’s the rest of the recon team?”

Surly sighed. “Ambush and superior firepower. These Wordies or whatever are nasty in a fight. Killed half our squad, would’ve gotten more if Sentry hadn’t kept us moving. He’s got the rest of us with him. Linked up with one of our aliens, Orange Load, or whatever. I came back to drop off Soft Wind and get the Tartarus out of Dodge.”

Marco saw Shining’s eyebrow rise. It was a disturbingly human act.

“I’ve never known you to run from a fight, Surly,” Shining said. “What’s going on here?”

“It… Where in Sam Hill do I start?” Surly sighed. “There’s not a shred of mercy in those sons of nightmares. I saw ‘em murdering civvies, then pile ‘em up into mounds that made your eyes hurt if you looked at ‘em too long. I don’t know what in Luna’s unmentionables they’re doing here, but I’ve had enough. I’m taking Softie here back to HQ, then I’m getting the first train back to Canterlot.”

“Orange load… Orlando? You say you encountered Orlando?” Alessandro interrupted. “Where has he gone? Why have we received no word from him?”

Surly took a step back, casting its eyes Alessandro’s black-armoured form.

Shining spoke. “He’s alright, Surly. This is Alessandro, the Blood Angels leader. You were briefed on him before the mission, remember?”
“Of course I was,” Surly snapped. “It’s just something somepony we ran into said… ‘watch out for the one in black.’ That weird mare claimed he’d be a ‘meanie.’ Luna’s knickers I’m getting too old for this.”

Alessandro stroked the chin of his skull-helmet. Marco suppressed an instinctive flinch. While that description as apt for the Chaplain, at least when dealing with xenos, it could just as easily fit the Death Company. Marco turned his head slightly, looking to the Chaplain for guidance. Out of the corner of his genhanced eyes, he saw that Jagus and Dabriel had similarly turned.

The Chaplain shook his head, the movement too subtle for mortal eyes to catch, but as clear as blood on white snow to the Astartes. No mention of the Flaw would be made to these xenos. “I weary of this drivel. Xenos, if you know where Orlando is, tell me. If not, then be gone. I will permit no further delays.”

“I don’t know where he went or what he’s doing, if he’s still kicking,” Surly answered. The white-furred xenos bristled with irritation. “He and the lieutenant marched up the street, this street, following after some big metal bird. I carried Soft Wind back. Last I saw, they were running around a corner. Now can I get moving? Softie here needs a medic.”

Shining Armor nodded. “Sturdy, throw together an escort for the Sergeant here. See if you can find some of the more frightened ponies, get them out before they run.”

Shining’s assistant nodded and led Surly away. Alessandro returned to the Rhino, Marco and the rest simply falling into line silently behind him.

Within a minute the column was moving again, Rhinos and Predators rumbling through the streets of the xenos city. Dabriel resumed his story. Marco paid him the kind of attention only an Astartes could give, fully aware of every word being spoken, but not consciously listening. The young Space Marine allowed his mind to wander, retreating into thoughts of the battle to come.

A short time later, the Rhinos ground to a halt again. Squad Murata shook at the abruptness of the stop, gently tossed side-to-side by the rocking chassis of the Rhino. The ramp dropped and they marched out. Were it not for their reduced numbers, it would have been a perfect Codex-approved deployment, each Marine in his place, weapons raised and ready to fire. Alessandro exited last, gripping the haft of his Crozius like a lifeline.

With the squad deployed, Marco took a moment to assess his surroundings. A strange sense of familiarity, of home, washed over him as he took in the battlefield around him.

Hundreds of corpses littered the street. Most were mere cultists, the dregs of humanity, fools, mutants, and weaklings who had sold their souls to the Ruinous Powers. Here and there he caught sight of a traitor Astartes; here, a Word Bearer, there a Noise Marine. The street was stained dark brown with congealed blood. The scent of rot saturated the foetid air, bellowing up from the dead like smoke from a smouldering fire. In the distance was a ruined husk of a building, a concrete slab that, if the remains of the sign hanging above its shattered doors meant what Marco believed it did, had once been a Police Headquarters. Marco chose to ignore the eerie similarity between the sign and the Low Gothic script. In front of the ruin rested the husks of several vehicles. Three Word Bearers Rhinos, their crimson paint charred black by melta scarring.

