The sunlight streamed through the stained glass window, illuminating the Elements of Harmony in their hour of glory: the defeat of Tirek, the last hurrah of the Elements themselves. It had only been just about a year since that day, but to Rainbow Dash, it felt like a lifetime.

The blue-coated pegasus sat in front of the window, more still than she had ever been while awake. The light caressed her coat, offering a warmth her heart simply could not muster. Above her was a moment of glory, a moment of awesomeness like little else in the world. It was a moment she would likely never experience again.

Pain briefly jolted through her as she instinctively twitched the stump that had been her left wing. The docs had said it was too damaged to save, the bones shattered beyond repair and already turning gangrenous. So they had amputated it. Cut if off and thrown it away. Rainbow Dash would never fly again.

She had been furious when she found out. Beat up at least two doctors and a nurse before they could sedate her. Woke up a few hours later, did the same thing again. It just couldn’t be true, she had thought. But it was. It was truly, horribly, end-of-her-world-ingly true. Her Wonderbolts career, still so new, was over. She couldn’t even go back to being a weatherpony and amateur racer. Her life was over.

Rainbow looked up, tears silently sneaking past her eyes as she saw herself whole and unbroken, magnificent in flight. Seeing her glass self soaring triumphantly, Rainbow knew the truth.

“I would give anything to fly again,” she whispered.

---

Elsewhere in the castle, the mood was little better.

Celestia groaned, her care for calm composure having proven pointless in the company of the alien Blood Angels. The war was going poorly, even just two weeks in.

The Word Bearers, after a few days to presumably consolidate their gains, had pushed out from their hoof-hold in Manehattan and laid siege to Fillydelphia. Though many lives had been tragically lost, the city still held under the firm command of Brother-Sergeant Dabriel. Yet, amidst the valiant defense, no real victories could be claimed, and everypony was simply waiting for the Chaos Land Raider to roll forth from Manehattan and end the siege at a stroke.

On the other side of the continent, reports indicated that a second Word Bearer army had landed and was rampaging around Vanhoofer and Tall Tale. Luna had taken her Lunar Guard and several fresh regiments from Neighagra Falls to try and restore contact with the northwest coast. She sent back little word, but if half the rumours were to be believed, the fighting was only slightly less terrible than in Fillydelphia.

Meanwhile, Cadence and Shining Armor had returned to the Crystal Empire to fortify their home, taking with them most of the properly trained soldiers in Equestria. All that remained under Celestia’s direct command were the shattered survivors of Manehattan, amounting to only a handful of understrength regiments, the remains of the Wonderbolts Reserve, and Iron Will’s fanatics.

“Twilight, what are the current estimates for our survival?” Celestia asked, hoping against all reason for an ounce of good news.

Twilight Sparkle gulped, shifted uncomfortably, and finally sighed. “Er… Not good, Princess. Ponies are scared out of their wits and so recruitment is going poorly. And since we haven’t fought a war in centuries, we only have the Royal Armoury and a few totally out-of-date arsenals scattered around the country. So what few recruits we do get can’t even be armed effectively. We’re relying on natural magic, like earth pony strength or unicorn spells, at this point.”

“Pitiful xenos,” the Sanguinary Guard Flavio said, shaking his golden-helmed head. “Are you truly so complacent?”

“Ahem,” the Librarian Renato interrupted. “What my brother means is that it seems strange that you cannot even provide for your own defense, which I have already explained to him is the result of a series of superweapons and heroes facing relatively minor threats. Regardless, the point stands that we need to increase production by at least five hundred percent if we are to arm the forces needed to push the Word Bearers off your world.”

Celestia inhaled deeply, calming her pounding heart. “Are things truly so desperate?”

“Unless you have a secret superweapon hidden beneath this little castle of yours, then yes,” Renato answered. “I have fought Chaos for centuries. When such heretics invade the Imperium, we strike back with no less than a full company of Space Marines and full regiments of the noble Imperial Guard. Even then, many die before the world is won. We must mobilize a massive force and drive Chaos away from its landing posts before we are overrun.”

“I cannot ask such service of my ponies,” Celestia said, scouring her memories for a time when the world had been so dangerous. “And besides, there is no way we can meet such quotas. We have not the facilities, nor the time to build them. We must rely on our allies and our skill.”

“Then may the Emperor grant us a miracle, for nothing else will win this war,” Renato said. “What allies can you even muster? I’ve seen no sign of help.”

“We have many friends across Equus, but few who can provide the might we need,” Celestia said. Still she searched the past, poring over ancient half-forgotten events in desperation. “The Gryphon Empire is a shambles without even a nominal ruler. A self-proclaimed Colonel named ‘Gilda’ claims to be bringing a volunteer regiment, but details on their strength and movements are scant at best. The Minotaurs have never constituted a formal state, but Iron Will has written to his relatives and they should be soon arriving. The Yaks have failed to answer any of our summons. Saddle Arabia, however, has promised its full support once their fleet is assembled.”

