It was a dark corner of the burning city. In the shadow of a mighty Land Raider, he brooded. His iron-grey armour glittered in the light of the flames. Down below stood a figure clad in ancient crimson Terminator armour, with horns writhing up from his corrupted skull.

“Endas the Soulless,” the Word Bearer said with a bow. “You honour me with this audience.”

The Warpsmith sneered from his throne of debris. Around him withered servitor-slaves toiled away, repairing his armour and patching up his wounds. However, none dared to work on his shoulder. The last servitor to try laid in a mess of parts and desiccated flesh, torn apart by the mecha-tendrils writhing around Endas.

“Stop wasting my time, daemon-slave,” Endas snarled. Mecha-tendrils slithered and buzzed around the stump that had been his right arm, burning cybernetics into the wound. “I have work to do. Why are you bothering me?”

The Word Bearer gave Endas a patronizing nod. “I bring word on the disposition of the battlefield. The xenos and corpse-worshippers have gathered at the bridge out of the city, and have heavily entrenched themselves, though several of their vehicles have departed and there is a constant stream of escapees. Our own forces are gathering several blocks away. Many cultists still lives, and though we have suffered casualties, our Astartes are still more than a match for the enemy. However, we cannot provide you with daemon support.”

Endas hacked out a dismissive cough. “Let it be. Your infatuation with witchery disgusts me anyway. We need no warp-spawn here. Victory is the willingness to suffer casualties. We shall march into their defensive line and break it.”

“I see you have fail… do not understand the magnitude of this information,” the Word Bearer said, choosing his words carefully. “There is something… wrong with the Warp here. Psychic power flows freely, but the Neverborn are repulsed like nothing I’ve seen since the days of Horus.”

“Shut your maw,” Endas growled. “I don’t care about your sorcerers. Get out of my sight, and start the battle. I want to hear the pounding of our guns within the half-hour.”

“But, without daemons, our forces are vulnerable,” the Word Bearer started to plead. His words were cut short when Endas’ mecha-tendrils lashed out and wrapped around the Word Bearer’s neck.

“I said, get out!” Endas roared, throwing the Word Bearer away. The Chaos Marine crashed into the ground, cracking the concrete and leaving a noticeable indent. As the Word Bearer recovered his wits, Endas stormed down from his throne. “I want them dead! Send in the cultists, and the armour, and the Astartes, and kill them! Do not return until it is done!”

The Word Bearer picked himself up, gave a respectful bow, and scampered away as fast as he could while maintaining the façade of pride. Endas simply sneered and turned away.

“Servitors, with me,” he said, striding back towards his makeshift workshop. He looked at the stump of his right arm. “Let the warp-slaves and corpse-worshippers slaughter each other. I have repairs to make.”

_________

The last defense of Manehattan began half an hour before sundown, with a barrage of heavy lasbeams. The Predator Annihilator caught sight of the advancing horde of Chaos and its Servitor-pilots automatically opened fire. But a moment later, the lascannons of the Iron Warriors returned fire. Cultists died in a fiery blaze while hunks of rock and rubble vaporized. Beneath the crimson lights, the cultist horde surged forward, screaming unholy praises to their foul gods.

As the horde thundered closer, more guns joined the cacophony. Predator-mounted autocannons and heavy bolters tore apart the cultist vanguard, while Iron Warriors Havocs and Word Bearers Terminators unleashed a mass of autocannon and missile fire. Screams of pain and death were lost beneath the roar of the guns.

Still the cultists charged, driven on by zealotry and fear of their Chaos Astartes masters. Behind them rumbled tanks and walkers, some marked in the grey and hazard stripes of the Iron Warriors, most in the dull red of the Word Bearers, their heavy guns joining the fiery fray. Chaos Marines marched around them, the pink of Noise Marines and sickly green of Plague Marines mixing with the red of Word Bearers and World Eaters.

The defensive line threw every last ounce of strength they had into their barrage. As the cultists rushed into range, hot-shot lasguns and magical beams opened fire, joined by the thud of boltshells. Human, Astartes, and Pony alike blasted at the oncoming horde. Corpses fell, joined by the wounded, both trampled by the maddened horde. The twin-linked assault cannon chewed through them.

Though the streets were soon coated with blood and gore, still the horde came on.