A thought occurred to Marco, a niggling inconsistency in the design of one of the Rhinos that quickly bloomed into a horrifying realization. He called out, “Chaplain!”

Alessandro spun to face Marco, then followed the young Marine’s outstretched finger. The Chaplain’s back straightened as he too saw it.

“The Honour of Meros! They have slain it!” he cried. He ran, followed mere microseconds after by Squad Murata. They ignored the Predators and the human conscripts, ignored their xenos allies and the corpses on which they all stood. Their feet pounding on the pavement like ceramite pistons, they surged up the street until at last they reached the corpse of the Stormraven.

Dabriel placed a gauntleted hand on the charred plates of the Stormraven. “And so ends all but the last of Fario’s legacy. Horus take these heretics!”

Alessandro slowly exhaled, controlling the release of his breath just like he controlled the release of the fury Marco could feel was blazing in the Chaplain’s chest. “He shall be avenged, like all our brothers.”

“Holy Chaplain, I do not mean to interrupt,” Brother Severo said, stepping forward and dragging his own hand along the Stormraven’s husk. “But how did Chaos manage this? The hulk is charred, but this is unlike any melta blast I have ever seen. More like a flame…”

Severo’s words trailed off as a horrible, mechanical roar tore through the air. The Blood Angels tensed, readying their weapons and raising their gene-forged eyes to the sky. They heard the clatter and thumping of hooves on pavement and aging cadavers, but cared not. Their foe was above; no land-bound monster did they seek.

“What’s going on?” Shining Armor asked. In the corner of his eye, Marco saw the xenos commander following his battle-brothers’ gazes. Shining’s jaw fell slack but a moment later, dumbstruck by the same sight that set the Blood Angels to battle-readiness.

Adorned in dark crimson and lined with tainted gold, a Word Bearers Heldrake soared around the corner, spewing fire from its Warp-cursed maw. Its wings were outstretched, just barely thin enough to avoid clipping the tall xenos buildings. Its talons rested, curled up beneath its metallic underbelly.

“Battle-brothers! Take cover, and ready your boltguns!” Alessandro roared. “Hold your fire until the beast has passed us. When it shows its back, we shall strike it from the Emperor’s skies!”

Squad Murata scattered. It was an act that to mortal observers might indicate poor discipline in their ranks. Such an analysis would be entirely wrong. It was a calculated scattering, an act of supreme precision the likes of which was all but unheard of among mere humanity. Half the squad joined Severo and Alessandro as they dove into the Honour of Meros, taking cover and waiting for the moment their meltaguns might come in range. The rest, including young Marco, followed Dabriel, who rushed towards one of the Chaos Rhinos. He slowed as he crossed the street, his gaze falling upon one of the corpses which littered it.

“Brother-Sergeant! We must hurry!” Marco called out, his mouth moving before his mind could still his tongue.

Dabriel sheathed his power sword and holstered his boltpistol. In the same motion, he swept his hands along the ground, snatching up a plasma pistol and a new power sword from the frozen grip of a charred corpse. Without so much as a pause, the veteran sergeant continued his dash for cover.

“Come along, Brother Marco,” Dabriel called. “You’ll do us no good just standing there!”

Marco slipped into cover with Dabriel and two other members of Squad Murata. Dabriel turned to his battle-brothers.

“Ready your boltguns,” he said, a grin in his very tone. “But hold your fire until the Chaplain gives word. This shall be just like Qarhenna.”

Marco hefted his heavy flamer onto the maglocks on his backpack and drew his boltpistol. Out of the corner of his genhanced eye, the Blood Angel watched the xenos scatter, fleeing into the nearby buildings and taking whatever cover they could find. The Rhinos rolled back, while the Predators all but pressed against the walls of the xenos buildings. The Blood Angels tensed, weapons gripped tightly in their ceramite-armoured fists.

The Heldrake came roaring down the street. Fire spilled from its maw like bile from a Nurgle-priest. It blasted the ruined hulk of the Honour of Meros again. A strange, cold feeling gripped Marco’s hearts for a brief second; it was not fear, for Space Marines were above so base an emotion, but rather a calculated worry. The flames of a Heldrake could cut through ceramite like a power sword, and cover was rarely useful against such a weapon.