Renato sighed and placed his ceramite-clad knuckles on the planning table. “Very well. I shall confer with Orlando, see if I can plan an end worthy of remembrance. Alert me if news arrives. I will be in the Chapel.”

With that Renato left, taking Flavio with him.

Twilight turned to speak, but words failed her. Despair hung over the entire castle, and ever-sensitive Twilight could bear it no longer. Celestia mustered a motherly smile.

“Go to your friends, Twilight,” she said. “You have been under a lot of stress. Take some time to relax. We will need you soon enough.”

Twilight mumbled an affirmative response and slipped out, leaving Celestia to her thoughts. The Solar Alicorn turned to the great window, gazing out upon the city below and the setting sun in the distance. For all her memories, reaching back so many centuries, she could think of no darker hour…

Save one.

A dark, distant memory, all but lost to the sands of time, but still lingering like the last specks of heat in a dying fire. A story, heard only in hushed snippets, of a dreadful monster possessed by unholy powers, and the golden warrior who stood alone against it. In a flash, Celestia knew what she had to do.

It was time to visit her mother.

---

“Put your backs into it, scum!” Babyl the Slavemaster bellowed as he cracked his sonic whip over the cultists reloading the Predator. “I want to see you sweat and ache and groan! Do it, for the glory of the dark gods!”

Babyl’s twin hearts fluttered as he watched the cultists moan and suffer beneath the lash and the weight of the ammunition. To watch the suffering of others was among the highest pleasures he had found since abandoning the narrow-minded fools of the Emperor’s Children. All the drugs of his former Legion were nothing compared to what he had discovered among the Word Bearers. The perpetual pain of withdrawal, the lust of bloodshed, the exuberance of camaraderie, and the edification of efficient planning: all had drawn him to a new level of raw sensation, and into the welcoming arms of Bal Harodon.

The quivering Chaos Marine strode merrily through the slaves, laughing and whipping with abandon as he passed. For this perverse soul, all was right with the world at that moment, save that he was still forbidden to work on the prisoners below. Caring not who heard, he mumbled his thoughts aloud.

“Oh, how I would love to wreak my art on them, pathetic corpse-worshippers,” he said to everyone and no one. “Why does the Apostle insist on keeping them for himself? All I want is a bit of fun, but he just refuses to share. Ah well, I suppose I must simply make do.”

With that he tore open the back of a random slave, sending the poor man sprawling, screaming, to the ground. Babyl smiled. The special prisoners might be off limits, but he could still muster a good pleasure from these slaves, and after all, wasn’t that all that really mattered?

___

Deep in the infirmary of Canterlot, the Priest Domenico was hard at work. Two weeks of Astartes-level fighting had left many injured, and it was his duty to educate the ignorant local ‘healers,’ if such a term could be applied to most of them, in the ways of medicine.

At the moment he was disinterestedly patching up a winged xenos who had been unfortunate enough to catch an autogun round in its side. The extrication had been simply enough, though the idiotic beast had simply not stopped screaming while Domenico sawed it out.

“Ungrateful little…” the Sanguinary Priest mumbled. Thankfully, the xenos had fallen unconscious after the bullet was yanked out, leaving Domenico a brief moment of peace.

Even without his genhanced senses, it was easy to hear the doors slam open behind him. Two figures, hulking by the standards of this alien world, strode in.

“Greetings, Paolo, Dabriel. What brings you back here?” Domenico asked without leaving his task for a moment.

“Fillydelphia is holding,” Dabriel reported. “So I took a brief respite to check in with command. And to…”

“The Chaplain is stable,” Domenico answered the unasked question. “But still in a coma. No, I cannot tell you when he should awaken. He was torn apart by mecha-tendrils. It is a miracle that he still breathes. Praise the Emperor and Sanguinius, and if you’ve no further business, leave me be. I am busy.”

Dabriel bowed his head and left. Paolo remained a moment.

“I have known Aless for centuries, and seen him endure blows which would have slain lesser warriors,” he said. “But I have never seen him lay in slumber so long. I worry for him.”

Domenico sighed and turned to face the ancient veteran. “His life is in the Emperor’s hands. If the Throne demands he still serve, he will, and if not, then he shall stand guard with Sanguinius in eternity. Either way, the matter is out of our hands. Go, and muster courage among our brothers. Without the Chaplain, it is to you and Codicier Renato that they look.”

“And you also, brother,” Paolo replied. “Your are our Priest, our last spiritual leader. Yet you rarely grace the halls of the Chapel.”

“As I said, I am busy,” Domenico said. “The Emperor knows my name, and I pray for us all. But we are Astartes; it is not our lot to serve the Throne in gilded halls, but in the mire and blood of war and its effluence.”

Paolo sighed and thundered off, his heavy Terminator armour leaving subtle imprints in the weak xenos floors. Domenico sighed and turned back to his work. The xenos would live, and likely fight again if the soft-hearted locals did not interfere.