“Keep firing!” Renato shouted as he stood on top of the debris wall, his storm bolter blazing. “Don’t let them get close enough to charge!”

“Hold the line!” Shining Armor cried as he marched up the line, throwing up shields against the incoming heavy fire. Sturdy Pike dashed ahead of his Prince, repositioning soldiers and filling gaps in the firing line. Thrice Shining almost tripped over fallen ponies, covered in blood and if not dead, then so close as to make no difference. Yet not once did he let his will falter; no shell would pass through his shield as long as he still stood.

Rikkard and Nikolas alternated fire, each covering the other. Neither spoke, their tongues frozen with the terror and thrill of open battle. They fired at everything that moved, their minds so hazed with adrenaline that they barely noticed and certainly did not care that they were flanked on both sides by xenos. To their desperate eyes, the magical beams were just strangely coloured lasfire.

It was a furious defensive barrage, of a kind Equestria had not seen since the days of myth. To the ponies, it was a horrifying display of everything their civilization opposed; a sickening exchange of death and destruction. To the humans, it was both madhouse and living museum, legends and tales come to life, seeing up close the battles they were usually thousands of kilometres away from. To the Astartes, it was almost underwhelming, a desperate stand to be sure, but a far cry from the highlights of their careers.

It nonetheless failed to halt the tide.

For every cultist who died beneath the fusillade, eight more stepped into the breach. As every rank fell, another trod over their corpses. It was a massacre, but one the Chaos Marines could well afford if only it would get their true soldiers but one inch closer.

Amidst the mass of weary ponies, Orlando stood tall at General Fogey’s side.

“Just like we said, magic and your fancy guns can’t hold them,” Fogey said in-between issuing last-minute orders. “Always knew this battle would come down to good old pony mettle.”

Orlando allowed himself a brief chuckle. “The tactics of my Chapter has ever been to strike the heart of our foe and smite them with our blades.”

“Great, stuck here with two sword-jockeys stuck in the dark ages,” Blue Cross muttered. “Can’t we just retreat and regroup? Get back the element of surprise?”

Luna landed in front of the trio, her eyes simmering with barely-contained rage. “If we retreat now, Manehattan will be lost. Take heart, our little pony, and fight with courage.”

Back near the Predator Destructor, Flash Sentry spoke with the remains of his team.

“Blusterwind, Red, Fumes,” Flash Sentry said, nodding at each pony in turn. “This is it. If the firing line can’t hold them back, it’ll be up to us to stop the invaders. Everypony ready? Because if you want out, the last civilians are leaving now.”

“Sentry, this has been a horrible day, fighting a hopeless battle, seeing friends and comrades-in-arms die in front of my eyes,” Red Ensign said as he finished shining his armour-plated shoes. “So I’m gonna hate myself for saying this, but what the hay, I’m not about to let anypony say Trotonto raises cowards. Let’s die like stallions!”

Hot Fumes rolled her eyes. “Idiotic machismo aside, we were the first wave in, might as well be the last wave out. Besides, those explosions are looking pretty nice over there.”

While Hot Fumes stared at the furious exchange of firepower, Blusterwinds shrugged. “If everypony else is staying…”

“Then arm up,” Flash said, flexing his wings over his sabre. “We’ll be in the middle of it in a moment.”

As it turned out, Flash Sentry was incorrect in that assessment. Against all odds, the firing line held out for another fifteen minutes, costing hundreds of cultist lives. Nonetheless, though they had to clamber over the broken bodies of their dead and wounded, the cultists still charged on, bringing the true force of the Chaos army ever nearer. The ponies, humans, and Astartes of the firing line could almost see the whites of the cultists’ eyes.

“Strike them down!”

None, neither human nor pony, was ever sure who said those words, but all obeyed nonetheless. Orlando, Priam, and the remainder of the Assault and Command Squads gunned their Jump Packs, hurling them over the debris wall and into the midst of the cultists. With a rousing cry, General Fogey and Iron Will led the Equestrian soldiers and militia over the wall, smashing into the cultist wave. Overhead, Princess Luna struck, a wing of the remaining Lunar Guard and Wonderbolts Reserves following in her wake.

Though a match for the Equestrian Army, the cultists were but chaff against even Luna’s forces, let alone the half-dozen Space Marines tearing through them. Within moments the cultists were swept away, scattered and slaughtered. But it mattered not, for their purpose was achieved. The cultists were dead, but their masters had only just arrived.