The cold lifted but a moment later as the Heldrake passed, its rear armour now bared to the Blood Angels. From the smoking wreck of the Stormraven arose the Chaplain Alessandro, his inferno pistol raised to the sky.

“Strike it down!” Alessandro bellow.

As one the Blood Angels unleashed the full force of their firepower. Boltguns spat exploding death. A ball of crackling green energy flew from the tip of Dabriel’s new plasma pistol. Two streams of melta arced through the air. Triple las-beams hissed across the sky, accompanied by a fusillade of boltshells and high-velocity slugs from the Predators and Rhinos. Volleys of blue-green lasrifle fire streaked through the air. Glittering streaks of light erupted from the windows of the buildings as the psyker-xenos joined in the fray, their horn-lasers dispersing harmlessly across the metallic armour of the Heldrake.

It was a simple rule of warfare that non-specialized, ground-based weapons had great difficultly accurately striking airborne targets. Another simple rule was that any target could be hit and damaged if sufficient firepower was applied.

The Heldrake stumbled in its flight. Tongues of flame burst from rent wounds in its armour. Hunks of Warp-twisted metal fell clattering to the corpse-ridden streets. The mechanical monster screamed in pain as the barrage ripped into its poorly protected rear. Yet for every hit, a dozen rounds missed, and for all their killing power, the Blood Angels could not quite land enough blows. The Heldrake roared flame into the sky, defying its enemies and declaring to all that it yet functioned.

Marco swapped out the magazine in his boltpistol, praying to the Emperor for the protection he knew they would need when the Heldrake made its second pass.

Then, what seemed to Marco’s eyes to be a miracle occurred. Daemonic energies built up in the chest of the Heldrake. Arcs of Warp-lightning wreathed its body in impossible colours. Metal plates buckled outward. Its claws ripped open, dropping a small, blue object. The Heldrake snaked its neck back and unleashed one last scream of fire.

Then it died, exploding in a blaze of Warpfire the forced even the Astartes to, if only for a moment, shield their eyes. Its dead husk fell from the skies, slamming into the street and rending a long, deep trench.

Without a word, Dabriel gestured Marco and their two fellows forward. Marco hefted his heavy flamer once again and took point, marching but a few steps ahead of his sergeant. Alessandro led the rest of the squad, and as one the eight Space Marines marched towards the fallen Heldrake.

Through the smoke and ruin, the Astartes perceived a strange sight. A pink-furred xenos stood, unnervingly calm amidst the wreckage. On its back rested another xenos, blue-curred and wearing scraps of what once had been some manner of uniform. Its fur bore streaks of black char, and great splotches of congealed blood covered much of what remained. One of its wings was bent at what even Marco knew was not a natural angle. The pink xenos wore its mane flat against the side of its head, and had a strangely human expression of sorrow in its eyes. It walked forward, its steps slow and measured, shifting slightly so as to keep its unconscious cargo secure.

The Blood Angels said not a word. They kept their weapons raised and ready, and each kept an eye firmly locked on the xenos, but beyond that they ignored it. The xenos possessed no weapons; it had not even the horn the local psykers all possessed. It posed no threat, and so it was ignored as it trotted past them.

They spread out, forming a circle around the felled dragon. Each Marine kept his weapon leveled, ready to fire at the first sign of unlife. The sound of armoured hooves clapping against the ground heralded the arrival of Shining Armor and its guard.

“Pinkie Pie! What’re you doing here?” Shining Armor asked as it galloped to the pink xenos. “Rainbow Dash? How did…”

The pink xenos, Pinkie Pie, sighed sadly. “She’s hurt real bad, Shiny, real bad. We gotta get her outta here really quickly, or, or she…”
Pinkie started sniffling. Shining laid a hoof on its shoulder.

“Sergeant Bulwark! Assemble a detail and escort these two back to the bridge!” Shining ordered. “I’m not letting my sister’s best friends die on my watch!”

“Oh no, I’m not going, not yet,” Pinkie said as two of Shining’s guards took the blue xenos off its shoulders. “Rainbow’s safe now, but we’ve still got a lot to do before we’re done here. But don’t worry, Shiny, be happy! We’ll still get outta this.”