“Domenico, I need to speak with you,” one of those same locals said as it came trotting into the room.

Domenico groaned. “Am I to be interrupted all day? I have work that must be done.”

The xenos Nurse Redheart rounded about in front of Domenico. “This is about work. I need your help.”

“I’m giving it now,” Domenico said as he walked to his next patient. “In the last hour I have saved seventeen of your kind. If you leave now, this hour I might yet match that number.”

“We have doctors and nurses aplenty for this. I have a job that needs you specifically,” Redheart said, following the white-armoured priest.

“What? Has someone been infected with a plague of Nurgle which baffles your meager knowledge? Simply burn the corpse and be done with it, then,” he answered.

Redheart groaned. “Putting aside the ethical ramifications of that, it’s something else. Do you remember a little filly you rescued from Manehattan, Starwing? She’s been having nightmares for the past two weeks.”

Domenico worked in silence for a moment. Finally, he spoke. “Well?”

“That’s the job, Domenico,” Redheart said, ignoring the rankled flash across Domenico’s face at the forwardness of address. “The poor little filly’s been screaming in her sleep for two weeks, and nothing we’ve tried is helping. She seems to idolize you, so I want you to try helping her.”

“I have more important duties than calming cowardly xenos infants,” Domenico replied. “Besides, are not dreams the domain of Luna? Send your concerns there.”

It was Redheart’s time to rankle. “She is a poorly terrified filly who has lost everything and everypony she ever knew or loved, who needs all the love and care she can get. And Luna is too busy with the war to find a single filly amidst the swarm.”

“Then let it be. Why should I care?” Domenico asked.

Redheart pushed herself up on the operating table to look Domenico right in the eye. “You owe me for the child back in Ponyville. I’m calling in the favour. You get your plot in that poor filly’s room and don’t come out until she can sleep without wailing.”

Domenico glared into Redheart’s eyes, and for a minute, the two simply stood, silent, unblinking. The Priest saw a fury and conviction he had not expected in xenos, and for a brief moment he was reminded of how disturbingly close to human these aliens were at times. Something else festered and grew in the depths of his mind. Images from wars long ago, of weeping children begging for their dead parents.

Domenico was Astartes, one of the Emperor’s Angels of Death. He was gene-forged beyond the limits of humanity, raised up into glory and power. But at his core, he was still human, and for all the callous horror of the Imperium, the very essential core of humanity remained a spark of love and compassion, no matter how deeply buried. He sighed.

“Show me to the child. I will see what I can do,” he said, hating himself for giving in, but also strangely unable to sustain resistance.

---

“Still the story turns as I have foreseen,” the deep voice boomed deep in the midst of the Everfree forest, beneath the ancient Tree.

Krev Goduron stood, wary and almost shaking beside the incarnate power which spoke. He dared not move, would not chance annoying the crimson giant who now ruled his life.

“The Blood Angels play their role perfectly, keeping the aliens in place,” the crimson giant rumbled. “While Bal acts out the drama on cue. This war will wage long and bloody, and in its anarchy my purpose will be accomplished. Come Krev, I have for you a mission.”

“Yes, Lord Ma-ghk!” Krev felt his throat constrict in a grip of psychic power.

“Speak not my name!” the giant roared, his eyes glowing with ancient and terrible power. “Not here, not in this place, not yet. I will not be revealed until the hour I choose, not to him or to it. Go from me now, son of Lorgar. Slip into the xenos city and find the one called ‘Rainbow Dash.’ She is wounded and desperate. Offer her Khorne’s might. A wretched, simple curse, but it will suffice for the foolish xenos.”

“Lord Ma-Master!” Krev caught his tongue in the nick of time. “Why does this matter? Why not simply slay the xenos?”

“She is important to the Grand Scheme. If left alone she may ruin all,” the crimson giant said. “But if pushed correctly, she will fall. She is the very avatar of loyalty among this ignorant race, and when your envenomed words claim her for Chaos, their spirit will be broken. At a stroke I will have ended them as a threat.”

“But I thought you wanted the xenos as a threat,” Krev said, utterly lost as to the plan of his new master.

The giant laughed. “You simple-minded fool. I have plans within plans and beyond them. You think you are my only agent, the only actor I submit to this play? I am the playwright, and all act for me. The war will be maintained by other means. But I will not have this one threaten my plans, and I will not make a martyr of her. Go, Word Bearer, and ask no more questions. Return when the xenos is in Khorne’s pay. Begone!”

A roiling wave of psychic energy overwhelmed Krev, throwing him to the ground, even in his Terminator armour. With superhuman strength, Krev rose back to his feet, and strode up the stone stairs into the dark forest. As he walked into the night, the giant smiled and turned to the stone Tree nearby.

“Soon, all you are will be mine, and at last, I will have my revenge.”