The Berzerkers were the first wave, rushing ahead of their distant gene-cousins, frothing as they mindless searched for more blood and skulls. Both were found in abundance. They tore into the Equestrian line, chainaxes roaring and boltpistols blazing. Behind them skittered the Noise Marines, their drug-ravaged bodies jittering as they ran into the fray. Sonic blasters screamed and hot pink fists swung. Plague Marines lumbered up just behind, their very presence fatally infecting the wounds of every living being they passed. Chaos sorcerers incanted unholy spells, unleashing the power of the Warp, their power enhanced by the strange calmness of the Stillpoint. And last, the Word Bearers themselves, a mass of crimson chanters firing and marching in lockstep. Mutilators and Obliterators stormed alongside a team of Terminators, blasting and tearing through the battle. In the midst of this last, impregnable command force was the Word Bearer commander, a smug Terminator Lord with a twisted maul hefted above his horned head.

“Behold, foolish xenos! You death comes at the hands of Kron Beremokh!” he roared, his combi-bolter chattering away.

The battle would last another half-hour. It was brutal and bloody, the grim climax of the worst atrocity Equus had seen since the Age of Discord. Its memory would scar Equestria for all its days. But for those who stood there, who made the last stand in Manehattan, though few would ever look back with pride, none would ever regret it. It was the end of an era, and the birth of a new age. War had come to Equestria, and here, on the edge of a once-mighty city, its war heroes were born.

The charge of Chaos halted the Imperial-Equestrian counter-attack, turning the tide back in their own foul favour. Ponies died under ceramite boots and Warp-twisted blades. But they did not go quietly.

Steady Hoof was an Earth Pony from the outlying farms of Manehattan. He had spent the bulk of his life working on the Orange farms, content with his family and modest lifestyle. He had joined the reserves to help get through a financial rough spot. Today, he applied the same grinding determination that had served him so well on the farm to battle. He met a Word Bearer head-on, breaking the Chaos Marine’s chainsword and shattering his unarmoured skull under-hoof. But a moment later he died as a Berzerker passed, ripped apart by the whirring teeth of a chainaxe.

That Berzerker soon met his own fate. Iron Will came roaring into the battle, his endless catch-phrases inspiring the Equestrians around him to ever-higher levels of zealotry. Wielding his captured chainsword like a glorified club, he battered and tore at the Berzerker until the bloody Chaos Astartes at last fell. A Word Bearer was his next victim, his Warped ceramite little match for the whirring teeth of the chainsword. Another followed, and another, one Chaos Astartes after another brought low by Iron Will and his maddened followers.

Not far from Iron Will’s bloodbath, General Fogey made his stand. Surrounded by the remains of his forces, the aged warhorse fought on. Of all the Equestrian soldiers that day, only his still maintained discipline and formation. They fought as one, targeting the Chaos Marines one squad at a time. Every victory claimed more lives than they took, but still they fought on. Fogey himself stood in the front of his soldiers, never backing down, save for when Blue Cross dragged away from a falling chainsword his old eyes missed.

Overhead, Twilight Sparkle, between burst of hyperventilation, unleashed the might of her alicorn powers on the Chaos Marines, driving them back and leaving them open to the attacks of the warriors below. Yet she never killed; despite all the horror of the day, despite all the evil she had seen, she could not bring herself to take the life of another. Inside, she screamed and wept, wishing against all reason that she could find a way to talk with the enemy, to reconcile them and make them into friends. It had been done before; surely even such monsters as these could not be so lost as to be immune to all reason and friendship!

Around the hesitant alicorn swarmed the last pegasi in their ragtag army. Leaderless and driven to the edge of insanity, they still fought, driven by rage and revenge and some shred of hope. They did what they could, dropping debris on the enemy and harrying them from above. But their movements were limited, their soaring forms prime targets for the heavy guns of the enemy. Autocannon and bolt-shells ripped through the air and their bodies. But they were not wholly unprotected.

Down below, Shining Armour still raised the shield. It was no great protection; no city-warding barrier as he had once done for Canterlot. But he still threw up bulwarks for the Equestrians, wielding the purple shields as a reverse scalpel, blocking key shots and keeping the army alive just a little longer. Around him Sturdy Pike commanded the remainder of his Prince’s Guard, fending off any Chaos Marines who sought to harm the increasingly weary unicorn.