Marco blinked. It was a brief action, even by the standards of blinking. Yet somehow, in the microsecond his eyes were closed, Pinkie disappeared.

The Blood Angels froze in place. It was a flinch so subtle that not a one of the xenos noticed it, but that it happened at all left Marco disturbed. What manner of xenos have we found?

A xenos voice called out in the distance. “Somepony get Triage over here, now! I need unicorns keeping her stable! She’s alive, and I intend to keep her that way!”

Shining Armor and his guard trotted up to join the Blood Angels, who had started forming a perimeter around the Heldrake.

“What in Tartarus is this thing?” the one the xenos called Sturdy Pike asked.

“A Heldrake,” Dabriel answered, his newfound plasma pistol leveled quite firmly at the monster’s broken skull. “A daemonic engine. It was once an aircraft, but years in the Immaterium have left it, well…”

“By Celestia…” Shining cussed under its breath. It spoke in so quiet a tone as to seem silent to his fellows. To the gene-forged ears of the Astartes, the xenos commander may as well have shouted from the rooftops. His next words were louder, openly intended for his Space Marine audience.

“This is what we’re fighting? I’ve seen hot air balloons, read a few research proposals, but this? What sorcery produces…”
Shining’s words trailed off as the sound of stomping feet grew louder.

“What now?” it asked, exasperated. It turned and groaned.

From the alleyways which littered the streets of the xenos city came pouring hordes of Chaos cultists. Drawn, Marco suspected, by the call of the Heldrake, they were now bearing down on the disorganized column.

“Battle-brothers! Make ready!” Alessandro boomed, aiming his inferno pistol at the cultists. “Chaos has seen fit to send us fuel for our prayers! Let us make full use of their foolish gift!”

Squad Murata formed up, placing a carefully spaced line of boltguns between the cultists and the squad’s special weapons. Marco double-checked the fuel on his heavy flamer, while Severo slammed a fresh magazine into his meltagun. Dabriel raised his power sword and leveled his plasma pistol at the cultists.

Beside them, Shining Armor and his guard fell into formation, placing their heaviest armour in front and their psykers in back. Shining’s horn glowed, erecting a dense purple shield around his squad.

The Chaos horde ran screaming down the street.

“Advance!” Alessandro commanded. With footsteps so well timed as to seem to comprise only two feet, Squad Murata marched forward. Shining Armor followed at their side, his guards matching he Blood Angels step for step.

A cacophony of staccato booms echoed down the street as the vehicles opened fire. Storm bolters and heavy bolters fired en masse, filling the air with boltshells. An almost continuous scream erupted from the assault cannons. Lascannon and lasrifle beams hissed through the hot air. Glittering alien pysker-beams burst from the windows. But a few seconds later, the roar of flame joined the deadly orchestra.

Cultists died. Bodies were rent apart, blood and bone and gore showering the screaming horde. Some cultists simply vaporized, lascannon fire reducing them to no more than dust. Hungry flames consumed those unlucky enough to charge near the Baal Predator. Even the xenos beams took their toll, though at a much slower pace. The initial barrage did little more than slow the cultists. A rainbow of lights peppered the cultist horde, dissipating on makeshift armour and the machinations of Tzeentch. Those first few to leave any mark did little but bruise the maddened heretics.

Then, it happened; a single, lucky beam punched through the chest of a cultist, sending the mutant sprawling to the ground. Within mere moments, more of his unholy brethren joined him in the grave.

Yet still they came, screaming unholy praises to the Warp-gods. Marco could see the Marks of all four of the Ruinous Powers displayed amongst the horde. There, a band of Khornates frothing blood from their malformed lips. There, Nurglites slogging through the corpses of their fallen brethren, their bloated flesh absorbing rounds like Astartes armour. For all the firepower they faced, the cultists kept charging, spurred on by the false promises of the dark gods.

The Space Marines needed no orders. The moment the cultists set but a foot inside the range of their boltgun, they opened fire. A wall of exploding death met the screaming horde. In the full sense of things, the addition of Astartes firepower did little to alter the outcome of the charge; three Predators and two Rhinos provided far more guns than a diminished squad of Space Marines. But, as the Imperium had learned in its many wars with the Orks, more firepower was never a bad decision.

Shining’s guards joined the firing line, adding their own glittering beams to those of their fellows. They proved slightly more accurate than the other xenos, and their beams began felling cultists slightly sooner. The cultists, though diminished, still charged.

“Marco!” Dabriel shouted as he and Severo added their firepower.

With a smile beneath his helm, Marco thumbed the pilot light on his heavy flamer. A second later, he yanked back the trigger and unleashed an inferno of death upon the cultists.

A half dozen fell within the first few seconds. More joined them soon after.

At that moment, it seemed Marco’s heavy flamer made all the difference. The cultist charge at last stalled, held in place by psykery, boltshells, melta spray, plasma, and the roar of open flame. Slowly, a wall of corpses began to form, the cultist ranks depleted sufficiently by the other xenos and the vehicles to be easily annihilated by Squad Murata.

Then, a primal roar erupted from the Blood Angels firing line. Every Space Marine took a step back from its source. Every Space Marine except one.

Brother Jagus screamed at the top of his lungs and charged, spraying boltshells with wild abandon as he rushed the cultist line.
In the brief moment the Blood Angels had stayed their fusillade, the cultists made their move. They surged forward, meeting Jagus’ charge with their own.

“May the Warp take you, Jagus!” Alessandro bellowed. He turned to Squad Murata. “With me! We are now committed to the charge! For Sanguinius…”

“And the Emperor!” Squad Murata bellowed. The seven Blood Angels charged after their blood-crazed brother.

“Are you insane?” Shining Armor called after them. “Tartarus, ponies! We’re going in after them! For the Crystal Empire!”

“For the Crystal Empire!” the xenos guards roared as they galloped into the fray.

Jagus was the first to meet the cultist line, bolter and boltpistol both raised and firing. Such was the Thirst which had overtaken him that he broke the cultist line by himself, crushing bones and rending flesh with nothing but the weight of his guns and the strength of his fists. Cultists surged around him, striking back with the fury of Khorne, the endurance of Nurgle, the speed of Slaanesh, and the sorcerous shields of Tzeentch. Given time, they could have eventually brought him down, the sheer number of their blows wearing through his armour and the numbness of his bloodthirsty veins.

But time was a resource which they severely lacked.

Alessandro led the bulk of the charge, laying into the cultists with his blessed Crozius Arcanum. Sergeant Dabriel came just behind, his power sword scything through Warp-cursed flesh like wheat. Marco followed with the rest of Squad Murata, snapping heretic bones with his ceramite-clad hands.

The Space Marines tore through the cultist lines, the mad brother Jagus leading the way. Somewhere in the midst of the throng Shining Armor and his guards fought, but Marco cared nothing for them. Close combat was the love of every Blood Angel; it was the outlet by which they held the Flaw at bay. No matter their station or rank, every Son of the Angel thirsted for the chance to fight their enemies hand to hand. Marco was no different, his blood aflame as he spilt the blood of the heretics.

The cultist line shattered at last. The combined firepower from the xenos psykers, the human conscripts, the Rhinos, and the Predators devastated their reserves, while Jagus’ charge broke those that remained. Xenos and Space Marines alike swept through the cultists, leaving a field of corpses in their wake. What few cultists could fled the field, retreating into the alleyways from which they had come.

Jagus followed them. Somewhere in the fight his helm had disappeared, and in his now-bared face the truth of his madness was made evident. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, and his blood-soaked jaw hung open like the maw of a starving wolf. His guns long since dried of ammunition, he chased after the cultists with nothing more than his bare hands, gibbering incoherently as he searched for fresh sources of crimson vitae.

“Marco, Arman! With me!” Alessandro commanded as he dashed after their mad brother. “Dabriel! Command is yours until I return! Find Orlando and Priam!”