Above, the pegasi found help in the mightiest equine warrior on the field. Princess Luna and the remains of her Lunar Guard joined Twilight and the Pegasi, harrying the Chaos Astartes from above. The thestrals of the Guard took their toll, keeping the Chaos Marines off-balance in those precious, all-important seconds of battle. Luna herself reaped a much heartier bounty of death, her Lunar Lance, though unwieldy in face of the Astartes’ posthuman speed, still tore through ceramite with unnerving ease. Yet she, though immortal, was not invulnerable, and the counter-blows of the enemy slowly took their toll. With blood dripping down her brow and flashes of faraway battles splintering her focus, she knew her part in the battle was coming to an end.

A lucky autocannon shell threw Twilight from the sky, knocking the alicorn into the midst of the fray. She lived, but was stunned while enemies surged around her. To her great fortune, though the servants of Chaos refused friendship out of hand, there were others whom she was glad to call friend, and who did not fail her now. Spike was the first to come, having reluctantly left Rarity with the medics, now riding on Starlight Glimmer’s back. As the pink-coated unicorn unleashed the magical power which had once allowed her to shatter time itself on the Chaos Marines, Spike spewed forth the fire of his breed. Together the unlikely pair cleared a path to Twilight.

Into that path poured yet more allies. Flash Sentry led the remains of the recon team, sabre in mouth, into the fray. Where magic and fire failed, simple, honest steel and mettle held the line. They took few lives, but their courage and ferocity were sufficient. The Chaos Marines turned from them, parting like a river around a rock, seeking easy victims. Hot Fumes threw explosives like Pinkie Pie was throwing candy, and to much the same explosive effect; holes were blown in the Chaos lines as alchemical concoctions and suspect confections fell upon them. Red Ensign stood at Flash’s side, standing over the dazed Twilight and holding back the Chaos horde.

On the ever-diminishing debris wall, Nikolas and Rikkard still fired. Lasfire seared through Warp-twisted ceramite, opening holes for the less powerful but more abundant rainbow-volleys of the equine xenos. The humans, though still keeping one eye on the xenos, allowed the bulk of their focus to fix on the enemy. Desperation overrode caution and a lifetime of xenophobic teaching.

In the midst of the fray, where the fighting was heaviest, the greatest of their warriors fought. Orlando and the remaining jump infantry hurled themselves into combat, meeting the Chaos Marines head-on. Even as enemy Raptors fell from the sky to wreak havoc, the Blood Angels fought on.

In his fury, Brother Placido led the charge. He tore through the Chaos lines like a man possessed, unleashing the Thirst which burned inside him. Never did a word pass through his ravaged throat, but his passing war from silent. His power sword cleaved through ceramite and flesh alike, while his inferno pistol seared away anything that dared survive his blade. At his side fought Brother Fausto. As always, he danced around the enemy blows, scything through their ranks with careful beams from his meltagun. He raised no fist, nor even struck with elbow or knee, but still he slew all who stood in his way. Orlando laughed and fearlessly faced the greatest of their foes, challenging the champions of Chaos one after another and striking them down each in turn.

The Sanguinary Guard, Durante and Flavio, fought in tandem, Durante’s power fist crushing those foes Flavio’s glaive encarmine could not scythe. Paolo struck with the force of a thunderstorm, crushing his foes with his thunder hammer while blocking their feeble attacks with his storm shield. Renato stood in the centre of the storm, his eyes ablaze with psychic might as he bolstered his allies and blasted his foes. Sergeant Priam and Brother Severin, the last of the assault squad, followed close behind. Severin did his best, striking down foes with fist and meltagun, while Priam kept him covered with the slashes of his power sword.

Behind them Dabriel roared the battle-cry of their Chapter and led Squad Murata into battle. Boltguns blazing, they smashed into the Chaos horde. Severo, like Severin and Fausto, took aim and seared away his foes with the power of his meltagun. Marco purged Chaos with fire, his heavy flamer consuming the corrupted flesh of the fallen Astartes.