Marco dashed after the Chaplain, hefting his heavy flamer, ready to purge any who dared stand between Alessandro and Jagus. Nothing would distract them from their duty, not now. A Blood Angel had fallen victim to the Red Thirst, and it was their solemn duty to rectify his failing.
_______

It was quite a stressful time for the already rather high-strung Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Their escape from the Police Station had been quite narrow. The hordes of Chaos invaders had kept them pinned in, and that horrifying metal dragon had posed quite the problem. Thankfully, something had grabbed the dragon’s attention and dragged it away. One daring breakout attempt later, and most of them had managed to escape down the street, destroying Chaos vehicles and just killing so many ponies, peoples, whatever!

It was sickening, just how much death was around her. She was the Princess of Friendship, not a soldier, not a killer!

Irritatingly, that particular sentiment was becoming harder and harder to hold onto with every passing minute.

“Even in death I serve!” Castello boomed as he cleaved through another Chaos Rhino, his Blood Talons shimmering with blue-white energy. The Dreadnought had been the speartip of their escape. His armour was all but invincible; alien projectiles shattered uselessly against it like rotten apples against the white walls of Canterlot. Chaos had little to match the killing power of Castello’s scything claws, and between them and the massive flamethrower and killing tube, meltagun, he had mounted on his arms, any-alien who got in his way died rather horribly. But even for one as mighty as Castello, the battle was taking its toll. The escape had cost him dearly, and even now fluids of various colours spewed from tears on his chassis. Spots of char ruined his paintjob, and many of his decals had been damaged or outright destroyed. He moved slower now than when he had first advanced on the Police Station, his legs damaged by the attacks of the steel-armoured aliens.

At Castello’s side fought Paolo. His advance was as steady as it was relentless. The massive slab of decorated metal he claimed as a shield was hung out in front of him, absorbing and blocking almost every attack Chaos threw at him. For his part Paolo never stopped advancing. Nothing could so much as so him, save for the heft of his massive hammer. It was a terribly unwieldy weapon, something so massive Twilight could barely accept it existed, let alone be used in battle. But used it was, and to terrible effectiveness. Though it took time to raise the hammer, when it fell it was like the wrath of Faust falling from the heavens. Whenever its massive head made contact with some physical thing, it emitted a massive explosion of blue energy, tearing through any armour that dared oppose it, and even killing anyone unlucky enough to be standing nearby.

The bloody explosion of one of the smaller invaders, a Chaos Cultist, if Twilight remembered correctly, brought her attention to the other Blood Angel fighting at Castello’s side, the wizard Renato. His advance was as steady as his fellows. His killing box, Storm Bolter, spat death with every step. It was little compared to Castello’s flames, but every bit helped. More useful than his Storm Bolter, however, was his magic prowess. Supernatural power wreathed about his ornate sword, and with that hand he cast his strange war-spells. With the flick of a wrist, he could make his opponents explode like bombs made of blood, and when tougher enemies opposed him, he could throw blood-red lances from his fingertip. His sword cleaved through any foe foolish enough to come within his reach.

Just a bit further ahead the rest of their Blood Angels allies bounded through the air, sowing death and discord among the alien ranks. They jumped back and forth, striking like a serpent before retreating to try again elsewhere.

For her part, Twilight was leading the police-ponies. She and Starlight Glimmer provided the example by which the police-ponies fought, spewing beams of glittering magic into the invader ranks. Every unicorn in the Manehatten Police Department had joined them, as had a number of civilian unicorns conscripted to the cause of staying alive, at least, all those that could still fight. For all the power at their disposal, it was still a battle, and casualties were mounting.

“Copperfoot, Blue Jacket, pick that pony up and git ‘er to the medics!” Police Chief By-The-Book shouted as he trotted up beside Twilight.
“Horseapples, Princess, what are we even doing? Do we even know where we’re goin’? I got two dozen wounded, and half that many dead. We can’t keep this up for much longer!”

“We have to, Chief,” Twilight answered. “Or we’re going to have more than a dozen dead.”

It was in brief moments of total lucidity like this, when the adrenaline pounding through her veins abated for just a second, that Twilight deeply hated how easy words like ‘death’ and ‘kill’ now came to her.

“He’s right, Twilight,” Starlight said as she paused to catch her breath. “We’ve got to find shelter, or an escape, or something! We can’t keep fighting forever!”

“We already did something like that, remember?” Twilight replied. “If we can keep fighting through an infinite number of alternate universes, we’ve got to be able to get through downtown Manehatten!”

“Ma’am, we ain’t in downtown,” By-The-Book said. “We got turned north a couple streets back. At this rate, we’ll make Times Square in the next hour.”

Twilight tensed. She quickly reviewed what information they had: Chaos was invading Manehatten, the Blood Angels had arrived as reinforcements and more were supposed to be on their way, hundreds if not thousands of innocent ponies were dead, murdered by…

“Twilight, snap out of it!” Spike shook the Princess of Friendship out of her analytic daze. “Focus, Twilight, don’t just get lost in thought.”

“You’re right, Spike,” Twilight said. She shook her head. “Okay, Chief, if the Blood Angels are bringing more reinforcements, where would they have to come?”

“The Manehatten Bridge, of course,” By-The Book grumbled in response. “How else would’ja git here?”

Twilight, caught up in thought, failed to notice the inherent jab in that statement. “Okay, By-The-Book, can you get up to the Bridge?”

“Ma’am, I’ve been police chief for twenty years,” he answered. “Getting from Saddle Row to the Bridge is nothing.”

“Wait, Saddle Row?” Starlight asked with a gulp. “Isn’t that where Rarity went?”

“Oh my gosh!” Spike exclaimed. “Twilight, we have to find her!”

Before anypony could respond to the baby dragon, a surprisingly refined scream ripped through the air. Twilight, Starlight, By-The-Book, and Spike all turned to see Rarity herself dashing up the street, closely pursed by a band of cultists.

“Don’t worry, Rarity, I’ll save you!” Spike shouted as he ran towards the ivory-coated unicorn.

“Spike, wait!” Twilight cried. Spike paid her no heed. Flaring out her wings, Twilight soared in pursuit.

Starlight groaned. “Why am I always left behind?”

“Xenos!” Renato called. “Fire support on the left flank, now!”

Starlight spun and opened fire, grumbling under her breath. “This had better count as a friendship lesson, Twilight.”

Under normal circumstances, Twilight, though nowhere near as fast or skilled a flyer as a born Pegasus, was nonetheless a rather fast flyer, certainly fast enough to outpace Spike’s waddling steps. Today, however, was a day of unusual circumstances, and Spike was driven by the power of his heart. To Twilight’s shock and horror, the baby dragon reached Rarity first, though only by a split second.

That was all he needed.

The purple dragon lunged into the air, viridian flame spewing from his mouth. Though she had no time to process the information, Twilight could swear she saw him grow by a couple inches in that lunge. His dragon’s fire burned through the cultists, searing through their poorly armoured flesh and melting their fetid insides. They fell dead where they stood, their lives struck from them before they even understood what was happening.

Spike barely even noticed. All he cared about in that moment was Rarity’s safety.

“Are you alright, Rarity?” he asked. Twilight landed beside him.

Rarity moaned and rubbed her forehead. As she caught Spike in her gaze she immediately threw her forehooves around him in a hug. “Oh, thank you for saving me from those ruffians, er, darling! Why, how can I ever repay you?”

Spike blushed as Rarity battered her eyelashes at him. He scratched the back of his head. “It was nothing, really… I’m just glad I could help you…”

“What Spike means to say is we’re really glad you’re safe, Rarity,” Twilight interjected. “I’ve love to talk a bit more, but we’ve got to get moving, and we need all the help we can get. Think you can give up a little extra firepower?”

“Oh, so sorry, darling,” Rarity as, rubbing her forehead against. “I’m afraid these ruffians damaged my horn. It’s just not safe for me to use any magic right now.”

“Don’t worry, Rarity,” Spike said, puffing out his chest. “I’ll protect you!”

“Oh, so brave!” Rarity said, swooning before the baby dragon. “Why, thank you, Spike!”

Twilight groaned. She didn’t have time for… whatever she was looking at. Something about it felt… off, but she didn’t have the brain-space to figure it out. Whatever it was, it could wait until they were safe.

“Come on, Starlight’s going to need my help,” Twilight said, gesturing to the slowly advancing column of police-ponies, rescued civilians, and Blood Angels. “And we need to get moving, now.”

“Quite right, darling,” Rarity said. “Come along, Spike, we mustn’t keep everypony waiting.”