It was a mighty effort, an accomplishing of deeds worthy of song. But it was a doomed affair. For all their courage and valour, the weight of numbers was against them. Were they facing mere cultists, they might have had a chance. But for all the might the Equestrians and Imperials showed, they still faced Space Marines. Warriors of Chaos, bolstered by the blessings of the dark gods, implacable and unyielding, they stormed on, driving the defenders back further with every minute. They marched over the fallen of both sides, their boots coated with blood and gore. Chain-blades whirred and boltguns roared. For every Chaos Marine who fell, ten ponies were taken in revenge. The defenders’ line thinned and stretched, unable to absorb the casualties dealt to it. Doom awaited them the moment the line broke, and it could not hold much longer.

Then, the breaking point came. Luna’s eyes glowed with the power of the stars, and night fell. Though they had grown accustomed to viewing the Princess of the Night as a benevolent figure, ingrained instincts were ever difficult to overcome, especially in times of great stress. With the Chaos Marines now visible only by the dim light of the moon and in the bright orange-red flashes of magic beams, lasfire, and the blasting of heavier guns, the spirit of the ponies broke. Overcome with fear, they broke and ran. It was disordered, undisciplined, and horribly, fatally vulnerable. It was the moment the Word Bearers had been pushing them to, the opportunity to rout the Equestrians and their Imperial allies.

It would have been the end of the entire Equestrian force, had it not been for those same Imperials. Renato and Orlando took command of the situation.

“Twilight!” Renato roared as he stormed over to the recovering alicorn. “With us! We must form a rearguard, or death will come to us all!”

“Renato? Flash?” Twilight shook her head. “Right, okay, um... Okay. Flash… Sentry, right? You’re with me. We can’t let…”

“Understood, Your Highness,” Flash said with a nod.

Elsewhere, Orlando rallied the Blood Angels. “Brothers! Though it is not our preferred way, we must now hold the line, if only for a moment! We must buy time for the army to escape. Sanders! Take the men and get out of here!”

Above, Luna and her Guard fell into silent agreement; though it would cost them dearly, they would join the rearguard.

As the Equestrians fled, the horror of Chaos finally overcoming them, the rearguard still fought. With power blades, magic, and sheer determination, they held back the tide of Chaos. It was not a long stand. They had been few before, and were now even less. At Renato’s command, the Predators and Rhinos rolled back with the fleeing army, providing cover and saving the precious war machines. Only the Destructor remained behind, its tracks still broken.

“I pity to lose it,” Dabriel said as Squad Murata pulled back to the immobilized Predator. “It has served us well.”

Paolo thundered back, holding off a volley of autocannon shells. “Such machines, though noble works of Mars, are but tools. If I must sacrifice this wreck to save our lives, I will do so gladly.”

Dabriel nodded grimly taking one last look at the xenos city. “So this is it. We retreat like the cowardly Tau.”

“No,” Renato said as he stormed back to them. “We make the disciplined choice. We fall back, we regroup, and we strike again when we are strong. Sacrifice is a noble act, but to die here is senseless. Chaos seeks to control this world, and we are all that stands in their way. We lose today, but mark my words, this war is far from over.”

With that, the Blood Angels joined the retreat. The Predator Destructor continued to fire, its servitor pilots uncomprehending of their abandonment. The Predator died, destroyed by anti-armour fire. But its death bought the last, precious few minutes they needed. Beaten and bloodied, but still alive, the Equestrian survivors escaped that night, accompanied by the Blood Angels.

It was a long night as they fled back across the country, seeking the shelter of Canterlot. Few spoke as they marched, for none had anything to say. They had seen horrors unleashed upon uncomprehending innocents, had suffered those same horrors, and had naught but scars and death to show for it. The city and all those who had failed to escape were now abandoned. The battle was lost.

But within the depressed ranks, some took heart. It was not hope that motivated them; hope was unwelcome at this dark hour. Yet where hope fails, vengeance can often suffice. For as Renato had said, though Manehattan was lost, the war was far from over.

Author's Notes:

It's over! It's finally over! Whew, that's the last time I take this long to do a single battle. I'll try to at least jump around to other events during the longer ones in future.

Due to the release of Traitor Legions, the official rules for Word Bearers will replace the fanmade ones I said we’d use a coupe chapters (and several months) ago.

For American readers, a kilometre (km) is roughly 2/3 of a mile.