With a sigh, Twilight soared back to Starlight’s side, once again plying her magical craft for the defense of the column. Spike and Rarity soon caught up, joining the band of civilians they had been slowly rescuing throughout this very long day.

As Twilight fired bolt after magical bolt, she wondered just how much longer this day would go on.

Though she didn’t quite know the answer, somehow, deep down, she knew it wasn’t one she was going to like.

Author's Notes:

Sorry about the delays. It’s been a busy fortnight. But now I’m free for a bit, and I’m… actually, given my track record I’m not going to make any promises about updates. I’ll just say you’ll get them when they’re ready, and I have a lot of time on my hands.

I’ve started re-writing minor details in some of the earlier scenes. I’ve always know where we’re going and the major stops on the way, but exactly what happens on the road to the climax and what we’ll find have been (and to a degree remain) in flux. As such, there are a couple continuity errors and some misaimed foreshadowing. I’ve also changed the capitalization style a bit, so that’ll get retrofitted soon enough. Over the next while I’ll be going back and bringing the whole story into line. May even add in the scene where Domenico and Redheart meet. I’ll mention in the Author’s Notes section of the chapters that get edited what (roughly) I’ve changed.

As a bit of an aside, that bit with the Heldrake? Roughly speaking, that actually happened to me. I had a few Sanguinary Guard, some Tactical and Assault Marines, and a couple HQs, and I managed to remain technically in combat with an enemy squad until my opponent’s Assault phase, when I finished them off. That meant his Heldrake, which had only just come in, had to fly past my guys without hurting them. I grabbed a Skyfire nexus and opened fire, reducing it to a single Hull Point that it lost the next turn while trying to regenerate. That was an awesome game.

And finally, well, dang. “The Time They Are a Changeling” kind of throws a wrench in some of my plans. Sort of. So I’m going to just quickly establish a couple things:

1. This story begins shortly after “Stranger than Fanfiction,” but before the rest of Season 6. Elements from those episodes may or may not be incorporated, but none of them have occurred as far as this story is concerned.
2. Thorax will get slated for an appearance, though exactly how I’ll work him in needs some thought. You’ll get a better sense of why as the story develops.
3. To be clear, I really liked the episode. It’s just that it upsets a couple plot arcs for this story.
Oh yeah, and this chapter’s stats.

Twilight Sparkle, Princess of Friendship 70 points
Twilight Sparkle: WS3 BS4 S3 T3 W3 I4 A2 Ld8 Sv4+/5++
Unit Type: Jetbike
Unit Composition: 1 (unique)
Wargear: Unicorn Horn, Pegasi Wings
Special Rules: Unicorn Horn, Pegasi Wings, Stubborn, Princess of Equestria, Independent Character, Psyker Mastery Level 3
Twilight Sparkle can generate powers from the Biomancy, Telepathy, Telekinesis, Pyromancy, Equestrian, and Divination disciplines.
Options:
May take Spike the Baby Dragon – 10pts

Spike the Baby Dragon 10 points
Spike: WS2 BS2 S4 T2 W1 I3 A2 Ld6 Sv6+
Unit Type: Infantry
Unit Composition: 1 (unique)
Wargear: Dragonflame, Baby Dragon Scales
Special Rules: Dragonflame Letters, Furious Charge, Dragon Code

New Special Rules:

Element of Harmony: a squad that has at least one model with this rule cannot be subject to a Sweeping Advance. If the squad would be subject to a Sweeping Advance, they instead remain locked in combat. In addition, any model with this special rule as a 5+ invulnerable save.

Dragonflame Letters: Once per phase, this model can send a letter to a single other squad, at any time during the phase. If the model does so, the selected squad can use the highest leadership value in the letter-sending model’s squad instead of their own.
Dragon Code: a model with this special rule automatically passes the Initiative test to attempt Glorious Intervention.

Princess of Equestra: all units within 12” of a model with this rule may use the model’s leadership value instead of their own. As well, if a squad which includes a model with this rule would be subject to a Sweeping Advance, that squad instead remains locked in combat. This rule also grants a 5+ Invulnerable save to the model.

New Wargear:

Baby Dragon Scales: grants a 6+ armour save

Dragonflame: S User AP4 Template